The kitchen was in darkness, but in the pantry beyond Tant Sannie and her maids were assembled.
A Kaffer girl, who had been grinding pepper between two stones, knelt on the floor, the lean Hottentot stood with a brass candlestick in her hand, and Tant Sannie, near the shelf, with a hand on each hip, was evidently listening intently, as were her companions.
"What may be it ?" cried the old German in astonishment.

The room beyond the pantry was the storeroom.

Through the thin wooden partition there arose at that instant, evidently from some creature ensconced there, a prolonged and prodigious howl, followed by a succession of violent blows against the partition wall.
The German seized the churn-stick, and was about to rush round the house, when the Boer-woman impressively laid her hand upon his arm.
"That is his head," said Tant Sannie, "that is his head." "But what might it be ?" asked the German, looking from one to the other, churn-stick in hand.
A low hollow bellow prevented reply, and the voice of Bonaparte lifted itself on high.
"Mary-Ann! my angel! my wife!" "Isn't it dreadful ?" said Tant Sannie, as the blows were repeated fiercely.

"He has got a letter; his wife is dead.

You must go and comfort him," said Tant Sannie at last, "and I will go with you.