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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..acc2ecc --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55189 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55189) diff --git a/old/55189-8.txt b/old/55189-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 87ca1b8..0000000 --- a/old/55189-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8178 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Summit House Mystery, by L. Dougall - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Summit House Mystery - The Earthly Purgatory - -Author: L. Dougall - -Release Date: July 24, 2017 [EBook #55189] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SUMMIT HOUSE MYSTERY *** - - - - -Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -THE SUMMIT HOUSE MYSTERY -OR -THE EARTHLY PURGATORY - -BY -L. DOUGALL - -Author of -"Beggars All," "The Madonna of a Day," "The Zeit-Geist," etc. - -[Illustration: Logo] - -FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY -NEW YORK and LONDON -1905 - - -COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY -FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY -[Printed in the United States of America] - -_Published, March, 1905_ - - - - -PUBLISHERS' INTRODUCTORY NOTE - - -"The story's the thing" is a creed to which novel readers are supposed -to give unanimous adherence. Art, literary style, study of character, -and other of the higher, subtler elements of fiction, good as they are -acknowledged to be, must yield first place to "the story," and -afterwards shift for themselves the best way they may. How many -so-called novel readers adhere to this creed is a matter of -question--probably not as many as its exponents believe. Unquestionably -there are two forms of fiction--the one in which art, and style, and -character are pre-eminent, and control the course of the story, and the -one in which "the story's the thing," and often the only thing. But why -should not these two forms of fiction be blended? Why should not the art -of George Eliot or Mr. Meredith be wedded to the thrilling action and -absorbing mystery of Anthony Hope and Sir A. Conan Doyle? - -In this story, "The Summit House Mystery," Miss Dougall has illustrated -so well the possibilities of combining an exciting story with the charm -of real literary art, that it must be considered as a model for a better -school of popular fiction. In substance and in form it is unusually -satisfying. The mystery with which it deals is so impenetrable as to -baffle the cleverest reader until the very sentence in which, literally -in a flash of light, the secret is revealed; yet from the beginning the -story progresses steadily, logically, and without straining or -melodramatic claptrap, to the inevitable solution. It is not, in the -ordinary sense, a detective story, altho the two elements of concealment -and search are present. It is not a "love story," but love, of the -noblest order, supplies the cause and the support of the terrible -mystery throughout the book. It is, as one has aptly said, a story of -mystery "into which a soul has been infused." The rare distinction of -its style and the beauty of its language place it far above stories of -its class. A wonderful setting is given, high up on the summit of Deer -Mountain, in Georgia, and the story seems to take on a quiet dignity, as -well as a deeper atmosphere of mystery, from the lofty solitude. Seldom -have the beauties of the mountains, "in all their varying moods of -cloud, and mist, and glorious night," been painted in truer colors. "The -Summit House Mystery" must inevitably set a higher standard for such -novels, and the public will thus gain more than this one good story if -it shall have, as it deserves, an immense popular success. - - - - -CONTENTS - - -CHAP. PAGE - I. A Hut in the Precipice 9 - - II. The Unwelcome Guest 17 - - III. A Strange Dismissal 24 - - IV. The Hostess Jailer 28 - - V. The Northern Ladies 33 - - VI. Events on Deer Mountain 39 - - VII. The Godson Possibility 45 - - VIII. The Wordless Letters 56 - - IX. The Spectre in the Forest 67 - - X. A Skeleton in the Fire 75 - - XI. The Mysterious 'Dolphus 82 - - XII. The Secret of the Oak 88 - - XIII. A Sob in the Dark 98 - - XIV. The Going Out of Eve 104 - - XV. The Question of Guilt 109 - - XVI. A Call for Help 119 - - XVII. Hermione's Advocate 125 - - XVIII. A Startling Disclosure 132 - - XIX. Tangled in the Coil 140 - - XX. The Terrible Confession 146 - - XXI. Opening the Past 153 - - XXII. The Earthly Purgatory 169 - - XXIII. What 'Dolphus Knows 180 - - XXIV. The Woman with a Secret 189 - - XXV. Lost in the Maze 205 - - XXVI. A Tortured Conscience 217 - - XXVII. A Hound on the Scent 229 - -XXVIII. Probing a Deep Wound 238 - - XXIX. Forged Letters 251 - - XXX. The Vision in the Hut 266 - - XXXI. A Flash of Light 289 - - XXXII. What a Terrier Found 296 - -XXXIII. The Restoration 307 - - XXXIV. All That Happened 312 - - XXXV. Readjustments 323 - - - - -Book I - - -The Summit House Mystery - - - - -Chapter I - -A HUT IN THE PRECIPICE - - -In the southern part of the Appalachian Mountains the tree-clad ridges -fold and coil about one another. In this wooded wilderness the trend of -each slope, the meandering of each stream, take unlooked-for turnings, -and the valleys cross and twist. It is such a region as we often find in -dreams, where the unexpected bars the way or opens out into falling -vistas down which our souls must speed, chasing some hope or chased by -unknown fears. - -On a certain day a man called Neil Durgan passed through the village of -Deer Cove, in the mountains of Northern Georgia. When he had left the -few wooden buildings and the mill round which they clustered, he took a -path by the foaming mill-stream and ascended the mountain of Deer. - -For more than a century before the freeing of the slaves, the Durgans -had been one of the proudest and richest families of Georgia. This man -was the present head of the house, sole heir to the loss of all its -lands and wealth. He was growing old now. Disappointment, Poverty, and -Humility walked with him. Yet Joy, the fugitive, peeped at him through -the leafless forest, from the snow-flakes of the dogwood and from the -violets in the moss, laughed at him in the mountain torrent, and wooed -him with the scent of the warming earth. Humility caught and kissed the -fleeting spirit, and led her also in attendance upon the traveller's -weary feet. - -Deer Cove is more than two thousand feet in altitude; Deer Mountain -rises a thousand feet above. Half-way up, Durgan came to the cabin of a -negro called Adam. According to the usage of the time, the freedman's -surname was Durgan, because he had been born and bred on the Durgan -estates. Adam was a huge black negro. He and Durgan had not met since -they were boys. - -Adam's wife set a good table before the visitor. She was a quadroon, -younger, lithe and attractive. Both stood and watched Durgan eat--Adam -dumb with pleasure, the negress talking at times with such quick rushes -of soft words that attentive listening was necessary. - -"Yes, Marse Neil, suh; these ladies as lives up here on Deer, they's -here for their health--they is. Very nice ladies they is, too; but -they's from the North! They don't know how to treat us niggers right -kind as you does, suh! They's allus for sayin' 'please' an' 'thank 'e,' -and 'splaining perjinks to Adam an' me. But ef you can't board with -these ladies, marsa, ther's no place you can live on Deer--no, there -ain't, suh." - -Durgan had had his table set before the door, and ate looking at the -chaos of valleys, domes, and peaks which, from this height, was open to -the view. The characteristic blue haze of the region was over all. The -lower valleys in tender leaf had a changeful purple shimmer upon them, -as seen in the peacock's plumage. The sun rained down white light from a -fleecy sky. The tree-tops of the slope immediately beneath them were red -with sap. - -After a mood of reflection Durgan said, "You live well. These ladies -must pay you well if you can afford dinners like this." - -"Yes, Marse Neil, suh; they pays better than any in these parts. Miss -Hermie, she's got right smart of sense, too, 'bout money. Miss Birdie, -she's more for animals and flowers an' sich; but they pays well, they -does." - -"Look me out two good men to work with me in the mine, Adam." - -Adam showed his white teeth in respectful joy. "That's all right, suh." - -"Of course, as you are working for these ladies, you will look for my -men in your spare time." - -"That's all right, suh." - -Durgan put down sufficient payment for his food, took up his travelling -satchel, and walked on. From the turn of the rough cart-road on which -the cabin stood the rocky summit was visible, and close below it the -gables of a solitary dwelling. - -"A rough perch for northern birds!" said he to himself, and then was -plunged again in his own affairs. The branches, arching above, shut out -all prospect. He plodded on. - -The upper side of the mountain was a bald wall of rock. Where, part way -up, the zigzag road abutted on this precipice it met a foot-trail to the -summit, and at the same point an outer ledge of flat rock gave access to -an excavation near at hand in the precipice. A wooden hut with a rude -bench at its door stood on the ledge, the only legacy of a former miner. -Durgan perceived that his new sphere was reached. He rested upon the -bench and looked about him wistfully. - -He was a large, well-built man, with patrician cast of feature, brown -skin, and hair that was almost gray. His clothes were beginning to fray -at the edges. They were the clothes of a man of fashion whose pockets -had long been empty. His manner was haughty, but subdued by that subtle -gentleness which failure gives to higher natures. A broken heart, a head -carried high--these evoke compassion which can seldom be expressed. - -He could look over the foot-hills to where cloud-shadows were slowly -sailing upon the blue, billowy reaches of the Georgian plains. In that -horizon, dim with sunlight, Durgan had sucked his silver spoon, and -possessed all that pertains to the lust of the eye and the pride of -life. The cruel war had wrapped him and his in its flames. When it was -over, he had sought relief in speculation, and time had brought the -episode of love. He had fought and lost; he had played and lost; he had -married and lost. Out of war and play and love he had brought only -himself and such a coat as is as much part of a man as its fur is part -of an animal. - -After a while he unfolded a letter already well worn. He read it for the -last time with the fancy that it was well to end the old life where he -hoped to commence the new one. - -The letter was written in New York, and dated a month before. It was -from his wife. - - - "It is very well for you to say that you would not want money from - me if I came to live in the south with you, but I do not believe - you could earn your own living, and it would ill become my social - position to acknowledge a husband who was out at elbows and working - like a convict. I think, too, that it is cant for you to preach to - me and say that 'it would be well for us to try and do better.' Is - it my fault that you have lost all self-respect, refusing to enter - good society, to interest yourself in the arts and all that belongs - to the spiritual side of life? Is it my fault that a spiritually - minded man has given me the sympathy which you cannot even - understand? I desire that you never again express to me your - thoughts about a friendship which is above your comprehension. - - "If your rich cousin will let you delve for him for a pittance I - shall not interfere. I might tell him he could not put his mine - into worse hands! I shall not alter the agreement we made ten years - ago, which is that while you remain at a distance, and refrain from - annoyance, I shall not seek legal separation." - - -The husband looked with a faint smile at the crest of the Durgans on the -fashionable notepaper, at the handwriting in which a resolute effort at -fashion barely concealed a lack of education. In the diction and -orthography he discerned the work of a second mind, and it was with a -puzzled, as well as a troubled air, that he tore the paper into atoms -and let them flutter over the precipice in the soft breeze. But the -puzzle was beyond his reading, and the trouble he cast into the past. -Whatever good he had deserved at the hands of his wife, it was not in -his nature to feel that Providence dealt too hardly with him. As he rose -to examine his new scene of work, the phrase of the huge negro returned -to his mind, and he muttered to himself, "Yes, suh; that's all right!" - -He found a pick and hammer in the shed, and set himself instantly to -break the rock where the vein of mica had already been worked. Weary as -he soon became, he was glad to suppose that, having failed in dealing -with his kind, he must wrestle now only with the solid earth, and in the -peace of the wilderness. - -The angels, looking down upon him, smiled; for they know well that the -warfare of the world is only escaped by selfishness, not by -circumstance. - - - - -Chapter II - -THE UNWELCOME GUEST - - -The sun set glorious over the peaks of the Cherokee ridges, and their -crimson outline lay dark, like a haven for the silver boat of the -descending moon, when Durgan, satchel in hand, climbed the ascending -foot-trail. - -The cart-road evidently reached the summit by further turnings; but this -footpath, wending through close azalea scrub and under trees, emerged -between one gable of the summit house and the higher rocks above it. On -the other three sides of the house its open lands were broad enough. - -This had been the dwelling of the former miner. Durgan, already heralded -by the barking of watch-dogs, could hardly pause to look at a place -which would have been his perquisite had it not been bought at a fancy -price by woman's caprice. - -The low shingled dwelling, weathered and overgrown by vines, was faced -by a long, open porch. Its lawn was already bordered by a fringe of -crocus flowers. The house was old, but, beyond a group of trees, a new -barn and carriage-house were standing. The fences of garden, field, and -meadow were also new. The whole property bore marks of recent -improvements which betokened wealth and taste. - -A prim little lady met Durgan in the porch. Her hair was gray; she wore -a dress of modified fashion. Even the warm glamour of the evening light -and the matchless grace of hanging vines could give but small suggestion -of romance to Miss Smith's neat, angular figure and thin face; but of -her entire goodness Durgan, after the first glance, had never a doubt. -She put on spectacles to read the letter of introduction which he -brought from the owner of Deer Mountain and of the mine. She was -startled by something she read there, but only betrayed her excitement -by a slight trembling, hardly seen. - -The letter read, she greeted Durgan in the neat manner of an established -etiquette which, like her accent, savored of a New England education. - -"Take a chair, for I guess you're tired. Yes, we bought this land from -General Durgan Blount, and, of course, we've had dealing with him. -That's about the extent of our acquaintance." - -She swayed in a light rocking-chair, and for some minutes obviously -thought over the request which the letter contained that she should give -Durgan a temporary home as a paying guest. He employed the time in -looking at books and pictures, which were of no mean quality, but seemed -to have been recently collected. - -At last she said, "Come to think of it, I don't see why you shouldn't -stop with us a while. My sister isn't at home just now, but I guess I'll -say 'Yes.' It isn't good for folks to be too much alone. We've a real -comfortable room over the harness-room in the carriage-house. You'll -have to sleep there, as we've no room in the house, and I guess what we -eat will be good enough." A moment's pause and she added, "My sister -won't be quite agreeable, perhaps, not being accustomed----" - -"Of course, I quite understand, you're not in the habit of doing such -a----" - -"I did not mean that we felt too grand." - -Miss Smith made this answer to his interruption with crisp decision, but -as she did not return to the interrupted subject, he was left -uncertain. - -While she busied herself for his entertainment, Durgan, surprised into -great contentment, sat watching the darkness gather beyond the low -arches of the porch. The room was warmed, and at that hour lit, by logs -blazing in an open chimney. It was furnished with simple comfort and the -material for pleasant occupations. Glass doors stood open to the mild, -still night. The sweet, cool scent of the living forest wandered in to -meet the fragrance of the burning logs. - -There was one uneasy element in Durgan's sense of rest--he dreaded the -advent of the sister who might not be "quite agreeable." - -Out of the gloaming, stooping under the tendrils of the vine, a young -woman came quickly and stopped upon the threshold. She seemed a perfect -type of womanhood, lovely and vigorous. One arm was filled with branches -of dogwood bloom, the other hand held in short leash a mastiff. Her -figure, at once lithe and buxom, her rosy and sun-browned face, soft -lips, aquiline nose, and curly hair gave Durgan sincere astonishment, -altho he had formed no expectation. But his attention was quickly -focussed upon an indescribable depth of hope and fear in her eyes. -Before she spoke he had time to notice more consciously the clear brown -skin, crimson-tinted on the round of the cheek, the nose delicately -formed and curved, and the startled terror and pleading look in her sad -brown eyes. - -The dog, probably at the suggestion of a nervous movement on the leash, -began to growl, and was silenced by a caress as Durgan introduced -himself and explained his errand. - -"It is very late," she said gravely. "It will surely be difficult for -you to find your way down the mountain again." - -"Miss Smith has very kindly acceded to my cousin's request." Durgan -spoke in the soft, haughty tone of reserve which was habitual to him. - -The girl's tone, quick and subdued, had in it the faint echo of a cry. -"Oh, I don't think you would like to stay here. Oh, I don't think -you----" - -Miss Smith came to the door to announce his supper. - -"Mr. Durgan is going to stop a while with us, Bertha. It's no use his -having a mile's climb from the Cove to his work every day--at least not -that I know of. I've been fixing up the room over the carriage-house; I -tell him the barns are a sight better built than the house." - -It appeared to Durgan that she was reasoning with the younger sister as -a too indulgent mother reasons with a spoilt tyrant of the nursery. The -effort seemed successful. - -Without further comment Bertha said, "We bought this old house along -with the ground, but we built the rest. We took great care that they -should be good models for the people here, who are rather in need of -high standards in barns and--other things." - -"In many other things," said Durgan. "I have not been familiar with my -own State since the war, and the poverty and sloth I have seen in the -last few days sadly shocked me." - -Durgan had not of late been accustomed to kindness from women. It was -years since he had eaten and talked with such content as he did that -evening. If his material comforts were due to the essential motherliness -in Miss Smith's nature, it was Bertha's generous beauty and lively mind -that gave the added touch of delight. Miss Smith swayed in her -rocking-chair, her neat feet tapping the ground, and put in shrewd, -kindly remarks; Bertha discussed the prospects of the mine with -well-bred ease. Durgan assumed that, as is often the case in the -Northern States, the growing wealth of the family had bestowed on the -younger a more liberal education than had fallen to the lot of the -elder. At the hour for retiring he felt for them both equal respect and -equal gratitude. - -The stairs to his chamber ran up outside the carriage-house. The room -was pleasant--a rainy-day workroom, containing a divan that had been -converted into a bed. Books, a shaded lamp, even flowers, were there. As -a sick man luxuriates in mere alleviation, as the fugitive basks in -temporary safety, so Durgan, who had resigned himself to the buffets of -fortune, felt unspeakably content with the present prospect of peace. - -He read till late, and, putting out what was by then the only light upon -Deer Mountain, he lay long, watching the far blaze of other worlds -through the high casement. To his surprise he heard an almost noiseless -step come up the stairs; then a breathless listening. He had been given -no key, but one was now gently inserted in the lock and turned from -without. - -Durgan smiled to himself, but the smile grew cynical. - - - - -Chapter III - -A STRANGE DISMISSAL - - -When Durgan woke in the sunshine the door had been unlocked and the key -removed. - -The sisters, and the good cheer they offered, were the same at breakfast -as on the former evening; but the incident of the night had disturbed -Durgan's feeling of respect. - -Adam and his wife were betimes at their work as day servants. They had, -as commanded, brought two negro laborers for the mine. Durgan shouldered -his pick and marched before his men. - -They went by the cart-road, under the arching branches. Suddenly, -through the wood, Bertha appeared, walking alone in the sparkling -morning. It seemed a chance meeting till the negroes had gone on. - -Blushing nervously and very grave, she spoke, begging Durgan to find -another lodging. Her voice, as she gave her reason, faltered. "I am -sure that my sister is not strong enough for the extra care." - -Durgan said within himself that the reason was false. He stiffened -himself to that dull sense of disappointment to which he was accustomed. -"I can only do as you bid me," said he. - -"I am afraid you will need to camp out. Believe me, I am very sorry. My -sister"--again the voice faltered--"is not very strong. She would try to -have visitors for my sake, and so she will not admit that this would be -too much--but----" - -Again Durgan was sure that her reason was in some way false. This woman -was so honest that her very lies were transparent. - -"And so--and on this account, I must ask you, Mr. Durgan, to be good -enough to--conceal from my sister that I have made this request." - -She dropped her eyes in confusion; her face was flushed, her hands -fluttering as she clasped them restlessly; but she was perfectly -resolute. - -About her and above the trees were gray. The dogwood alone held out -horizontal sprays--white flowers veined in bright mahogany. Above, the -sky was blue--a gorgeous blue--and, on a gray bough that hung over, this -hue was seen again where the gay bluebird of the south swelled out its -glossy crimson throat in song. - -As Durgan looked at this beautiful woman and the wild solitude, he felt -as deeply puzzled as annoyed. General Durgan Blount had well remarked, -as he wrote the letter of introduction, that the presence of a gentleman -of Durgan's age and position would certainly appear to be an advantage -in the precincts of the lonely dwelling. - -"May I ask if you have heard anything to my disadvantage?" - -"Oh, nothing! It is for your----" She stopped, her distress growing, but -began again very rapidly. "I know it must seem very strange to you; and -living alone as we do, it is a great thing for us not to appear odd or -strange to anyone. And so--that is the reason I ask you to be so good -as----" - -She paused, raising her sad eyes for an answering flash of sympathy -which his reticence did not give. It was not Durgan's way to give any -play to feeling in manner or tone. - -Then she said impulsively, "I am trusting you. Don't you see I am -trusting you with the secret of my interference? I don't want my sister -to know, and I don't want anyone to know, that I have spoken. Hermie -would be vexed with me, and other people would think it very odd." - -"I thank you for trusting me." - -He was lifting his hat and moving when she stayed him. - -"I hope you believe that I regret this--that I will do all I can to make -your stay on the mountain pleasant for you." - -His eyes twinkled. "Pardon me for thinking that you have done all you -can to make it unpleasant for me. Your house is not a good one to -leave." - -"Still, I hope you will remain our friend, and I beg"--she flushed -scarlet at her reiteration--"I implore you, when you return for your -things, to give my sister no hint that I have interfered, or to speak of -it to your cousin." - -She went back into the woods, her head bowed. Durgan looked after her -with solicitude. - - - - -Chapter IV - -THE HOSTESS JAILER - - -There was one other house nearer to the mine than Deer Cove. A small -farm belonging to "mountain whites" lay on the other side, but cut off -from the road by precipice and torrent. Thither in the early evening -Durgan, by steep detour, bent his way, but found his journey useless. -The family was in excess of the house-room, and the food obviously -unclean. - -More weary with his work than laborer bred to toil can ever be, again in -the gloaming he climbed to the summit of Deer. He began the ascent with -the intention of taking his possessions to the miserable inn at Deer -Cove, but on his way reflected that one night more could make little -difference to the comfort of the sisters. He would speak to Bertha -apart, and ask if he might remain till morning. - -The sisters were found together, and Durgan was dumb. Until he was -confronted with evidence that Bertha had really given no hint to her -sister, he had not realized that, in cancelling the arrangement, much -would devolve on his own tact and readiness of excuse. He grew impatient -of the mystery, ate the supper that Miss Smith's careful housewifery had -prepared, and having no explanation to offer, accepted the early -retirement which her compassion for his evident weariness proposed. As -on the night before, Bertha offered no opposition. - -The work had broken at a touch Durgan's long habit of insomnia. He slept -soon and soundly. - -Waking in the utter silence of the mountain dawn, his brain proceeded to -fresh activities. He reviewed the events of the previous night and -morning with more impartial good-nature. From the picture of Miss -Smith's motherly age, shrewd wit, equable temper, and solid virtues, he -turned to the healthful beauty of the younger sister. He saw again the -interview on the road. How transparent her blushes! How deep the hope -and terror in her eyes! How false the ring of her tone when she murmured -her ostensible excuse! Surely this was a girl who had been sore driven -before she lied or asked secrecy of a stranger! - -He remembered that the first night someone had locked him in. A caged -feeling roused him to see if he were again a prisoner. He rose, tried -the door, and it opened. - -Dark ruby fire of the dawn was kindling behind the eastern peaks. Dark -as negroes' hair lay the heads and shoulders of all the couchant hills. -Their sides were shrouded in moving mists; the valleys were lost; only -in one streak of sky above the ruby dawn had the stars begun to fail. - -He saw a woman's figure crouching on the porch of the dwelling-house. -The wind was moaning. - -The woman was sitting on the low flooring of the porch, her feet on the -ground, her elbows on her knees, her head held forward, her whole -attitude indicative of watching. He thought she slept at her post or -else the wind and darkness covered his slight movement of the door. - -Either someone was in great need of compassion, perhaps help, or he was -outraged by a surveillance which merited displeasure. He awaited the -swift daybreak of the region. Every moment light increased visibly. - -When the mists, like white sea-horses, were seen romping down the -highways of the valleys; when the tree-tops were seen tossing and the -eastern sky was fleeced with pink, as if the petals of some gigantic -rose were shaken out, Durgan went across the grass and confronted Bertha -before she could retire. - -With a sudden impulse of fear she put her finger to her lips; then, -ashamed, sought to cancel the gesture. She had not changed her gown from -the evening before, but was wrapped in furs. - -"Last night you locked me in; to-night you watch my door. What is the -matter? Are you afraid of me?" He had noticed her abortive signal; his -customary tones met any need for quiet of which he could conceive. - -"You!" Her lips formed the word. She seemed confounded by his -suddenness. "You!" - -He gained no idea from the repeated monosyllable. - -"I will pack up my traps and go at once, rather than rob you of further -sleep. Perhaps you will kindly make my excuses to your sister." He was -turning, but added, "I evidently owe you an apology for remaining last -night. I hope you understand that I had no excuse to give your -sister--none, at least, that would not have been too true to suit you or -too untrue to suit me." - -She made an imperious gesture; she spoke so low that he wondered at the -power of command in her tone. "Go back and take your sleep out--you -need it. Come to breakfast without saying that you have seen me. I have -no explanation. I have nothing to say--except--" she lifted a weary -face--"except that I hoped you were too tired to be wakeful." - -His incredulity was overcome by pity. "Can I do you no service?" - -She shook her head. "I have already asked far too much." Her voice sank -as she spoke. - -"We are neighbors, and I think we must be friends. You are evidently in -need of help." - -"From heaven--yes. But from you only what I have said." - - - - -Chapter V - -THE NORTHERN LADIES - - -Durgan furnished the wooden hut that stood on the ledge of the cliff -between the road and the mine. Adam's wife baked his bread and made his -bed. Durgan fell into the fanciful habit of calling her "Eve." - -"Oh, Marse Neil, honey; Adam an' Eve they was white folks. Thought you'd -have known your Bible better 'an us pore niggers, an' we knows that -much, sure 'nough--yes, we does, suh." - -When Eve spoke her words came in a multitude, soft and quick. - -"Wasn't mighty surprised you didn't stop with those Northern ladies. -Very nice ladies they is, but they's the mightiest 'ticlar 'bout their -house, an' the workin'est folks I ever did see. 'Tain't a sign o' good -fam'ly--no, Marse Neil, suh--gettin' up near sun-up in the mornin', and -allers a-doin'. 