“Listen! What is that?”

A low rumble of voices was heard, coming from the rear of Grantly.

“Could it be the dancers coming home?” suggested Helen.

“No, not from that direction!”

The rumble increased to a roar, low but continuous. Evidently a great many persons were talking or muttering and they were getting closer and closer.

“Let’s have a light, so we kin see!” said a voice louder and clearer than the rest, and then there was a guffaw from many throats.

“A lot of darkies!” gasped Helen. “What can they be doing here?”

“You go inside and I’ll see,” commanded the young man.

“I’ll do no such thing! I’ll go with you and see. If I go in the house again I’ll wake Miss Ella and Miss Louise up, and you said yourself that it was most important for them to have a night of unbroken rest.”

“Helen, I insist!”

“But I’m not going to be sent back in the house while you go get shot up or something, so there!”

“Shot up! The idea! It is nothing but some late revelers going home. Perhaps the darkies have been having a ball somewhere, too.”

“Perhaps, but they have no business coming through Grantly.”

There was a hoarse shout from the rear and suddenly a light shot up into the sky.

“The straw stack! They are burning the straw stack!” cried Helen.

George Wright quietly opened the great front door and picking Helen up in his arms, carried her into the hall. He put her down and hastily closed the door. Helen heard the great brass key turn in the lock.

It was very dark in the hall. She groped her way along the wall. It was all she could do to keep from screaming, but remembering her two old friends, now no doubt peacefully snoozing, she held herself in check. Suddenly she bumped square into the telephone.

“I’ll give a hurry call for the whole neighborhood,” she cried, and no sooner thought than done. It was said afterwards that no such ringing of a ’phone had ever been heard before in the county.

“Grantly on fire and a great crowd of negro brutes in the yard!” was the message that was sent abroad.

The two old ladies slept peacefully on. Helen could hear the deep stertorous snore, Miss Louise’s specialty, and the high steam-whistle pipe that Miss Ella was given to.

“I can’t stand this!” cried the girl. “They may be killing him this minute; and he expects me to stay shut up in this house while he gets shot to death!”

She felt her way back to the kitchen where she could see well enough, thanks to the fire that the desperadoes had kindled. She cautiously unlocked the door and stepped out on the back porch.

The negroes were dancing around the burning stack, led by a tall gangling man whom Helen recognized as Tempy’s slue-footed admirer, James Hanks. Some of them seemed to be rather the worse for drink, and all of them were wild-eyed and excited-looking.

“Come on, gent’men!” cried the leader. “Let’s git our loot while we’s got light a-plenty. The ol’ tabbies is safe at the count’s ball, safe an’ stuffin’.”

There was a shout of laughter at this witticism. Helen was trembling with fright, but not fright for herself. The dear old ladies were uppermost in her mind, and the doctor! Her doctor! Where was he? Would he tackle all of those crazy, half-drunk brutes single-handed and not even armed?

A sudden thought came to her. She slipped back into the kitchen. Remembering the box tacked to the wall, just over the kerosene stove where the matches were kept, she felt along the wall until her hand touched it. Then armed with these matches she crept back through the house to the great parlor where the trophies of the dead and gone great-uncle, the traveler in the Orient, were. She cautiously struck a match, thankful that the parlor was on the other side of the house from the fire, and seized at random what old arms she could lay her hands on: a great sword, that Richard the Lion-Hearted might have wielded, an Arabian scimiter and a light, curiously wrought shield. The sword was heavy but she managed to stagger along the hall with her load.

“Now remember, friends an’ citizens!” James Hanks was saying as he harangued the crowd. “This here prop’ty by rights b’longs to us. Ain’t we an’ our fo’bars done worked this here lan’ from time in memoriam? Ain’t we tilled the sile an’ hoed the craps fur these ol’ tabbies an’ what is we got to show fur it? Nothin’! Nothin’, I say! All we is a-doin’ on this sacred night is takin’ what is ourn. ’Tain’t meet nor right fur two ol’ women to hab control of all these fair lands, livin’ in luxry, wallowin’ in honey an’ rollin’ in butter, while we colored ladies an’ gent’men is fo’ced to habit pig stys an’ thankful to git sorghum an’ drippin’s. Don’t none of you go into this here undertakin’ ’thout you is satisfied you is actin’ up to principles. All what considers it they bounden duty to git back what is by rights theirn, jes’ step forward.”

Helen counted fifteen men as they reeled forward.

Where was Dr. Wright? Was he hearing the speech that the perfidious James was making? And the old ladies—were they still sleeping? The back porch was littered up with various barrels and boxes, and behind these Helen crouched. Of course she realized that the darkies thought that Grantly was empty and that they intended to break in and take what treasures they could find. Would they be scared off when they found someone was in the house, or would they feel that they had gone too far to retreat in their infamous undertaking? Whatever was to be the outcome, she must find the doctor and help him, die by his side if necessary.

What an ending to the ball, the ball where she had danced so gaily and happily! Had they missed them yet? She had not been able to tell what ’phones had answered her hurry call. She had only known that several persons got on the line and that her message had reached some ears, but whose she could not say.

The mob had started towards the front.

“Yes, we’ll go in the front way, now an’ ever after,” growled the leader. “Only las’ week that ol’ skinny Ella done driv me to the back do’. I come up the front way jes’ to tes’ her an’ she sent me roun’ to the back jes’ lak some dog. Whin we gits through, I reckon she’ll be glad enough if she’s got a back do’ to go in.”

Helen waited to hear no more but streaked around the opposite side of the house, bearing her ancient weapons. Peeping through the railing of the great gallery in front she espied George Wright calmly standing in the doorway which was flooded with moonlight.