"Why do we wait here?" asked Douglas, who was pale as death.

Mrs. Carter had been revived and was lying on a sofa.

"Why, indeed! Let's get in the hay wagon and go," said Nan.

"Who can drive it?"

"I!" cried the redoubtable Mrs. Sutton.

Almost all of the carriages and buggies had been requisitioned by the masculine element but the hay wagon remained and a few other vehicles.

The horses were quickly unblanketed by the women with the help of the waiters. Mrs. Carter and Douglas were the last to leave the house, as the poor nervous lady was kept quiet until they were ready to start.

Just as they were going out the door Douglas heard a violent ringing of the telephone. Knowing the peculiarities of a country connection and its way of ringing at every house, and also knowing that the long, violent, protracted ringing meant emergency of some sort, Douglas ran to answer it. She distinctly heard Helen's voice crying the alarm:

"_Grantly on fire and a great crowd of negro brutes in the yard!_"

"What is it, my dear?" feebly asked Mrs. Carter.

"Nothing at all!" said Douglas calmly. She felt that such a message would only upset her poor mother more, and it was best to keep it locked within her own panting breast.

If any of the persons in that hay wagon should live to be a thousand years old they could never forget that terrible ride over the rough, muddy roads on that twenty-second of February, 1917.

"Look, the moon is up!" whispered Lucy to Mag, both of them remembering the gay ride to the ball only a few hours before and how they had remarked that it would be so jolly going back because the moon would be up.

"Something's on fire!" someone cried, and then the heavens were lit by the burning straw stack. A straw stack can make more light in the sky than a Woolworth building if both should be set afire; but the straw burns out so quickly that it is little more than a flash in the pan.

Mrs. Sutton proved a famous Jehu. She managed her team quite as well as Billy. Nan sat up on the high seat by her, looking with admiration at the strong, capable hands.

"Do you think they will be in time?" Nan whispered to her valiant companion.

"Sure they will, my dear! They are there by this time and I believe that fire is nothing but a straw stack. Look, even now how it is dying down!

Poor Miss Ella and Miss Louise! They seem to have the faculty of not getting along with the darkies. They are as kind as can be to them when they are sick or in want, but they always have an overbearing manner with them when they are well. I wonder what that girl meant by saying she had done just as Helen had told her."

"I don't know. Helen has been so patient with Chloe and has really made a pretty good cook of her. She simply adores Helen. She comes to her with all kinds of questions to answer and problems of life to solve. Do you think these colored men would want to kill Helen just because they are angry with the Misses Grant?"

"No, my dear, I don't think these colored men would want to kill anybody. G.o.d grant they are not drunk! That is the only danger I am fearing. I am not afraid of any sober negro alive, but a drunken one is to be avoided like a rattlesnake."

"Well, Mrs. Sutton, I just feel somehow that G.o.d and Dr. Wright are going to take care of Helen,--and Miss Ella and Miss Louise, too."

"I am sure of it, my dear. I am so sure of it that I am thanking G.o.d for having sent Dr. Wright and Helen to Grantly,--otherwise the poor, foolish old ladies might have been found there by the darkies when they expected the house to be empty, with everyone gone to the ball, and then there is no telling what would have happened." Mrs. Sutton shuddered as though she were cold.

"I keep on thinking of Dr. Wright's face,--his keen blue eyes and his jaw,--somehow, I believe that jaw will pull them out safely."

CHAPTER XXI

THE FLAMING SWORD

And what a time we have had to keep Helen peeping through the railings at Dr. Wright as he stood in the brilliant moonlight on the gallery at Grantly, while the crazed mob of darkies advanced jauntily to the front of the old mansion! It was their intention to enter and claim the spoils thereof: treasures that they had begun to think belonged to them by reason of their long service and the service of their fathers and fathers' fathers.

Confident that the mansion was empty, they made no endeavor to be quiet.

All the white folks for miles and miles around were feasting at the count's ball; as for the burning rick,--they had not thought that the fire would do more than warm things up for their deed.

"Now fur the loot!" cried James Hanks. "An' we mus' hurry up, 'cause whin the ol' tabbies gits home from the ball they mus'n't be hide or har of the house lef' standin'."

"Bus' open the bar'l er coal ile!" suggested one black brute, "so's we can pour her on."

"They keep the coal ile in the woodshed," a little bandy-legged man remarked.

"Now see hyar! Befo' we enter this here domicyle, they's to be a reg'lar understandin' 'bout the findin's," continued James Hanks. "The money is to be 'vided ekal an' the silvo and chino an' other little value bowles is to be portioned out 'cordin' to they valubility."

"Sho'! Sho'! We's all 'greed to that!" came in a chorus.

"I goes fust, as the man 'pinted by Gawd as yo' leader."

As James Hanks started up the broad steps he was dumfounded when Dr.

Wright came forward. He retreated down the steps and the crowd of darkies behind him surged backward.

"What is it you want?" asked the young physician quite simply, in a voice as cool and natural as though he were a soda clerk dealing out soft drinks.

"We--er--we--we didn't know any of the white folks was in."

"Exactly!" and Dr. Wright came closer to the nonplussed darky. "Perhaps G.o.d has appointed me to defend this home."

"We is hyar fur our rights," came from the extreme edge of the crowd in a growling voice.

"Your rights!"

"Yessah!" and James Hanks spoke up more bravely, emboldened by the support he felt the crowd was able to give him.

"Aw go on, Jeemes! He ain't even armed," cried the black brute who had been so free in his suggestions about breaking open the barrel of kerosene. "Gawd wouldn't send n.o.body 'thout even a razor."

Helen saw the crowd pushing forward. She felt a choking in her throat and loosened the cord that fastened her evening wrap. The heavy cape and hood fell to the ground. She was over the railing in a twinkling of an eye, dragging her ancient weapons of offense and defense with her. The hood had loosened her hairpins and now her hair fell around her shoulders in a heavy shower. She ran along the gallery, dragging the sword with one hand and with the other clutching the shield and scimiter. Without a word she thrust the great sword in the outstretched hand of the young man.

He looked at her in astonishment and terror. Having locked her in the hall he had thought of course she would remain there. At least, he had so devoutly hoped so that he had made himself believe that was where he would find her when this wretched affair was over.

His face blanched and his knees trembled visibly. The fear that he had not felt for himself was intense for this girl, but he grasped the sword and waved it over the crowd.

At sight of Helen the crowd set up a groan. They sank on their knees or fell p.r.o.ne to the earth. G.o.d had sent an angel of vengeance with a flaming sword for their undoing. Indeed less superst.i.tious persons than those poor darkies might have been startled by the sudden appearance of Helen Carter. Her dress, that Nan had described as like the moon, might well have been the garb of an angel. Her long light brown hair, usually so carefully coiffed but now falling below her waist, added to the make-up, as did also the ancient shield and the crescent scimiter.

With the shield held forward, as though to guard the doctor, and the scimiter raised aloft, she stood gazing on the trembling crowd.

"Gawd save this n.i.g.g.e.r! Gawd save this n.i.g.g.e.r!" cried the abject one with the bandy legs.

"A angel of destruction, carryin' a flamin' sword! Lemme git out'n this!" wailed another.