'Tain't like quality, an' you couldn't never have -stopped. But they's powerful nice ladies, Miss Hermie an' Miss Birdie, -an' I don't go to say a word against them, no, suh." - -Durgan watched to see if anyone else had a word to say against these -ladies. From the loungers of Deer Cove, from the country folk who -ascended Deer to sell their produce at the summit house, from the very -children who trooped up the road with field flowers and pet animals, he -heard the same testimony. In the whole countryside the sisters had the -reputation of being gentle and just. Too methodical and thrifty to -appear quite liberal in the eyes of the shiftless, too unconscious of -the distinction of color to appear quite genteel, they were yet held in -favor, and were to the whole region a source of kindly interest and -guileless extortion. No other strangeness was attributed to them than -that which "being from the North" implied. - -Young Blount, the son of the landowner, soon rode over to see his -cousin. The Blounts were one of the few rich Southern families who, -owning a line of merchant ships, had not lost the source of their wealth -in the war. They spent part of their time in this mountain region, of -which a large area was their own. - -The old General had not changed with the times, but the new epoch had -stamped the son with a sense of responsibility for the humanity at his -gates which his slave-owning forefathers had never known. He was twenty -years younger than Durgan. Having looked upon a devastated land from his -schoolroom windows, he had never acquired the patrician manner. He was -affable and serious. - -When arrived at Durgan's camp he tied his beautiful horse to a tree, and -remained for the night. The two sat on the open rock by a fire of logs. -Before darkness fell the visitor had pointed out every village, hamlet, -and cabin which lay within the wide prospect which they overlooked. - -The inhabitants of this land were, each for his respective station, -poor, most of them miserably poor and thriftless. Blount took an -interest in each individual. He was a gossip as confirmed as any -club-man or idle dowager; but the objects of his interest were not his -equals, and their benefit was the end he held in view. - -The greenery of the valleys was rising like a tide upon slopes, and -merging its verdure in the flush of flowing sap and ruddy buds which -colored the upland forest; but, far and near, the highest hills still -held up their gray woodlands to the frosty skies. - -After listening to a long chronicle of his humbler neighbors, Durgan -held out his pipe for a moment, and said casually-- - -"And the Northern ladies?" - -"Ah, yes; despite the Northern flavor, they are a godsend to the place, -if you will! Our people come from far and near to see their new-fangled -barn, and carriage-house, and kitchen stoves. It's as elevating to our -mountaineers"--he gave a laugh--"as the summer hotels they are building -in the Tennessee Mountains or at Nashville are to the people of those -parts. A new idea, an object-lesson. Most useful for children and fools. -Our mountain whites are obstinate as mules. They think they know -everything because they have never seen anything to arouse their -curiosity. You can talk a new notion into a pig's head sooner than into -them; but after they have seen an object, fingered it, and talked it -over for a year or two, they imagine that it had its origin in their own -minds. It was a good enough day for us when these ladies came here; and -then, they put some money into circulation." - -Durgan, with little further inquiry, soon heard all that gossip had to -tell. - -Miss Bertha, he said, had been delicate. After some years of travel in -Europe, a high altitude in a mild climate, and quiet, had been -prescribed. A chance of travel had brought them to this place, and the -invalid's fancy had fixed itself on this site. Miss Smith, he said, was -rather niggardly, but she had recognized that it was worth while to -humor her sister's fancy by buying the place. - -"She is fanciful, then?" - -"I did not mean to imply that. You see, there are not many houses in the -whole mountain range at this altitude to choose from, and this -neighborhood is quiet and safe. The choice was not unnatural, but I -spoke of it being 'humored' because the General put on a fancy price. He -likes to rook a Northerner, and it was not to his interest to separate -the house from the mine." - -"You would say, then, that they are not fanciful or--eccentric in any -way?" - -"I should rather say that they have displayed great sense and -moderation, never raising a suggestion of their Northern sympathies. -They ride about and administer charity in a judicious way. They have -even won over the General. Both he and I have a great respect for them. -Their financial affairs are in the hands of an excellent firm of New -York lawyers. They have friends who keep up a very regular -correspondence. They are both fine women. It is refreshing to come -across a little genuine culture in these wilds. I enjoy them every time -I call." - -In harmony with this last statement, young Blount called at the summit -house the next morning, and took his noonday meal with the sisters. When -he was riding down the mountain road again he called out, on passing the -mine: - -"Oh, Neil Durgan--say--why did you leave those quarters? Miss Smith says -she gave you leave to stop. Are you anchoriting?" - -The unwilling anchorite took comfort in the thought that his discomfort -and his silence were offered to, and accepted by, a woman who, for some -inscrutable reason, seemed to stand in need of them. - -"None so poor but that he has something to give!" he muttered. - - - - -Chapter VI - -EVENTS ON DEER MOUNTAIN - - -The sisters made all their expeditions on horseback, and, on the upward -ride, the horses were commonly breathed on the zigzag of the road which -abutted on the mine. Miss Smith, who was disposed to be offended by -Durgan's quick change of residence, was dry and formal when he greeted -them; but Bertha bent kind glances upon him, and always made time to -chat. Her manner to men had the complete frankness and dignity which is -more usually acquired by older women; and she always appeared to be on -perfectly open terms with her sister. Her talk was always replete with -interest in the passing events of Deer. - -For the first week that Durgan delved he supposed that there were no -events on Deer Mountain. Bertha aided him to discover them. She had -fraternized closely with her solitudes, not only by directing all things -concerning the garden, fields, meadows, and live-stock of the little -summit farm, but also by extending her love and sympathy to the whole -mountain of Deer and to all the changes in the splendid panorama round -about. - -"'Nothing happens!'" cried she, playfully, echoing Durgan. "Open your -eyes, Master Miner, lest by burrowing you become a veritable mole! Can -you only recognize the thrill of events when they are printed in a -vulgar journal?" - -So Durgan's observation was stimulated. - -First, there were the events of the weather--what Bertha called the -"scene-shifting." - -To-day the veil of blue air would be so thin that, in a radius of many -miles, the depth of each gorge, the molding of each peak, was so clear -that the covering forest would be revealed like a carpet of fern, each -tree a distinct frond when the eye focussed upon it. The rocky -precipices would declare each cave and crevice in sharply outlined -shadow, and emerald forms far off would look so near that house and -fence and wandering paths were seen. At such an hour the Cherokee ridges -would stand like the great blue-crested waves of ocean, and the "Great -Smokies" be like clouds, turquoise-tinted, on the northern horizon. - -The next day the azure mists that lay always on the Georgian plain would -have crept, embracing the very spurs of Deer, hiding the modeling of -even the adjacent mountains as with a luminous gauze. Then only a screen -of mountainous outline could be seen, standing flat against emptiness, -of uniform tint, colored like a blue-jay's wing. - -Again there was nothing but vapor to be seen, here towering black, here -moving fringed with glory and lit within. May showers winged their -silver way among the mist-clouds and cleft a passing chasm for the sun. - -Or again, following or preceding thunder, there would be an almost -terrible clearness of the sun, and big cloud-shadows would flap from -range to range like huge black bats with sharply outlined wings. - -Secondly, apart from the weather, came startling events in the sphere of -what Bertha called "the crops." The term did not relate chiefly to her -cultivated land, but to all the successive forms of vegetation upon -Deer. - -The joy of the opening leaf rose nearer the mountain-top. Already, about -Deer Cove, the trees held out a delicate fretwork of tiny leaves between -earth and sky, and the under thickets were tipped at every point with -silver-green. All along the village street a double row of marsh maples -stood, their roots drinking at the millstream. The marsh maple differs -from its patient sisters, who are glorified by autumn, and, like -Passion in the house of the Interpreter, insists upon having its good -things early. These now dressed themselves gorgeously in leaflets of -crimson and pink. For a day or two this bright display, seen from afar -through the branches that surrounded Durgan's mine, looked like a garden -of tulips. Then his landscape narrowed; his own trees opened their -leaves. There were days of warm, quick rain. Suddenly the gray forest -was glorious with green; serried ranks of azure stars stood out in every -bank of moss, and the gray earth was pied with dandelion, heart's-ease, -and violet. - -Said Durgan, as the sisters rode by, "Summer passed me in the night, -dripping and bedraggled. She was going on to you with leaps and bounds." - -"'Dripping,' but not 'bedraggled,'" corrected Bertha, shaking the mist -out of her riding-gloves. - -"Somewhat bedraggled," insisted Durgan. "Her skirts of wild flowers and -meadow grass are already too long." - -But more exciting still were the events of animal life in the purlieus -of Deer. The beetles were rolling their mud-balls on the earth; the -tadpoles in the mountain ponds were putting forth feet, and the -squirrels and birds were arranging their nurseries in different nooks of -the greenery above. The polecats prowled boldly to find provender for -their wives and little ones. A coon and its cubs were seen. But more -interesting than these, because more fully interpreted, were the members -of the baby farm over which Bertha reigned. She had calves and kids, -litters of pigs and litters of pups, a nest of gray squirrels, nests of -birds, and the kit of a wildcat, which a hunter had brought her. This -last, a small, whiskered thing, gray as a fox and striped like a tiger, -had only just opened its eyes, and must needs be fed from Bertha's hand. - -"I am only the grandmother of the others, for they have their own -parents," said she; "but I seem to be this one's mother, for it cries -continually when I leave it." - -For some weeks she carried the kit with her everywhere, even when -riding; it curled contentedly in a bag on her lap, and bid fair to be -tame. - -If Bertha rode out twice a day she paused four times by the mine to -exhibit the growing tameness of her pet, or to recount fresh instances -of the sagacity or prowess displayed by child or parent in her -menagerie. - -Durgan went up often to inspect the infant prodigies, and advise (altho -he knew nothing) about their upbringing. - -Durgan's own work lay exclusively in the "mineral kingdom," and he -advanced from ignorance to some degree of skill in auguring from the -bowels of the rock. Each day's work brought its keen daily interest, -each night's sleep its quota of health and increasing cheerfulness. - - - - -Chapter VII - -THE GODSON POSSIBILITY - - -When young Blount paid his next visit Durgan was in a mood better to -appreciate his budget of gossip. He even contributed to it. - -Adam had beaten his wife, and with good cause. Durgan had himself seen a -strange nigger eating Adam's dinner, waited upon by Adam's wife. He -found time to explain to his interested cousin that the nigger was both -sickly and flashy--a mulatto, consumptive and dandified. - -"The worst sort of trash. What could have brought him here? There is no -such fellow belonging to the county, I'll swear." - -"Adam's wife is not Eve, after all, I think. She can only be Lilith; and -I wish the fates would change her for a superior." Durgan spoke -musingly. - -"At least I hope she'll have more sense than to take a tramping scamp -nigger like that to the summit house," said Blount. "He's sure to be a -thief." - -"I'd chastise her myself if she did," said Durgan, smoking lazily. - -"Ah, I'm glad you feel that way, for those ladies are a real benefit to -the neighborhood, and, to tell the truth, it was on their account I came -to you now. The General sent me." - -Durgan smoked on. They were sitting late at the door of the hut. -Darkness was falling like a mantle over all that lay below their -precipice. - -Blount began again. "These ladies from the North can't realize how -little our mountain whites know of class distinctions. If you have only -seen one thing, how can you appreciate the difference between that and -another? The mountain men have lived in these hills for generations, -knowing only themselves. You have to be born and bred in the brier bush -to understand their ignorance and the self-importance that underlies -their passive behavior." - -"So I have heard." - -"But Miss Bertha will be getting herself proposed to--indeed she will. -What we are afraid of is that, on that, both sisters will be as angry -and unsettled as birds whose nest has been disturbed, and that they will -leave the place." - -Durgan quite enjoyed his own thrill of curiosity. "Who?" - -"The Godsons, father and son--gardeners, you know--have been laying out -a new orchard for the ladies. Young Godson is as fine a fellow as we -have at the Cove; and Miss Bertha has been lending him books, helping to -some education, you know." - -"Yes; I have seen them passing--men with blue eyes and rather spiritual -faces--father gray, son light brown?" - -"Just so. Fine men if they could have had a chance to look over the -hedge of their own potato plot. Miss Bertha has made a protégé of the -son. Nothing could be more kind and proper, for she has distinction of -manner which could never be misunderstood except by the ignorant. In -this case it is doing mischief. The General thought I had better mention -it to you." - -"Why to me?" - -"Well, we're trying to work up this region. If these ladies were to -leave, it would be a distinct loss. If they stay, their friends will -visit them; there is a spell about the beauty of the place; people with -means always return." - -"Have they friends?" - -Durgan in lazy manner asked a question he had asked two weeks before; -the answer was the same. "Very regular correspondence, I understand." - -"Is it the money young Godson aspires to?" - -"I am inclined to think it may be love, which is worse; it would create -much more feeling on both sides, for they are women of culture and -refinement. That is why we thought you might be willing to warn her." - -Durgan mused. He was convinced that the story of the sisters and their -solitude was not the simple reading that his cousins supposed; convinced -also that what his cousin called their "culture and refinement" was of a -higher cast, because based on higher ethical standards, than the -Blounts, father or son, would be likely to understand. - -"The affair is not at all in my line." Durgan spoke with haughty -indolence. "Why choose me to interfere?" - -"But I assure you young Godson is going ahead. I tell you I positively -heard his father chaffing him about her in the post-office; all the men -were about." - -"That is intolerable," said Durgan, sternly. "What did you do?" - -"It is not as if these men were not given to humorous nonsense between -themselves. I could only assume it to be nonsense." - -"That would make it more sufferable." - -"I should only have injured my own popularity, and they would have held -on their own way. And, after all, if ladies leave their family and -choose to live unprotected except by their dogs, it amounts to saying to -us and to all that they are able to protect themselves. And," added -Blount, "if they knew of this fellow's folly they could protect -themselves. The General would ride over any afternoon; but neither he -nor I am on terms to broach so delicate a subject." - -The answer to Durgan's question, "Why I?" was obviously, "There is no -one else." He felt disposed to consider the reason inconclusive till, -lying awake that night, he had watched many stars set, one by one, over -the purple heights. Thus pondering, he admitted that he was already in a -measure Bertha's protector. However inexplicable the circumstance which -had given him this office, he could not rid himself of its -responsibility. He did not greatly blame young Blount's lack of chivalry -in silently hearing the girl's name taken in vain. Still less did he use -the word "duty" of his own intention. He only grew more conscious that, -forlorn as his present state was, he had stumbled into a useful -relation to this radiant and kindly fellow-creature. - -When the next day was declining and Durgan, having dismissed his -negroes, was preparing his evening meal, he heard Bertha's step on the -narrow trail that, hidden in rocks and shrubs, led from the summit. She -paused on a ledge that overlooked his platform, and, holding with one -arm to a young fir tree, lowered a basket on the crook of her mountain -staff. Framed in a thicket of silver azalea buds, strong and beautiful -as a sylvan nymph, she looked down at him, dangling her burden and -laughing. - -"Pudding!" said she in oracular tone. - -"For me?" - -"Pie!" said she. - -He lifted a vain hand for what was still above his reach. - -Then she lowered the staff with an air of resigned benevolence. - -"Pudding and pie. But you don't deserve them, for you were too proud to -come to supper, even when I invited you." - -"You must remember that to be worthy of my hire I grow stiff by -sundown." - -She was looking at him now with grave attention. "Have you got a -looking-glass?" she asked. - -He raised his eyebrows in whimsical alarm. - -"If not, you may not have observed how very thin you are growing. Do not -kill yourself for hire." - -"I shall batten on pudding." - -She was retracing her steps when he recalled her. "Will you pardon a -word of warning?" - -She instantly descended the remainder of the path. It led her round a -clump of shrubs, and when he met her at its foot he was startled at the -change the moment's suspense had worked. She now wore the face of terror -he had seen when he caught her guarding his door in the April dawn. - -So surprised was he that his speech halted. - -She was probably not at all aware of her pallor or dilated eyes. "I am -not alarmed," she said. "What is it?" But her breath came quick. - -"I must apologize for what may seem an impertinence. I had a little -daughter once, and I sometimes think if she had lived she would have -looked like you--let that be my excuse." - -"Thank you, indeed; but what----" She almost tapped her foot in strained -impatience. - -Then he told her, in guarded terms, that someone had suggested that -young Godson did not understand his inferior position. - -The look of health and carelessness at once returned to her cheek and -eye. "Does that matter?" she asked. "Living in an isolated place as we -do, it is desirable to cultivate friendly relations with one's kind." - -It now occurred to him for the first time that for some reason she might -be willing to marry below her station. The pathos of her youthful -loneliness, even with that additional haunting distress of which he had -evidence, lent color to the new idea. - -"Godson is a very fine young fellow; if he can obtain education he will -be most intelligent. He is manly and handsome----" - -"But?" she asked. - -"I am perhaps turning busybody in my old age. I thought I saw a -difficulty like a snake in your path. If I was mistaken, forgive." - -"What sort of venom did you fear?" - -"Presumptuous love." - -She stood for half a minute, her face blank with astonishment; then her -cheeks flamed; but immediately the look of vital interest died out. - -"Truly, I never thought of that." She bit her lip in meditation. - -He essayed to speak, but she held up her hand. - -"I do not want to know your evidence. I know you would not have spoken -unless there was need. Only tell me what I must do." - -If Durgan a minute before had felt rueful with regard to his -interference, he was now even more unprepared to meet its successful -issue. - -While he hesitated, she began a quick, practical statement of her case. - -"I do not want to estrange any friend, however humble. I stand in need -of human friends, as well as of my animals." - -"For protection?" - -The question came naturally from him; but the moment it was uttered he -perceived that she shrank slightly, as if he had broken his compact of -silence. - -"No; not for protection, but to keep me human. My sister has less need -for friends; her religion is everything to her, and she loves her -housekeeping. But with me it is different; I must get my mind freshened -by every human I come across, and these men have work at our place for a -month to come. I could make short work of familiarity when it came from -men who know better, but these cannot conceive that anyone is above -them, and so could not see the justice of reproof. I do not wish to hurt -them, and I dare not make them my enemies. Tell me what to do." - -"If you knew me better, you would not expect me to guide you. I have -made too many mistakes of my own. My misfortunes are all my own fault." - -"Ah, it is only the saints who say that; commoners blame the fates or -their fellows." - -Durgan laughed in sudden surprise. "It is the first time I have been -proposed for such a society." - -"You have been very kind to me," she added impulsively; "I never -expected to find so good a friend." - -He wondered why she should not expect to find friends, but turned his -mind perforce to her present problem. - -"If you could think what it has been in your dealing with young -Godson--what avoidable touch of graciousness has set his heart on fire, -you might----" - -"Oh!" she cried, "I have done nothing; I have only forgotten--forgotten -that for most people 'love' and 'marriage' are interesting words. They -have no interest for me." As usual, she regretted an impulsive -confession as soon as she perceived it. "I only mean that I have no -intention of marrying--or rather, that I intend not to marry." - -"Such resolutions are sometimes broken." - -"With me that is impossible." Her manner was growing more remote. - -Durgan had not a prying mind, yet he found his thought full of -questions. The more closely he observed the sisters, the less was he -able to imagine an explanation of what he saw and heard. Bertha's was a -larger intellectual outlook than her sister's, and it might seem she -would weary of her companion; but, on the contrary, there was the -closest comradeship. Miss Smith managed the house solely for Bertha's -welfare; but the petted child was not spoiled, and made every return of -unselfish devotion. - - - - -Chapter VIII - -THE WORDLESS LETTERS - - -Close around the little village of Deer Cove, three mountain steeps -looked down in everlasting peace; two upland valleys descended to the -village, and held on their fertile slopes many small farms and hamlets. -The houses of men employed in the saw-mill, which had created the -village, lay within a nearer circle. - -Of all this district the post-office at Deer Cove was the centre. The -mill belonged to the Durgan Blounts, whose summer residence lay at some -distance on the one road which threaded the descending ravine to the -county town of Hilyard. All substance and knowledge which came to Deer -Cove was hauled up this long, winding road from the unseen town, and -halted at the post-office, which was also the general store and tavern. -Thither the mill-hands, and an ever-changing group of poor whites, -repaired for all refreshment of body and mind. - -The rush of the stream, the whirr of the mill, the sigh of the -wind-swept woods, the never-silent tinkling from the herds that roam -the forests--these sounds mingled always with the constant talk that -went on in the post-office. Here news of the outer world met with scant -attention; but things concerning the region were discussed, weighed, and -measured by the standard of the place. The wealth of a housekeeper was -gauged by the goods he received direct from Hilyard and further markets, -and his social importance by the number of his letters. A steady -correspondence proved stability of connection and character; a telegram -conferred distinction. - -In the post-office young Blount, or even the magnificent old General -himself, would not scruple to lounge for an hour at mail time, -exchanging greetings with all who came thither. Durgan came of stiffer -stuff; he could not unbend. He was also conscious that, as he never -received letters, and as his lost lands were here little known, it was -only the reflected importance of his cousins that kept him from being -reckoned a "no account" person, and suffering the natural rudeness meted -out to such unfortunates. He preferred to rely upon Adam to bring him -his paper and such news as the village afforded. Adam went to the post -every evening for Miss Smith. - -There came a week of rain. The road to Hilyard was washed away by the -first storm. The mail accumulated there, and when at last it could be -brought to Deer, it was still raining. Durgan's cutting was flooded. -Unable to work, he had paid a visit to his cousins, and returned one -evening, through a thick cloud which clothed Deer like a cerement, to -find Adam in the hut by the mine, seated before a hot fire. - -In the light of the dancing flame, the big black man, all his clothes -and hair dripping and glistening, was indeed a strange picture. He was -wholly intent upon a row of papers and letters, which from time to time -he moved carefully and turned before the blaze. - -"It's all right, suh. I only clean done forgot to put the ladies' -lettahs in de rubber bag they give me. It's a debble of a rain to-night, -suh; it soak through all I hab, and there's a powerful lot of lettahs -to-night, suh; a whole week o' lettahs, Marse Neil, so there is." - -Durgan looked down at a goodly assortment of mail matter--newspapers, -missionary records, magazines, business letters from well-known stores. -In the warmest place was a row of private letters. Adam's big hands -hovered over these with awesome care. - -"They's the lettahs the ladies is most perjink about, allus." Adam -spoke proud of his own powers of distinction. "I'se not worked for 'em -so long, suh, widout bein' able to know their 'ticlarities." - -"I'm proud of you, Adam." Durgan went out into the mist again and sat on -a ledge of rock. - -It was still daylight, but the thick mantle of cloud was gray in its -depths, toning the light to dusk. Within the circle which the mist left -visible, the jeweled verdure showed all its detail as through a conclave -lens. - -It was the hour at which Adam's wife usually came to set Durgan's hut in -order. Through the ghostly folds of cloud she now appeared like a -beautiful animal, cowering yet nimble, swift and silent, frightened at -the loss of all things beyond the short limit of sight, the very -pressing nearness of the unknown around the known. Framed in the -magnified detail of branch and bole and dewy leaves, Durgan saw her -arrive and pause with involuntary stealth in the fire-glow from the door -of the hut. - -Eve did not see Durgan. As a dog, and especially a female dog, can -worship a master, so Eve worshipped Durgan. When she fawned upon him all -her attitudes were winsome, her bright eyes soft, and a gentle play of -humor was in her features. Despite his studied indifference and -contempt, he had never before seen an evil look upon her face, but now -with malicious shrewdness she was observing her unconscious husband. - -Suddenly Adam, without turning, uttered a short yell of terror. - -Durgan sprang and entered with the woman. - -Adam rose from his stooping position--his jaw dropped, his teeth -chattering. "As I'm alive, suh, the lettahs they come open of -themselves, sittin' right here before the fire; an' they was so soppin' -I jest took the inside out to get it dry. As I'm alive, Marse Neil, suh; -the debble's in this thing. 'Tain't nowise any person but the debble as -would send ladies--very nice ladies, too--lettahs like this, with no -writin' on 'em; that's the debble all right, suh, sure enough." - -Durgan's gaze had fixed itself involuntarily on the sheets the man had -dropped. The envelopes which had purported to hold letters of private -friendship had, in truth, held blank paper. - -Assured that such was the fact, however strange, Durgan sought some -words which might quiet the terrified Adam and efface the circumstance -from Eve's frivolous mind. He could trust Adam, when quiet enough, to -obey a command of secrecy; the negress must be beguiled. - -But she was too quick for him. She was now watching his eyes, reading -there part of his interpretation, and with half-animal instinct, -perceiving that he desired to hush the matter, thought to make common -cause with him. - -"You's a sure enough convic' now, Adam, chil'; an' I'd like to know -who's to be s'portin' o' me when you's workin' out your time in chains. -Is you so ignorant, chil', as not to know that it's a heap an' a lot wus -to read these letters than the sort as has writin' all ovah?" - -The negro's terrified attitude showed some relief. "I didn't know as -there was a sort o' lettah that had no writin' on, honey. Is you sure o' -that, honey? I thought these lettahs must be a sure enough work o' the -debble." - -"Sure as I'm a born nigger, there is lettahs o' that sort; an' it's -hangin', or somethin' wus, to open 'em. Oh, Adam, it's a powerful -hangin' crime; an' if you's cotched in this business, what'll come to -me?" - -The woman paused to wipe an eye, then---- - -"I tell you, Adam, your on'y chance o' takin' care o' me any more is -nebber so much as to speak o' these lettahs down to Deer or any other -place. Because no gen'leman or lady or decen' nigger would ever so much -as say that there was this sort o' lettah--'tain't perlite, 'cause it's -on'y the great folks, an' the rich, an' the eddicated, as gets 'em. -Isn't that gospel truth, Marse Neil, suh?" - -Durgan was listening, intent on laying a trap for the wife. He gave no -sign. - -But Adam, honest soul, too unsuspicious to wait for Durgan's -corroboration, spoke with steadily returning confidence. "Sure as I'm -stan'in' here, Marse Neil, suh, these lettahs opened themselves--like -that yaller flower that comes open of itself in the evenin', suh; an' -takin' of them out, I only had the contention, suh, o' dryin' the -insides of 'em; for I can't read the sort o' lettah that's written all -ovah--only the big print in the Testament; an' the min'ster that learned -me, he'll tell you the same." - -Eve's voice rose in the soft climax of triumph. "An' that's jest the -reason, Adam, chil', that readin' o' these lettahs is hangin', an' -workin' in chains, an' States prison, an' whippin'--all that jest 'cause -niggers like you an' me can't read the other kind." Eve was getting -beyond her depth. - -"You've learned me somethin' this very hour, honey," said Adam kindly, -"for I didn't know before sure enough there was this sort o' lettah; but -you degogerate now, honey, for if it's hangin', it can't be work in -chains, an' if they can't prove I can read other sort o' lettah, it's -mighty powerful sure they can't prove I can read these. The debble -himself can't prove that." - -Durgan had sealing-wax with which he fastened his samples of mica for -the post. He put the blank pages back in the envelopes and fastened them -with his own seal. Telling Adam to explain only that the flaps had come -open in wet, he dismissed him. He sat watching the negress sternly, and -she grew less confident. - -"Us pore slave niggers don't know nothin', Marse Neil, suh." - -"How old are you?" He spoke as beginning a judicial inquiry. - -"Us pore slave niggers don't know how old we is. I's gettin' an old -woman--I's powerful old. I wus crawlin' out an' aroun' 'fore the -'mancipation. Ole Marse Durgan, he jest naturally licked me hisself one -day when I crawled 'fore his hoss in the quarters. That's what my mammy -told me. We's all Durgans--Adam's folks an' mine." - -"You are no Durgan nigger. I know you. We bought you and your mother out -of bad hands." Durgan spoke roughly, but in himself he said: "Alas, who -was responsible for this creature, sly and soulless? Not herself or -those of her race!" - -"Have you seen letters with no writing on them before?" - -"Why should a pore nigger know anythin' 'bout such lettahs? If you'll -tell me how God A'mighty made the first nigger, I'll tell you as well -why these ladies gets lettahs stuffed like that, an' no sooner--an' -that's gospel truth, Marse Neil, suh. I's got nothin' to do with white -folks' lettahs." - -He was sure now that she knew no more than what she had just seen, and -had drawn no inference. - -She gave way to tears, realizing that he did not approve of the address -with which she had managed Adam. - -"Marse Neil, Adam's a powerful low down nigger, Adam is. He's a no -account darkie, is Adam. You know yourself, suh, how he laid on to me -t'other night." - -"If he had let you go off with a thieving yellow coon like that other -nigger, you might say Adam was unkind--kindest thing he could do to beat -you!" - -She was so pretty she could not believe any man would really side with -her husband against her. "Oh, yes, Marse Neil, suh; I don't go for to -say as a darkie shouldn't beat his wife--any decen' Durgan nigger would, -suh; but the thing that's low down, an' dreffle mean, an' no account -'bout Adam is that he don't know when to stop. Lickin'--that's all -right, suh; but when a nigger goes on so long, an' me yellin' on him all -the time--oh, Adam, he's a low down feller an' dreffle mean." - -"You did more yelling than he did beating. He was crying all the time. I -don't believe he hurt you--but go on." - -Her tears were unfeigned: she cared only to regain Durgan's good-will. - -"Go on with what, suh?" - -"With what you were telling me." - -There had certainly been no sequence discernible. - -"Well, marsa, a poor girl's like me don't go for to tell lies for -nothin'. Nex' time Adam holds a stick over me, I's got the States prison -to hold over him. An' you's mistaken, marsa, honey, in sayin' as he -didn't maul me black an' blue, for he did, suh--not that it wasn't right -an' just this time, as you say so, marsa; but for nex' time I mus' have -a way for to 'scuse myself to him. So you won't go for to tell him it -isn't hangin', will you, marsa, honey, suh?" - -The softness and assumed penitence of the low wail with which she ended -made Durgan laugh aloud. "Look here. Look me straight in the face!" - -She could do that very well, raising her soft, doe-like eyes to his, -then fringing them with her lashes as an accomplished beauty might. -Durgan was so angry with her on Adam's account, that he forgot that his -first object was to secure her silence. - -"You've got a good husband and a good home. If you ar'n't good to Adam -after this, I'll despise you. Do you understand?" - -"Don't speak to me so sharp, marsa." There was already a little edge of -malice in the velvet of her voice. - -"Now, about these letters--if I catch you ever speaking of them again, -I'll tell Adam you've lied to him, and why. I'll tell him all about you, -and he'll never trust you again. Do you understand?" - -"An' if I don't tell nothin' you ain't disposed on, Marse Neil, honey?" - -"Then I'll be kind to you, and let Adam think you're better than you -are." - -But the negress, turning to her work in the hut, no longer moved about -him with liquid eyes and joyful steps, as a happy spaniel does. Beneath -her calmer demeanor he saw the shade of sullenness, and still heard the -edge of malice in her voice. - -"I have been a fool," thought he. "She would have managed better in my -place." Then he dismissed her from his thoughts. - - - - -Chapter IX - -THE SPECTRE IN THE FOREST - - -The letters Durgan resealed had each borne a different handwriting; they -had not all come from New York. The sheets could hardly have been -covered with invisible ink, having been subjected to both water and fire -with no result. These, apparently, were the letters which came to the -sisters with marked regularity. - -"These ladies are hiding," said Durgan to himself. "This is a device of -their New York lawyers to save them from remark." He was unable to -associate trickery with the sisters. - -In considering Bertha's strong repudiation of future marriage, he began -to suppose that she might be already unhappily married and hiding from -some villain who held her in legal control. But, in that case, why was -she more at ease when riding than at home, and why did she betray fear -of some danger close at hand? - -With nightfall the rain-cloud sank down, and the moon, floating above -in an empty sky, showed clear on the mountain-tops. The rock wall above -and below Durgan's camp glistened with silver facets, and the wet forest -all about shimmered with reflected light. - -But, beautiful as was the shining island of Deer in its close converse -with the queen of night, it was not so strange a sight as the upper -moon-lit levels of the vast cloud which was floating a hundred feet -below. - -Durgan went up the trail, passed the vine-hung house, and climbed the -highest eminence. - -The cloud was composed of perpendicular layers of mist, the upper crests -of which rolled in ridge over ridge before the wind--a strong surge of -deepest foam. So white was each wave that only in its deep recess was -there a touch of shadow. The whiteness was dazzling; the silence -absolute. - -The adjacent mountain-tops were black islands in mid-ocean. - -The silence seemed a terrible thing to the cheated sense of sight. The -cloud breakers curled upon the sides of Deer, broke in fragments like -windblown froth, curled back, and broke again, as if lashing the rocks -and forest trees. Up the deep channel of the valley the waves rolled on -with a steady rhythm and fall of surf that should have filled the -mountain spaces with its thunder. Across the shining flood, against the -black shoulders of opposite shores, the same surf tossed and fell. Yet -there was no echo far or near, or murmur; only the hush of a phantom -world. - -Durgan stood long on a portion of the mountain-top which was covered -with short, scrubby oak in young leaf, fascinated by the mighty movement -and intense silence. - -A rustle came near him amongst the covert. He looked down and stroked -the head of one of Bertha's great dogs. He saw the mistress coming: she -was cloaked and hooded. It was the hood, perhaps, that hindered her -observing him till she was very near. - -She uttered a cry of undisguised terror, throwing out her arm, as if to -ward off an expected blow. - -This movement of defense, so instinctive, told Durgan more than any tale -of woe the lips could frame. He was confounded by such evidence of some -scene or scenes of past cruelty. - -"Now, in the name of Heaven," he cried, "what do you fear? You know that -the dogs would allow no mortal to injure you or yours. Is it some -murderous spectre of whom you stand in dread?" - -She regained a quiet pose, but seemed dazed by the unexpected fright. - -"A murderous spectre! What do you mean? Why do you use that phrase, Mr. -Durgan?" - -"The words are pure nonsense. I used them to show you how baseless your -fear appears. But I speak now in earnest to say that you ought not to -come out at night alone if you are thus alarmed." - -"But I am perfectly safe with the dogs." - -"Just so. Then why were you afraid?" - -"I--I--in that shawl mistook you for----" She came to a final pause. - -He remembered now that, to shield himself from the drenched verdure, he -had wrapped a camp blanket around him. - -"Yes, I certainly cut a queer figure--like an old wife; but, pardon my -insistence, it is not good for any woman to be so terror-stricken as you -were just now. That you are safe from danger with the dogs I truly -think; but fear itself is injurious. If you are not safe from unruly -fears, why roam where you invite them? It is always possible to meet a -stranger." - -"Oh, I am not afraid of travelers." - -"Any shadow may assume a fantastic form." - -"But I am really not afraid of odd appearances." - -"Then why were you afraid of my blanket?" - -But her caution returned. With inconsequence and a touch of reproach -she said: "You would rather have the mountain all to yourself, I -believe." - -"I should be twice desolate. But that has nothing to do with my request -that you should keep where you not only are, but feel, safe." - -"But if my fears are the result of my own imagination, why should any -place be better?" - -"You are fencing with me now. If you could tell me what it is you -fear----" - -She walked by his side as if thinking what she might answer him. "You -used a phrase when you just spoke--what put it into your mind?