Where she was she could not divine. The windows were closed by thick oaken shutters, which would not permit the smallest ray of light to pass through them, and, according to appearances, the only light which it would be permitted her to use would be that of the lamp now burning on the table.
The cogitations of the maiden were, however, destined, for a time at least, to be interrupted. The key of the huge lock turned slowly, and with a creaking sound, then the door swung open, disclosing to Catherine the repulsive countenance of the negress who had charge of the building. Fagan had procured her to wait upon the lovely tenant of his cottage. The woman approached the table, bearing before her, on a waiter, that which was to be Catherine’s breakfast.
Kate was a daughter of bravery. Her heart swelled in its indignation. She addressed the old woman in a commanding tone, and demanded to know where she was, and for what reason she had been brought thither.
The sullen eyes of the negro woman flashed for an instant, but she replied in a mumbling tone: “If missa want me hear, um mus’ speak loud. Dis chile be berry old, an’ don’t hear nuffin.”
The question was repeated in a louder tone. It must have been deep ears, indeed, that could not have caught the sound of the girl’s ringing voice.
“Dis house be fass on de land, sure; an’ you is in it jist ’cause some pusson whants you here, I s’pose. Dat’s a fac’.”
“And who is that person?”
“Find dat out, I s’pec’s, when he comes to see you. Yah, yah!”
It was useless to question the woman. She had received her instructions from Turner, but was cute enough to understand that he was only the agent, not the master. Kate for a moment gave way to tears. The negress, seeing her beautiful charge thus moved, became somewhat pitiful, offered a word of consolation:
“Bless yer, honey, don’t be skeered, now. No one gwine to hurt yer; only here ’cause gemman wants to show how he lubs yer!”