A large fat mulatto woman with a red kerchief tied round her head, came from within, rubbing her eyes. Ophelia had evidently been asleep, but she nodded her head, bright and wide awake, when she saw the visitors.
“What has become of Roux?” said Harrington, looking at her with his pale, startled face.
“Oh, they’s all been took off to Cambridge,” she replied quickly, towering in good-natured bulk above her elvish husband, who stood like one magnetized. “Clarindy Roux’s married sister lives thar, Mr. Har’nton, an’ her old man come in with his wagon and took’m all out thar this afternoon. They’s to be fotched back to-morrow at dinner-time, so Tug says.”
“Thank you,” said Harrington. “Good evening;” and “good evening,” said Muriel; both too much agitated with the sudden relief that swept over them, to say another word.
“Laws bless you; good evening,” said Ophelia; and “good evening, Mr. Harrington—good evening, Mrs. Harrington,” squeaked the strange little creature, still standing in the same attitude, as Muriel and Harrington departed.
“Well,” said Muriel, with a deep-drawn breath, and then a laugh, as they gained the street; “that was as good a fright as I ever got in my life.”
“A fright, indeed,” he returned. “I felt as if I should swoon!”
They walked on in silence for a few moments.
“What a singular little kobold that is,” she said, as they went into the street.
“Very,” replied Harrington. “He’s a tailor, and a great Free-Soiler, as you may imagine by the newspaper he had. Now, Muriel, it seems the Rouxs are fortunately away for the night. So they’re safe for the present.”