A moment later, Dunwody left the room, to meet old Eleazar, who made such response as he could to the hurried queries.  “Monsieur,” said he, “I have ridden down from the hills.  There is trouble.  In the neighborhood are some who are angry because their negroes have disappear’.  They accuse Monsieur Dunwodee of being the cause, and say that he is traitor, a turncoat.  This very night a band are said to plan an attack upon the house of monsieur!  I have met above there Monsieur Clayton, Monsieur Bill Jones, Monsieur le Docteur Jamieson, and others, who ride to the assistance of Monsieur Dunwodee.  It is this very night, and I—­there being no other to come—­have come to advise.  Believing that monsieur might desire to carry with him certain friends, I have brought the large carriage.  It is here!”

“Thank God!” said Dunwody, “they don’t vote with me, but they ride with me still—­they’re my neighbors, my friends, even yet!

“Hector,” he exclaimed suddenly,—­“come here!” Then, as they both listened, he went on:  “Tell the people there can not be a meeting, after all.  I am going back to my house, to see what is on up yonder.  Hector, can you get a fresh horse?  And are there any friends who would go with you?”

The sturdy young cooper did not lack in courage, and his response was instant.  “Assuredly I have a horse, Monsieur,” was his reply.  “Assuredly we have friends.  Six, ten, seven, h’eight person shall go with us within the hour!  But I must tell—­”

Jeanne was at his elbow, catching scent of something of this, guessing at possible danger.  She broke out now into loud expostulations at this rashness of her spouse, parent of this progeny of theirs, thus undertaking to expose himself to midnight dangers.  Hector, none the less, shook his head.

“It is necessary that one go armed,” commented Eleazar calmly.  He patted with affection the long barreled piece which lay over his own arm.

Much of this conversation, loud and excited as it was, could not fail to reach the ears of Josephine, who presently had joined them, and who now heard the story of the old man, so fully confirming all Dunwody said.

“There is trouble!  There is trouble!” she said, with her usual prompt decision.  “There is room for me in the coach.  I am going along.”

“You—­what in the world do you mean?  You’ll do nothing of the sort!” rejoined Dunwody.  “It’s going to be no place for women, up there.  It’s a fight, this time!”

“Perhaps not for Jeanne or Hector’s mother, or for many women; but for me it is the very place where I belong! I made that trouble yonder.  It was I, not you, who caused that disaffection among the blacks.  Your neighbors ought to blame me, not you—­I will explain it all to them in a moment, in an instant.  Surely, they will listen to me.  Yes, I am going.”

Dunwody looked at her in grave contemplation for an instant.