--which -perhaps expressed what I fear as literally as words can." - -"What do you mean by endorsing such foolish words?" - -"Your regard--your friendship, for us, is a very great comfort to us -both--the best boon that Providence, if there be a Providence, could -have sent us. Yet you have forced me to say what forfeits your regard." - -"That would be impossible. Our regard for one another is based solidly -upon that touch of good principle which makes the whole world -neighbors." - -"Ah! I am glad you say that. It is so comfortable to know your -benevolence does not depend on our worth. Long ago, and I would have -resented such an intimation from anyone; now it gives me the same sort -of comfort that a good fire does or, say, a good pudding." - -She was regaining her spirits; but there was still a tense ring in her -voice which meant intense sincerity. - -"Your regard for me has the same basis," said he; and added soon: "I am -greatly in earnest in what I say; you ought not to put yourself in the -path of fears you cannot master." - -"I thank you for the advice. What exactly was it that happened to our -letters to-night?" - -He ascertained that Adam had given his meagre message discreetly. He -could now have comforted her easily with half the truth, but he told all -briefly--in whose hands was the keeping of the curious fact of the blank -letters, and why he judged it comparatively safe. - -Bertha pushed the hood from her head, as if she felt suffocated. She sat -down upon a fragment of rock on the verge of the hill, and they both -gazed at the silent rolling of the cloud beneath. - -"Tricks are folly, and deserve detection," she said at length. "Silence -is the only noble form of concealment. Yet our friend, who is a lawyer, -told us that if we came here obviously as friendless as we are, rumor -would have been cruel. It would have worried our reputation as a dog -worries a rat. Every face we met would have been full of suspicion, -and--surely it is right to shun morbid conditions?" - -Durgan stood uneasy. "People often drop almost all correspondence -through indolence," he suggested. - -"My sister permitted the trick, I think, simply for my sake. She was -distressed by your seals and hearing that the letters had come open. I -shall be able to tell her it did not happen at the post-office." - -"I should have thought your sister would have trusted her fate in God's -hands with perfect resignation." - -"Yes, I think she does. She has great faith in God." - -After another pause, he said: "You were so good as to ask me the other -day for advice; will you take an old man's advice now and go home to -bed? All things appear more reasonable by daylight, and the more you -tire yourself, the more you are likely to see the circumstances of life -in distorted shape." - -She answered with an anger that leaped beyond her more tardy -self-control. "You know no more than my dogs do what I can and cannot -do, what it is drives me here to-night, or what it is that I fear." - -"I beg your pardon." - -Penitent in a moment, she said: "You are truly kind, Mr. Durgan. I am so -glad that we have a neighbor, and that he should be what you are." - -"I wish, since you are in misery, that he could have been one in whom -you could confide, who could perhaps help." - -She stood wrapping her cloak closer about her. "Let me be petulant when -I want to be petulant, mysterious when I must, tragic when I must, gay -when I can. Let my moods pass you as the winds pass. If you can do this -and preserve a secret, you will do more than any other human being could -or would." She waited a moment, and added: "I have trusted you from the -first to do this; I do not know why." - - - - -Chapter X - -A SKELETON IN THE FIRE - - -The mountains now burst into midsummer. Bloom, color, and fragrance -reigned; also heat and drought. The cups of the tulip tree, the tassels -of the chestnut, lit the leafy canopy. The covert of azaleas blazed on -the open slopes in all shades of red and yellow. In every crevice by the -trickling streams rhododendrons lined the glades with garlands of purple -and white. - -The hidden house of the sisters was embowered in climbing roses and the -passion flower. It was surrounded by gorgeous parterres, and the -tendrils of the porch vines hung still, or only fluttered at sundown. -There was no vapor at dawn or eve in gorge or on mountain-top. A dry -blue haze like wood smoke dulled light and shade in the myriad hills. -They looked like a vast perspectiveless painting by some prentice Titan, -who had ground his one color from the pale petals of the wild hydrangea. -Some clouds there were--ragged towers, tinted in the light browns and -pinks of seashells. They tottered round the far horizon in fantastic -trains, but came no nearer. The very azure of the sky was faded by the -heat of the sun. - -All moss and low wild flowers had long withered; the earth under the -forest was hot and dry. The whole region basked, and from all the -valleys a louder and more ceaseless tinkling rose from the herds of pigs -and oxen who roamed for meagre provender. - -One afternoon Durgan and his laborers heard a cry. It was the voice of -Adam. They heard him crash through the brushwood above them. - -"Fire!" yelled Adam, and crashed back toward the summit house. - -Durgan outran his men, and was relieved to find the evil not beyond hope -of redress. Smoke was issuing from one corner of the roof of the -dwelling-house; no flame as yet, but the roof was of shingle, like -tinder in the sun. - -The ladies, with admirable skill and courage, had already organized -their forces--Adam pumping, Bertha and Eve stationed on the path from -the well, Miss Smith, the most agile, taking the bucket at the door and -running up the stair. Thither Durgan followed, leaving his men to -Bertha's command. The fire was smouldering between the ceiling of the -kitchen and a pile of papers and books which lay on the floor far under -the sloping roof of the low attic. Miss Smith had been wise enough to -move nothing. The solid parcels of periodicals kept out the air, and she -was dashing the water on the roof and floor. - -With the added help smoke soon ceased. It remained to investigate the -cause of the fire, which was not obvious, to make sure that the rest of -the house was safe, and undo as far as possible the injury of the water, -which, spreading itself on the attic floor, had poured into the bedrooms -below. - -While the negroes were carrying out the parcels of printed matter, wet -and charred, Durgan moved about in all the recesses of the house, -examining the walls, lifting wet furniture on to the sunny veranda roof, -and otherwise helping to modify the unaccustomed disorder. - -While thus engaged, he realized how strongly had grown upon him a fancy -that these lonely women might be harboring some insane person, whose -escape and violence they might justly dread. He must now smile at -himself for thinking that any source of terror lurked here in visible -shape. As he followed Miss Smith from one simple room to another, -creeping under the very eaves of the roof and feeling the temperature of -every wall and shelf, he certainly assured himself that neither the -skeleton nor its closet was of material sort. - -He was struck with the orderly and cheerful arrangement of the house, -with the self-control, speed, and good sense the sisters had displayed; -but most of all was he surprised that the excitement and effort had -unnerved them so little. When the hour for relaxation came, they -appeared neither talkative nor moody; they neither shed tears nor were -unusually cheerful. In his married life he had had some experience of -women's nerves. This calm, practical way of taking a narrow escape from -great loss roused his admiration. - -Many bundles of papers were too much damaged to be worth keeping. Durgan -had a use for these in a stove his laborers used, and, after Miss Smith -had looked them over, they were carted down to the mine. Durgan sorted -them, storing some old magazines and more solid papers for future use. - -He soon found the covers of an old book, tied together over a collection -of parchment envelopes. These in turn contained newspaper clippings -still legible. Each envelope had its contents marked outside; they were -the reports of a number of criminal trials, extending over a number of -years, cut from American, English, and other European papers. Durgan -was at once convinced that neither of the sisters could have been -interested in the collection, and, assuming it to be the work of some -dead relative, he reflected for the first time how rarely they spoke of -family ties. It was true that Bertha would sometimes say: "My dear -father would have enjoyed this view--would have liked this flower," or -"Dear papa would have said this or that." He remembered how her voice -would soften over these sacred memories, and remembered, too, how they -always came to her among the beauties of nature, never in domestic -surroundings. Such a father would scarcely have been so much interested -in annals of crime. - -Sitting by the lamp in his hut, Durgan went over the envelopes. The -first was dated ten years before; it contained the notorious Claxton -trial, reported by the _New York Tribune_. The next was the case of the -Wadham pearls, from the London _Times_. Durgan was not familiar with the -case, and became interested in the story of the girl, very young and -beautiful, who, being above temptation of poverty and above reproach, -had been sentenced, on convincing evidence, for theft and perjury. The -common interest in these cases obviously was that in both the accused -was a gentlewoman, and the evidence overwhelming, altho chiefly -circumstantial. The cases that came after did not follow this thread of -connection. They were stories of such crimes as may almost be considered -accidental, in which respectable people fall a prey to unexpected -temptation or sudden mania. The last selection was from the _Galignani -Messenger_. It was the case of a parish priest, apparently a -_dilettante_ and esthetic personage of highly religious temperament, who -was condemned for having killed his sister with sudden brutality, and -who gave the apparently insane excuse that, seeing her in the dusk, he -had thought her a spirit, and been so terrified that he knew not what he -did. The date of this last story was only about three years after the -first. - -Next day, when Bertha passed by on her horse, Durgan told her what he -had found. - -"Oh, I am sure we don't want them," said she. "Burn them with the rest." - -She was wearing a deep sun-bonnet; he could hardly see her face in its -shade. - -Durgan had very naturally tried to fit the circumstances of any of these -stories of crime to a domestic tragedy which might have resulted in the -hiding of these sisters and in Bertha's fears; but none of them seemed -to meet the case, nor did any story he could devise. - -Since the opening of the letters, and Bertha's words in the moonlight, -he had wondered more than once whether she believed in some ghostly -enemy. Durgan had been rudely jostled against such fantasies in his -domestic experience. His wife was nominally a spiritualist, and altho he -was inclined, from knowledge of her character, to suppose her faith more -a matter of convenience than of conviction, he had reason to think that -the man who had long dominated her life under the guise of a spiritual -instructor was, or had been, entirely convinced of his own power to -communicate with the spirit world. This man had believed himself to see -apparitions and hear voices. Durgan did not believe such experiences to -be spiritual, but gave more weight to the question of such a belief in -Bertha than if he had not already rubbed against the dupe of such a -monomania. - -The subject was not a pleasant one, yet, in connection with this painful -theme, Durgan resolved to speak to Bertha in the hope of inducing -confidence and perhaps driving away her fears. - - - - -Chapter XI - -THE MYSTERIOUS 'DOLPHUS - - -For a few days after the fire at the summit house some of the mountain -folk from far and near took occasion to ride up to the scene of the -excitement, "to visit with" the ladies, and hear that the bruit of the -matter had greatly magnified it. They were an idle, peaceful people; a -little thing diverted them. - -The road by the mine was thus unusually gay; yet Durgan kept a more or -less jealous watch, and at last caught sight of the yellow negro who a -month before had visited Eve. He was dressed like a valet, in an odd -mixture of clothes from the wardrobes of a gentleman and a groom. His -features were small and regular; his long side-whiskers had an air of -fashion which did not conceal the symptoms of some chronic disease. - -"Ho!" cried Durgan; "where are you going?" - -The darkie stopped with a submissive air, almost cringing as one -accustomed to danger. - -"What is your name?" - -"'Dolphus, sir--'Dolphus Courthope." - -"Courthope?" - -"Yes, sir--from New Orleans. Mr. Courthope was very rich and had a great -many slaves." He spoke correctly, with a Northern accent. - -"_You_ never saw slavery," said Durgan in scorn. "You have no right to -that name." - -"No, sir; my father and mother gave me that name. They belonged to Mr. -Courthope." - -"You were here before." - -"Yes, sir; I came last month, but I went back to Hilyard. I came looking -for"--there was just a perceptible pause--"the Miss Smiths; but I -thought I'd come to the wrong place." - -Durgan felt at a loss. On Adam's account he could have ordered the man -off, but he had no right to inquire into his errand to the Smiths. - -"I'm a respectable boy, sir. I'm not going to do any harm. I've got -business." The darkie made this answer to Durgan's look of suspicion, -and spoke with apparent knowledge of the world and confidence in the -importance of his errand. - -"See that you don't get into mischief!" With this curt dismissal Durgan -stepped back into his own place. - -In some minutes, when he heard the watchdog barking above, he went up -the short foot-trail, expecting to reach the house with the negro, but -nearing it, saw no one without. - -From the open windows he heard Bertha's voice raised in excitement. "I -will not leave you alone with him, Hermie, you need not ask it. He can -have nothing to say that I should not hear." - -As Durgan drew nearer he heard Bertha again, this time with a sob of -distress in her voice. "I don't care what he says or does; I will brave -anything rather." - -"Birdie, darling, you are very, very foolish!" Miss Smith's voice was -raised above her natural tone, but was much calmer. - -Durgan's step was on the wooden verandah. - -Doors and windows were all open to the summer heat. The sisters were -standing in the low sitting-room. The negro, hat in hand, stood in a -properly respectful attitude near the door. As before, his manner -suggested that he was a servant and had no aspiration beyond his sphere. - -"I saw that fellow come up the road," said Durgan. "I do not know, of -course, what his errand is here; but I thought I ought to tell you that -Adam told me that he had got no regular job, and that he had found him -idling around a month ago with no apparent reason." - -"Yes, sir; I was trying to discover from Adam's wife who it was that -lived up here; but she told me so many fixings out of her head about -these ladies that I come to the conclusion they wasn't the ladies I was -looking for. Miss Smith knows me, sir; and I've been very ill -lately--the doctor tells me I'm not long to live." - -"Oh, you folks always think you're dying if you've got a cold. You're -begging, I see." - -"Yes, sir; I was asking this lady to help me. I'm dying of consumption, -sir." - -The man's manner was quiet enough. Durgan saw that both the sisters were -intensely excited. The elder had her emotion perfectly under control; -the younger looked almost fierce in the strain of some distress. What -surprised him was that his protection was equally unwelcome to both. He -could see, spite of their thanks, that, in trouble as they were, their -first desire now was that he should be gone. - -"I do not trust this man," Durgan said. "I would rather stay within call -till you dismiss him." - -"I'm all right, sir," said the darkie, again respectfully. - -"He won't do us any harm," cried Bertha eagerly. - -"I know who he is," said Miss Smith; "I know him to be unfortunate, Mr. -Durgan." - -Yet Durgan saw dismay written on Bertha's face as surely as if they had -been attacked by open violence. - -"Birdie, go out with Mr. Durgan and wait. You cannot be afraid to leave -me while he is near." - -"I will not! I will not!" cried the younger, with more vehemence than -seemed necessary. So excited was she that she stamped her foot as she -spoke. - -The tension was relieved by what seemed propriety on the stranger's -part. - -"I'll go away, then," he said. "I don't want to make the young lady cry. -I sha'n't make you any trouble, ladies." He backed out to where Durgan -stood on the verandah. - -"Wait, I'll give you something," said Miss Smith. "You ought to have -good food." She went to her desk, and came out giving him a folded -bank-note. - -"Thank you, ma'am. Good-day." He went on a few steps and looked back, as -if expecting Durgan to conduct him off the premises. - -"I'd be much obliged, sir, if you'd show me the short way--I'm weak, -sir." - -Durgan indicated the trail, and followed to make sure that the negro -did not return through the bushes. - -As they went, Durgan saw him unfold the bank-note and take from inside a -slip of written paper. - -The mulatto went steadily down the mountain, without so much as looking -at the kitchen door, whence Eve was regarding him with eager interest. - -Adam had been in the meadow at the time of this incident. When going -down to the post-office on his regular evening errand, he stopped to ask -Durgan if the "yaller boy" had any genuine errand. And on the way up he -stopped again, with trouble in his eyes, to give the information that -'Dolphus was spending the night there, and had suggested staying in this -salubrious spot for his health. - -Durgan discovered that Adam and his own negro laborers regarded the -sickly and tawdry New Yorker as a peculiarly handsome specimen of their -race--quite the gentleman, and irresistibly attractive to any -negress--and that they agreed in denouncing his looks and manners solely -on account of the possibly vagrant affections of their own women. - -Durgan believed the stranger's errand to be purely mercenary, and feared -that he was levying some sort of blackmail on Miss Smith. He feared, -too, that Eve was abetting. - - - - -Chapter XII - -THE SECRET OF THE OAK - - -Next morning Bertha rode down to the village. Later, Durgan heard that -she had visited 'Dolphus, taken pains to get him a more comfortable -lodging, and left him a basket of sundry nourishing foods. More than -this, she had sat and talked with him in a friendly way for quite an -hour. When she passed up the hill again, Durgan observed that she -appeared calm and contented. She stopped to give him an invitation. - -"My sister requires your attendance at supper o'clock this evening--no -excuse accepted." - -"Why _this_ evening?" he asked. - -"For two reasons. First, we are very grateful for your kindness -yesterday, and sister wanted to 'make up.' Secondly, she was making your -favorite chicken salad. Perhaps you think that is all one reason, but -the second part makes your acceptance imperative, as the salad will be -already made." - -At sundown Durgan surrendered himself to the attractions of the -gracious sisters and the delicacies of their table. - -When Adam and his wife had been dismissed, and the three were sitting on -the darkling verandah, watching the vermilion west, Miss Smith reminded -them that she had the bread to "set" for next day. Bertha and Durgan -were playing cards. She went through the dining-room to the kitchen at -the back of the house. She was not gone long, barely half an hour; the -sky had scarcely faded and the lamp but just been lit, when she came -back calm and gentle as ever. - -Durgan was not calm. He felt his hand tremble as he brought from the -shelf a book which Bertha had asked for. - -Ten minutes before a contention had arisen between himself and Bertha as -to the time of the moon's rising. To satisfy himself he had walked on -the soft grass as far as the gable of the house nearest his footpath. -Watching a moment in the shadow, he had heard a movement in the wood. As -the first moon-rays lit the gloom he saw the figure of a woman standing -on the low bough of an old oak and reaching a long arm toward an upper -branch. All the oaks here were stunted and easy to climb. That this was -Adam's wife he did not doubt, till, when she had lightly jumped down, -he discerned that she was returning attended by the dogs. - -Durgan went back hastily lest Bertha should follow him. He reported only -the rising of the moon. A moment's thought convinced him that he had -been invited that evening for the purpose of keeping Bertha from the -knowledge of her sister's excursion. No one but Miss Smith could have -taken the dogs. He guessed that she had fulfilled some promise to the -boy, 'Dolphus--some promise given him on the slip of paper in the -bank-note, of putting money where he might seek it. Amazing as the -method resorted to was, Durgan felt no doubt that Miss Smith's action -was wise and right in her own eyes, but he was convinced that she was -putting herself in danger. - -He lingered a little while, not knowing what to do. Then he spoke of -'Dolphus, taking occasion to explain the extreme distrust he felt -concerning the man and the degraded nature which so many of this class -had exhibited. - -Both sisters seemed interested, but not greatly. - -"Of course, we never thought whether we liked or disliked him," cried -Bertha. "That is not the way one thinks of men like that. We knew him -to have been unfortunate; and he is certainly very ill." - -Miss Smith said, with a kind smile lighting up her face: "I think, Mr. -Durgan, you don't mean that even a 'thieving yellow nigger' hasn't an -immortal soul. Even if we can't get real religion into his mind, we can -show him kindness which must help him to believe in the mercy of -God--not" (she added in humble haste) "that I have ever been kind to -him, but I guess Birdie tried to be this morning." - -Durgan was never far from the thought that the slave-owning race was -responsible for the very existence of a people who had been nourished -and multiplied in their homes for the sake of gain. - -"Not only for the soul he has, but for the diseased body of him, for all -that he suffers and for all the injury he does--he and all his -class----" Durgan stopped. Both women were looking at him inquiringly. -"Before God I take my share of the blame and shame of it. But it is one -thing to be guilty, and another to know how to make reparation. Take an -illustration from the brood of snakes in the cliff here. In some slight -way you are responsible even for their existence, for you ought to have -had the parents killed. But you cannot benefit this brood by kindness; -you would wrong the world by protecting them. Believe me, I have been -reared among these people; I know the good and bad of them; a -rattlesnake is less dangerous than a man like this 'Dolphus. While I -would defend such fellows as Adam with my life, if need be, I believe -that I should do the best thing for the world in killing such creatures -as 'Dolphus and Adam's wife. While such as I ought to bear the -punishment of their sins and our own in the next world, the best -reparation we could make in this world would be to slaughter them." - -Bertha had listened, fascinated by his most unusual earnestness of -manner. But at the last words she rose hastily and went out with averted -face. The tardy moon was now high. They saw her pacing the walk between -the tall sides of the garden beds. - -Miss Smith watched her a moment with eyes of loving solicitude, then -said, "I'm sure you think you're speaking right down truth, Mr. Durgan, -but, you see, _I'm_ a Christian, and I b'lieve the Lord Jesus died for -'Dolphus and Eve, and not for rattlers. That makes all the difference." - -"And yet it is a fact that, among the men and women for whom He died, -there are fires of evil which can only burn themselves out." - -"All things are possible with God," said she. - -He made no reply. He was always impressed by the spiritual strength of -this delicate woman. After a moment's pause it occurred to him to ask -simply-- - -"What is your sister frightened of--I mean at different times? She seems -to suffer from fears." - -Slowly she raised her faded blue eyes to him with a look of deep sorrow -and puzzled inquiry. "I don't know. She won't talk to me about -it--Bertha won't." - -"But surely----" - -"Yes, I ought to know all she thinks, and be able to help her. Perhaps I -know there may be something I won't admit to myself. But, Mr. Durgan, -I'm real glad if she talks to you, for it's bad for her to be so -lonesome. She had a great shock once, Bertha had. If you can make her -talk to you, it'll do her good, Mr. Durgan." - -Durgan obediently went out, and walked a few minutes with Bertha in the -further shadow of the garden. - -"Why did you say it?" she asked. "How could you talk of it being good to -kill anyone?" - -"My child!" he exclaimed, and then, more calmly, "you know well what I -meant. We all know perfectly that there is a leprosy of soul as well as -of body, for which on this side death we see no cure, of which even God -must see that the world would be well rid. We cannot act on our belief; -we leave it in His hands." - -"Don't say it! Don't even hint at such a thing again!" In a moment she -exclaimed, in a voice of tears, "What does God care? Ah me! when I look -back and see my childhood--such high hope, such trustful prayer! Who -gave that heart of hope but the God of whom you speak? Who taught the -little soul the courage to trust and pray? And the hope is dead, the -courage crushed, the prayers--may my worst enemy be saved from such -answer, if answer there is, to prayer!" - -She leaned her head against a tree, sobbing bitterly. - -He supposed that 'Dolphus, bringing memories of a previous time, had -unnerved her. - -"You had a happy childhood." He spoke soothingly, hardly with -interrogation. - -She looked up fiercely. "You call God a father! It was my father who -taught me to pray. He--ah! you cannot think how beautiful he was, how -loving, how fond of all beautiful things! He taught me to pray for him. -He said that he could not pray for himself--that he had no faith. I -knelt by his knee every day, and prayed, as he taught me, for him and -for sister and for myself, but most of all for him. Then Hermie became -religious--dear, gentle, self-denying sister--and I cannot doubt that -she spent half her time in prayer for him because he wasn't converted." - -"And he died?" asked Durgan. - -"Yes; he died." It seemed to him that she shuddered. - -"Had you ever anything to do with people who believe that the dead can -return to speak to us, or appear to us?" - -She raised her head and looked at him with interest. - -"I once knew a man," continued Durgan, "who believed in such things, who -saw such visions." - -"Do you mean the man called Charlton Beardsley?" - -Durgan was much surprised by hearing the name of his wife's protégé from -such a source. "I should not have supposed that you had ever even heard -his name. When he came to this country you must have been at school." - -"I had just left school. Tell me what he was like. Was he bad or good?" - -"I thought him simple, and much mistaken." - -"Was he a wicked man?" - -"I did not think him so then; I have not seen him since." - -"He lives with Mrs. Durgan now, and is a great invalid. Surely you must -know if he is a wicked man?" - -"Was it the Blounts who told you about him?" - -"Yes--Mr. Blount mentioned it before you came"--he thought her words -came with hesitation--"but I have wanted to ask you. He was called a -mesmerist, too--do you believe that one man's will could possess another -person, and make that person do--well, any wicked thing?" - -"There was some talk about what was called 'mesmerism' among Beardsley's -followers. He had nothing to do with it, I think. I do not believe in -one man controlling another to the extent you speak of. If it can -happen, it is so rare as not to be worth thought." - -She sat silently thinking. - -And he was egotistic enough to suppose that the unkindness of mentioning -his wife might now occur to her! But when she spoke again he saw that -she was only absorbed in her own thoughts. - -"I suppose you are right." She sighed. - -He said, "I am surprised to find your former life and mine have ever -touched so nearly as that we should have taken interest in the same man. -He was not a public medium--only known to a very few people. I spoke of -his seeing ghosts only because I wanted an opportunity to ask you if you -were frightened of ghosts." - -"Oh, no; I am not. I have been better taught than that. Why should you -ask?" - -"I see I should be ashamed of asking such a question." - -"Ah! I understand. I talk so wildly at times, I have been so foolishly, -childishly talkative, that you think me capable of any folly. You cannot -despise me as I despise myself; but--oh, Mr. Durgan--at times I am very -unhappy. If I were not terribly afraid to die, my greatest fear would -sometimes be that I should live another day. It is not melodrama; it is -not hysterics; it is the plain, sober truth; but I am sorry that I have -let you know it." - -Then, saying good-night, she added, "I have the best sister in the -world. I want to live bravely and be happy for her sake; and you can -best help me by forgetting what I have said and done. I had the best -father in the world: by the memory of your lost daughter, help me to be -worthy of him." - - - - -Chapter XIII - -A SOB IN THE DARK - - -When Durgan had said good-night to the sisters, he made the warm -moonlight night an excuse for wandering. He sat down a little way off, -able to watch the lights in the house, and also the stunted oak into -whose keeping he had seen Miss Smith confide something. He felt pretty -sure that, as soon as the house was shut up for the night, the dogs as -usual within, 'Dolphus would appear to take money from the tree. - -The house was closed; the curtained windows ceased to glow; but no one -climbed the tree. - -The oaks were on rocky, windy ground, the old trees gnarled and -conspicuous above the denser growth of low shrub. The thought of spying -on any of Miss Smith's plans was revolting; his only wish was to see -that the negro did not approach the house. He felt at last compelled to -descend to this tree, to be sure that no one lurked near it. He had -marked it by a peculiar fork in its upper part, but he lost sight of -this fork on entering the thin wood, and moved about carefully for some -time before he found it, and then no one was to be seen. He stood -nonplused, wondering how long he ought to guard the house. - -The white light fell on the small leaves and the gray moss and lichen -which covered the oak branches. It cast sharp interlacing shadows -beneath. The under thicket was of those small, aromatic azaleas which -can put forth their modest pink and white blossoms in sterile places. To -these bushes has been given a rare, sweet scent, to console them for -lack of splendor. Durgan's senses were lulled by this scent, by the soft -air and glamor of light. He stood a long while, not unwillingly, intent -upon every sight and sound. No hint of any human presence came near him. - -It seemed to him at length that he heard steps a long way down the hill -on the cart-road. He thought he heard voices. - -Now he felt sure the negro was coming, and he was exceedingly angry to -believe that Eve was