Streaks of mud marked the runnels of their
tears down their cheeks.
The shrubbery and weeds that grew alongside the negro thoroughfare were
quite dead. Even the little avenue of dwarf box was withered that led
from the gate to the door of the Dildine home. The two colored men
walked up the little path to the door, knocked, and waited on the steps
for the little skirmish of observation from behind the blinds. None
came. The worst had befallen the house; there was nothing to guard. The
door opened as soon as an inmate could reach it, and Vannie Dildine
stood before them.
The quadroon's eyes were red, and her face had the moist, slightly
swollen appearance that comes of protracted weeping. She looked so frail
and miserable that Peter instinctively stepped inside and took her arm
to assist her in the mere physical effort of standing.
"What is the matter, Mrs. Dildine?" he asked in a shocked tone. "What's
happened to Cissie?"
Vannie began weeping again with a faint gasping and a racking of her
flat chest.
"It's--it's--O-o-oh, Peter!" She put an arm about him and began weeping
against him.
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