"What is it, Miss Betty? What's the matter?" asked Hannibal as
they fled panting up the terraces.
"I don't know--only we must get away from here just as soon as we
can!" Then, seeing the look of alarm on the child's face, she
added more quietly, "Don't be frightened, dear, only we must go
away from Belle Plain at once." But where they were to go, she
had not considered.
Reaching the house, they stole up to Betty's room. Her
well-filled purse was the important thing; that, together with
some necessary clothing, went into a small hand-bag.
"You must carry this, Hannibal; if any one sees us leave the
house they'll think it something you are taking away," she
explained. Hannibal nodded understandingly.
"Don't you trust your niggers, Miss Betty?" he whispered as they
went from the room.
"I only trust you, dear!"
"What makes you go? Was it something that woman told you? Are
they coming after us, Miss Betty? Is it Captain Murrell?"
"Captain Murrell?" There was less of mystery now, but more of
terror, and her hand stole up to her heart, and, white and slim,
rested against the black fabric of her dress.
"Don't you be scared, Miss Betty!" said Hannibal.
They went silently from the house and again crossed the lawn to
the terrace. Under the leafy arch which canopied them there was
already the deep purple of twilight.
"Do you reckon it were Captain Murrell shot Mr. Norton, Miss
Betty?" asked Hannibal in a shuddering whisper.
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