Laying her hand soothingly on Natalia's feverish brow, she gently smoothed back the long black hair.
"Honey-chile," she said, when the light began to stream through the shutters, "I jes' knows yer ain' slep' er wink an' heah hit's de day Marsa gwine speak. An' yer hain' tole yer ole Mammy whut fixins ter lay out fer yer. Which is dey, honey? Yer jes' tell Mammy an' she'll fix dem so's yer won' habe er speck ob worry 'bout dem."
Natalia looked at her yearningly.
"Dear old Mammy," she answered, "how you love me—how I love you."
"Sho I lubs yer, honey—bettah dan anybody else—eben bettah dan Marse Sargent. But yer mus' look killin' ter-day, honey-chile," said Dicey, returning to the subject of most importance in her eyes. "Whut furbelows mus' I put out?"
Natalia stirred restlessly, finally taking hold of Dicey's coarsened hand and holding it close to her face.
"Don't bother, Mammy—I am not going to hear him speak—I don't think I could bear it."
"Yer not gwine heah de Marser speak?" Dicey stared at her, her countenance eloquent of dismay. "Yer not gwine heah him!" she reiterated, her voice rising to a higher pitch.
"No," Natalia answered, meeting the angry eyes sadly. "I can't do it, Mammy."
"An' he cum all dis way jes' fer yer, and dat de way yer gwine treat him! I calls hit er bu'nin' shame!"
The old slave's temper gained control of her, and in her impatience she frowned darkly upon Natalia.
"He will never know, Mammy." She questioned the words as she spoke them. "He would not see me if I were there."
"He'd see yer and he'd know ef yer wuzn' dar. Ef yer don' go, I'se gwine back ter him."
"You can't go back to him, Mammy. You belong to me, now."
"Cose I does, honey." Dicey's voice softened as her anger ebbed.
"But I wants yer ter go. He wants yer ter go, too, I know he does."
"Mammy," Natalia said, lying perfectly still, her eyes staring into Dicey's. "Do you know why he is doing all this for me?"
"Cose I does. Hit's 'cause he lubs yer."
"Yes, that's it, Mammy. But what have I done for him? What right have I to demand all this from him? What have I done to deserve it? What can I do now—"
She ended abruptly, turning away and burying her face in the pillows. It was then that Dicey sat down on the bed and leaned close to her, her eyes suddenly ablaze with a great hope.
"You'se gwine ter heah him, honey," she said, after a long pause, during which she viewed the situation in her mind, seeking through channels of thought to find the road that would lead towards the goal she had been planning. "You'se gwine ter heah him, 'cause ef you'se gwine way ter-morrow hit'll be de las' chance yer'll git ter heah him. Yer see, don' yer, dat yer bettah see him dis one las' time—dis one las' time."
Natalia moved suddenly and sat up; resting her hands for a moment on the side of the bed, as if still undecided, she finally put her feet to the floor and faced Dicey.
"I believe you are right, Mammy," she said thoughtfully. "It is the last time I shall ever hear him or see him. If I only had the courage—"
Downstairs she found Mrs. Houston standing in the midst of boxes and packing materials. Judge Houston had told her the night before of Morgan's desire to leave on the first boat. Seeing the wisdom in such a step he had advised his wife to go on with the preparations for departure as if everything were already decided. So great was the confidence of this old couple in Sargent's ability, that they could conceive of no outcome of the trial other than they had planned.
When Natalia had gone out on the back veranda, she went directly up to the old lady and kissed her. There were no words either of them could find to say. Mrs. Houston went back to her work, wrapping each article with the precise care of a vain housewife.
"I am nearly through," she said at last. "Almost all of the wedding presents are packed—except the peacock." She attempted a smile, and failed sadly. "Of course you do not want to take him with you."
Natalia turned away quickly.
"I don't want to take any of them, Aunt Maria," she said, tears coming into her eyes. "I don't want to go away. It has all been terrible—these last days—but I still love this old place better than any in the world. But I must do it for Morgan's sake. He would be miserable here."
The old lady put down her package carefully, then went to Natalia and gathered her in her arms.
"You'll forget all about it after a while," she said gently. "And some day you both will be coming back here, happier than ever. Now tell me," wiping her eyes and returning to matters of the moment, "when will you be married—to-night or in the morning?"
"To-morrow morning," Natalia answered slowly.
Just then Dicey brought a tray on which a steaming cup of coffee and hot rolls were displayed temptingly.
"Now, you'se got ter drink hit, honey," she insisted, making a great fuss over placing it before Natalia. "'Cause we ain' gwine hab no dinnah, fer de Jedge done jes' send word fer us ter be in town fo' two o'clock."
The Court House yard was crowded. Along the fence and beneath the protection of the trees was the gathering of carriages and wagons which always told that something unusual was taking place within the old brick building.
When the carriage containing Natalia, Millicent and Mrs. Houston had stopped before the gate, Natalia looked silently at the building, feeling almost as if she were viewing it through the eyes of another person. That within it, her lover was being tried for his life, and defended by the man who had given up everything for her, seemed to enhance the feeling of aloofness and helplessness which had taken possession of her since the day before. She felt that she no longer lived in the same sphere with those about her; that she had reached a vague, uninhabited world where her surroundings were only dreams and weirdly haunting words and fiery tongues of conscience that moved in an endless circle and crushed her with their fearful cries.
She had not heard the words addressed to her during the long drive; and it was only when Judge Houston came towards the carriage and spoke to them, that she awakened from the lethargy. Even then, as he told her that it was time to go into the court room, she seemed to be only half conscious of his words.