with him. Who else could be there? He shuddered to -think that this false, soulless creature knew every door and window in -the house, every soft place in the hearts of her mistresses, perhaps -every fear they entertained. With her to help, and with some prior -knowledge of the sisters' secret as the basis of his operations, what -tortures might not this villain inflict, what robbery might he not -commit, without fear of accusation? Durgan felt angry with Eve; the -other only roused his contempt. With real rage, a passion strong in his -Southern nature, he slipped silently out, ready to confront the two. - -But now again there was silence. He could hear nothing. At every turn -the lone beauty of the place met him like a benediction. He waited. -There was nothing--no one. - -Then--ah, what was that sound? what could it be--like a gasp or sigh, -far away or near? One soft but terrible sob. That was all; but Durgan -felt his spirit quail. His rage was gone; he did not notice its absence. - -The moments in which he listened seemed long, but almost instantly he -found himself wondering if he had really heard anything at all. He went -as quickly and quietly as he could, by the trail and the mine, to the -road below, and saw 'Dolphus some way beneath, walking slowly, not up -but down the road. The casual aspect of his figure, the slight -consumptive cough, effaced the weird sensation of a minute before. - -"Hi!" cried Durgan. - -Bertha's terriers in the barn barked cheerfully in answer to his -well-known voice. The mountain echoed a moment. - -'Dolphus stood, hat in hand. A fit of coughing seized him. Durgan went -down the road. - -"What are you doing here?" - -"Trapping for coon, sir." - -"Not coon." - -"Yes, sir; I was prospecting for a likely place to set a trap. The -gentleman I've been servant to wrote and said he'd pay me for coon -skins." - -"You lie." - -"Yes, sir." - -He stood still submissively. The full light of the moon fell on him -between the shadows of the high and drooping trees. The dust of the road -absorbed and partly returned the pearly light. The sylvan beauty of this -sheltered bank was all around. What a sorry and absurd figure the -mulatto made! His silky hair, parted in the middle and much oiled, -received also the glint of the moon. His long side-whiskers hung to his -shoulders; his false jewelry flashed. This man, whose shirt-fronts and -manners were already the envy of darkydom in Deer Cove, looked indeed so -pitiful an object in these rich surroundings, that Durgan felt that he -had overrated his power for mischief. - -"I said you lied. What do you mean by saying 'yes'?" - -"I would not contradict you, sir. Reckon I lied. I'm a dying man, sir; -you could knock me down with a straw, sir." - -"What are you doing here?" - -"I came to do a service for Miss Smith. She's a holy one, sir. When I -found I wasn't long to live, I thought I oughter serve her if I could." - -"Serve her? You are trying some sort of trick to get money." - -"Miss Smith'll see that I'm comfortable as long as I live, sir. That's -all I want." - -"You're trying some game to enrich yourself, and you've got Adam's wife -helping you." - -'Dolphus laughed out; it was a weak, hysterical giggle. "Beg pardon, -sir, but the woman ain't in it. Beg pardon, I can't help laughing, sir. -Reckon good, religious ladies would be a sight better off without that -thieving yaller girl waiting on them." - -He laughed weakly till he coughed again. - -Durgan, revolted beyond measure, swore within himself that Eve should -never pollute the house of the sisters by entering it again. - -"Get home. Get out of my sight. If you come out here again I'll have the -General turn you out of the district." - -He spoke as to a dog, but the dog did not turn and run. He leaned -against a tree out of sheer weakness, but faced his enemy steadily. - -"No, sir; you can't frighten me, 'cause I'm a dying man, anyway. Miss -Smith, she'll speak to the General, and to the Almighty too, for me. -I'll die easier 'cause I know she will." His voice had grown thin, and -now vibrated with excitement. "I've just got one thing more to say, sir. -You'll see I'm not frightened of you when I say it. If you knew the sort -o' wife you've got, sir, and what she's been hiding, you'd look after -her better than you do; and if you value your salvation, you'll stand by -the pious little lady on the hill; you'll be happier when you come to -die." - -"Look here, my good fellow; you're very ill, I see; you're delirious. Go -home and get to bed." - -"Yes, sir, I'll go. But study on what I've said, sir; for it's gospel -truth, as I'm a dying man." - -"Can you manage to go alone? Shall I wake Adam to help you home?" - -'Dolphus laughed again. "No, don't wake Adam, sir. I'll go safer alone." - -Durgan, now convinced that hectic fever had produced delirium, went as -far as Adam's cabin to consult him. To his surprise, he found it empty. - - - - -Chapter XIV - -THE GOING OUT OF EVE - - -When the next day was breaking, Durgan wakened to the sound of footsteps -and loud lamenting. Adam, weeping like a heart-broken schoolboy, in -terrified haste stumbled into the door of the hut. - -"Marse Neil, suh, I've been huntin' her the whole night long, an' I've -found her done dead. Marsa, come, for de good Lord's sake! She's lyin' -all by herself on de ground. Oh, oh, my pore gal; my pore honey!" - -He was now running away again, and Durgan was following. In the thick of -the forest, in a hollow of coarse fern, lay the pretty Eve--a bronze -figure of exquisite workmanship. One small dark wound was seen above her -heart, where the torn muslin of her bodice revealed the beautiful -rounding of neck and breast. She lay with her face upturned, and death's -seal of peace upon her lips. Big Adam knelt sobbing by her side, trying -to close the fringed eyelids, which allowed one crescent line of the -velvet eye to be seen. - -"Adam, tell me what you know." Durgan's imperious tone was a needed -tonic. - -The big negro drew himself up and controlled his sobs. With a gesture -toward the dead of great simplicity, he said, "I know nuthin', -marsa--nuthin' but this! Miss Smith, she sen' me last night with a -lettah for the Gen'ral. The hoss los' a shoe, so I leave him an' walk. I -come home very late, near middle of night, an' I meet that yaller boy, -all up an' dressed, in the Cove. So I run home, an' my poor gal was gone -from the cabin. I'se been lookin' for her the whole night through till I -foun' her. Oh, oh! Marse Neil! my pore, pore gal!" He broke down again -in tears, casting himself beside the corpse on the ground. - -Durgan looked at the two with indescribable sorrow. How he had desired -to have this woman out of the way--Adam free from his thraldom, the -sisters from their mischief-making! Now! There is naught on earth can -grieve the heart of the living like the face of the dead. - -The dawn brightened; the birds sang peans of joy; the gay wind danced; -and over the woman who had been so light and winsome a part of -yesterday's life a rigid chill had crept, which made her to-day a part -only of the dark cold earth. Durgan stood with head bowed. He remembered -the day his father had bought her, a babe with her mother, to save them -from a darker fate. In this dead body was the blood of fathers who, -calling themselves American gentlemen, had, one generation after -another, sold their own children as slaves. What chance had she to have -in her nerve or fibre that could vibrate to any sense of good? If her -spirit had now passed to plead at the bar of some great judgment-hall, -on whose head must the doom of her transgressions fall? - -At length he knelt on one knee and laid his hand on Adam's head. "Don't -cry so! Oh, Adam; you've got your old master's son to love, you big -nigger. I couldn't do without you. You'll kill yourself crying for the -poor girl like that." - -Adam struggled like a manful child, and subdued his grief in order to -show how deep was his gratitude for this kindness. - -"We were both reared in the same old place, Adam. You'll not forget that -I'm lonely in the world now, too, and a poor working man like -yourself--oh, Adam!" - -Adam rose up. "This nigger will try and bear up an' not shame you, Marse -Neil. This nigger will never forget your kindness this day, Marse Neil, -suh." - -Since seeing that the woman was dead, Durgan had assumed that the low, -soft sob which had chilled his heart the night before was nothing more -than Eve's death groan. It seemed apparent that she had been stabbed to -the heart too suddenly to have had more than a moment's consciousness of -death. He supposed that 'Dolphus had perhaps been watched and waylaid by -Eve, and in a half-delirious moment had thus disposed of her to avoid -sharing the money he was seeking. - -Durgan took his bearings to find out where he now was, and climbed to -catch sight of the tree by which he had watched the evening before. But -as soon as he could see the upper part of the hill he perceived that it -was by no means sure such a sound could have been heard so far. This -annoyed him, as he wished to send his testimony at once to the -magistrate at Hilyard. When he remembered how 'Dolphus had laughed at -the mention of Eve, how he had raved about his innocent intentions, and -even ventured to slander Mrs. Durgan, of whose existence it would seem -he could only know through Eve's gossip, Durgan felt persuaded of his -dangerous mental state, and that there was no safety for the community -until this poor irresponsible creature was in confinement. The cool -daring of offering advice on his own domestic affairs was what, above -all, convinced Durgan of his delirious condition. - -He wrote a statement for the magistrate, giving such evidence as he -could, and his belief that 'Dolphus was the only person within reach of -the place where the crime was committed. - -Leaving Adam to watch beside his dead, Durgan himself went to Deer Cove, -sent one of his laborers to Hilyard and the other to Blount's, set a -guard over the house where 'Dolphus slept, and roused the village to -Adam's aid. - -It was not until he had done all he could in the interests of justice -and humanity, and was again returning to his solitary hut, that it -struck him for the first time how strange it was that this sorrowful -thing should occur within the radius of Bertha's unaccountable terrors, -that a cruel, crafty stroke, such as she would appear to dread, had -actually been struck within the purlieus of her hiding-place. - - - - -Chapter XV - -THE QUESTION OF GUILT - - -When Durgan reached the stone platform of the mine, Bertha came out to -meet him. She had apparently been sitting alone on some rock in the -lateral cutting. She was dressed for riding; her face was quite pale, -and had a strength and sternness in it that alarmed him. - -"I must go at once to Hilyard. I have come to--have you not heard?" - -"'Tis an affair of niggers," said he; "they are always knifing one -another." - -"Oh, no, no! Do you not understand at all? Whom do you suppose to be -guilty?" - -"'Dolphus, of course." - -"Mr. Durgan, for the sake of all that is true and just, and for our -sakes, if you will, do not breathe such a thought to anyone. What has -happened is, perhaps, what I have feared for years--what I have labored -for years to prevent. May God forgive me if I have risked too much. But -the worst thing that can be done--the worst for us--would be to accuse -_him_." - -"My dear Miss Bertha, you cannot possibly have anything to do with this -sad affair?" - -"Oh, you do not know! you do not know! Do not contradict me. Only -believe me that there is more in this than you know. I fear I have done -a terrible wrong in concealment, but I did it for the best. I hoped----" - -"I am quite sure that 'Dolphus killed the woman." - -"No! No! Alas! I am afraid I know too well who did. And I am so far yet -from knowing what I ought to do that I dare not tell you more. I'm -afraid that I should say too much or too little. But if you will do what -I ask, I think no harm will come if I go to Hilyard without saying more -than this." - -"Tell me why you are going to Hilyard." - -"I'm going to telegraph for our lawyer, Mr. Alden. He must come at once. -I intend to say in Deer that I am going to fetch Adam's mother, who -lives there; but I'm really going for the other purpose." - -"I cannot endure that you should mix yourself up in this affair! I am -sure that 'Dolphus did it. I caught him near the spot. He is very ill; -he was raving with fever, I think. But I will not argue with you. The -ride may do you good." - -"Will you do what I am going to ask?" - -"Tell me what it is." - -She had schooled herself to rapid work and action; her thought was quite -clear. "I want you to be kind enough to saddle my horse and bring him -down to me. I want you to explain to my sister that I have no time to go -back to the house, and to tell her that there is no woman who can come -to work for us to-day. I want you to speak very gently to her, for she -is so distressed; but you must not tell her that I spoke of the lawyer. -And first, last, and above all, Mr. Durgan, I want you to be on your -guard against an enemy. Going up to our house, and coming back, and -wherever you are till I come home, be on your guard. If you will promise -to do this you will be safe, and I can do my part with some composure." - -Durgan looked at her, speechless with sheer astonishment. Manlike, he -found the expense involved in bringing a notable lawyer a two days' -journey, and into this desolate height, a greater proof that she had -some substantial reason for alarm than any as yet offered him. - -"Promise me," she said. She was beyond all mood of tears or impatient -excitement. She was only resolute. - -He went up the hill to do her bidding, and at first found himself -looking to right and left in the bushes before him, as he formerly -looked upon the ground for snakes. - -Miss Smith came into the front room at his knock. She was tremulous and -tearful. After expressing his sympathy for the shock which her -housemaid's sudden death must have given, he asked her if she thought -Bertha well enough to ride alone. - -"It sometimes does her good to have a right down long ride, doesn't it, -Mr. Durgan? I don't quite understand the way she's feeling about this -dreadful thing, but I guess she'll be safe enough riding. She's promised -me to go to our good friend Mrs. Moore, at Hilyard. I don't see as the -ride can do her any harm." - -"If you think so," he said, "I'll saddle the horse." - -But Miss Smith had something else to say. "Do you think Adam did it, Mr. -Durgan? It seems dreadful to think such a thing of our good Adam, but I -always feel that a man who can strike a woman might do almost any mean, -bad thing." - -Durgan felt to the full the hopelessness of explaining to a woman so -ignorant of colored folk as was Miss Smith, the kindness of Adam's -discipline. He could only assure her of his present innocence. - -"You don't think, Mr. Durgan, that it could have been----" Her face was -very troubled. - -"Yes; I suppose it was 'Dolphus," said Durgan. "I found him near the -spot last night. He was delirious with fever, I think, and coughing -badly. It's not safe to leave him at large. They'll give him medical -attendance in jail. It's not likely he'll live to be hanged. I have sent -what evidence I have against him to Hilyard; I could not do otherwise." - -He said this in a tentative way, and found that Miss Smith did not share -her sister's belief that 'Dolphus was not guilty. She only sighed deeply -and said-- - -"The good Lord alone knows how to be just, Mr. Durgan; but I suppose the -law comes as near as it can." - -"Have you any evidence concerning his former character?" - -"No; I don't know anything about his character. I guess you've done just -right, Mr. Durgan. I'm asking the Lord to make known whatever ought to -be made known, and to hide whatever ought to be hidden, and to bless us -all. I guess that's about the best prayer I can think of. But I don't -mind telling you that 'twould be a dreadful trial to me or Birdie to be -obliged to give any evidence. And I can say before God that we neither -of us know anything about him that could have any bearing on this -matter." - -"You may depend upon me; I'll keep you out of it if I can. It's only -what happens constantly in a niggers' brawl." - -His heart went out with more and more cordiality to the upright, tearful -little lady, who, in the thick of troubles, seemed by her very life to -point to God, as the church spire seems to point to heaven above the -city's smoke. - -When leading off the saddled horse he stopped for a moment and looked -back with irresistible curiosity, thinking of the conflicting aspects of -the life that centered here. - -The grass of the foreground lay patterned with the graceful shadows of -acacia boughs. Between them he saw the low gray house, about which the -luxuriance of flowers made the only confusion. Hens were pecking and -dogs basking in the neat kitchen yard; and Miss Smith, in default of a -servant, was quietly sweeping the kitchen porch. The place was like a -dream of home. "Surely," he said to himself, "if the angel of peace -could ever seek an earthly dwelling, she might well alight here and -fold her wings." - -He led the horse down the trail with brows knit, and in his mind the -intention of further remonstrance with Bertha; but she mounted and rode -away without a moment's delay. - - - - -Book II - - - - -Chapter XVI - -A CALL FOR HELP - - -That night Adam, who had given up his cabin to the female watchers of -the dead, lay stretched at the door of Durgan's hut. - -In the small hours Durgan was awakened by the negro's sighs. - -"Oh, Adam! Can't you sleep?" - -"Oh! Marse Neil, suh; d'you think my pore gal's in de bad place? The -min'ster, he come to see me to-day, an' he said as how she was, 'cause -she wasn't converted. D'you think so, suh?" - -If Durgan had the modern distrust of old-fashioned preaching, he did not -feel sure that he knew better than the preacher. - -He lay a moment, thinking of the brightness and lightness of the -creature so suddenly laid stark, trying in thought to place her spirit -in any sort of angelic state. It would not do; the woman, as he knew -her, refused to be content with any heaven his thought could offer. He -could not conceive of any sane and wholesome spiritual condition to -which the trivial, sensual soul could be adjusted. - -"Oh, Adam, I don't know any better than your preacher; but I can tell -you something that I suppose----" - -"Yes, Marse Neil?" The tone told of a deep, sustained attention which -surprised the educated man. - -"I think the good Lord will take you to the good place when you die, and -that----" - -"Yes, but marsa, I done gone an' got religion long time ago, an' my pore -gal she wer'n't ever converted." - -"I was going to say that I think the Lord may let you be as near her -there as you were here if you go on caring for her--which was all the -distance between heaven and hell," he added within himself. - -Before the dawn Durgan was again disturbed. Far off there was hint of a -sound, the hoofs of several horses, perhaps--a ring, faint and far, of a -bridle chain? Yes, certainly, horsemen were in the valley. Adam heard -nothing but the throbs of his own heart-sorrow. Durgan listened. The -road in the valley circled the mountain to Deer Cove. The sound of the -horsemen was lost again almost before it was clearly heard. They were -coming from Hilyard; were they coming further than the village? An hour -later he heard them again; they were on the road to the mine. - -Adam had fallen into the sleep of exhaustion. Durgan stood out on the -road and listened and waited. Had Bertha met with some accident, and was -this her escort home? Were the horsemen coming for some purpose quite -unknown to him, bearing on the mystery of the summit house? Alas! doubt -as he would, he knew of one errand which these sounds might easily -betoken. It was widely known that Adam had had quarrels with his wife. - -Soon the men appeared. There were three constables, leading an extra -horse. Durgan saw the handcuffs held by the foremost. - -He ground his teeth in helpless indignation. - -All the affection he felt for the home of his forefathers, all the -warmth of the sights and sounds of his own joyous youth in the Durgan -plantations, intensified his sentiment for the friend who still slept -on, childlike, with teardrops on his cheek. - -When Adam was taken, Durgan brooded over this wrong. He realized more -and more that his certainty of one man's guilt and the other's innocence -was based only on his own estimate of their characters. The one was -true to the core, the other false; but how to prove it? - -About nine o'clock Bertha rode up. Her horse was jaded, her face worn. - -"I started from Hilyard at daybreak," she said. "I loped nearly all the -way." - -"Did you meet the constables?" - -Her reply was a monosyllable of brief distress. - -"You saw Adam--had they 'Dolphus, too?" - -"Yes. Don't let us talk of it; I can't bear it." - -She slid from her horse, grateful for respite, and Durgan, seeing her -weariness, offered coffee and food. - -She partook eagerly, as she had eaten little since the day before; but -she seemed in no hurry to go on. Hers was a depression from which words -did not come easily. - -He asked if the telegram had been sent. - -"Yes. Mr. Alden will be here the day after to-morrow." - -"You had his answer?" - -"No; but I know he will come as soon as possible. I could not decide -what to say and what not, even in cipher; I only said 'Come.'" - -There was silence again, for Durgan was too heartsore at the injustice -done to Adam to think much of anything else. - -At last Bertha broke out almost fiercely, "It was a glorious sunrise. I -saw it as I came over the ridge. The clouds were like a meadow of -flame-flower, and the purple color ran riot upon the hills till the -common, comfortable sunshine flashed over and made all the world happy, -looking as if life was good." - -"It was not to see the sunrise that you started so early," said he. - -"No, I could not rest. I was afraid, afraid that you would not believe -what I said yesterday." - -"What part of it?" - -"About being on your guard. Indeed, indeed I beg of you--laugh if you -like, but if you have any regard for me, do as I say. I only ask it -until Mr. Alden comes. He will be here the day after to-morrow, I am -sure. When I confess that I came so early because I was afraid that you -would not take care of yourself, you will take heed, I am sure." - -There was an awkward silence. She was hanging her head in shame, and -seemed hardly able to find her way as she rose and groped for her -bridle. - -"If we are in this danger I will certainly escort you to the house." - -"Yes; you may do that." - -So he led the horse under the green arches in the warm silence up to -the gate where the dogs fawned on their mistress. Near the house Miss -Smith came running to meet them. She embraced Bertha with motherly -tenderness, asking crisp little questions about her journey and about -Adam's mother. - -"I am safe now," said Bertha, dismissing Durgan with thanks. She added -in explanation to her sister, "I felt overdone with the heat. Mr. Durgan -gave me coffee and brought me up the hill." - - - - -Chapter XVII - -HERMIONE'S ADVOCATE - - -Durgan felt very curious to know whether Theodore Alden, the well-known -lawyer, would appear. He knew little about him except that his name was -always in the papers in connection with the law courts, with -philanthropic schemes and religious enterprise of an evangelical sort. -Report said various things--that he would plead in no case in which he -did not believe his cause to be right--that his integrity was in excess -of his brains, and was the only argument he offered worthy of a juror's -consideration--or, that the huge fees given him were often bribes to use -his reputation in the service of crime, and that his diabolical -cleverness was only equaled by his hypocrisy. These conflicting views -partly arose from the fact that he had gained some notorious cases in -the face of strong public opinion, and in one case, at least, it seemed -against all the weight of evidence. - -Whatever Alden's character, it was certain that his hands would at any -time be more than full of affairs. Bertha had only given him half a day -and a night in which to prepare for the journey. Durgan had no sanguine -hope of having his curiosity satisfied as soon as she expected. - -Yet, on the very next day, at evening, some twenty hours before the time -Bertha had set, a carriage from Hilyard drove up, and while the horses -were resting, a dapper, townbred Northerner jumped out to inspect his -surroundings. - -The stranger was about sixty years of age. He had a pale face, a trim -gray beard, a brisk manner, a fineness of dress, which all carried a -whiff of New York atmosphere into the lateral mica cutting, which was as -yet but a shallow cave. As soon as he perceived the nature of Durgan's -work, he took an almost exhaustive interest in mica, although it was -probable that he had never even thought of the product in its rough -state before. - -In vain Durgan tried to discern solitude or impatience in the face of -the stranger. He had no doubt heard of the deed with which the county -was ringing, on his way from Hilyard, but that could hardly have put his -mind at rest concerning Bertha's enigmatical telegram. - -When the horses were ready, the traveler and his luggage went on. The -carriage soon returned empty. Durgan heard no more till the next day. - -He had prevailed upon the old General to ride to Hilyard to try to -obtain Adam's release, and after waiting impatiently for the result, -heard by a messenger late that evening that Adam must abide his trial. -Durgan was proportionately angry and distressed. - -In this mood Bertha found him the morning after the lawyer arrived. She -was somewhat less troubled than on the last occasion, but showed -confusion in explaining her errand. She said that Alden was coming at -once to see Durgan. - -She added, "When I sent for him, and was so terribly frightened, I--I -thought I could tell him all that I feared." - -"It matters less that you should tell him what you fear, but you must -tell him all that you know." - -"Oh, Mr. Durgan, that is just what I cannot do--now that he is here." - -"You must. One innocent man, at least, is most falsely accused. Do you -think poor Adam is not made of the same flesh as you are? Think of the -agony of being accused of killing one whom you fondly loved, whom you -were bound to protect. Even if he is not hanged, every hour that he lies -in jail is unutterable misery to him." - -"Alas! who can know that better than I?" she asked. - -There was conviction in her tone. She raised her face to his; then -suddenly flushed and covered it with her hands. "You don't know? We -thought you must have guessed; but Mr. Alden will tell you. Oh, Mr. -Durgan, try to think of us as we are, not as the world thinks, -and--there! he is coming." - -They listened a moment to approaching footsteps. - -Bertha took hold of Durgan's sleeve in her intensity. "Don't tell him -anything I have said," she whispered. - -"Child!" he said a little sharply, "I must." - -Her intensity grew. "For Hermie's sake, don't. I will do anything you -tell me in defense of Adam. I will--yes, I promise--I will tell you all -I know, all I fear, only promise me this." She was clinging to his arm -in tears. - -He gave promise grudgingly. "Not before I see you again, then." - -"In spite of whatever he may tell you?" - -"I have promised," he said with displeasure. - -She had gone on, and the lawyer tripped jauntily down the path. He -brought with him the suggestion of hope. He presented his card with an -almost quaint formality. His manner was old-fashioned. He admired the -superb view, paid a few compliments to old Georgian families and to the -Durgans in particular, and apologized for his unceremonious intrusion -the previous evening. He went on, in elegant and precise diction, to say -that he understood from his clients at the summit house that Durgan -could give him details concerning the recent deplorable death of a -colored woman who had been in their employment. - -Durgan conducted him to the place where Eve was found, and to Adam's now -empty cabin. They discussed the facts that no knife had been found, that -the fern had taken no print of feet. Then Durgan described his first -sight of 'Dolphus and the interview. He was growing very tired of a -statement that he had already been obliged to make more than once. - -Alden took notes and gave no sign of opinion. - -"The mulatto did it," said Durgan, sternly. - -"Very probably, my dear sir; but there is as yet no proof. In such a -place, whoever did it could throw the knife where it would remain hidden -forever. There is no proof that this mulatto committed the deed before -he went down the mountain; none that Adam did not do it when he returned -later." - -"Adam is a better man than I am. I am as certain of him as of myself." - -"I entirely take your word for it. I am convinced by what you say. But -men of the law, my dear sir, think only of what will convince the men in -the box." - -Having told all this of his own accord, Durgan became aware that in the -course of conversation he was being questioned, and very closely. - -Where had he gone when he left the sisters? How long had he rested? -Where did he go then? Why did he wait? Did he remember exactly the place -in which he waited? None of these questions were asked in categorical -form, yet he had soon rather reluctantly told his every movement, except -what he had seen of Miss Smith's actions when the moon rose, and the -location of the particular tree. He was wholly determined that what he -had so unexpectedly spied should never pass his lips. - -"You were very kind in guarding the house. This colored man was -evidently a dangerous character. You had reason, no doubt, for -suspecting that he would be about at that hour, Mr. Durgan?" - -"I knew nothing about his movements. I can tell you nothing more." - -"Can you be sure that he made no attempt to enter the house that -evening?" - -"He could hardly have done that?" - -"You were in the house all the evening, and then watched it till you -heard the alarming sound of this poor woman's last breath. You are sure -that he did not come or go from the house in that time?" - -"Have you any reason to suppose he did?" - -"Suppose, merely for the sake of argument, that I had reason to suspect -he did, can you deny it?" - -"I am sure he did not." - -"Could you swear to it in a court of justice?" - -"No. It was impossible for me to watch every door. I expected him from -one direction, and watched only that. I should have expected the dogs to -bark if he came within the paling." - -"Ah! Then you could not swear that anyone who could silence the dogs -might have left the house." The lawyer relapsed into significant -silence. - - - - -Chapter XVIII - -A STARTLING DISCLOSURE - - -At last Alden said, "Mr. Durgan, I came here this morning at the request -of my clients and dear friends to make a communication to you. When I -have made it you will understand why I should have been glad had you -been certain that during the evening no one could have left or entered -the house--this negro or any other person. Have you any idea of what I -am going to tell you?" - -"I am aware that these ladies are, for some good reason, hiding. This -information came to me by accident. The secret is safe with me. I have -no wish to know more." - -"No doubt it is safe, and we are happy that it should be in your -keeping. May I ask if you came to guess it solely from those letters -which this unhappy pair opened; or did any other circumstance----?" - -"Solely through that accident." - -"You feel convinced that this knowledge was only shared by these two?" - -"I quite think so. Adam will never tell. He is as safe as I am." - -"And the woman is dead." - -For the first time Durgan put the two circumstances together. He felt -vexed. - -"You will naturally suppose," said Alden, "that when Adam is tried, my -clients will go into court and give evidence as to his excellent -character. But if it is possible to prevent it, they must not do that. -It was never by my advice that they secluded themselves and took an -assumed name; it was Bertha who insisted upon seclusion. I would have -preferred that they had had strength to live in the open. I should not -have greatly cared had all the country found out who they were, but for -this crime, which is the most unfortunate that could have happened at -their doors. Their identity must now be hid, if it is possible without -wickedness." - -Durgan had been trying jealously to find some element of falsity beneath -the Northerner's quiet face and dapper exterior. Now he no longer -doubted his sincerity. The lawyer sat looking absently down where the -beautiful valley lay in all its summer tranquillity, framed in the peace -of the eternal hills, and Durgan saw the beads of sweat break upon his -brow. He was convinced that he had more than the interest of clients at -stake, that his whole heart was in some way concerned in this matter. - -Alden spoke slowly. "I have known these women since Bertha was a mere -girl. Eight years ago I was working in the same mission school with the -elder sister. For three years we met twice a week, with the most sacred -of all interests in common. Constantly I had the pleasure of walking to -or fro with her, and we talked together on the great theme of religion. -After that I knew her intimately in the midst of the greatest sorrows a -woman could endure. I have strengthened our friendship by every means in -my power ever since. Is it possible that I could be mistaken in her -character?" - -His small blue eyes had grown deeper and bluer as he spoke; the lines -about them also deepened. Sorrow, and that of the nobler sort, was -written there. Durgan liked him. - -"I am sure that our friend is a true woman," said he. - -"And yet, Mr. Durgan, she is publicly believed to have committed the -most barbarous of crimes. She is Hermione Claxton." - -Durgan uttered an exclamation of dismay. The two men turned from each -other with mute accord. - -To Durgan it seemed strange and terrible that here, in these splendid -mountain solitudes, the edge of such a shameful thing should enter his -own life. Below the rock, the forest in glossy leaf breathed in the -perfect sunlight; rank below rank stood shining trees like angelic hosts -in pictures of heaven. The air was filled with the lullaby of unseen -herd-bells. Afar, where the valley widened and purpled, the