When ’Phia had decently composed the small body, she went to the bell and rang it sharply, then she turned the key of the door and came back to her post. She gazed for a moment on the poor, dead face, and then tenderly closed the eyes, keeping her fingers and thumb lightly pressed on the white lids. Some one came running swiftly along the passage outside, tried the lock, and then rapped. ’Phia went and unlocked the door, holding it a few inches apart, to prevent the entrance of the new-comer. There were but three servants in that reduced establishment—’Phia, her husband Laban, and her daughter Lamia. It was the latter who had come to answer the bell. “What does yer want, mammy?” inquired the girl, seeing that her mother barred her farther progress. “You tell your daddy to run here right off. No nonsense, now; not to ’lay a minute, but to run here right off! Yer hear me, don’t yer?” “Yes, mammy; but daddy done gone ’way in de boat to Sinnigger’s.” “Whey?” sharply demanded the woman. “To Sinnigger’s, mammy.” “What he done gone dere for, when he wanted so bad here?” “Marster done sent him dere arter de doctor. Marster come a-rabin’ out to de quarter, just now, like he gone rip stabin’ mad, an’ say how mist’ess wer’ took berry ill, an’ he hauled off daddy down to de landin’ to start him off to Sinnigger’s arter de doctor. Is mist’ess dat bad, sure ’nough?” “Hum! Sent arter de doctor, eh? No use send arter de doctor now. Set a house afire, an’ den run for a gourd o’ water to put it out! Hum! Dat a blind!” muttered ’Phia. “Is mist’ess so berry bad?” inquired the girl. “So yer daddy’s gone to Sinnigger’s. Whey’s yer marster?” “Marster done gone down to de boat landin’ to hurry daddy off, I telled you before, mammy. But, say, is mist’ess bad as all dat comes to?” inquired the girl for the third time. “It ain’t none o’ your business! You go right straight down de kitchen and put on a kettle ob water to heat,” replied the woman, closing the door on her daughter. “Sent for de doctor! Hum. Dat piece ob ’ception ain’t a gwine to do no good. Lord, Lord, did I ebber expect to lib to see dis awful day? Dough I hab offen an’ offen prophesied as how murder would be done in dis forsak, unlawful house, did I ebber expect as it would come to pass? He’s done it, an’ he’ll sure to be hung, an’ den what is to come ob de place? O-o-m-me,” groaned the woman, as she returned to her post of duty. At these dreadful words, the voice of the child, that had sunk into low sobs, now arose in wails of anguish. The next moment the door was thrown open and Marcellus de Crespigney hurried into the room, haggard, ghastly, with distended eyeballs and disheveled hair. After rapidly glancing around the room, his eyes fell upon the form lying on the lounge, and he hurried up to it, breathing hard, as he put the questions: “How is she? How is she? Better?” The appalled woman silently moved aside and the child crouched down upon the floor and made room for him.