At last Othello arrived and made the circle complete. A great, shiny creature, uglier than a mortal easily can be, at whom Miss Dinah cast admiring glances, and did the fascinating in a way which Clo copied on the instant.

Dolf reminded her of the chicken, and proposed making a bowl of flip while she cooked the fowl, an idea which received unanimous approval.

They were gathered about the supper-table, Dolf was carver, and managed to secure an unfair portion of the delicate bits, proposing all sorts of trifles to suit Othello's palate, and then devouring them before the unfortunate creature could get more than a look at the dainties.

Othello was giving an account of his labors during the evening, and from his story it was quite evident that he had been the most important personage in the assembly, and Dinah shone like a bronze Venus with the triumph in his success.

"Oh, laws!" said he, suddenly; "I quite forgot!"

"What, what?" they asked.

"Why, what Mr. Moseby said. 'Spec it don't consarn nobody here; only, as Miss Clorindy's a lady of property, she naterally feels interested in what happens to oder folks wid fortins."

Clo bridled, and Dolf said majestically, feeling that he had already a share in her wealth:

"In course, in course; perceed, Mr. Othello."

"Wal, yer see the gemmen was talkin' 'bout de banks—I didn't hear de beginning, 'cause dat boy, Pete Hopkins, let de punch glasses fall, and I was a fixin' him."

"Did it break 'em?" cried Dinah, feeling an interest in the details not shared by the others.

"Only two. I gave him six cracks for each—the little limb!"

"Wal, 'bout de bank," said Dolf, impatiently.

"Yes, dat's what I'm gwine to tell. Mr. Moseby, he said—you know him—dat tall man——"

"Laws, we know him well 'nuff," said Vic. "Go on if you're gwine to."

Dinah looked reproachfully at her, and Othello continued:

"Mr. Moseby—he said de Trader's Bank had blowed all to smash—clean up."

A scream from Clorinda brought them all to their feet.

"Massy sakes," cried Vic; "what is it?"

"Have yer got fits?" demanded Dinah.

"Bring de peppermint," suggested Othello.

"Miss Clorindy, dear Miss Clorindy, what am it?" cried Dolf, with a sudden sinking at his heart.

Clo would have had hysterics, but not being a fine lady, she gave two or three yells, kicked the table, pulled her frizzed hair, and shouted, amid her tears:

"You Sally, git my bunnit—quick!"

She rose, and they crowded about her.

"Whar be you gwine? What's up?"

"Git my bunnit!" she repeated. "Ise gwine to York, I is."

"To York, this time o' night?" cried Vic.

"Yes, I is—let me go."

Dolf laid a hand on her arm.

"Only 'splain, Clorindy, 'splain!"

"Ise gwine to git at dem rascals. I want my money—I'll have it! Marster shall git it. Oh de villin scampsesses! I want my money."

Dolf dropped speechless in a chair, while the rest poured out floods of questions, which Clorinda was in no state to answer.

"Was yer money in dat bank?"

"Ise gwine to York; get my bunnit!"

They fairly shook her, the general curiosity was so great.

"Why don't yer speak?" said Vic. "Was yer money in de bank?"

"Yis; ebery red cent. Oh! oh! Five hundred dollars—and it's a—all g—gone!" she sobbed. "I'll hev it! I'll hev it! Call marster! Git my bunnit. Oh! oh!"

They made her sit down, they explained to her that nothing could be done until the next day, and finally she subsided into silent tears. All this while Dolf sat without offering one word of consolation; now he said:

"Mebby dar's some mistake, Othello."

"No, dar ain't," persisted Othello. "Mr. Moseby's lost ten thousand dollars; he'd orter know. De bank's gone to smash, clar nuff."

Clo burst into a new paroxysm of distress, and Dolf, after a brief struggle with his own disappointment, turned on her:

"Yer needn't rouse de house wid yer hurlyburly," said he, savagely. "Better 'member Miss Elsie's sick."

Clo stared at him in tearless horror; a new fear struck her; was he going to prove false?

"Don't talk so," she said; "tink of yesterday, Dolf!"

Dolf drew himself up, and looked first at her and then at the company with an air of profound astonishment.

"I tink her brain am turned," said he.

"'Taint!" roared Clo. "Oh, Dolfy, yer said yer loved me; yer knows yer did; dat yer didn't care for money; dat I was a Wenus in yer eyes—oh—oh!"

"Wal, I do declar!" cried Vic.

Dolf flew into a great rage.

"Miss Clorindy, yer sorrow makes yer forget yerself; yer've ben a dreaming."

Clo drew her apron from her eyes and looked at him; lightning was gathering there which he would have done well to heed, but he did not.

"Does yer mean that?" she demanded, sternly.

"Sartin, I does."

"Yer denies kneelin' at my feet an' sayin', "Wasn't de onions made yer cry;" a pleadin' and a coaxin' till I 'sented to marry yer."

"In course I does," repeated Dolf, doggedly.

"Take care! Jis' tink!"

"Miss Clo, dis ere ain't decorous; I'se 'stonished at yer!"

With a bound like an unchained tigress Clo sprang at him. Dolf dodged, ran behind the startled group, in and out among the chairs, through the kitchen, back again, and Clo at his heels. She had caught up a broom; once or twice she managed to hit him, and her sobs of rage mingled with Dolf's cries of distress.

"Take her off," he shrieked; "ketch a hold of her!"

"I'll kill him," shouted Clo. "I'll break every bone in his 'fernal body! Oh, yer varmint, yer cattle!"

They laid hands on Clorinda at length, though it was a difficult operation; and Dolf took refuge behind a great chair, peeping through the slats at the back, with his eyes rolling and his teeth chattering like some frightened monkey in a cage.

The women were consoling and blaming Clo; Vic divided between conviction and anger, and Othello, like a sensible man, siding neither way.

Suddenly they were roused by a prolonged cry from the floor above, a cry so shrill and unearthly that it froze the blood in their veins. In an instant there followed a loud knocking at the outer door, and forgetful of their own troubles, they crowded together like a flock of frightened crows driven from a cornfield.