mountain -stream, in quiet waters, was descried, and sunny fields. - -Before Durgan's mind lay the daily papers of the time of the notorious -trial of Hermione Claxton--the sensational headlines, the discursive -leaders. In his ears echoed the universal conversation of that -time--voices in street-cars, hotels, and streets. The natural horror of -brutal deeds, which had made him recoil then, darkened his outlook now -like a cloud. But in the midst of this obscurity upon all things two -figures stood, a moving vision--Bertha, fresh and beautiful, faulty and -lovable, and beside her the fragile sister, gray-haired and upright, -with steadfast face turned heavenward. - -Alden spoke first. "You are aware, Mr. Durgan, that Mr. Claxton and his -second wife were suddenly killed, that a large body of circumstantial -evidence proved that Hermione was alone in the house with them, that by -her own arranging she was alone with them--in fact, I must say there was -complete circumstantial proof that she had committed the heinous crime. -There was even motive, if just anger and love of money are motive -enough. Against this stood, I may say, only her personality, for so -reticent and modest is she that few know her character. To my mind, it -is a great honor to America that the twelve ordinary men who formed the -jury could be so impressed by her personality that, while the whole -world hooted, they were resolute in a verdict of acquittal." - -"It was you--your eloquence that did it." - -"So the world said; but I only appealed to their sense of truth, and out -of the truth of their hearts they pronounced her 'not guilty.' You are -aware, Mr. Durgan, that the world pronounced another verdict." - -Durgan would have been glad to be silent. In the rush of his thought he -was conscious that he chose the most childish thing to say. -"But--but--someone must have done it." - -When Alden did not seem to find this remark worthy even of assent he -hastened, stumbling, to explain it. "I would be understood to mean -that, familiar as you were with them, it is hardly possible that you do -not suspect, do not, perhaps, know, who might be guilty. I am not, of -course, asking you who--I have not the slightest right to ask--but----" - -"Do you suggest that, while the whole nation was roused, and rightly, to -demand justice, I screened the sinner? Mr. Durgan, I come of Puritan -descent. So strongly do I feel the wickedness of lax justice that if my -own son had done it I would have led him to the scaffold." - -Durgan believed him. There had flashed out of this little, dainty man so -hot a spark from the lightnings of Mount Sinai that the onlooker felt -for the moment scorched by the sudden heat. - -Also by this time Durgan had perceived that his imputation had really -arisen, not from the public reports of the case, or from Alden's -epitome, but from his knowledge of Bertha's perplexity, terror, and -distress. He was glad that Alden went on without waiting for reply. - -"You must surely be aware, Mr. Durgan, that, admitting the daughter's -innocence, the case was one of those termed 'mysteries,' and ranks among -the most obscure of these. The murder must have been the work of some -maniac intruder; my own suspicions have always centered about a boy who -certainly came to the house that morning, but was never heard of after, -altho large rewards were offered. But that only shifts the unknown a -step farther back. Who was this boy who could so vanish? Who sent him, -and who concealed him? Indeed, Mr. Durgan, who can have thought on this -problem as I have done? And there were many even astute lawyers and -commercial men who have confessed to me that they induced insomnia by -merely trying to conceive an adequate explanation. Remember that the -dual crime and the vanishing of this boy occurred at midday in a -fashionable neighborhood, in a household noted for propriety, elegance, -and culture. I, who know more than anyone else, know nothing; but this I -do say, Mr. Durgan: rather than believe Hermione Claxton guilty, I would -believe that the deed was done by an invisible fiend from the nether -world; and I am not superstitious." - -"I quite agree with you. Anyone who knows Miss Claxton must agree with -you. She is innocent of every evil thought." - -But he felt that he spoke mechanically. His mind was turning with more -and more distress and bewilderment to Bertha's talk and behavior. He was -glad when Alden went away for the time, altho he knew that the question -of Adam's defense must be quickly settled. - -Alden left him with the words: "I will come back, Mr. Durgan. You can -see now that if that insane thing called the public got hold of the fact -that the victim of last week's crime belonged to the Claxton household, -unless it could be proved that no one issued from the house that -evening----" - -"I understand," Durgan answered with ill-controlled impatience. - -The small man squared his shoulders and looked up staunchly. "We must -save her at any cost, save that of breaking God's law." - - - - -Chapter XIX - -TANGLED IN THE COIL - - -Those elemental emotions, the protection of feebleness, the vindication -of womanhood tender and motherly, were aroused in Durgan to the heat of -passion. In heart he joined hands firmly with the little lawyer who had -fought the battle so long. He had saved this good woman once from the -worst peril, but Durgan feared there was more to come, and was panting -to establish her innocence. - -He struggled with a temptation. If he could swear that he had heard -Eve's last breath at an hour when it was known the husband was away, -this evidence would set Adam free. He believed himself to have heard it, -conjecturing that either some peculiar atmospheric condition had -obtained, or his senses had been strained to abnormal acuteness, or the -passing spirit, terrified, had flown for safety to the nearest friend, -bringing its sob of fear when it was but an instant too late to seek -human aid. Why not continue to conceal the fact that he had been half a -furlong beyond all natural earshot of the woman's death? He would not -have known so precisely where he was had not Miss Smith's action caused -him to mark one tree among its fellows. Neil Durgan, striding into court -at Hilyard to give his evidence concerning the death of one of his -father's slaves, was not likely to be strictly cross-questioned. The -terror of the past to both sisters and Bertha's present terrors (which -must yet be inquired into and allayed), surely this was enough trouble -without unnecessary delay and hesitation in the course of justice at -Hilyard. - -Durgan was at work all day, and desired in hacking and hewing the rock -to temper his own mind to meet the need of the hour, hardly knowing on -which side of his path honor lay, and caring more to succeed than to be -scrupulous. - -While the day spent itself, his thought upon all that had occurred -became clearer. It was obvious that first, before taking another step, -he must know the whole warp and woof of Bertha's suspicions, which at -present seemed to him so flimsy. He must know each thread, or Alden must -know. At this point he stopped to marvel. On what pretext should Bertha -seek to deceive so good a friend as Alden? And could it be that neither -sister had confessed to Alden that the criminal had some sinister hold -over them? - -Perhaps, after all, to give evidence against 'Dolphus was not the first -step out of this coil of trouble. In revenge the nigger might be able to -declare what they all desired most to keep silent. Bertha's strongly -expressed desire in the matter strengthened this idea. - -That afternoon the carriage of the Durgan Blounts was drawn by foaming -thoroughbreds up the rough and winding road to the summit of Deer. Mrs. -Durgan Blount was with her husband, and young Blount rode beside on his -chestnut mare. - -They stopped at the mica cutting to converse cheerfully with Durgan on -the frequency of knifing among niggers and the obvious purpose of their -journey. - -The dame spoke languidly. "We thought it incumbent to offer our sympathy -to the Northern ladies. This ghastly thing having happened on our -property, and so close to the site these ladies have bought, we felt -obliged." - -"Come along, Neil Durgan," said the old General. "Jump in and call with -us; it ought to be a family affair." - -Durgan excused himself, wondering grimly what effect the name of -Claxton would have had on this family expedition. - -The son waited till his mother's carriage had gone on. "You are quite -sure it was the yellow boy who did it? I heard at the post-office that -you had found his knife." - -Durgan explained that this was not so, but reiterated his conviction as -to the guilt of 'Dolphus. - -Said Blount slowly: "Your opinion will be conclusive. It wouldn't go far -in a Northern court, perhaps; but here, and for niggers, if you tell -your tale well it will prove sufficient." - -"I'd be satisfied to get Adam off, if that could be done without hanging -the other." - -Blount stooped forward to rub the mare's ears and smooth her silken -mane. His young countenance was benign and thoughtful. - -"You had better have him sentenced," he said quietly. "It's annoying for -you, of course, because the result rests with you--the General settled -that with the judge. But it's your duty; and you do more for the world -in ridding it of one villain than by a lot of charity." - -Durgan felt ill-satisfied now with the sentiment of these last words, -altho a few days before it had been his own. - -Young Blount rode away with serious mien. The hot sunflecks fell -between chestnut boughs upon horse and rider and tawny wheel-ruts. - -At sunset Durgan went up to the meadow, where he knew Bertha would come -to feed her four-footed friends. As he waited he sat on the ledge of the -wooden barn. - -He saw Bertha come through the meadow gate. The calves ran to meet and -conduct her to the place of feeding. Handsome young things they were, -red and white, with square heads and shoulders. They formed a bodyguard -on either side of the terrier and mastiff, which always had the right of -place nearest to her. Thus Bertha advanced down the green-grown road -between the ranks of deep, flowering grass. She carried a bucket and a -basket with fine, erect balance, one in either hand. - -The meadow slanted upward from the barn. As Durgan walked to meet her -and take the burden, he could just see over its rise the heads of the -opposite mountains. A wide gulf of slant sunbeams lay between. - -Bertha greeted him with serious mien. When he had taken her load and -fallen into line among her animals, she said: - -"You know the worst about us now." - -"Do I?" asked he. For he discovered at that moment that the question he -must now put was a cruel one, and could not be shirked or smoothed -over. - -"Alas!" She uttered the one deprecating word slowly, and moved on in -silence. - -The bull calf pushed its powerful head under her hand, which now hung -free, and she walked, leaning upon it, till the mastiff slowly inserted -himself between the two, and, with a sudden push of its side, ousted the -calf, who took a short scamper and returned head downward toward the -mastiff's broad flank. The terrier laughed aloud: no one could have -interpreted his snorts of delight otherwise. The mastiff reluctantly -withdrew his soft nose from Bertha's palm, and attended to matters of -defense. All the calves scattered in an ungainly dance, and all returned -circling the dogs with lowered heads. Bertha watched these antics with a -sad smile; then by sundry cuffs and pats put an end to the feud. - -When they had fed the calves and the other creatures who lived in -sumptuous hutches and sties behind the barn, Durgan asked his question. - - - - -Chapter XX - -THE TERRIBLE CONFESSION - - -Bertha and Durgan were standing in the broad central doorway of the -barn. Hay, full of meadow flowers, was piled high to right and left. The -air was full of dried pollen, and golden with the level sunlight. - -"Do you know who it was that killed your parents?" Durgan asked. - -She put up trembling hands in the brave pretense of shielding her eyes -from the sun. Her whole body shook; her head sank on her breast. - -At last she said in faint tones: "You think _this_ because I warned you -of danger--because of all I have said; but I was distracted, and at that -time I did not foresee that you must be told who we are." - -"All that is true. I am more sorry for you than words can say; but it -must be better for you to share a secret you seem to be nursing alone, -and you cannot think I would ask if I did not need to know." - -She did not answer. He suspected that she was using all her attention to -regain self-control and the strength that she had lost so suddenly. - -"You told me that you thought you knew who committed this second crime," -he said, "and I am convinced that you connect it with that other." - -A low moan escaped her. Her head sank lower. - -"I believe that the nigger is guilty, but I can't go to court and swear -away his life, knowing only what you have told me and no more." - -She whispered eagerly: "Will it do if I swear now that I believe I was -mistaken--that I knew nothing, or, at least, no proof to the contrary?" - -"Have you ever had the least reason to suppose that another person -capable of these crimes lurked upon Deer?" - -"If I swear to you that I never thought anyone else was near us, or on -the mountain, will that satisfy you?" She was leaning her brow heavily -on the hand that shaded her face. - -"No one else--else than----?" - -She did not help him out. She sat down, or rather crouched, on the steps -of the loft. - -He said very gently but resolutely: "You think, then, that your sister -committed these crimes." - -She put up her hands. "Do not, do not say it. Oh, I have never thought -it possible that you could be so cruel as to say such a thing to me. -Leave me in peace; for God's sake, leave me!" - -"Child! even if I could leave you, it is not right that you should go on -nursing this terrible suspicion alone. In the back of your mind you -believe this thing, and think that some time--any time, she may repeat -the crime; and the terror of it is killing you." - -She was trembling violently, her face buried in her hands. - -"Have you allowed anyone else to know of this suspicion of yours? Tell -me, have you talked it over with a single soul?" - -"No, no; oh, no," she moaned. "For pity's sake, stop speaking! I never -thought anyone would dare to say this to me." - -"That is just what I supposed. You have nursed the idea in absolute -secret. You have not even allowed your sister herself to know what you -think." - -"I beg that you will say no more." - -"You are guarding this idea in heroic silence. You imprison it in -darkness, and think it would be more terrible if you brought it out to -the light. You are wrong. It will vanish away in the light. It is not -true." - -She started, looking up at him with wide eyes in which the tears were -arrested by surprise. The flush on her face faded. She grew pale to the -lips with excitement. - -"How do you know?" she whispered hoarsely. "Tell me--do you know? How?" - -"I know just as I know that I did not do it--or you. You did not see her -do this terrible thing." - -"Oh, you know nothing." She sank down again and rocked herself, moaning: -"You know nothing, nothing. Why did you deceive me?" - -"Tell me, then--on what grounds have you formed this belief?" - -She grew more quiet, drooping before him as if in despair. - -"I must go to Hilyard to-morrow. I must know first what I can say. You -must tell me why you, even for one hour, believed 'Dolphus to be -innocent, before I go. I must judge for myself of what you tell me, but -you must tell me all you know--or else you must tell Alden." - -At that she uncovered her face and sought to speak calmly. "I cannot -tell Mr. Alden; I beseech you, spare me that. I thought I could tell -him. Then, when he came--ah, I saw then what I never knew before--that -he loves Hermie--that she loves him. There is a far deeper friendship -between them than I knew. I was but a girl when they used to be -together, and now---- It is so sad to see the feeling he has for her. -She has grown so old, and so has he--so prematurely old. This sorrow has -been so deep to them both. The night that he came here he reproached her -for not letting him protect her more openly. He asked her to marry him -now--even now; it seems he has asked her before. Surely it must be left -to her to tell him if he must ever know, if she must ever endure the -anguish of his knowing." - -Durgan could hardly believe his own sense of hearing, so calmly certain -did she seem of the verity of her secret. - -"Your sister could not tell Mr. Alden what is not true. She is wholly -innocent. She can never, thank God, have any misery that accrues to one -who has committed an evil deed." - -"You know nothing," she repeated gently, "and, oh, I am in a terrible -perplexity; I do not know what to do. I am in far greater straits than -you know of, Mr. Durgan. You urge me to tell you--will you accept my -confession in confidence? Otherwise--ah, if you tell Mr. Alden what I -have already said, it seems to me that I shall die of grief and shame. -I could never look my dear sister in the face again." - -"You have no choice now but to tell me. The life of an innocent man must -be saved; your sister's name must be kept out of the trial. For their -sakes I am bound to consult Mr. Alden about what you have already told -me, unless, upon knowing your whole story, I think I am justified in -keeping your secret. I am your friend. I can have no possible desire but -to serve your sister and yourself." - -"But truth--justice? Would you sacrifice us to a fetish you call -'justice,' pretending it is God? I have always felt that you would not. -Mr. Alden would, even if it cost him his own life." - -Durgan meditated on this aspect of Alden's character. He could perceive -that from her point of view this characteristic made him terrible. In -her trouble she had blindly put her finger on perhaps the main -difference between the virtue of the South and that of the North. - -"Hermie has always told me that about him, but till this time I never -entirely believed her. Now I do. The more he loved Hermie, the -more---- Oh, Mr. Durgan, it is terrible to think of!" - -He looked down pityingly. "The thoughts that you are enduring, child, -are too terrible for you to bear alone. You must trust me. We -Southerners were never taught to think, as the Puritans did, that the -whole heart of God could be translated into a human code. I am not as -good a man as Alden, but if I were----" - -"Oh, I can trust you," she cried. "I know I can. And you are right--I -must, I ought, to speak; but do not know how, or how much. Question me, -and I will answer." - -"On what possible ground can you believe this of your sister?" - -"On the ground of her own confession. It is written and sealed up; I -know where it is." - -She had again crouched down on the lower step, and her face was hidden; -but her shaken voice was quite clear and resolute. - -Durgan was amazed into silence. The sun, in a dry, empty sky, had slowly -descended to the dark rim of the Cherokee ridge. Now it seemed to set -suddenly, and a cold shadow rose over Deer. Bertha saw nothing, but to -Durgan the change in the atmosphere lent emphasis to her statement, and -all the combative part of his nature rose up against it. He was -convinced that there was no such confession. - - - - -Chapter XXI - -OPENING THE PAST - - -"Are you sure of what you tell me?" asked Durgan. - -Bertha answered: "Yes; I do not know what she wrote, but I am sure it -was her confession." - -"You don't know what she wrote," sharply. "How do you know she -confessed?" - -"She told me so." - -"Then, even in the face of that, I say she is innocent." - -"Innocent--ah, yes, indeed--of any motive, any intent, of any knowledge -at the moment of what she was doing. As innocent as any angel of God. Do -you think I do not know the heart, the life, of my sister? It was -madness, or the possession of a demon. It was madness that came -suddenly, like a fit or stroke. That is why I want to know what I ought -to do. It may come back; any excitement, any association with the former -attack, might bring it back. Oh, consider her case, and tell me what I -ought to do. When you first came I was terrified. You did not see how -much roused she was--she is so shy and quiet--but I saw a new light in -her eyes. Your name is mixed up with the thought of our father in a very -sad way. I was frightened then, but mercifully nothing happened. Then -about the letters--ah, she was vexed about that, and I was so frightened -lest she should be ill again. Then, when the colored boy came, I dared -not let her be alone with him. He brought all the details of that -dreadful time back to us and--ah, I thought, living as we do and keeping -him from her, I had taken every precaution, but--on the morning after -that poor woman was killed, I found, oh, Mr. Durgan, I found her -handkerchief in the wood where she never goes. I found it because the -dogs were scenting something and I followed, and the place was in a -direct line from where poor Eve----" she stopped, shuddering. - -"You did not tell Alden this?" - -"Oh, no. How could I? And _now_ I hardly believe--at least, I don't -think she could have been out that night. She has been so calm since. I -am sure she cannot have gone out; but I don't know--I don't know what I -ought to believe or do." - -The miserable recital of her fears and perplexities came to an end only -when her voice failed her. Durgan had been obliged to listen attentively -to gather her full purport. He knew certainly that Miss Claxton had -been out alone that night, that the tree which she had climbed was, in -fact, in a line between Eve's beautiful deathbed and her own back door. -Nor did anyone know at what hour Eve died. His own assumption that Miss -Claxton had gone out only as far as the tree to leave money for 'Dolphus -had only the slightest foundation, and the mulatto's movements certainly -did not confirm it. - -While he reviewed all this with some reasonable horror, he found that -his inward belief of the propriety of all Miss Claxton's actions was not -shaken. His faith was obstinate, and facts had to be made to fit into -it. - -"Let us take this terrible secret of yours, and spread it out to the -light quite calmly. You believe your sister did this first dreadful -thing in a fit of sudden madness, from which she seems to have recovered -immediately, as no one else thought her mad. Did you believe this at the -time of the trial?" - -"I did not know what to think then." - -"After that, while you were abroad together, were you always in terror -like this?" - -"Oh, no. It was when we were coming home that my sister had an illness. -It was then that she told me of her confession and where to find it if -it was ever needed. Then, knowing what must have been the matter, and -that it might come again, I was determined to find a lonely house where -I thought I should be the only one in danger. I thought I could take -that risk, as I only risked myself. When we found this house I felt sure -we were safe from intrusion and excitement." - -"After you heard of this confession you decided that she was subject to -homicidal mania. When I intruded on your privacy you feared for my life -in your house. You have feared for your own life whenever any cause of -excitement came up, and thought everyone near her was in danger. You -think now that such an attack may have been the cause of Eve's death." - -Bertha rose up in the twilight, looking like a trembling, guilty thing, -and slunk away from his cool voice and overbearing manner. - -"Do you think I have been so terribly wicked to keep this secret?" she -moaned. - -"I think you have been very foolish; but as your folly arose from -tenderness to your sister, I suppose you must be forgiven. You ought to -have told your sister or Alden, or consulted a good doctor. You would -have found then that you were mistaken." - -"How could I speak to anyone without causing suspicion? How could I -speak to her when I thought her only chance of continued health lay in -forgetting? Indeed, our own family doctor, who never guessed this, told -us after the trial was over that our only chance of health and leading -useful lives was never to talk or let ourselves think of our trouble. -Before we went abroad he warned us again and again." - -"He was wise. And you--have you been obeying him?" - -"How can you speak to me like this?" - -"It is the medicine you need. Your sister is not mad--has never been -mad. It is now years since your misfortune, and had there been want of -balance or brain disease, it would have shown itself by now. Your sister -is not obstinate or foolish. She is not subject to attacks of emotion, -nor does she lack self-control. There is no sign of any such mania as -could make such a crime possible to a well-principled woman." - -"But--oh, but--I read constantly in the papers of people who kill -themselves, or kill others and themselves afterwards. The verdict is -always 'temporary insanity.' I supposed there was such a thing." - -"That verdict is usually a cloak for ignorance; but it assumes that had -such people lived they would have shown symptoms of mental disease." - -Bertha raised her hands and clasped them above her head. She drew a long -breath, dilating her frame, and looked off where an empty yellow sky -circled a fading landscape. "If I could only believe you--ah--if I could -only believe you, I should ask no greater happiness in heaven." - -"Believe me, I am telling you the truth." - -"But--but----" - -"Sit down again, child," he said. - -The term "child," used constantly by the negroes to express -half-humorous or gentle chiding, comes very naturally to Southern lips. -It carried with it little suggestion of the difference of age between -them, but gave a sense of comradeship and good-will which comforted her. -He pulled down a bundle of hay to cushion her seat on the steps. - -"Now tell me all the 'buts,'" he said. - -"Alas, Mr. Durgan, you cannot scold away our great trouble and my fears. -You cannot smile them into insignificance; but now I am willing to tell -you our story, and when it is told I hope you will see that you, too, -must bury it forever in silence, as I have tried to do." - -She began again. "There is another reason, which you don't know yet, why -I must tell you now. It is this 'Dolphus. I will try to be quick. Do -you know all that was put in the newspapers about us--about the trial?" - -Durgan made a sign of assent. - -"Day after day the court discussed every detail of our family life and -of that awful day--held it up to the whole world with an awful -minuteness and intensity. And Hermie was in prison when she was not in -court--oh, I wonder we lived--and it was all such a farce. They got hold -of everything but the things that mattered. They never came near them. - -"They tried to make out that we hated poor mamma because she was not our -own mother, and were jealous lest papa should make a will in her favor. -What rubbish! She was only a pretty doll, and had money of her own. No -one could hate her, and papa never thought of leaving her our money. We -never thought about his will." - -"I quite believe that," said Durgan heartily. - -"The facts they did not get hold of were about the boy they made such a -mystery of." - -"What did they know about the boy?" - -"One of the servants let him in, and one of the neighbors saw him come -in. They both took him for a beggar: one thought he was an Italian. -Hermie and I knew more. I gave evidence that he had come in, and that -we had not seen him leave the hall, where he waited, or seen him again -that morning, which was true. But he did not come as a beggar, he did -not go away before the trouble, or vanish after it. He was hidden in the -house all that day, and we arranged his escape at night. In court they -never asked questions that I could not answer about him, for they never -once guessed." - -"Guessed what?" - -"That we wanted to save him. Their one idea was that we wanted him to be -found. Mr. Alden moved the earth to find him, and he was conducting our -case." - -"Who was the boy?" - -"May I tell you all I know? The boy was 'Dolphus. He was only a -messenger--a servant of that man who was raising spirits in dark rooms -and making them give messages and----" - -"You mean Beardsley?" - -"Yes. You said the other night that he was supposed not to be a common -medium. My sister has told me that Mrs. Durgan----" - -"Yes, yes, I know." - -"I only mean that just a few people went to him, and my father had gone. -Oh, I believe he went often, and he used to tell us things that vexed -Hermie so." - -"What things?" - -"Oh, about knocks and tables moving. And then dear father began to -receive knocks and messages from our mother. That made Hermie almost -frantic. She remembered mother well, and was offended. She called it -'profanity.' But I am sure my father did not know how it vexed her; he -was always so considerate." - -"The boy came from Beardsley?" - -"Oh, yes. We knew, and know, nothing about the boy. He asked for my -father, and was told to wait in the kitchen. I saw him there, and so did -the maids. But only Hermie knew about the note--he gave it to her. She -took it upstairs. I saw that she looked very white and angry. She told -me that it was a message from that 'shameful impostor.' Then Hermie -asked me to gather fruit in the garden, and she sent out the maids up -the street. Then, some time after that, she--ah, you know it all!