"Give me your hand, Natalia," the old gentleman said, standing beside the carriage. Mrs. Houston and Millicent were already on the sidewalk.
Natalia looked at him a moment, then glanced beyond to the building where people were banked in the windows. Within, she easily imagined the sea of faces.
"Uncle Felix," she cried, shrinking back, and covering her face with her hands. "I can't go. It would be fearful to see Morgan there, before that crowd. I could not bear it! Let me stay here and wait, but tell him I am here, near him!"
The old gentleman looked at the others, perplexed. Without a word, Mrs. Houston stepped back into the carriage and took her seat beside Natalia.
"I shall stay with her," she said.. "You all go in. We will be waiting for you over there—under that tree. Don't wait a minute to come to us, when you know," she added with a quick anxious look towards her husband.
Zebediah drove a few yards away from the gate, where a great spreading elm cast a protecting shade. They were closer to the building than before, and from where they sat they could easily see into the court room through a wide window. The sounds of the stirring crowd within came to them quite distinctly, particularly as the grounds about the building were deserted for the great interest within.
Mrs. Houston, alert and keen to see all that was taking place, sat bolt upright, one hand on Natalia's, the other moving with nervous jerks as she swayed a large palmetto fan. Natalia was in the same position as when she had shrunk back from Judge Houston—both hands covering her face while she huddled pitifully against the cushions.
A half hour passed, with the sound of monotonous voices floating out to them. The murmur of some one reading seemed endless. Then came a long pause. Mrs. Houston suddenly leaned forward and listened.
"Sargent is speaking—at last!" she whispered. "Listen! Listen!"
Natalia lowered her hands slowly from her face. At first she heard only a slight rippling of the leaves of the tree above her, then, on the stillness of the summer day, the sound of a voice drifted towards her—a voice she had heard years and years ago. Her hand tightened on Mrs. Houston's. Suddenly she stood up and stepped out of the carriage.
"Where are you going, Natalia?" Mrs. Houston cried after her.
Without answering she walked to the gate and went rapidly up the walk. Reaching the steps to the main door, she seemed to change her mind quickly and went along the side of the building until she was just beneath an open window. Here she sank behind the protection of a shrub, and sat perfectly still.
The voice that had drawn her was very near now. She could hear the words distinctly; they came in a steady stream, mellow, soft, fluent.
At first she attempted to follow the words, vainly trying to force her thoughts into a comprehension of the reasoning employed. She soon found that useless; and with a long sigh in which a deep contentment enveloped her, she abandoned herself to the luxury of listening only to the music of the voice. It was sweet and clear like the ringing of silver bells in the early morning; it was deep and modulated and resounding, like the veiled diapason of a Cathedral organ; it was winning and gentle and fresh, bringing to her in some indefinable way, the faint fragrance of delicate flowers.
Suddenly the years dropped away. It was all a dream—her thinking she was really grown. She was sitting on the terrace under the big magnolia tree and the schoolmaster was reading to her. It was such a very sad story he was reading; she could hardly keep back the tears, for it was all about some poor lady who sewed all day on her dress and had to spend the night ripping it. She had cried, she remembered now; and when he had asked her why, she had been so ashamed and said it was because she hated her frock so—a red and purple poplin that had come all the way from Boston. And then they were sitting there again, one cold winter afternoon, and were watching the sun sink behind the black, frosty lowlands. She had asked him why the Indians had called it the Land of the Setting Sun, and he had told her wonderful stories of a race that had inhabited all this country and were forced, step by step, to go out into that distant wilderness where the sun set every night. Trifling incidents crowded one upon the other, accentuating the reality of the vision, until she suffered as keenly, throbbed with as great a joy, as she had in living those days.
A slight pause came.
Then the flowing words continued. But in that moment the dreams had vanished. She knew now what the voice meant. It was fighting for her lover's life, her happiness. Her whole future was dependent on its continuance, its force, its compelling magnetism. She felt it now in every fibre of her being. It filled her with an indefinable happiness. She understood so well what it meant; it was the full glory of his love. She was satisfied now that he had carried her to that dizzy height with him. She would never forget; it would be with her for ever. In that lay its transcendent beauty. Through its divinity it would become eternal.
Suddenly the music ceased. She looked up. Mrs. Houston was leaning over her and saying something. Finally she understood the words:
"His speech is over. Come back to the carriage with me."
She rose from the ground and walked unsteadily back to the carriage. In a few minutes Judge Houston and Millicent had joined them.
"Would you prefer to wait at my house?" she heard him asking. "The speech for the prosecution will last about an hour, I suppose. After that we don't know how long the jury will take."
"Let us stay here," Natalia answered in a voice that did not seem her own. "I shall be nearer Morgan. It would be deserting him to go away."
"Very well, my dear. I shall come to you as soon as I know the verdict."
An hour more, with the sound of other voices. Endless arguments and set phrases and instructions to twelve men who had already reached a decision. Evening came on gradually, the trees grew dark and began their twilight whispers; negroes began to harness their horses to the wagons, coachmen straightened up and roused their teams; the air grew charged with expectancy. There was a deathly, waiting stillness. The case was before the jury. Natalia grasped Mr. Houston's hand.
"How much longer?" she asked. "How much longer, Aunt Maria?"
"The speeches are evidently finished, Natalia. We have not heard any voices for a good while."
"Then the end is nearly here?"
The old lady smiled, reassuringly.
"I believe we shall all be happy in a very few minutes."
Suddenly Millicent stood up in the carriage.
"Here comes Judge Houston!" she cried, her voice shaking a little. "Oh! he is smiling! I can see him from here. Look, Natalia! Don't you see? Morgan is free! There he is—coming to us now!"