“She done talk 'bout you, Marse Dave, an' how good you is—”
“And Mrs. Temple sees no one,” I asked.
“Dar's one lady come hyar ebery week, er French lady, but she speak English jes' like the Mistis. Dat's my fault,” said Lindy, showing a line of white teeth.
“Your fault,” I exclaimed.
“Yassir. When I comed here from Caroliny de Mistis done tole me not ter let er soul in hyah. One day erbout three mont's ergo, dis yer lady come en she des wheedled me ter let her in. She was de quality, Marse Dave, and I was des' afeard not ter. I declar' I hatter. Hush,” said Lindy, putting her fingers to her lips, “dar's de Mistis!”
The door into the back room opened, and Mrs. Temple stood on the threshold, staring with uncertain eyes into the semi-darkness.
“Lindy,” she said, “what have you done?”
“Miss Sally—” Lindy began, and looked at me. But I could not speak for looking at the lady in the doorway.
“Who is it?” she said again, and her hand sought the door-post tremblingly. “Who is it?”
Then I went to her. At my first step she gave a little cry and swayed, and had I not taken her in my arms I believe she would have fallen.