--gave -the alarm. She called in people, and they went and rang for the police. -She was very calm. Everyone knows the whole story after that." - -"Yes; but tell me what you did." - -"She never allowed me to go into that room where---- She told me my -father was too much disfigured for me to recognize him. Oh, I thought -of nothing but the loss of my father all that day. I went into his -dressing-room and cried there. I took out his dear clothes and laid my -head on them. Hermie sat with me part of the day. The police were in -charge of the house; but no one had thought then of accusing her. - -"When it was dark night Hermie came to me and said that there was -something we could do for father's sake, and I must help her. She told -me the boy was in the house and he was innocent, but that if he was -found he might be arrested unjustly. She told me that some great -disgrace might fall on father's name if we did not get him safely away. -Oh, I did not at all understand at the time that she meant that if he -were charged she must confess and be convicted. She chose some clothes -of father's, and then I found that the boy was locked in a very narrow -press in that very room. He put on the clothes, and he and Hermie -knotted some dark thing together and we let him down from the window in -the dark to the garden. He got in the neighbor's garden. She told him -how to get from garden to garden. The police were about, but he got -away. Her mind seemed quite clear. She said that because the boy was -innocent it was our duty to tell nothing that could lead to his capture. -She never told Mr. Alden that she knew who the boy was or who sent him, -that he had brought a letter, or how he escaped." - -"But how was she so certain that he was innocent?" - -"Ah, that is what I have asked myself night and day for years. What -could make her certain but one thing? She _knew_, and if she knew that -anyone else had committed the deed, why not tell and exonerate the boy?" - -"It is most extraordinary," said Durgan. The words were wrung from him -almost without his will. - -Bertha took no notice. "Then that night she did not know what she was -saying. She thought she saw all sorts of strange things in the room, and -she talked continually, as if seeing people who were not there. Her -words were quite fantastic and related to nothing I could understand. -But occasionally, when she seemed more coherent, she told me that the -police would come for her, that she would be proved to be guilty, and -begged me in the most touching terms to love her in spite of all. In the -daytime she would get up and go about the house, and she appeared -composed; but I knew her well enough to see that she was still strange. -But she never said a word, except when we were alone, to lead anyone to -suppose that she knew more than she first told. On the third day Mr. -Alden told us that she would be taken to prison. It was an awful shock -to me, but it seemed to rouse her and bring back her faculties. We were -alone together for about an hour. After she had tried to soothe and -comfort me by speaking of duty, of God, and of heaven, she spoke to me -very solemnly, and told me not to grieve for any hardship that befell -her, for she had broken the law and must suffer if she was condemned; -but that, short of doing or saying anything to inculpate anyone else, -she would do all that could be done to convince the world of her -innocence. She said: 'It would be worse for you, and for father's sake, -if I were convicted. I will fight for my liberty unless someone else is -accused; but remember, if anyone else is accused, I shall have to do -what will bring disgrace. Remember that, Bertha. Remember that if any -circumstance should come to your knowledge to tempt you to accuse anyone -else, _that_ will put an end to my hopes.' She said this very solemnly -several times. Then she told me the lines on which Mr. Alden would -probably have the case conducted; and that I must tell nothing but the -truth, but refuse to tell about the boy, or what she had told me. I -never heard anyone speak more clearly and collectedly. She foresaw -almost everything. Our other lawyers and Mr. Alden said the same thing, -that her intellect was almost like that of a trained lawyer in its -prevision of the effect of evidence." - -"And did you believe her guilty?" - -"I did not know what to think. I was stunned. I dared not think, for it -took all my mind to act the part she assigned to me. But afterwards, -during the long time she was in prison and during the trial, I believed -her innocent. When I thought of her goodness and the perfectly -unforeseen and inexplicable manner of the way poor papa and mamma died, -I could not think Hermione guilty, and I did not. As to the wild things -she said in those nights, I supposed she had been in a fever, and put -down all I could not understand to that. - -"Then we formed the plan of going abroad and returning to some place -like this, only not so lonely. We packed all our valuables to be put in -a safe by Mr. Alden. When my sister had packed the family papers and her -own jewelry and locked and sealed the box, she called me to look at it -and gave me the key. When she was ill in Paris she told me of her -confession, and that it lay at the bottom of this box. But she asked me -most solemnly never to open it unless someone else was falsely accused. -She told me that she had no further motive in life than to make up to -me as far as possible for all that I had innocently suffered; but she -begged me not to make life too hard for her by ever speaking of this -matter again. I have never spoken to her again about it." - -Bertha's voice had become very melancholy; now she ceased. - -"This mulatto calling himself 'Dolphus is certainly the boy?" - -"Yes--oh, yes; we both knew him the moment he turned up again." - -"Have you never seen him between then and now?" - -"No." - -"Where has he been?" - -"I don't know." - -"How did he find you?" - -"By bribing the porter in Mr. Alden's office to show him the letters he -carried. He has a right to protection and support from us, for there is -still a great reward offered for him. Mr. Alden offered it." - -"And Alden does not guess that this is he?" - -"How should he? He has no idea that we would hide him. But now we cannot -conceive what will happen, for altho we are sure that he won't tell -about us as long as he has a chance of escape, Hermie herself says that -if he is condemned he may, in despair and revenge, tell all that he -knows." - -"Alden must be told this." - -She sprang up with great energy. "He must not know. It is the one thing -Hermie will not let him know if it is possible to help it. Oh, of course -the worst catastrophe may come and overwhelm us; but while we have hope -of escape, Hermie will not let Mr. Alden know that." - -It had become dark. Hermione Claxton was looking for her sister, walking -across the meadow and calling in motherly tones. - -"Answer me just one thing. Did your sister tell you in plain words that -she committed this deed?" - -"No; she did not. But I have tried to make what she said mean anything -else. In any case she would not have said a word she could help; such -words are too terrible. Can you think I have not sought to believe -otherwise?" - -She said this in a tense, hurried voice, and standing at the barn door, -called back: "I'm coming, I'm coming, dear." - -"She never did it," said Durgan strongly. "She knows who did. She is -shielding someone." - -"That is very easy to say," said the girl scornfully. "Of one thing I -am certain; there is no one on earth she would shield at my expense. -Think what we have suffered while she fought through that terrible -trial. She knows no one, loves no one on earth, but me and Mr. Alden." - -"I'm coming, I'm coming, darling." - -She took up her empty pail and ran. - - - - -Chapter XXII - -THE EARTHLY PURGATORY - - -Waking or sleeping, one figure stood forth in Durgan's imagination that -night, and was the center of all his mental activity--it was Hermione -Claxton. - -He had been accustomed to regard her as the very incarnation of the -commonplace, in so far as good sense and good feeling can be common. - -Now he knew her as the chief actor in a story wherein the heights and -depths of human passion had been so displayed that it might seem -impossible for one mind to habitually hold so wide a gamut of experience -in its conscious memory. This quiet little gray-haired housewife, who -lived beside him, baking, sweeping, and sewing her placid days away, had -stood in the criminal dock almost convicted of the most inhuman of -crimes. Having passed through the awful white flame of public -execration, she had accepted her blackened reputation with quiet -dignity; for years she had lived a hidden life of perfect -self-sacrifice, devoting herself to the purest service of sister-love. -With character still uncleared, she had been urged to take her place as -the wife of one of New York's best-known philanthropists, with whom, it -seemed, she had long suffered the sorrows of mutual love and -disappointment. Of more than this Durgan felt assured. As he reviewed -all that had been told him that day, he was the more convinced that she -had been no involuntary victim of false accusation, that she knew the -secret that had puzzled the world, and had chosen to shield the -criminal, to bear the odium, and also inflict it on the objects of her -love. She had done all this for the sake of--what? What motive could -have been strong enough to induce a wise and good woman to make such a -sacrifice and endure the intolerable keeping of such a secret? - -Durgan very naturally sought again the bundle of criminal reports which -had fallen into his hands after the fire. Packed in the pile which fed -the miners' stove, they had not, as yet, been burned. He reconsidered -them, supposing now that they had been collected by Miss Claxton -herself. A motley band of prisoners was thus evoked. They passed in -procession before Durgan, beginning with Hermione Claxton, and ending -with that curious figure of the dilettante priest who had beaten a -sister to death in fear that she was an apparition. The well-born woman -who, without temptation, had stolen jewels; the French peasant who had -killed a loved wife to save her from the sufferings of a painful -disease, and all the other members of this strange procession, -represented the eccentricities of the respectable, rather than the -characteristics of the degraded class. From a fresh scrutiny of each -Durgan gained no information, only a strong suspicion that the criminal -for whom Miss Claxton had so bravely stood scapegoat belonged to the -same respectable class. He assumed that while her lawyers had been -hunting for some inconsequent housebreaker who had taken a maniacal -delight in dealing death, she had covered the guilt of someone whose -reputation defied suspicion. Love, blind love, could have been the only -motive strong enough to initiate and sustain such a course of action. -The only way to discover the villain to whom she had sacrificed herself -was to discover the man to whom she had given her heart. No doubt, since -the crime and cowardice had betrayed his true value, such a woman would -turn with some affection to a man like Alden. But Durgan's surmise -required that before the crime she should have had another lover. Such a -lover, if at enmity with the father and in need of money, would have -had all the motive that the prosecution had attributed to Miss Claxton. -She was supposed to have sent all witnesses out of the house before the -crime; if her lover was demanding a private interview with her father, -and her engagement was as yet private, such action on her part---- But -Durgan paused, vexed at the nimbleness of his fancy. He derided himself -for assuming that so obvious a suspicion had not long ago been probed to -the bottom by acuter minds than his. - -When he came to question more soberly what clues he held by which he -might himself seek for any truth in his new suspicion, more unquiet -suggestions came thick and fast. - -More than once lately he had had the unpleasant sensation of hearing his -wife's name very unexpectedly. Bertha had more than once referred to -her; and what was it the raving mulatto had said? It took him some time -to recollect words that had fallen on his astonished ears only to -convince him of their nonsense. The mulatto had implied that his wife -had concealed something for years which put her in some rivalry or -enmity with Miss Claxton. His advice that Durgan should look into his -wife's conduct and take Miss Claxton's part could, if it meant anything, -only point to some mutual interest both women had with the -spiritualist, Charlton Beardsley. - -Durgan was amazed at such an idea. He remained for some time, as he said -to himself, "convinced" that the mulatto was raving; and yet he went as -far as to reflect that there had never been any visible reason for his -wife's devotion to this man; furthermore, that Bertha had said that Mr. -Claxton, an hour before his sad death, had received a message from -Charlton Beardsley, that the mulatto had come from Beardsley, and was it -not likely that he had sought shelter with his employer? The mulatto -evidently knew Hermione to be innocent; in that case Beardsley would -know it, and perhaps Durgan's own wife knew it. They had come forward -with no evidence. What possible motive could they have had for -concealment? - -Durgan broke from his camp bed and from his hut, hot and stifled by the -disagreeable rush of indignant and puzzled thoughts. He stood in the -free air and dark starlight, trying to shake off his growing suspicions. -Details gathered from different sources were darting into his mind, and -it seemed to him that fancy, not reason, was rapidly constructing a dark -story of which he could conceive no explanation, but which involved even -himself--through tolerance of his wife's conduct--in the guilt of Miss -Claxton's unmerited sufferings. - -Alarmed at the trend of these memories and hasty inferences, he -controlled himself, to reflect only on the more instant question of -Eve's death, and the evidence he must give at the trial. It would appear -that until 'Dolphus was condemned, even the Claxtons did not fear his -tongue. To give evidence against him, and at the same time to seal his -tongue, appeared to be Durgan's immediate duty, but the performance -seemed difficult. What bribe, what threat could move a condemned man who -was but a waif in the world, and need care for none but himself? - -Yet if rational meaning was to be granted at all to his raving on the -night of Eve's death, it would appear that even this creature had a -reverence for Miss Claxton, and a desire to be the object of her -prayers. Was this motive strong enough to be worked upon? It would be -better, no doubt, to gain an interview with the prisoner and try to -discover if he had any tenacity of purpose, but to this Durgan felt -strong repugnance. - -In avoiding this issue, his mind began to torment him regarding the -evidence against Miss Claxton, which he alone knew, and which he might -not have a right to conceal. His ardent belief in her goodness, his -firm belief that he had heard Eve die, rested only on intuitive insight, -common in men of solitary habit and unscholarly minds; he knew that this -was no basis on which to found legal evidence. - -With these uneasy and unfinished thoughts he at last fell asleep in the -faint light of the dawn, and waked again soon with a vivid and bad -dream. - -He dreamed that he was again on the lonely mountain on the night of -Eve's death, groping under the stunted thicket of old oak. Again he saw -Miss Claxton come to the forked tree. She climbed as before, and reached -up one thin arm to deposit something in the highest cleft of the trunk. -The moon rose as before; Durgan saw in his dream that the thing she hid -there was a knife, and the blade was red. Rousing himself from a sleep -that brought so odious a vision, he woke to find the rays of a red -sunrise in his face. - -One of his laborers brought up the borrowed horse which he had arranged -to ride to Hilyard. Before he started he went up the trail to the summit -house, hoping that Alden might be about. He had nothing definite to ask, -and yet he would have been glad to have some parting advice from him. No -one was up. The very house was drowsy under the folded petals of its -climbing flowers. Durgan went down through the stunted oak wood, and -looked up as he passed the forked tree. It was the first time he had -been close to it in daylight. In one branch of the fork, close to the -notch, there was a round hole, such as squirrels choose for their nests. -Better hiding-place for a small object could not be. To act the spy so -far as to look into the hole without Miss Claxton's permission would -have been what Durgan called "a nigger's trick." Like all the better -class of slave-owners, he habitually sought to justify his own -assumption of superiority by holding himself high above all mean actions -or superstitious ideas. As he went down the hill he was vexed with -himself for having been so far influenced by a dream as to have even -looked for the hole in the tree. - -Yet as he rode out into the glorious morning, he found himself arguing -that if money for the mulatto had been put in the tree, it was odd that -the mulatto had made no effort to get it before his arrest or to send -for it after. The thing which had really been put there, if not meant -for 'Dolphus, was probably intended to be long hidden. But a dream, of -course, meant nothing, and his could easily be accounted for by the -tenor of his waking thoughts and the color of the sunrise. - -When he reached the saw-mill he turned by the long, wooden mill-race and -set his horse at a gentle gallop for Hilyard. Even at that speed he -began to wonder whether if, by such evidence as had convinced Bertha, he -were induced to hold the erroneous opinion of Miss Claxton's guilt, he -would be also forced into Bertha's conclusion, that fits of mania were -the only explanation. Since last night he had called Bertha a fool; now, -while most unwelcome suspicions followed him like tormenting demons, he -was driven into greater sympathy with the younger sister. - -He galloped gently down the slope of the valley, tree and shrub and -flower rushing past him in the freshness of the morning. Suddenly he -checked his horse to look up. He was beneath his own precipice. The mine -was on a ledge about three hundred feet above him. The rock rose sheer -some hundred and fifty feet above that. He could trace the opening of -the trail, but even the smoke of the hidden dwelling-house could not be -seen here. As Durgan listened for the faint chink of his workmen's -tools, and sought from this unfamiliar point of view to trace each -well-known spot, he began, for the first time, to realize fully the -dreadfulness of the story which only yesterday had revealed. - -Involuntarily he drew rein. The memory that had transfixed him was the -description of the Claxton murder. While the step-mother had been -killed by only one well-aimed shot, the father had been beaten with -such brutal rage that no likeness of the living man appeared in the -horrid shape of the dead. - -He spoke aloud in the sunny solitude, and his words were of Bertha and -her sister. "My God! She has lived alone with her there for two years -believing this." - -He had very often of late thought slightingly of Bertha's excitability. -Last night he had thought scorn of her conclusions. Now, when he -perceived how the terrible form of death which had befallen her loved -father must have wrought upon her nerves, and how much more reason she -had to believe her sister guilty than the most bigoted member of the -public who had tried to condemn her, he felt only reverence for the -courage and devotion of such a life. No doubt her womanly proneness to -nervous fears, and the undisciplined activity of her imagination, had -sometimes pictured scenes of impossible distress, and resulted in words -and looks inconsistent with her resolution of secrecy; but, also, how -much did this timorous and excitable disposition heighten the heroism of -the office she had so perseveringly filled. - -Yet while he remained in deep admiration of this heroism, he thought -that he himself could never forgive Bertha's suspicion of her sister. -How much less could Alden forgive? And if it ever reached the trustful -mind of that loving sister that the child of her delight had thought her -prone to madness, the word "forgiveness" would have no meaning between -them. A wound would be made that no earthly love could ever heal. - -Bertha's beauty came vividly before him--her kind, honest, impulsive -girlhood. "God help her," he said slowly. "She has cheerfully borne -worse than hell for love's sake, and such is the extreme tragedy of -love, that if she is mistaken, all this loyalty and suffering can never -atone for her mistake." - - - - -Chapter XXIII - -WHAT 'DOLPHUS KNOWS - - -Durgan left the breeze of the sunrise and the mountains behind him, and -after that one first gallop, rode slowly down into the stillness of the -lower country and the heat of the midday hours. The smoke of some -distant forest fire filled the air, diffusing the sunlight in a golden -glow. Who can tell the sweetness that the flame of distant pine-woods -lends? It is not smoke after it has floated many hundred miles; it is a -faint and delicious aroma and a tint in the air--that is all. - -On the lower side of the road now the hill dropped, in ragged harvest -fields and half-cultivated vineyards, towards the wide hot cotton plains -of the sea-board. On the other side were enclosed pastures where tame -cattle were straying among young growths of trees, which were everywhere -again conquering the once smooth clearings. - -In the long, central street of Hilyard, behind the weathered palings, -garden flowers brimmed over. Great heads of phlox, white and crimson, -sent forth the sweetest and most subtle fragrance. Petunias, large as -ladies' bonnets, soft and purple, breathed of honey. Rose and poppy, -love-in-a-mist and lovelies-bleeding, marigold and prince's feather, all -fought for room in tangles of delight. Over the old wooden houses the -morning-glory held its gorgeous cups still open under the mellow veil of -smoke. No house in the town was newly painted, or bore to the world the -sharp, firm outline of good repair; but there was not one which nature -had not adorned with flower or vine or moss. Everywhere there was the -trace of poverty and languor after war; everywhere there was beauty, -sweetness, and warmth, and the gracious outline of repose. - -Hilyard lay on the way from the mountains to the broad plantations which -still bore Durgan's name. It was soothing to him to find himself again -in a country where he had lost so much for the Federal cause that he had -gained proportionate respect. The mountain whites knew nothing but their -own hills; but here, to everyone, high or low, it was enough that he was -Neil Durgan, however shabby his clothes and empty his pocket; and he -felt afresh the responsibility and self-confidence which an honorable -ancestry and personal sacrifice have power to give. - -The interview with the magistrate was a short one. The trial of the two -negroes was put off because the mulatto had asked for ten days in which -to obtain money and advice from his friends in the North. A few days -before Durgan would have been enraged at the delay on Adam's account; -now he was only too thankful. He took his resolution, and obtained leave -to visit both prisoners. - -The prison was a square house, differing from others only in having bars -in the windows and standing nakedly to the street without fence or -garden. Outside and in it was dirty and slovenly. Adam's cell was in -bright contrast, well furnished, clean and neat as its inmate. Adam's -skin shone with soap; his shirt was spotless; he sat on a rocking-chair, -large-print Bible in hand; and when Durgan came he wept. - -"There, there," said Durgan, patting him. "Reckon you'd better cheer up. -The folks all speak well of you, you big nigger." - -The jailer stood in the doorway grinning with delight at the novel -juxtaposition of a good prisoner and a local hero. - -"Oh, Adam," went on Durgan, "you look like a man in a tract. I'm proud -of you, Adam. How's this for a good Durgan nigger?" he asked, turning to -the hard-featured jailer. - -The excellence of Adam's behavior, which might have been art, had -evidently been accepted as artless; for the callous and indolent -authorities knew well enough the broad difference between good and bad -in the unsophisticated blacks. - -"Adam--he does you credit, Mr. Durgan, sir," said the jailer. "Reckon -Hilyard always had a good word for your pa's niggers, sir. Adam--he's -all right. General Durgan Blount said as how you said he was to have his -comforts." - -When Durgan stepped again into the dirty passage way, and recalled the -turnkey to open the mulatto's cell, all the easy, brutal injustice of it -weighed upon his sense of honor; he felt ashamed for his country. -'Dolphus, backed by no local influence, too weak to wash his cell, was -confined amid dirt and vermin. The crusted window-glass let in little -light. The wretch sat on the edge of a straw bed, almost his only -furniture, his silken hair long and matted, his smart clothes crushed, -his linen filthy. Durgan was shocked; in such case it was but evident -that his disease, already advanced, would make rapid progress. It was -with a new sensation of pity that he took the chair that the jailer -thrust in before he withdrew. - -"Have you no money to get yourself comforts?" Durgan asked. - -"Yes, sir. Miss--that lady, you know, sir--has given me as much as I -can spend on food and drink. I ain't got much appetite, sir." He seemed -entirely frank as to Miss Claxton's kindness. - -"I have come to see if I can do anything for you." - -"I thought, sir, you was only the friend of your own niggers like Adam." - -"Whom did your father belong to?" - -"General Courthope, of Louisiana. No, sir, he isn't dead; but my father -ran away when the 'mancipation came, and left the ole Gen'ral, and -pulled up in New York; so the fam'ly might as well be dead for all -they'll do for me." - -"Have you no folks?" - -"Not now, sir. I got called for up North, for something I hadn't done; -so I had to lie low, and lost any folks I had. But there's one gen'leman -I've written to; he'll play up to get me out of this." A curious look -came over the face of the speaker. He chuckled. - -Durgan felt puzzled at the look and the laugh. "Are you sure he got the -letter?" - -'Dolphus pulled a well-worn bit of paper out of his pocket. It was a -telegram dated only a few days before. He regarded it with an intense -expression which might have been hatred, and after gloating over it for -a few moments, he showed it to Durgan. It was dated, "Corner of Beard -and 84th Street." It said only, "Received letter; you may depend on me." -It was signed "B. D." It had been handed in at a New York office two -days before. - -"And if this friend should fail you?" - -"He says, sir, that I can depend upon him; an' I wrote to him that if he -didn't come up to the scratch he could depend on me." Another chuckle -ended this speech. - -"Oh, I see; you have some threat to hold over his head." - -'Dolphus did not answer. - -Durgan, looking at the lustrous eyes and clever, sickly face, became -exceedingly interested in the object of his contemplation. How strange -to sit thus face to face, with perhaps nothing between him and the -Claxton secret but this dying mulatto's flimsy will, and yet go away -unsatisfied. - -Almost in spite of himself, he bent forward and said, "You were in a -certain house when a murder was committed. I do not believe you guilty -or wish to harm you, but I believe you know who _is_ guilty." - -A look of caution came over the other's face; he listened and looked -intently. "Look here, sir; I wasn't never at no house where there was -such things done. I wasn't never at no place such as you say." - -Durgan had no argument to meet this obvious lie. He could not quote his -authority. He was, however, more interested than angry, because the -prisoner was so evidently enjoying the momentous question raised, and -with lips parted, sat expectant, as if he did not intend his denial to -be believed. - -"I only desire to see justice done," said Durgan coldly. - -'Dolphus looked at him with eyes half-shut, and, to Durgan's -astonishment, a sensation of fear found room in his consciousness. "Are -you sure of that, sir?" - -"Of what?" - -"That you'd like to see justice done--all round, sir?" - -"Justice--yes. And what else could I desire but justice?" Then he added, -hardly knowing why, "But unless you have evidence, no one will believe -anything you choose to say." - -'Dolphus chuckled aloud. "I've got evidence all right enough, sir; an' I -know where one witness is to be found--a truthful lady, sir, who is so -queer made that she'd die rather than hurt a gen'leman she cared for, -sir; but she'd sooner hurt him than swear what was false. I'm agoin' to -clear her in spite of herself." - -"Do you wish to hurt this good lady by making her real name known here, -where she wishes it to be concealed?" - -"Look you here, sir. You're a mighty fine gen'leman; I'm a poor yaller -nigger; you wouldn't trust me with a ten-cent bit. Well, sir, one of us -has got to give a good deal to save that lady. Which 'ull it be, sir?" - -Durgan received this astonishing challenge in amazement. He began to -believe the fellow was in terrible earnest under his mocking tone and -light manner. He was too proud to answer. - -"Look here, sir; you can go an' tell that pious little lady I won't harm -her--not if I die for it; but I ain't goin' to die till I've done better -than that. I'm turnin' ill now, sir. You'd better send for the man -outside to bring me something to drink. I'll pay him, sir." - -He actually refused the greenbacks his visitor offered. Before Durgan -had summoned the turnkey, 'Dolphus had curled himself up on the pallet -in all the appearance of a swoon. - -Durgan went to the "hotel" where he had left his horse. It was a wooden -house with scanty furniture, all its many doors and windows open to the -street. Two old women sat in one doorway, ceaselessly rubbing their gums -with snuff--a local vice. Three rickety children were playing in the -barroom. The landlord was exercising his thoroughbred horses in the -yard. The horses were beautiful creatures, neither rickety nor vicious. - -A valuable microscope and a case of surgical instruments stood on a -table, surrounded by the ash of cigars. They were the property of the -country doctor, a noted surgeon, who was satisfied to make his home in -this fantastic inn. The wife of the hotel-keeper, who always wore a blue -sun-bonnet whether in or out of the house, brought Durgan a glass of the -worst beer he had ever tasted, and delicious gingerbread hot from the -oven. - -When Durgan had found the doctor and made sure that he would go at once -and better the mulatto's condition, he set out on his homeward journey. -He had said to the medical man, "Whatever happens, you must not let the -fellow die till I come back." - -The answer had been, "I won't do that." - - - - -Chapter XXIV - -THE WOMAN WITH A SECRET - - -Durgan had ridden down the hills in rather leisurely fashion; now he -urged his horse to speed. He had come uncertain how to meet the issue of -the day; now he was eager to forestall the issue of the next. - -He had brought from his interview with the dying prisoner a strong -impression that the poor fellow had more mind and purpose than he had -supposed, and that he certainly had some scheme on hand from the -development of which he expected excitement and some lively -satisfaction. - -The hints thrown out sounded madder than the supposed raving of his last -night of freedom. He had control over some unknown person, or persons, -of wealth in New York, who would send to save him, and he would -sacrifice something--perhaps his salvation--to Miss Claxton; further, he -threatened Durgan with discomfiture. - -What could seem more mad than all this? But to-day Durgan was not at -all sure that the poor creature did not mean all he said and could not -do all he promised. The development of the mulatto's purpose might be -left to time, but Durgan's purpose was to follow up the clues he had -obtained, and two facts had to be dealt with now. 'Dolphus had freely -expressed the belief that Miss Claxton had shielded an unknown criminal -of the male sex whom she loved. Durgan had been so astonished, and even -shocked, at hearing his own bold surmise so quickly and fully -corroborated, that he knew now for the first time how little confidence -he had had in his own detective powers. Further, it was probably this -guilty person over whom 'Dolphus had power. He was rich, and could not -be unknown; he was within reach, for he had recently telegraphed, and -the address given must be meant to find him. Durgan felt that it would -be criminal to lose a moment in putting this clue in Alden's hand. - -Bertha had desired that Alden should be left in ignorance of the -mulatto's identity because she feared it might lead to her sister's -condemnation; now that 'Dolphus himself had implied that he could clear -the sister's reputation, Bertha could not, must not, hesitate. Miss -Claxton's desire to hide from Alden who the mulatto was and what he -knew must be part of her desire to hide the miscreant; but with time, -Durgan was ready to believe, this desire must have lessened or almost -failed, as love must have cooled. In any case, Miss Claxton held all her -desires as subordinate to the will of God; persuasion, reason, pressure, -must move her. Durgan urged on his horse. - -All the way home he passed over shady roads flecked with pink sunlight. -The heaviest foliage of summer mantled the valleys. The birds were -almost still, resting in the deep shadows of the mature season. - -When Durgan was almost within hearing of the waterfall and the hum of -the saw-mill at Deer Cove, he met three riders. Mr. Alden and Bertha, in -company with young Blount, were descending for a gallop in the cool of -the evening. They all stopped to say they had heard by post that the -trial was deferred, and to inquire after Adam's welfare. - -Durgan could reply cheerfully as to Adam, that he was spending his time -in ablutions and pious exercises, and that the authorities were bent -upon having him acquitted. - -"Reckon they are," said young Blount. "My father saw to that when he -went over." - -Durgan saw that neither Bertha nor Mr. Alden would ask about the other -prisoner in his cousin's presence. He said in a casual tone, "The -yellow fellow seems assured that he will have money and influence behind -him, too, by next week." - -"Yes," cried Blount, interested always in minutiæ, "he sent a letter and -received a telegram." - -Durgan rode on. He must wait now an hour or two for an opportunity to -speak to Alden or Bertha, and he began to wonder whether it would not be -more honorable to approach Miss Claxton direct, confess what he had -chanced to see of her secret actions, and tell her frankly what the -mulatto had let fall that day. His borrowed horse had been offered the -hospitality of her stable for the night, so he must, perforce, reach the -summit. - -The horse rubbed down and fed in the spacious stable, Durgan sought the -front of the low house, now richly decorated by the scarlet -trumpet-flower, which had conquered the other creepers of earlier -summer, and had thrown out its triumphal flag from the very chimneys. - -He found the lady, as he had expected, sitting quietly busy at some -woman's work in the front porch. The house mastiff lay at her feet, and -round the corner came the low, sweet song of the colored maid who had -taken Eve's place in the kitchen. The rich crimson plant called -"love-lies-bleeding," now in full flower, trailed its tassels on the -earth on either side of the low doorway. It seemed, indeed, a fit emblem -of the tragedy of the life beside it. - -Miss Claxton welcomed Durgan with her usual self-effacing gentleness. -"Bertha and Mr. Alden have ridden out with Mr. Blount. Thought likely -you would have met them." - -Durgan's avowal of the meeting caused her to expect an explanation of -his visit; but for some minutes he dallied, glad to rest in her gentle -presence, and feeling now the extreme difficulty of saying things he -thought it only honorable to say. - -He had hitherto blamed Bertha and Alden for not addressing themselves to -Miss Claxton more openly. He now realized to what degree she had the -power which many of the meekest people possess, of hiding from the -strife of tongues behind their own gentle, inapproachable dignity. - -Durgan rested in pacific mood while she uttered gentle words of sympathy -for his fatigue, and fell into a muse of astonishment that she should be -the center of such pressing and tragic interests. So strong was his -silent thought that it would have forced him into questions had she been -less strong. He longed to ask, "Why do you assume that this 'Dolphus -will not expose the criminal you have suffered so much to hide?" - -Instead, he only began to describe his visits to the prisoners, taking -Adam first, and coming naturally to 'Dolphus. - -"It was real kind of you, Mr. Durgan, to see after him; and it was very -mean of the jail folks not to wash up for him. He had money to pay -them." - -"The doctor will make them stand round. But I wanted to tell you that I -have been wondering upon what or whom 'Dolphus relies for his defence. -Adam has such a strong backing, there seems to be no doubt of his -acquittal. I did not know this till I went to-day, or how little -difference the emancipation has really made as to the justice or -injustice meted out to niggers. I supposed--I have been absent since the -close of the war--that the evidence given at the trial would be -all-important. Now I think the conclusion is foregone; judge and jury, -whoever the jurors may be, have already fallen into the belief that I -and my cousins have insisted on." - -She had dropped her work; she was absorbed in his every word. "It's a -bad principle, of course," she said; "but as to Adam, it is working out -all right. I suppose--I suppose, Mr. Durgan, that 'Dolphus did kill poor -Eve? I'd feel pretty mean if he's being punished for nothing." - -"I believe he did; but I have no proof." - -"I don't mind telling you, Mr. Durgan, that I got Mr. Alden to get a -lawyer--quite privately, of course--to offer his services to -'Dolphus--to tell him we would pay the costs, because Adam and Eve were -our 'help,' and of course we wanted to see only justice done. 