irritable, and seemed determined
not to be pleased with any thing they could do for her.

"Where is your mistress?" she asked at length. "Pretty manners she has,
to leave a suffering guest to the sole care of servants."

"Yes, Miss, Ise alluz t'ought Miss Zoe hab pretty manners and a pretty
face," replied Aunt Phillis; "but dere is ladies what habn't none, an'
doan' git pleased wid nuffin' nor nobody, an eayn't stan' no misery
nowhars 'bout deirselves, but jes' keep frettin' and concessantly
displainin' 'bout dis t'ing and dat, like dey hasn't got nuffin' to be
thankful for."

"Impudence!" muttered Miss Deane, her eyes flashing angrily. Then
bidding her attendants be quiet, she settled herself for a nap.

She was waked by a slight bustle in the house, accompanied by sounds as
if a number of men were carrying a heavy burden through the
entrance-hall, and up the wide stairway leading to the second story.

"What's the matter? What's going on? Has any thing happened?" she asked,
starting up to a sitting posture.

Christine had risen to her feet, pale and trembling, and stood listening
intently.

"I must go and see," she said, and hurried from the room, Aunt Phillis
shambling after her in haste and trepidation.

"Stay!" cried Miss Deane: "don't leave me alone. What are you thinking
of?"

But they were already out of hearing. "I was never so shamefully treated
anywhere as I am here," muttered the angry lady, sinking back upon her
pillows. "I'll leave this house to-morrow, if it is a possible thing,
and never darken its doors again."

Listening again, she thought she heard sounds of grief, sobbing and
wailing, groans and sighs.

She was by no means deficient in curiosity, and it was exceedingly
trying to be compelled to lie there in doubt and suspense.

The time seemed very much longer than it really was before Aunt Phillis
came back, sobbing, and wiping her eyes on her apron.

"What is the matter?" asked Miss Deane impatiently.

"Dere's--dere's been a awful commission on de railroad," sobbed Aunt
Phillis; "and Marse Ed'ard's 'most killed."

"Oh, dreadful!" cried Miss Deane. "Have they sent for his mother?"

Aunt Phillis only shook her head doubtfully, and burst into fresh and
louder sobs.

"Most killed! Dear me!" sighed the lady. "And he was so young and
handsome! It will quite break his mother's heart, I suppose. But she'll
get over it. It takes a vast deal of grief to kill."

"P'raps Marse Ed'ard ain