She sank laughing and breathless on the window sill. All the exhilaration of the dance was in her eyes, her lips were parted, her cheeks flushed, and a strand of loosened hair fell across her shoulder.
It was at this moment that wheels sounded on the driveway below, caused her to lean idly out to see who was coming. A wagon stopped at the side entrance, and a man alighted. Uncle Jimpson"s voice was heard asking a question, then came the other man"s voice, in quick, incisive answer.
Miss Lady, sitting motionless, looking down, turned suddenly from the window. The color had left her face and her hand trembled visibly against the curtain.
"What"s the matter?" cried Cropsie; "are you ill? Did you dance too long?"
"It"s nothing, I"m all right. That is I will be--"
"Can"t I get you some water, or an ice, or call Mrs. Sequin?"
"No, no, please! It"s nothing. I"ll slip off to the dressing-room until I feel better. I can go through here up the side stairs."
"Wait, I"ll go with you. You are as white as if you"d seen a ghost!"
But before he could join her she had disappeared into mysterious regions where he dared not follow.
CHAPTER XVII
During the course of that Christmas night, there was one member of the Sequin household who failed to thrill with the holiday spirit, and whose depression steadily increased as the evening wore on. The great occasion of which Uncle Jimpson had dreamed all his life, had at last arisen, and instead of being allowed to rise with it, and prove his indisputable right to butlerhood, he had been detailed to drive back and forth to the station over that same humdrum Cane Run Road that he and Old John had helped to wear away for the past quarter of a century!
To be sure, a neat depot wagon and a spirited young sorrel had replaced the ancient buggy and the apostolic nag, but these fell far short of Uncle Jimpson"s dreams. A coach and four at that moment would not have compensated him for the fact that a complaisant, red-headed furnaceman, a "po" white trash" arrived but yesterday, was being allowed to pa.s.s the tray that by all rights of precedence belonged to him.
Waiting impatiently at the station for the train that was to bring the elusive ices which he had been pursuing all evening, he at last had the satisfaction of seeing the small engine crawl out of the darkness, and come to a wheezing halt.
So engrossed were the conductor and brakeman and Uncle Jimpson in safely depositing the freezers on the platform, that no one noticed a pa.s.senger who had alighted. In fact, it was not until Uncle Jimpson heard Mrs.
Sequin"s name that he paused from his labor and looked up.
The stranger was a young, well-built man, wearing a long, s.h.a.ggy overcoat, and a cap of a foreign cut that excited the immediate envy of the brake-man. The bag and the suit case which he carried were covered with foreign labels, and he had the air of a person who is suddenly dropped down in a strange place and doesn"t quite know what to do with himself.
"You say you want to git up to Mrs. Sequin"s to-night?" Uncle Jimpson eyed the bags suspiciously. ""Scuse me, sir, but you ain"t sellin"
nothin", is you?"
The laugh that greeted this was so spontaneous, that Uncle Jimpson hastened to apologize: "I nebber thought you wuz, only we wasn"t lookin"
fer no railroad company, an" I "lowed you didn"t look lak you wuz comin"
to de party."
"What party?" asked the man, his look of amus.e.m.e.nt giving place to one of dismay.
"Our-alls party. We"s havin" a ball an" a house-warmin". You must be comin" fum a long ways off not to be hearin" "bout hit!"
"You mean the Sequins are having a party, tonight?"
"Yas, sir."
"But aren"t they expecting me? Didn"t they get my telegram?"
"I dunno, sir. Dey nebber said nothin" to me."
The stranger stood with feet apart, watch in hand, and a grim expression on the only part of his face visible between his cap and his upturned collar.
"What time is the next train back to town?"
"Dey ain"t none, "ceptin" de special, what"s hired to take de party back to town. Dat goes "bout two o"clock."
"I"ll wait for it," said the stranger, flinging his bag against the waiting-room door and beginning to pace restlessly up and down the snow-covered platform.
But this did not meet with Uncle Jimpson"s ideas of hospitality.
"Dey nebber knowed you wuz comin"," he argued. "I jes know dey didn"t.
But dat won"t hinder "em fum bein" powerful glad to see you. Better git in, Boss, an" lemme dribe you up dere."
"No, there is evidently more room for me in town!"
"Room! Why, Mister, we could take keer of all de Presidents of de Nunited States at one time! "Sides, hit don"t look right to leave you a stompin" round here in de cold fer three or four hours by yourself.
You"d git powerful lonesome."
"I"m used to being lonesome. Haven"t been anything else for a year."
"But dis heah is different," urged the old darkey, scratching his head; "dis heah is Christmas night. Tain"t natchul fer folks not to git together an" laugh an" be happy an" fergit dere quarrels an" dere troubles an" jollify deyselves. You know you ain"t gwine be happy stompin" round here in de dark by your loneself; you know dat ain"t no way to spend Christmas, Boss!"
The stranger continued to stare into the darkness for a moment, then he laughed, that same sudden, infectious, boyish laugh that had greeted Uncle Jimpson"s suggestion that he was an agent.
"You"re right!" he exclaimed; "this is no time to nurse a grouch.
Perhaps they didn"t get the telegram. I"ll risk it. Is there a side door you could slip me in?"
"Yas, sir! We got four side doors, "sides de back one. Ain"t nuffin we ain"t got. You git right in de wagon, an" I"ll hist de bags in. "Tain"t de way I"d like to kerry you up to de mansion, straddlin" a ice-cream freezer wid de snow in yer face, but I"ll git you dere!"
Uncle Jimpson, sure of an audience for at least twenty minutes, forgot his wrongs and laid himself out to make the most of his opportunity.
It was very cold and the horse"s hoofs beat hard on the frozen ground.
Beyond the wavering circle of light from the swaying lantern all was dark and mysterious.
"I certainly is glad dem freezers come," said Uncle Jimpson, tucking in the lap robe; "I sh.o.r.e would hate to go back widout "em. De Cunnel used to say dat was what n.i.g.g.e.rs was born fer, to git what you sent "em after."
"Who is the Colonel?" asked the stranger with a quick glance of recognition at the old negro.
"Cunnel Bob Ca.r.s.ey. My old marster. He"s dead now, an" Mrs. Sequin she"s done borrowed me fer a while."
"When did he die?"
"A year ago las" May."
The man in the foreign cap pulled it further over his eyes and resumed his scrutiny of the road.