'Dolphus -wouldn't accept it. He refused; we don't know why. He told the lawyer he -knew 'a game worth two of that.' Of course, if there is miscarriage of -justice, we can't feel quite so badly as if we hadn't made the offer." - -"What do you think he meant by 'knowing a better game'?" - -"It wasn't just fooling, was it, Mr. Durgan?" Underneath her quiet there -was now a tremulous eagerness; her faded eyes looked to his with -sorrowful appeal. - -"No; after seeing him to-day, I am inclined to think more of him than I -did; but I think he's up to tricks of some sort. May I tell you what he -said to me, Miss Claxton?" - -"I'm just praying to the Lord all the time, Mr. Durgan, and trying to -leave it all in His hands. He won't let us suffer more than is right; -and I hope He'll give us grace to bear what He sends, if it isn't the -full deliverance I pray for." - -Durgan was nonplused. "Do you mean to say you would rather not hear -what the man said? because I must tell Alden, and as it concerns you -most, I thought----" - -"Yes, I guess perhaps I ought to hear it. And if you tell me you don't -need to tell Mr. Alden, because I know better than you what he ought to -hear--that is, if it concerns me." - -This seemed a simple and self-evident view of the case; Durgan hardly -knew how he could have thought of interfering. Nor did he find it at all -easy to put significance into the prisoner's words apart from his own -foreknowledge and prejudgment of the case. - -"'Dolphus suggested to me that I would not wish to see justice done -in--to say the truth--in your own case, Miss Claxton. He challenged me, -asking if I were willing to make a sacrifice to prove your innocence." - -She looked at him straight. Her eyes were not faded now; he was amazed -at the flash and flush of energy and youth he had brought to her face. -He thought he had never in his life seen so honest, so spiritual a face -as that which confronted him; but whether her present expression was one -of astonishment or dismay he could not tell. - -"You could not have expected him to speak on this subject; and you -never had any connection with our trouble? What more did he say?" - -"He never really mentioned your name; I only assumed that his reference -was to you. He said that he knew a lady who would die to save a--well, -he _said_, a gentleman she loved, but would let even _him_ die rather -than swear falsely." - -She never flinched. "Was that all?" she asked. - -But Durgan was already cut with remorse to think how impertinent his -words must sound. "No, that was not all. He asked me to give you a -message, to tell you that he would not harm you--that he would rather -die than harm you. This was in answer to my suggestion that you would -not wish your real name to be known in these parts." - -She looked relieved. "I have always believed that he had more good in -him than you thought. But tell me all. I'd liefer hear every word, if -you please." - -"I hope I remember all that he said. I think that was all that I took to -be a direct reference to you, Miss Claxton; but what I thought most -needful to tell Alden----" - -"Yes?" The little word pulsed with restrained excitement. - -"I asked the fellow on what defence he relied, and he said what made me -think he had the pull of some threat over the person he relied on. He -had had a telegram." - -"I don't exactly understand, Mr. Durgan." - -"Neither do I, I assure you." - -"But I mean, what has that to do with Mr. Alden?" - -"Oh, I think I assumed that 'Dolphus believed this person to be the -criminal, and his address was on the telegram." - -"May I ask why you made this assumption?" - -"It may have been unwarranted, but taken in connection with his boast -that he could establish your entire freedom from blame----" Durgan was -floundering in his effort to find words for the very painful subject. He -paused, with face red and dew on his brow. - -"I guess, Mr. Durgan, if you'll speak quite plainly what you mean, it -will be better for us both." - -"Why do you include me? Do you know why this boy threatens me, -reproaches me, challenges me?" - -"Tell me first, Mr. Durgan, what you made out, and what you think this -telegram has to do with it?" - -"To be plain, I suspect that this man knows who was guilty of the crime -for which you were tried, that he is now in communication with him, and -I saw an address in the telegram he had received." - -"What was the address?" - -"'Corner of Beard and 84th Street,' and it was signed 'B. D.'" He told -her its contents. - -She went into the house and brought out a New York directory a year or -two old. "I guess there isn't any such corner," she said, and in a -moment she showed him there was not. - -"Do you know of anyone who has these initials?" - -"I do not." - -"If Alden sent a detective to the office where it was received, I wonder -if he could find out who sent it?" - -"Is it likely that if anyone took the trouble to give a wrong address, -they would leave any clew to their whereabouts?" - -"Could 'Dolphus give Alden any information of moment?" - -"He could give him none that would do anyone any good." - -"Might that not be a matter of opinion?" - -"I don't see that folks who don't know what they are doing can have a -right to an opinion about the results." - -There was then a silence. The sun had long set on the valley, but from -this eminence its last rays were still seen mingling with a foam of -crimson cloud in a vista of the western hills. Both the man and the -woman had their faces turned to the great red cloud-flower in which the -light of day was declining. The mountains were solemn and tender; the -valleys dim and wide. It was not a scene on which the sober mind could -gaze without gaining for the hour some reflection of the greatness and -earnestness of God. - -But the world about could only be environment to their thought, not for -a moment its object. Durgan was roused in spirit. The quiescent temper -which he had sought to obtain in compensation for a stormy and -disappointed youth was lost for the time. This woman, who bore the odium -of a cruel and dastardly deed, was still intent on shielding the real -doer. Durgan looked at the splendid arena of the mountains and the -manifest struggle of light and darkness therein; the many tracks of -suspicion in which his thoughts had all day been moving gathered -together. - -"Miss Claxton, are you willing to tell me all you know about Charlton -Beardsley?" - -She looked at him for a moment as if trying to read his thoughts, then -looked back at the outer world, as if moved by his question only to -profound and regretful reverie. - -"About Charlton Beardsley I know very little," she said, in a voice -touched as with compassion; "very, very little, Mr. Durgan; but I had -once occasion to ask your wife something about him, and she told me, I -believe truly, that he had been brought up, an orphan, in an English -charity school, that he had no relatives that he knew of and no near -friends. That was all she could tell me. He was by taste a somewhat -solitary mystic, I believe, only sought after by those who had -discovered his delusions and wished to be deluded by them. You see, I -can easily tell you all I know; it is not much." - -Durgan sat watching her, too entirely amazed at both words and manner to -find speech. Just so a good woman, treading the violets of some -neglected graveyard, might speak of the innocent dead who lay beneath. - -There was silence. - -Miss Claxton said, "I always like the time just after the sun goes down, -Mr. Durgan; I have a fancy it is the time one feels nearest God. I -suppose it's only fancy, but it does say in Genesis, you know, that God -walked in the garden in the cool of the day." - -Then, as darkness grew, and finding that he made no response, she -exerted herself and rose to light the lamp. - -In the full light she faced him. "Mr. Durgan, I don't wonder you feel -the responsibility of the suspicions the negro has put into your mind. I -don't blame you, and it's only natural he should like the excitement of -talking. It would not be right for me to tell you exactly what I believe -he was referring to; but there are some things I can tell you, and I can -only pray God to help you believe what I say. I believe it was your wife -who sent that telegram; it was, at least, paid for with her money, and -it will be her money that will be used freely to get 'Dolphus acquitted. -If you pursue the suspicions he has started for you, I don't believe you -will make any discovery. But even if you did, what would happen? You -would drag your wife's name in the mire; you would"--she paused, and -tried to steady her voice. "Oh, Mr. Durgan, think of Bertha; you would -break Bertha's heart and mine. You think you understand justice, and -that there is someone whom you ought to bring to justice. Justice -belongs to God. He alone can mete it out in this world so as to save the -soul that has sinned. Are you afraid to leave it to Him? I am not. I -have left it to Him for five years, and I am not sorry, but glad. And I -entreat you to consider that if you interfere you don't know what you -are doing; you may make the worst mistakes. 'Dolphus thinks he knows the -name of the person who should be brought to justice; I assure you he -does not. I spoke to him on the night Eve died, and found out that he -did not. Believe me, Mr. Durgan, I am making no romantic and fantastic -sacrifice of myself, as this negro supposes. The truth, were it made -public, would be the worst thing for me, as for Bertha, and would bring -yourself shame and pain. And it could never be the real, whole truth, -for that you could not understand, nor could anyone. I hear their horses -on the hill. Please go. Do not let them find you here, as if you had had -news of some strange thing. You know nothing, for the thing you think -you know is not true. Do nothing, for fear you do harm. You cannot do -any good." - -"But how can you be sure this sick man will not do the thing you dread?" - -"I begged him not to do anything, just as I've begged you. I don't -think, anyway, that he will get the chance he reckons on. If he did, I -think that when he has to choose between accepting the help that will -get him acquitted, if anything will, of the present charge against him, -and, as he thinks, righting me, the love of life will be too strong. He -will not die on my behalf, even though his intentions are good, as I -believe yours are, Mr. Durgan." - -Durgan had turned to the door the moment she had asked him to go. He was -tarrying on the threshold to ask his last question, to hear her -response. When he heard himself, with no unkind intent, naturally linked -with the wretched mulatto, his pace was accelerated. With a word of -farewell he disappeared into the dusk, hearing the horses arrive at the -stables as he went his fugitive way down the familiar trail. - - - - -Chapter XXV - -LOST IN THE MAZE - - -Durgan had still one strong emotion regarding his wife; he was able to -feel overwhelming shame on her account, and he dreaded any publicity -concerning her behavior. She had always lived so as to command the -consent of good society to her doings. He had perfectly trusted her -social instinct to do this as long as it lay in her power to tell her -own story; but he knew, with a sense of bitter degradation, that if -someone else had need to tell that story, it would sound very different. - -His wife was the daughter of an uneducated hotel-keeper, and had married -him, as he afterward discovered, because he had the entrance into -certain drawing-rooms and clubs, which, if skilfully used, might have -proved the stepping-stone to almost any social eminence. At the time of -her marriage she had professed passionate love for him and sympathy for -the Southern cause; and her fortune, not small, was naturally to be used -in the difficult task of making part of his paternal acres productive -by the paid labor of the negroes reared and trained by his father, and -justly dear to the son. Disconsolate at the loss of friends and -fortune--for all near to him had died in the war, of wounds or -sorrow--Durgan repaid the love and sympathy of one who seemed a -warm-hearted and impulsive woman with tender gratitude. - -A little later, when the wife found out that Durgan would not push -himself into the fashionable _milieu_ which was open to him in Europe -and America, he began to discover, tho slowly, that she would not bestow -affection or time upon any less fashionable pursuit. She needed her -whole fortune for the social adventures that she must make alone; and as -he would not open the door of Southern pride for her, she fell to -knocking at the door of Northern pride for herself. No doubt Providence -has a good reason for making men before marriage blind to female -character, but it was many years before Durgan bowed to the fate to -which defect, not fault, had brought him. Too proud to accept any bounty -from such a wife, he had sullenly shielded her from remark till she -reached a position of middle-class fashion in which she could stand -alone. Having attempted, in the meantime, to increase by speculation the -small patrimony left him, and losing much, he had retired from the -scene of her struggles some six years before the present time, proudly -thankful that any public reproach was directed only at himself. Since -then she had scaled social heights seemingly beyond her--he had often -wondered how. - -That his wife was tricky and false, that the means she had used to -cajole or overawe the society she was determined to conquer bore no -necessary relation to the truth, he knew; but knowing her also to be -clever and cold-hearted, he had not feared that she would so transgress -any social law as to make her small or large meannesses known. - -But the most surprising thing in his wife's career since he left her was -that she had not dropped the medium, Beardsley, as soon as his health -and popularity were lost. She had been wont to drop all her instruments -as soon as their use was over, and most of them had more attractions -than he. The man had been poor, plebeian, and sickly; and Durgan, who -had never suspected love as the cause of the odd relationship, had now -some cause to suppose it rooted in the unspeakable shame of the worst of -crimes. In what possible way this had come about he could not even begin -to imagine, but he continued to consider his maturing suspicion in -growing consternation. - -If Miss Claxton had not told him the truth, she was a more finished -actress than the world had yet seen. If what she said of his wife were -true, the mulatto's words were corroborated--his wife was nearly -connected with this awful crime. - -In Durgan's mind the telegraphic address--evidently suggestive to Miss -Claxton--had at last become significant. "Beard" suggested Beardsley; -"84" was the date of the Claxton murder; "B" might possibly stand for -Beardsley, and "D" for his wife. Then the help promised evidently -involved his wife's purse. Beardsley had nothing. - -If this Beardsley was guilty, he must be a most extraordinary man. It -was clear that if it was he whom Hermione Claxton was shielding, she was -as much determined to keep his secret to-day as at first. She could not -speak of him save in tones of sorrow and tenderness. For him, too, the -wife whom Durgan knew to be cold and ambitious had apparently ventured -all. The extraordinary nature of a man who could on short acquaintance -so deeply involve two such different women, gave Durgan so much room for -astonished thought that some other things Miss Claxton had said for the -time escaped his memory. - -His strongest impulse after the last interview was to take Miss Claxton -at her word and make no further move in the matter--at least, not now -and on her account. Ultimately he must find out if his wife was in any -plot to conceal a criminal, and if so, put a stop to her connivance. At -present he had certainly no desire to make such action on his wife's -part public, or break Bertha's heart by filling the air with a public -scandal in which her sister's name would be linked with a lover who was -a common charlatan and brutal criminal. If for this man's sake Hermione -had left her father's death unavenged and ruined her sister's life, -Bertha's wrath and sorrow might well be a thing to dread, and such -knowledge a disaster that might well crush her. The mulatto might work -to bring truth to light; he must work alone. - -But at this point Durgan again shifted his ground of suspicion; for he -still believed in Hermione Claxton's singular purity of mind and -gentleness of disposition, and in his wife's callousness and shrewd -selfishness. Was it possible that Beardsley had some mysterious power -over both women such as a magician or modern hypnotist is said to use? -But then, was not such influence in such a man too strange to be -possible, too like a cheap novel to be true? A terrible thought struck -cold at Durgan's heart; the man, as he knew him, was more likely to be a -cat's-paw than the mover in any momentous deed. The surprise of -ascertaining that his wife had had some connection with the Claxtons -forced him to realize how little he knew about her life, how totally -ignorant he was as to any cause she might have to hate Mr. and Mrs. -Claxton. His heart failed him. - -He drew in his breath in quick terror, trying to persuade himself that -he could not have arrived at the bottom of a secret over which Alden had -brooded so long in vain. - -"Well, I understand that your visit to Hilyard was most satisfactory. -You are assured of your good Adam's safety; and I find the mulatto sent -a message to our friends that he would not drag their name into the -business. So far so good. Do you suppose that the money and advice he -expects to receive are all in the air, or how?" Alden, dandified and -chirpy, his little gray beard wagging in the morning sunlight, was -standing on the mountain road. There was a sharpness as of autumn in the -sunshine, which made the New Yorker fresh. Durgan, who had taken to his -pick and spade very early that morning, already warm, dirty, and tired, -looked like some grim demiurge. Called from his work to this colloquy, -he was not in good humor. - -"These fellows are always boasting," continued Alden. "The peculiarity -in this case is that he would not take the cost of his own defence from -us." - -"And _I_ offered him what I had in my pocket. He would not look at it," -said Durgan, dully. - -"Odd." - -"Do you think so?" - -"Well, of course, when a flimsy, tawdry creature of that sort refuses a -bird in the hand, one wonders what he sees in the bush, especially when, -as in this case, the bird in the hand could hardly prevent his robbing -the bush also." - -"I reckon it's beyond me," said Durgan, stupidly. Alden's simile -reminded him afresh of the hole in the forked tree, which had not ceased -to haunt his mind. - -"You have a headache this morning, my dear sir." - -"Thanks; I'm all right." - -A boy, a slovenly country lout, came up the hill. He was whistling a -merry air attuned to the snap of the morning. He was looking about him -in the trees for birds and squirrels. His hands hung in the delicious -idleness of his pockets. There was a spring in his legs to match his -tone. Durgan envied him unfeignedly. He thought of his own gallant, -cheerful purpose of the day before, and wished that he dare form any -fresh resolve. Alden was evidently alarmed by what he had heard. - -"As you know, being widely known as counsel for the Claxtons, I -preferred not to appear to take any interest in this prisoner. A -possible inference might have been drawn by someone. We of the law, my -dear sir----" - -Durgan perceived that it would be a vast relief to his conscience if -Alden could visit 'Dolphus himself. - -"They are lax," continued Alden; "there would be no difficulty in my -seeing the man." - -"Why do you want to see him?" - -"I hear he wrote to New York and got a telegram back. He may, for all we -know, be a member of a gang of thieves or blackmailers. They may bribe -judge and jury with a thousand dollars if he threatens to round on them. -A little money would go a long way in Hilyard. Then, if it is proved, so -to say, that both prisoners are innocent, the authorities might arrest -someone else." - -"Me, for instance? I was there." - -"Probably not you!" Then after a pause he added, "Miss Claxton is -disposed to think that we have done all we can honestly do, and must now -leave the matter in the hand of Providence; but, under Providence, I -myself feel that I am responsible for leaving no effort untried to gain -further light as to the basis of this fellow's hopes." - -The boy, bobbing his head, explained to Durgan that he had been sent to -fetch the borrowed horse. - -When he had gone on, Durgan said, "'Dolphus may die before anything -happens; that would be the simplest solution, perhaps." He remembered -how yesterday it had seemed all-important to extract all the knowledge -this man had before life went from him. - -"Ah; you spoke to the doctor, I hear. It is always right, in any case, -to preserve life as long as possible." - -Durgan looked toward his mine. The triteness to which the dialog had -descended was the more irksome because he suspected that Alden read -beneath his own sudden dullness and inertia. - -"When the boy brings along the horse you can ride it as far as my -cousins'. He will find you a buggy, and will give you a letter which -will open things at Hilyard without giving much publicity to your name -and position. But you, of course, can best judge whether it's worth -while to go." - -"Miss Claxton has seemed averse to my going," said Alden; and because -Durgan made no answer to this, he sat down on a rock, with brows knit, -and determined to go. - -Some twenty minutes later Durgan was called again into the road. The -lout of a boy refused to give Alden the horse. He said very little; he -even blubbered; but he hung on to the bridle and tried to pass. - -It was soon discovered that he had been commissioned by Miss Claxton to -take a telegram to Hilyard, for which service he had been promised -excessive pay. - -Wrath rose in Durgan. "Fool that I was to warn her," he thought. "She -has wired to the man she shields to be on his guard." At that moment his -wife's welfare was not in his thought, and he felt he would rather have -suffered the last penalty of crime himself than allow this coil of -secrets to exist longer. He inwardly cursed all women, and was very -sorry for Alden. - -Alden, meanwhile, unconscious of need for passion, was explaining that -he knew what the telegram must be, as he had heard Miss Claxton mention -that some supplies on which she was depending were delayed. As he was -going he would assume the responsibility of sending it. He would pay the -boy. - -Durgan was afraid to speak. He picked up the boy, took a letter -addressed to the telegraph clerk out of his pocket, and sent him running -down the road at a forced pace. He put the sealed message in Alden's -hands, and returned to his work before a word could escape his lips. - -As he toiled all day with spade and mattock, he wondered incessantly -whether or not Alden would open the message to see it correctly -transmitted. - -When the long work-day had calmed his pulse he was still too impatient -to await Alden's time; sauntered down the hill, and finally reached Deer -Cove. - -There he saw Alden looking very tired and haggard, but in no haste to -return. - -The saw-mill was silent for the night. The quiet plash of the water over -the dam made a pleasing accompaniment to a banjo played by a negro. The -musician sat on the steps of the general store and post-office; he wore -a red handkerchief on his head. Some of his kind were dancing in -leisurely burlesque in an open space between the steps and the -mill-race. A circle of white men looked on, exchanging foolish jokes and -puffing strong tobacco. Many a bright necktie or broad-brimmed hat gave -picturesqueness to the group. The quiet of the sylvan evening was over -and around them all. - -Alden, standing on the verandah of the post-office, looking upon this -scene as if he were an habitual lounger, struck Durgan as presenting -one of the saddest figures he had ever seen. No sign that could be -controlled of any grief was there; but the incongruity between what the -man was doing, and what in a better state of mind he would have liked to -do, seemed to betoken a depression so deep that normal action was -inhibited for the time. - -Durgan thought one of the Blounts was perhaps with Alden. He accordingly -went straight inside the store; but the place was empty. No one of -gentle birth was to be seen near or far. When he came out on the -verandah Alden explained that he had insisted on leaving the trap at the -Blounts' and walking. "I was stiff with the drive and felt the walk -would do me good. You found me resting by the way." - -Durgan remarked that there was nothing like a leisurely walk when -cramped with sitting long. - -After a while the two were beginning the ascent of Deer together, still -uttering trivial words. - - - - -Chapter XXVI - -A TORTURED CONSCIENCE - - -"Did you see the prisoners?" asked Durgan. - -He assumed that Alden would visit Adam as a blind. - -"Ah--I saw the doctor. It occurred to me to see him first." - -"How long will 'Dolphus live?" asked Durgan, eagerly. Again he felt that -he could not let this man die without extracting whatever clue he held. - -"Impossible to make any forecast. The doctor has had the glass removed -from his window--in short, the proper steps are being taken. Absolute -quiet is ordered." - -"Then you _could_ not see him?" - -"No." - -After a minute Alden sat down wearily on a fallen tree. The wood was -close upon them on all sides. The crescent moon, like a golden boat -sailing westward, was seen through chinks in the leafy roof. - -"I sent him a message to say that if there was anything he wished done, -he might trust me to do it. I made sure that the doctor, honest man, -would impress on him the fact that I, too, am honest." - -"That doctor _is_ a man to be relied on. It's wonderful how one comes -across an honest man once in a while." - -"Mr. Durgan, when I first related to you my clients' unfortunate story, -you were kind enough to express your faith and reverence for such a -woman as Miss Claxton, and your willingness to serve her. I felt very -grateful to you. I should like to speak to you in confidence, and take -counsel with you now." - -Durgan sat still, suspecting that he might be subjected to the subtle -cross-questioning for which Alden was celebrated. - -Alden continued: "I naturally asked the clerk to read Miss Claxton's -telegrams to see if he understood them. There are so often errors of -transcription." - -"There were two, then?" - -"One was, as I had supposed, about the supplies. I did not send the -other. It is about that I wish to consult you. The address of Mrs. -Durgan is----?" - -Durgan gave a number on Fifth Avenue. - -"I supposed as much. The message was addressed quite openly to Charlton -Beardsley at that address. It said, 'Lost article being traced. Reward -likely to be claimed.' It was not signed. Why is this man kept under -your wife's roof?" - -"As a sort of adviser in occult matters--as one might say, a spiritual -director." - -"There is only one reward with which the Claxtons have any interest. -That is offered for information concerning the murderer." - -"I thought it was offered for the missing boy." - -"It's all the same. Whoever can be proved to have been in the house at -the time, having hidden himself afterwards, must have been in some way -concerned with the murder. The laws of chance preclude the idea of there -being two mysteries in one house at one time. I now ask you, would you -have advised me to send this telegram without further information? It -goes to a house over which you have at least some legal control." - -Durgan perceived that it was any information he might possess, rather -than advice, that Alden really sought; but determined only to give -advice. His thoughts and passions had been wavering this way and that -for twenty-four hours; now he knew his mind, and answered Alden's -question. "It lies in a nutshell," said he. "Are you able to trust Miss -Claxton's goodness against all evidence to the contrary, or are you not? -You have assured me that no one who knew her could mistrust her; and -you, of all people, not only know her best, but, pardon me, love her. If -you trust her you should have sent the telegram and asked no questions. -If not, set your detectives to work, for I don't believe you will learn -anything further from Miss Claxton." - -Alden turned on him fiercely. "You know more than you say in this -matter. You are trying to shield your wife." - -"As far as I know, my wife has done nothing wrong. As to Miss Claxton, I -have known her only a few months, and that slightly. I see clearly, as -you do, that facts point to some underhand dealing on her part. Further, -I have been taught from my childhood to distrust anyone who uses -hackneyed religious phrases as she does. In spite of all this I believe -in her. I cannot conceive of any circumstance that could justify her -secrecy and double-dealing; but I believe there is a justification. Is -not that about what you feel, too?" - -"You speak somewhat evasively, Mr. Durgan. You can surely tell me more -about your wife than about Miss Claxton. It was not until I read this -message that I knew--what I never could have supposed--that any member -of your household could be guilty of any connection with that crime. You -must see that it now becomes my positive duty to make the strictest -inquiry." - -"Why--if Miss Claxton does not wish it? If she was, through your -exertions, acquitted, she has, as you know, suffered the penalty of the -crime ten times over. If she prefers to continue that pain and ignominy -rather than allow you to again open the inquiry, what right have you, as -her friend and agent, to reopen it?" - -"I owe a higher allegiance--to the law of my country, and the law of my -God." - -"And when these laws conflict, I presume you would wish to obey the -latter? My notion is that Miss Claxton's conduct indicates such a -conflict." Durgan's voice was still hard and cold. - -"I should need to be assured of such contradiction." - -"Are you not willing to give her the benefit of the presumption?" - -There is not a man on earth who is content to be alone. Durgan, recently -horror-stricken at the thought of the part his wife might have played, -realized how little reason he had to feel such blind confidence in -anyone whom he had the right to love, and envied Alden his opportunity -for faith. Nothing like starvation to give a man a clear sight of -another's luxuries and corresponding duties. - -"In the war," he added, "we Southerners had to learn to trust out and -out whom we trusted at all." - -"That Miss Claxton is doing what she conceives to be right, I have no -doubt," said Alden, stiffly. - -Even in the dim light there was a visible improvement of attitude; some -heart for life appeared to return to him with this declaration, which a -moment before would have been a lie. Durgan could almost have laughed -out in irony. - -"What she supposes to be right," repeated the reviving lover, "but I -cannot approve." - -"She is a reasonable woman; you ought to trust her reason. As you don't -know what she is doing, you don't know whether you approve or not." - -"_You_ know what she is doing, Mr. Durgan. You have information from -Mrs. Durgan or Beardsley that I have not." - -"No; if my wife is in it, I have been as completely hoodwinked as you. I -cannot even yet imagine how my wife could be inculpated in any way. And -this Beardsley--I know nothing more of him than I told you; and the only -explanation I can suggest as to the message you hold is merely the -crudest imagination: supposing him to be the guilty person, Miss -Claxton must have been in love with him to shield him as she did--as she -does. You cannot wish that made public." - -Alden rose up, his back stiff with indignation. "Sir! that is at least a -contingency which is entirely impossible. Are you aware that, before her -father's death, Hermione Claxton had consented to marry me? We were -about to make the engagement public. I had asked Mr. Claxton to accord -me an interview. He was a confirmed hypochondriac; it was difficult to -see him. I was waiting his pleasure when the tragedy----. Ah! it is -impossible to explain how this tragedy has wrecked our lives, for, with -an unparalleled strength of will and sensitive honor, Miss Claxton at -once, and ever since, has refused to link her name with mine. But one -thing, at least, this relation gives me reason to assure you: before -this crime Miss Claxton had not a serious thought that she did not -confide to me. There was no one on earth that she would wish to shield -in the way you suggest; I know there was not. Her father, and her -anxiety concerning the state of irreligion in which he lived; her -sister, whom she loved with a mother's love; her mission work, which -with her was done as under a direct command from our Lord--these, and -the friendship she felt for my unworthy self, made up her life. I am -certain of that, sir. As for this Beardsley, she not only despised him -as a common impostor, but she abhorred him for the hold he had over her -father." - -"Your view, then, coincides with that of her sister," Durgan pondered, -as he spoke. - -The lawyer's eyelids flickered at this use of Bertha's name. - -"So," continued Durgan, "to come to the point; what do you suppose this -intercepted message means?" - -"The mulatto, you tell me, expected a large sum of money to be expended -on his defence. Our first supposition to account for this was that he -might be one of a gang, and his fellows would buy him off. I judge now, -rather, that he must have information that would enable him to claim the -reward in the Claxton case. It must have been the possession of this -information that brought him round this neighborhood. This telegram -seems to show that what you told Miss Claxton yesterday led her to -believe he was about to claim it. As I read it, she wishes, through -Beardsley, to warn someone on whom she believes the suspicion likely to -fall." - -"But you say there can be no one whom Miss Claxton would wish to -shield." - -The lawyer's whole manner faltered. "I could not have believed it," he -said. "I may say I cannot believe it now." - -"My suspicions center on Beardsley himself," Durgan said, "and I cannot -understand why, at the time of the trial, the clue afforded by the note -brought by the missing boy was not closely followed up. Beardsley, I -happen to know, was seriously ill shortly after the crime, for he was at -my wife's house; but, as he sent the boy, he must have been able to give -some suggestion as to where he came from or went to. I cannot understand -when you sought for the boy why he was not cross-questioned." - -Alden got up, and they began to ascend the road. - -"I am interested in the result of any mature reflection of yours, Mr. -Durgan. I notice that your observations are astute." He walked, his head -slightly bent, in an attitude of attention. - -"I can't understand," said Durgan, "why it was assumed at the trial that -this note was merely a begging letter. My belief is that it gave a -warning of someone's visit." - -Alden put in: "It is true Miss Claxton said at the inquest that she had -not seen its contents." - -Durgan spoke with increasing eagerness. "But she said at the same time -that she knew it came from Charlton Beardsley. Her very words