Once alone, Josephine flung herself face downward upon the bed and burst into a storm of tears, her fine courage for once outworn. She wept until utterly spent. Sally, after leaving the room, had returned unnoticed, and when at last Josephine turned about she saw the old woman standing there. A hard hand gently edged under her heaving shoulder. "Thah now, honey, doan' cry! God A'mighty, girl, doan' cry dat-a-way. What is wrong, tell me." Sympathy even of this sort was balm to a woman wholly unnerved. Josephine found her head on the old negro woman's shoulder. [Illustration: Her fine courage for once outworn.] "Now you jus' lay right quiet, Ma'am," went on Sally. "I'se gwine to git you a little something warm to drink and something to eat right soon, and den I'se gwine put you-all to bed nice and clean, and in de mawnin' you'll feel like you was anotheh lady, you suttinly will, Ma'am." "Who are you?" demanded Josephine, turning to look into the old and wrinkled face. "I'se jus' Sally." "I suppose you are keeper of the prison," commented Josephine bitterly. "Dis ain't no prisum, Ma'am, I'se bin heah a long time 'mong dese triflin' niggahs. Dis ain't no prisum--but God knows, Ma'am, we needs a lady heah to run things. Is you come foh dat?" "No, no," said Josephine. "I'm just--I'm just--I'm going away as soon as I can." "Sho, now! Huc'cum you heah, Ma'am?" "It was a mistake." "I didn't know white folks evah done nothin' they didn't want to do," commented Sally. "But doan' you mind. Ef you wants me, jes' call for Sally." "Tell me, Sally, isn't there any Mrs. Dunwody here?" demanded Josephine suddenly. The face of the old woman remained inscrutable, and Josephine could see no sign except that a sort of film crossed her eyes, as though veiling some inmost thought. "Ef dey was, I doan' reckon you-all would have come heah, would you? Now you lay down and git comf'table. Doan' you worry none, Ma'am. You gwine be fine, by mawnin'. You suttinly is a right handsome lady, Ma'am!" The old woman shuffled from the room, to join her master at the foot of the stairs. "Where is she, Sally?" demanded Dunwody, "and how is she?" "She's right tired, suh," said Sally non-committally. And then, "Mighty fine lookin' lady, suh. An' she is a lady! Huc'cum her here, Marse Warv'l? Whut you-all--" "What did she say to you?" "Nothin' 'cept she's gwine git away right soon. White folkes' business ain't none o' my business." "Well, never you mind about all that, Sally. Now listen. It's your business to keep her there, in that room. When she wants anything, get it. But don't you talk to her, you understand. I reckon you do understand, don't you?" "I reckon I does, suh." "Well, all right then. If she goes to walk, keep her in sight. She doesn't send out letters to any one, and doesn't talk to strangers, do you understand?" "I reckon I does, suh."