As she turned from the sleeping child, there was a commotion outside her door, a sharp rap. She threw it open. Dido stood there panting from the exertion of climbing the kitchen stairs. Her fat face glistened with excited fear. 'Somebody comin' in boat acrost the creek, Mistiss. Hector gone see'urn. Muss be bad news, anybody come dis time night in fog. Enty?'

Theo's mouth went dry. Bad news—yes. It could be nothing else. She went to the window. Dimly through the gray mist she could see the flare of torches down by the landing. 'Go and see that we have refreshment to offer—whoever it is,' she said hiding her disquiet. Even Dido would blow up into hysterical panic if given the slightest chance.

Dido waddled off. Theo flung an embroidered blue shawl over her informal gown, and as she ran out on the porch, she heard a familiar voice calling, 'Theo.'

'Here I am, Joseph,' she answered into the fog. Relief and anticlimax smote her at once. That was why she had not heard from him; he had been on his way. After all, her uneasiness had been ridiculous.

He stamped up the steps, embracing her briefly.

'I'm delighted to sec you,' she said, smiling. 'I had worried at not hearing from you; it never occurred to me that you might be on your way. I thought the legislature was to keep you in Columbia.'

'It should have,' he answered glumly.

She was puzzled by his manner, which seemed even more than normally brusque and ill at ease. His clothes were stained and wrinkled as though they had not been off him for days.

'What is it?' she asked, with renewed fear. 'Has something happened?'

Joseph tugged at his whiskers in the habitual gesture which indicated that he was uncertain of his course. 'There is news, yes—but it will keep until I've eaten. I'm famished. Can that damned Dido produce anything palatable?'

'Certainly.'

She clapped her hands, and when Cupid appeared, gave him hurried orders. 'Some corn pone, a few slices of ham, perhaps some boiled shrimp with the rice, and make some negus for your master. He's chilled through.'

She came back to Joseph, clasping his arm urgently. 'Now tell me, please. What is the trouble?'

Joseph moved uneasily, averting his face from her anxious scrutiny. He had made careful plans for telling her tactfully, but could remember none of them.

'It's your father,' he blurted out, and then cursed himself as he saw the blood drain from her face, leaving it gray. Her hand dropped limp from his arm.

'He's—he's ill,' she whispered. 'Or—or worse. For Heaven's sake, Joseph, can't you speak?'

'I'm trying to. He's not ill. Hi is in perfect health.'