The figure in the window stirred, and the sewing fell its ample lap.

"Now Lawd'a mercy!"

I trembled--with a violence unspeakable. Was this but one more of those
thousand voices, harsh and gentle, rough and tender, to which I had
listened in vain this age past? The black face was hovering over me now,
and in an agony of apprehension I reached up and felt its honest
roughness. Then I could have wept for joy.

"Mammy Lucy!"

"Yes, Marse Dick?"

"Where--where is Miss Dolly?"

"Now, Marse Dick, doctah done say you not t' talk, suh."

"Where is Miss Dolly?" I cried, seizing her arm.

"Hush, Marse Dick. Miss Dolly'll come terectly, suh. She's lyin' down,
suh."

The door creaked, and in my eagerness I tried to lift myself. 'Twas Aunt
Lucy's hand that restrained me, and the next face I saw was that of
Dorothy's mother. But why did it appear so old and sorrow-lined? And
why was the hair now of a whiteness with the lace of the cap? She took
my fingers in her own, and asked me anxiously if I felt any pain.