“What shall we do? What shall we do? Oh, poor Aunty! The brutes! The brutes! Look at them over there laughing their great horse laughs. I never liked to see them whipped before, when the constable whipped them, but oh I shall like to after this. I should like to see them whipped till the blood ran down,” cried the girl, tears of mingled grief and anger filling her flashing eyes. “I don't know when you are likely to have the opportunity,” said the doctor, dryly. “At present they have the upper hand in town, and seem very likely to keep it. We may thank our stars if the idea of whipping some of us does not occur to them.” “My father fears that they will plunder the store and perhaps murder us, unless help comes soon.” “There is no help to come,” said the doctor. “The militia are all in the mob.” “But is there nothing we can do? Must we let them murder Aunty before our eyes?” “Perhaps,” said the doctor, “if your Uncle Jahleel were to go out to the mob this evening, and entreat them civilly, and beg them to desist by reason of your aunt's sickness, they would hear to him.” “Doctor! Doctor! you don't know my uncle,” cried Desire. “He would sooner have Aunt Lucy die, and die himself, and have us all killed, than stoop to ask a favor of the rabble.” “I suppose it would be hard for him,” said the doctor, “and yet to save your aunt's life maybe--” “Oh I couldn't bear to have him do it,” interrupted Desire. “Poor Uncle! I'd rather go out to the mob myself than have Uncle Jahleel. It would kill him. He is so proud.” The doctor walked across the room two or three times with knitted brow and then paused and looked with a certain critical admiration at the face of the girl to which excitement had lent an unusual brilliance. “I will tell you,” he said, “the only way I see of securing a quiet night to your aunt. Just go yourself and see this Hamlin who is the captain of the mob, and make your petition to him. I had words with him this morning. He is a well seeming fellow enough, and has a bold way of speech that liked me well i' faith, though no doubt he's a great rascal and well deserves a hanging.” He paused, for Desire was confronting him, with a look that was a peremptory interruption. Her eyes were flashing, her cheeks mantled with indignant color, and the delicate nostrils were distended with scorn. “Me, Desire Edwards, sue for favors of this low fellow! You forget yourself strangely, Dr. Partridge.” The doctor took his hat from the table and bowed low. “I beg your pardon, Miss Desire. Possibly your aunt may live through the night, after all,” and he went out of the house shrugging his shoulders. Desire was still standing in the same attitude when a faint voice caught her ear, and stepping to a door she opened it, and asked gently, “What is it, Aunty?” “Your uncle hasn't gone out, has he?” asked Mrs. Woodbridge, feebly. “No, Aunty, he's in his study walking to and fro as he's been all day, you know.”