“Better go on to Hay Hill, Miss Edy!  ’Deed, ’fore marster, better go to Hay Hill.”

“No,” said the young girl, “my resolution is taken—­we will return to Luckenough.”

The arguments of the old negroes waxed fainter and fewer.  They felt a vague but potent confidence in Edith and her abilities, and a sense of protection in her presence, from which they were loth to part.

The sun was high when they entered the forest shades again.

“See,” said Edith to her companions, “everything is so fresh and beautiful and joyous here!  I cannot even imagine danger.”

Edith on reaching Luckenough retired to bed, and addressed herself to sleep.  It was in vain—­her nerves were fearfully excited.  In vain she tried to combat her terrors—­they completely overmastered her.  She was violently shocked out of a fitful doze.

Old Jenny stood over her, lifting her up, shaking her, and shouting in her ears: 

“Miss Edith!  Miss Edith!  They are here!  They are here!  We shall be murdered in our beds!”

In the room stood old Oliver, gray with terror, while all the dogs on the premises were barking madly, and a noisy party at the front was trying to force an entrance.

Violent knocking and shaking at the outer door and the sound of voices.

“Open! open! let us in! for God’s sake, let us in!”

“Those are fugitives—­not foes—­listen—­they plead—­they do not threaten—­go and unbar the door, Oliver,” said Edith.

Reluctantly and cautiously the old man obeyed.

“Light another candle, Jenny—­that is dying in its socket—­it will be out in a minute.”

Trembling all over, Jenny essayed to do as she was bid, but only succeeded in putting out the expiring light.  The sound of the unbarring of the door had deprived her of the last remnant of self-control.  Edith struck a light, while the sound of footsteps and voices in the hall warned her that several persons had entered.

“It’s Nell, and Liddy, and Sol, from Hay Hill!  Oh, Miss Edy!  Thorg and his men are up dar a ‘stroyin’ everything!  Oh, Miss Edy! an’ us thought it was so safe an’ out’n de way up dar!  Oh, what a ’scape! what a ’scape we-dem has had!”

CHAPTER II.

The attack.

That summer day was so holy in its beauty, so bright, so clear, so cool; that rural scene was so soothing in its influences, so calm, so fresh, so harmonious; it was almost impossible to associate with that lovely day and scene thoughts of wrong and violence and cruelty.  So felt Edith as she sometimes lifted her eyes from her work to the beauty and glory of nature around her.  And if now her heart ached it was more with grief for Fanny’s fate than dread of her own.  There comes, borne upon the breeze that lifts her dark tresses, and fans her pearly cheeks, the music of many rural voices—­of rippling streams and rustling leaves and twittering birds and humming bees.