Marie glared at her a few seconds, then stamping her foot, cried, “How dare you, you so wicked mamma! Stop, now! Stop, I say; you make lies every day, you do. Go do your hair up right, and sit in the parlor and make lies, and let me find my dear Dinah. Cawie, will help me!” and as she got through the door and into the dew-wet garden, Mrs. Tyler cried out: “She’s all right, she is in--in--the oven getting dry. You can have her soon, only my angel, come and get dressed now!”
But, with a cry of delight, her angel tore out of her hands and darted into the kitchen, and before Mrs. Tyler could signal, much less speak to Norah, Marie cried: “Norah, what’s in the oven?” and that honest bond-maiden answered, “Nothin’, Miss, its not hot enough for biscuit, see!” and she threw open the door, and into its black maw disappeared the child’s bright hopes. She stood quite still, and looked first at one and then at another. I was crying quietly, but I watched her and saw her face growing paler and paler. At last she took a fold of my mother’s dress in her hand and said: “Auntie, is my Dinah dead?”
Before she could lift her bent head to answer, Norah, with a mighty roar, burst forth: “She is, Miss, she’s dead and killed, and all tored up, and there’s nothing left of her!”
Poor, little soul! Both hands clasped convulsively. That curious quiver came to her eyelids, and the movement in her slender throat showed that she swallowed dryly at something--sorrow is always so hard to swallow! Then she flung out her arms, and giving a cry that pierced like a knife, she flung herself out of the kitchen, and, of all, places in the house, made straight for the dark store-room, off the dining-room; she who feared but two things, lightning and utter darkness, now sought the latter, and closed the door behind her, where we heard her little hands feeling for some catch or bolt to fasten it, but luckily, there was none. Mrs. Tyler was nearly wild; the pantry was very small, utterly dark, and nearly airless. In it were kept barrels of flour and sugar, boxes of tea and bags of coffee, and closed, it was black as night. She prayed, pleaded, flattered, promised, and to each prayer came a kick at the door, and the threat, “If you touch the door, I’ll make me dead! I will! I will!”