were, -'From that impostor Beardsley.'" - -"Your memory is evidently good. And this might have suggested to you, at -any rate, that she could have no affection for Beardsley. But I have -been thinking that perhaps you are right; the clue of the note was not -followed up as it ought to have been." - -"You must have seen Beardsley. How did he convince you that he could -throw no light on the whereabouts of the missing boy? What did he say -was in the note?" Durgan turned upon his companion almost angrily, and -saw the little gray-haired man walking steadily on with abstracted mien. -But there was a peculiar aspect of attention about his shoulders, his -neck; it seemed to alter the very shape of his ears. Durgan felt himself -warned of some unseen pitfall. "You must consider my crude way of -dealing with a problem to which you have brought your highly trained -mind somewhat absurd," he said. - -"By no means. I am only surprised at your able handling of the matter, -and--ah--a little surprised, perhaps, at some omissions which seem to -have occurred in my conduct of the case. May I ask you, Mr. Durgan, if -you have had any corroboration of the idea that this note came from -Beardsley, either from him or from your wife?" - -"No. Certainly not. I only know what Miss Claxton said before the -coroner." - -"Miss Claxton never gave that evidence. Until you told me a moment ago I -never heard the note came from Beardsley. I am shocked and surprised." - -Durgan started. "Surely I am quoting the verbatim report." - -"I can see, Mr. Durgan, that you believe Miss Claxton did say this; and -as it was not given publicly, someone must have told you in private. I -will not ask you again the source of your information, which I now -suppose to have been Miss Bertha." - -"I have made a mistake," said Durgan. - -"But only in telling me what you would have withheld, and what, it would -appear, those for whom I have done everything have long withheld--the -one thing that it most behooved me to know." The lawyer stopped in his -walk, and spoke, shaken with distress. "I will admit to you, Mr. Durgan, -that for years I have been aware that my clients withheld something from -me; I may say 'bitterly aware,' for, the trial being over, I could not -with delicacy renew my questions. But I believed in their integrity, -and have assured myself that their secret must be unimportant. You can -estimate how acute is my present distress when I perceive that this -concealment has covered what was the vital point, the clue to the -murderer." - -"I had no intention of telling you anything they did not tell you, Mr. -Alden. At the same time, no one would be more glad than myself if they -could emerge from the shadow of this mystery. But I think, as I said to -you at the beginning, that unless you obtain Miss Claxton's permission -to act further, you ought to leave the matter in her hands. You must -trust to her good sense and good feeling." - -Durgan had paused at his own turning; Alden went a few steps further and -faced round, hat in hand. Under the trees, in the glimmer of the summer -night, his jaded attitude and unkempt hair were just seen and no more. -He looked, indeed, like a storm-tossed soul, already in the shades of -some nether world. Even then he summoned up all that he might of his -precise manner: - -"My dear sir--my dear sir! I have had more experience of such matters -than you, and much more knowledge of this most distressing and -mysterious case. I thank you for your advice. I thank you. I must act -according to my own conscience." - - - - -Chapter XXVII - -A HOUND ON THE SCENT - - -It was that season in the summer when, in regions remote from fields of -harvest, time itself stands still. Nothing is doing in the wild wood. -Each young thing is fledged and flown, or, strong in its coat of fur, is -off and away; the flower of the season is passed, the berry hangs green -on the bush. The panting trees of the valleys speak to the trees of the -mountains, telling them, in hot, dry whispers, to look out for the -autumn that comes from afar. Only sometimes, in the morning on the -hilltops, a courier comes from the season that tarries. With feet that -trip on the nodding weeds, and a voice singing in the fluttering trees, -and a smile that speaks in a bluer sky, the unseen courier of autumn -comes and goes. The hearts of men and beasts are excited, they know not -why, and the berry and the grape and the tender leaf turn red. - -Such was the weather in which the time of waiting passed. - -Within two days Bertha passed down the road twice on village errands. -Her horse each time loitered as it passed the mine until Durgan at last -went out and walked a few steps by her bridle. He was afraid to talk -with her lest he should say more, or less, or something quite different -from what he would wish to say. But Bertha would speak. - -"Mr. Durgan, are you still quite sure? I cannot tell you how you have -lightened my heart, but I must hear it again. It came to you freshly the -other night; after thinking it over, are you still quite sure?" - -"Of what?" he asked. He could not think of anything connected with -Bertha's misfortunes of which he was sure at all. - -"That it could not have been as I thought--that my dear sister----" - -"Your sister has no mental weakness; and she did not commit that crime," -he said almost sharply. "If that is what you mean, I am as sure of it as -that I stand here." - -"Don't be angry with me. You speak so severely. But I can't tell you how -I like to hear you say it." - -"It was a bugbear of your own imagination, and I feel angry with you -when I think of it. And if you take my advice you will never, never, -under any circumstances, let her, or anyone else, know that you thought -such a thing." - -"I would rather tell her all about it sometime. She would forgive it." - -"I dare say she would." Durgan spoke bitterly. "I don't know what -forgiveness in such a case is; but no doubt, whatever it is, it would -cost her more than you can conceive. She would give it to you; but you -are a child if you think that she would ever recover from the wound of -such knowledge. God may put such things right in the next life, but -never in this. That, at least, is my opinion." - -"I am offended with you," she said. She was looking very well that day. -Her blue cotton riding-dress and blue sun-bonnet well displayed the warm -color and youthful contour of her face. There was a peace in her eyes, -too, that he had never seen there before. "I wanted to tell you -something else, but you have made me angry." - -"Forgive me, then. It is so easy." There was sarcasm in his voice. - -She thought for a few minutes, and seemed to forget her quarrel. - -"Mr. Alden went to Hilyard, and he has come back without finding out -anything about 'Dolphus. I was so much afraid. I have asked Hermie if we -might not tell him just about 'Dolphus; but she spoke to me so -solemnly, so sadly, that now I only regret that I told _you_. I want to -beg you never to repeat it. I don't understand Hermie's motives, but I -can't side against her." - -"What has Alden been doing?" - -"He has been attending to business letters and papers. He is making this -his holiday, but of course he has always a great deal of business on -hand. He thinks a great deal over his writing. This morning he spent -hours pacing in the pasture and sitting on the stile." - -"Ah!" said Durgan. - -"He actually came in with his necktie crooked, he was thinking so hard," -continued Bertha. "He is good, but I can't think why Hermie cares for -him so; he usually looks so like a doll." - -In a few minutes Durgan dropped the bridle and turned back. His mind was -uneasy. - -But the next afternoon Bertha descended in a different mood. She had -evidently been watching to see his negro laborers depart, for she stood -on the rock ledge before they were out of sight. - -"You told him my secret. How could you? You promised at least not to -tell until you had spoken to me. You never explained yesterday that you -had told. Oh, how he has turned against us! And you! There is no one in -the world we can trust." - -Durgan stood in awkward distress before her. His intention not to tell -could not balance his stupidity in having betrayed anything. - -"I told you because you said you must know my story on Adam's account, -but you found Adam's safety provided for; you said you must know lest -you should do injustice to 'Dolphus, but he will likely die before the -trial comes on; and yet you have babbled to Mr. Alden, not being able to -keep faith with a most unhappy woman for a few days. I was foolish, I -was wrong, to tell you our secret; but you forced me to speak. Oh, how -could you call yourself a gentleman and betray me so?" - -She was very imperious, very handsome; but she was far too sad and -frightened to be really angry. - -As he stood before her without a word, contrition written on his face, -she took shelter in the threshold of his hut and, sitting by the open -door, began to cry piteously, not with abandonment, but with the -quietude of a real sorrow. - -She spoke again. "Mr. Alden is a hound, with his keen nose on a scent. -He will not lift it off till his victim is at bay. When I said to -Hermie that Mr. Alden would not rest now till whoever did it was -hanged, she fainted. She was so ill upstairs in our room that I was -terrified, but she would not let Mr. Alden know." - -"Yes, but _who_ is the victim?" - -She looked up suddenly. "He said you told him who it is; and that I had -told you. Hermie never betrayed any feeling when he told her--it was -afterwards--but I know her heart is breaking." - -"I am at my wit's end," said Durgan sadly. - -"He says Hermie, my own Hermie, has made every sacrifice to protect this -Charlton Beardsley. It is not true. There was no one she despised and -disliked so much. Whatever else is or is not true, that is. Do I not -know? Did I not see her even quarrel with our dear father about this man -because he had pretended to give messages from mother?" At this -recollection she wept again, her head in her hands. "My dear, dear -father," she whispered. "Oh, if he could come back to us! If he could -only come back!" - -Durgan stood helpless. That faculty by which words arise unbidden in the -mind kept obstinately repeating in Durgan's the name Charlton Beardsley, -in that tone of almost tender compassion given to it by Miss Claxton -when he last spoke to her. - -At last Bertha rose to go. "There is no such thing as truth," she -cried. "I was false to Hermie in telling you what I did; you were false -to me. Mr. Alden is a false friend to us all. There is no truth." - -Durgan laid a detaining hand on her arm. "Look up," he said. - -She looked up at the dogwood tree whose spring blossom had first cheered -that rocky spot for Durgan. Across the unutterable brightness of the sky -the tree held its horizontal sprays of golden leaves. The bluebird of -the South, dashed with gloss of crimson and green, pecked at the scarlet -berries. The tree glistened in the light of evening. Above and beyond it -the sky was radiant with the level light. - -"Very probably there is no such thing as the truth you seek in this -world," he said; "but there must be truth somewhere, or why should we -all try to approximate to it, and feel so like whipped dogs when we have -failed?" - -For two or three days after that Durgan heard nothing, but Alden came -and went on the mountain road, and once again made the journey to -Hilyard. - -At last, one evening after dark, Durgan received a message demanding his -presence at the summit house. He went, and found the little family in -some formal condition of distress--the elder lady sitting calm, but very -sad, her usually busy hands idle in her lap; Bertha, her face swollen -with tears, sitting beside her sister in an attitude of defiant -protection; Alden moving restlessly about, his face blanched and -haggard. The weather over all the mountain was still tense and dry. The -cold had come without rain--a highly nervous condition for the human -frame. - -It was only Miss Claxton who tried to make Durgan's arrival more -agreeable to him by a few words of ordinary conversation. - -Then Alden spoke. "I believe now that yours was the right suspicion, Mr. -Durgan. Miss Claxton having declined to help me at all, I resolved to -ask you to be present while I tell her exactly what I suspect with -regard to Charlton Beardsley. I would not have Miss Claxton without a -protector while I am obliged to say and do what she tells me will make -me her worst enemy. If so, it must be so. I cannot be silent. I cannot -be inactive. I cannot be responsible for a murderer's freedom. But I -will do no more without giving you all fair warning. I believe your wife -to be implicated. We are here agreed in desiring your presence." - -Durgan looked at the women. How often had he seen them here in the -mellow lamplight, at peace in this beautiful retreat. - -Bertha looked up at him. "Stay with us," said she. "You have done us an -injury by betraying my confidence; now ward off the consequences if you -can." - -Miss Claxton's gentle face was also upturned. "It is right that you -should stay to know what accusation will be brought against your wife; -but I do not need your protection." - -She looked towards Alden when she had spoken, and Durgan saw the little -man quiver with distress. - -Durgan sat down beside the sisters. - - - - -Chapter XXVIII - -PROBING A DEEP WOUND - - -Alden began with a stiff, quaint bow to his little audience. It was easy -to see that he had fallen into the mannerism of a court. "In making my -statement it is not necessary for me to tell from what source I obtained -any part of my information, or what is inference from information. I -will say exactly what I now suppose to have happened upon the morning of -the day on which Mr. Claxton was killed with unparalleled brutality, and -his wife shot." - -Durgan felt rebellion in its keenest form at this beginning, but sat in -silence. - -When Alden had once begun it was obvious that he felt the relief of open -speech. He told in detail how he believed 'Dolphus to have been sent to -Mr. Claxton's with a note announcing Beardsley's visit, which caused -Miss Hermione to send the maids and Miss Bertha out of the house. - -"But how," asked Alden, "did Beardsley come to the house without -observation? I have found again and again that the thing that is hardest -to detect has been done in the simplest and most obvious way. Negative -evidence is often no evidence at all; and the thing done most openly -more often escapes remark than an attempt at secrecy. In this case two -neighbors saw the maids go out on their errand; one saw the dark-faced -boy enter. She swore he was an Italian music boy, while in fact he was a -mulatto. The servant of a neighbor said she saw the boy leave the house -again. They both agreed that he was long and lanky. Everyone else in the -neighborhood, with a chance of seeing, testified that no boy came or -went. I believe that Beardsley came, as the boy came, in an open way, -and was admitted by Miss Hermione. Again, one neighbor swears that she -saw the two maids go down the street together; another, that only one -went down alone while she was looking. Cross-examined, she could not be -sure whether the one maid she saw was the cook, or housemaid, or -charwoman, but only that she came out of the Claxton house. The other -neighbors had not seen any woman leave the house. This shows what such -evidence is worth. I believe Beardsley left the house disguised in the -clothes of the boy. The boy was almost grown, Beardsley not large. No -doubt, being in the habit of personating spirits and juggling, escape -would be no difficulty to him. I am still unable to suggest any motive -for the crime." Alden paused. - -"Go on." The words were spoken breathlessly by Bertha. - -Alden went on solemnly. "I think, Hermione, you knew the boy's message -to be from Beardsley. You must have admitted Beardsley to the house, -Hermione! In the night you helped the boy to escape. It is not possible -that you did not know that Beardsley had committed the crime. I am -convinced that you helped him also to escape. One possible explanation -of your action, and the subsequent concealment, is that he extracted -some oath of secrecy which you wrongly considered binding." - -There was a breathless silence. - -"But I think you have too much good sense to consider such a compulsory -promise binding. You have had another reason." - -There was still silence. - -"The fact that you did not denounce him points to the fact that you -helped Beardsley's escape. The fact that you sent the mulatto to Mrs. -Durgan's address proves that you knew where Beardsley had taken refuge. -Beardsley went to Mrs. Durgan's house, not to his former lodgings. She -must have known that some disaster had happened if he returned in -disguise; she must quickly have known from the papers the extent of his -guilt. She certainly had him in her house ill a week after--really very -ill, for Mr. Durgan, on one of his rare visits, found two hospital -nurses attending him. It was said to be a severe case of pleurisy with -complications; and he has been, or has pretended to be, more or less of -an invalid ever since. But before his illness he acted his part well. He -certainly held his séances regularly for a number of evenings after the -crime. I made very strict inquiry at the time of several members of this -circle as to its nature, because of the connection Mr. Claxton had with -it. Beardsley went into his trances, and spoke with strange tongues, and -what not, during that week. I knew this because several of his -disciples, who believed in his dealings with the unseen world, tried to -call up the spirits of Mr. and Mrs. Claxton, so unhappily departed, and -entreated for some information as to their murderer. The villain had not -the hardihood to personate his own victims." - -Alden paused suddenly, and demanded of the sisters: "You remember -hearing of the incident?" - -Bertha, her face flushed and excited, gave a hasty "Yes." Miss Claxton -made an indifferent motion of assent. She preserved a uniform -expression of great sadness. She seemed to take hardly any special -interest in anything said. - -"This boy, 'Dolphus, went also straight to Mrs. Durgan's house. He has -been sheltered by Beardsley and Mrs. Durgan; he has been Beardsley's -valet ever since. Mrs. Durgan may have hid them both in the first -instance out of pity; or she, too, may have had another reason. She -would fear to send them away later lest her connivance in their hiding -should become known." - -"Consider," said Durgan. "Do you think my wife, or any other woman, -would voluntarily live in daily terror of being killed by such a madman -as you describe?" - -"Is there no adequate motive that you can suggest?" Alden returned. - -"Love," said he. "But I am certain that my wife has not been in love." - -Hermione Claxton looked at Durgan for a moment; a tinge of color and an -abatement of her sorrow were evident. Then she relapsed into her former -attitude. - -Alden stood in front of her, watching her changing expression with -impassioned eagerness. "In the name of God, Hermione," he cried -solemnly, "why do you shield this man? Why do you still wish to shield -him? Why are you glad that Mr. Durgan should believe that love does not -exist between him and Mrs. Durgan?" - -His sudden manner of agonized affection, and words that came like a cry -from the heart, brought a hush of trembling expectation. Bertha gazed -intently at her sister, unconscious of the tears of excitement that were -running over her own eyes. Durgan, who had never thought to see Alden so -moved, felt the utmost wonder. But the fragile, faded woman, to whom the -passionate question had been addressed, faced her questioner with no -other change in the calm front she bore than an added degree of sadness. - -"Hermione," cried Alden again, "why did you conceal this man's guilt -from me at the time, and why do you still wish to conceal it?" - -"Herbert," she replied very gently, "you have no evidence of his guilt." - -"I have," he replied. - -Durgan felt himself start nervously. Such a statement from this keen -legal mind was like a declaration of proof. - -The effect of the words upon Miss Hermione was a visible shudder which -ran through her frame. - -"Evidence?" she said, as if still doubting; but terror was written on -her face. - -"Two days ago I went to Hilyard at the summons of the doctor and -constable. The colored prisoner, called Adolphus Courthope, was supposed -to be dying, and desired to see me. When I went, he asked me to take -down a confession and a statement, parts of which supplied links in the -story I have told you. The doctor was witness to the interview. -Courthope swore that Beardsley was the criminal." - -Miss Claxton looked at him steadily. "What reason have you to assume -that what he said is true?" - -"In all those parts where I can test its truth it appears to be true. He -referred me to Bertha for the fact that she aided his escape at night." - -"Birdie will not corroborate that. She will tell you nothing." - -"He would hardly have asked her to corroborate a lie," said Alden. "He -told me that when in New York he knew he was dying, his conscience -caused him to bring some documents which he believed to incriminate -Beardsley; that he gave them to you by appointment on the night of Eve's -death; that after giving them he discovered that Adam's wife had been -spying on the interview and had followed you up the hill. She showed him -a certain place where she saw you hide these letters. He added, in the -most matter-of-fact way, that he then killed Eve for her treachery to -you, and because she would only make mischief." - -Bertha stood up in great wrath. "How can you say that my sister did such -things as this? No word of this is true. How can you believe a man who -is a murderer?" - -Alden went on looking at Hermione. "I went to the tree of which he gave -me a rough drawing." - -He took from his coat two packets of old letters, with their wrapping of -oil-silk, which he had unfastened. - -"I have read them," he said. "I did not wish to do so without your -permission and that of Mr. Durgan, as they chiefly belong to his wife; -but it was necessary, and the fact that I found them there, and also -their contents, prove the most unlikely part of his tale to be -true--that you have trafficked secretly with such a man as he, and crept -out at night to meet him and hide documents which----" He paused -half-way through the sentence; his voice broke, and the tremor coming at -so strong a moment, brought all the little gracious ways of his long -friendship and service for Hermione to their minds. The strange scene -vibrated with a throb of sorrow. - -"Herbert," she said falteringly, "you have indeed become my enemy, -concerting with this poor wretch to outwit me, spying upon my most -private actions." - -"Nay, Hermione; I did not even ask the man for his evidence. I was -forced, in the name of common justice, and above all, of justice to you, -to hear it; and I am justified in what I have done since, because I have -done it to save you from yourself." - -"I beg your pardon," said she. "For a moment I spoke unjustly; but, -whatever your motives, you have become my enemy. Those letters were -stolen by a servant to injure a master who, whatever else his faults, -had treated him with unvarying kindness. They were given to me under the -mistaken idea that I could use them for my own advantage. I cannot; nor -can you." - -"I read them, Hermione, because, without suspicion and by mere accident, -I had read your telegram to Charlton Beardsley the other day." - -She rose up now. There was a movement of her small clasped hands, as tho -she wrung them together. - -"When I read it at the post-office, merely to aid in its transmission, I -saw its significance only too plainly. I withheld it for a day. Then I -had it sent by an agent whom I could trust, and whom I instructed to -watch the house of the recipient. I could not have connived at the man's -escape. Had he tried to get away after receiving your wire, I should -have been justified in his arrest." - -"Did you have my message sent from Hilyard?" she asked suddenly. - -"No. From New York. But it was the exact message." - -She was white to the lips. "It had no significance coming from New -York." She lifted both hands with a gesture of despair. - -Instinctively he chose quick words to comfort her. "No, you wanted to -warn him against coming here! But Beardsley had gone. I suppose he had -got some other warning. He had fled three days before. My men could gain -no information." - -She was comforted. Some color returned to her face. - -Alden spoke out once more. "In Heaven's name, what motive have you for -seeking this man's freedom? Why hide these letters? They are written -between Beardsley and Mrs. Durgan. What secret of yours can they -contain?" - -She looked at him with unutterable pain in her face, but gave no word or -sound. - -"Hermione!" he cried; "this trickster had only been a few months upon -this continent when this crime was committed; and during those few -months you gave me to understand that I was your dearest and only -intimate friend. We were together constantly; we were looking forward to -marriage. It cannot be possible that, at that same time, you contracted -a friendship--shall I say an affection?--for this man? You spoke of him -to me as a person whose pretensions you despised, whose slight -acquaintance with your father you deplored; and, beyond this, you told -me that you had never seen him. Am I to believe that, in spite of all -this, he was your lover?" - -"My lover!" She repeated the word with white lips, and remained gazing -at him for some minutes as if paralyzed with surprise. Then with a -gesture of that dignity which only a mind innocent in thought and act -can command, she rose and turned away, with no further word, toward the -staircase that led from the room. - -"You know that is not true," cried Bertha to Alden fiercely. She stood -up as a man would who was ready to make good the word with a blow. Then -she called: "Hermione! Hermione! Come back. Don't you see that Mr. Alden -has no choice but to give this Beardsley up to justice, and hand over -all the evidence he has in these letters to the police?" - -Hermione turned to Alden again. "Is that true? Do not deceive me in the -hope of making me confess anything; but tell me truly, do not say you -have no choice." - -But he could not abandon the point which gave him such unbounded -astonishment. "What motive have you for protecting him? Why do you love -him?--for you do love him, Hermione." - -"I am asking you whether it is no longer in my power to protect him, -should I wish to do so." - -"Oh, my dear; give me some notion why you want to save him." - -The term of affection, if not used between them for the first time, was -certainly now first used before others. A slow flush mantled her faded, -sensitive face. - -"Alas! Herbert, is it not clear now why I should have kept my secret -from you, if your conscience is such that you can concede no mercy to a -criminal? You may be right. You may have no choice but to wield the law, -and the law only. But if I had a choice, you cannot blame me for not -telling you, who admit you have none. Do you not know that I have loved -you--you only? Do you think I could have endured to be separated from -you for a slight or a low motive, for a whim, or for a duty about which -I felt the slightest doubt? And nothing has taken away the need for my -silence. I cannot tell you my motive, or give you any indication whether -the clue you now hold is true or false, or whether these letters will -help you to do justice or lead you astray, or why I went out to get them -at night, or why I put them where Bertha would not have found them in -the event of my death. I put these letters where I could find them -should a certain contingency arise in my life, and where, failing that, -they would be lost. I will not tell you more, or give you leave to use -them." - -"Hermione!" cried Bertha, the energy of a long distress in her tone, -"for my sake, can you not help us to understand? I have tried to be -brave; and if you will not tell, I will stand by you in anything; but my -courage is all gone now. I cannot bear this mystery and disgrace." - -The elder sister looked at her with tenderness and pity. It was a -lingering look that a mother might cast on a child doomed to a crippled -life. But she gave no answer, and went up the stairs. - - - - -Chapter XXIX - -FORGED LETTERS - - -Alden looked at Bertha. "Mr. Durgan must read these letters," he said, -"because they belong to his wife. You must choose whether you will be a -witness to the reading. Yours is a filial as well as a sisterly part. It -is in the effort to bring your father's enemy to justice that I take -this step. On the other hand, you may think that your sister has also -acted with that filial duty in view, and that, in taking a course in -opposition to her wishes, you would be casting a reflection upon her -conduct which is disloyal. I cannot advise you, you must judge for -yourself." - -Bertha did not speak. - -"The course which your sister has pursued appears to me suicidal," -continued Alden. "I cannot, if I would, endorse her action further; but -you must judge for yourself." - -"Whatever duty to my dear father I leave unperformed, his happiness -cannot now be marred. I only wish to serve my sister now." - -Then she followed her sister upstairs. - -When Alden was relieved from constraint, his face and figure settled -into lines even more haggard and weary than before. - -"I will give you the letters in the order of their dates," said he to -Durgan. - -The letters were carefully arranged. He had made notes concerning each -on a slip of paper. - -The first was written upon cheap notepaper in a cramped hand. Durgan, as -he read, characterized the writer as a half-educated person, -unaccustomed to social usage. It was dated from New York, and on a day -about a month before the Claxton tragedy. It ran thus: - - - "MRS. DURGAN: - - "Madame--I find the boarding-house to which you have been so good - as to recommend me very comfortable. The parcel of comforts has - reached and been duly received by me, for which also kindly receive - my thanks. But I cannot forbear from reminding you that he who - would seek spiritual knowledge and communion with those in a finer - state of being than our own, must eschew such unnecessary - gratification of the flesh. Again thanking you, dear madame, - - "I remain, your obedient servant, - - "JOHN CHARLTON BEARDSLEY." - - -Durgan turned this over and over. There was no postmark or stamp on the -envelope. It had perhaps been returned by the bearer of the parcel -referred to. The paper was not soiled, and the fragrance of his wife's -own stationery adhered to it. She had evidently kept this paltry note -among her own papers until recently--why? A fashionable woman must -receive hundreds of such notes. Then, too, to keep what was of no use -was not in accordance with his wife's business habits. - -After this followed three more notes on the same paper. They also were -brief and formal, giving thanks for favors, making or cancelling -engagements to teach spiritual lore. - -Then came one dated the day before the Claxton murder. Durgan felt a -strange thrill as he read it: - - - "MADAME: I feel compelled to visit Mr. Claxton at his own residence - to-morrow. I feel that it is my duty to declare to him in the - presence of Mrs. Claxton--or if he will not consent to this to - warn Mr. Claxton of the risk to his soul which he encounters in his - present meetings with----" - - -Here a line had been carefully erased. The next line began in the middle -of a sentence. - - - "----not think that I have any other than an honorable intention. - For again I say that if we seek to know the spirit world we must - purge ourselves of all dross. - - "I am, your obedient servant, - - "JOHN CHARLTON BEARDSLEY." - - -"This is of importance", said Durgan. "He intended to go to the house on -the fatal day, and there is suggestion of material for a quarrel over -some unknown person--a woman, probably, as Mrs. Claxton's presence is -required." - -"Is there reason to assume this third person unknown? It may have been a -name that is erased, or it may have been a pronoun in the second person. -Shall we read on?" - -The next letter was dated the day after the crime. It ran: - - - "MRS. DURGAN: - - "Madame--I am sensible of kindness in your inquiries about my - health. I have, as you are aware, received a great shock in - hearing of the terrible fate of our friend, Mr. Claxton. Alas! In - the midst of life we are in death. I had, as you know, held the - intention of paying him a call upon that very day, but, instead, - fell into a trance soon after my simple breakfast of bread and - milk. In that trance I saw the dark deed committed, but could not - see the actor. The terror of the hour has preyed upon my health. If - I can keep my evening engagements this week it will be all that I - can do. I will not see you again at present, except in public. Your - obedient servant, - - J. C. B." - - -"Do you think he could possibly have gone out and done it in his trance, -and never known his own guilt?" asked Durgan. - -"Observe that that letter appears to be written from Beardsley's, while -'Dolphus swears that he was then in Mrs. Durgan's house." - -The next was a reply from Mrs. Durgan, upon the costly, scented paper -her husband knew so well--crest and monogram and address embossed in -several delicate colors. It was dated the same day. - - - "DEAR MR. CHARLTON BEARDSLEY: I am sorry indeed to hear that your - health has been too greatly strained by spiritual exercises and - (may I not say?) by too great abstinence. I regret this on my own - account, for I am deprived of the valuable instruction you have - been giving me in spiritual matters. I confess I cannot glean so - much wisdom from you when I meet you only in the more public - séance. But on no account risk any danger to your health. Yours - cordially, - - "ANNA DURGAN. - - "P.S.--I was so absorbed in my personal disappointment that I have - forgotten to express my horror and sympathy at the terrible news - (which is now in all the papers) concerning your friend, Mr. - Claxton, and his family." - - -Next, with the same date, came another note from Mrs. Durgan, briefly -inviting the medium to pay a week's visit at her house, and stating that -an old nurse of her own would wait on him if he preferred to keep his -room. - -The next letter was dated two months later, and was from Beardsley at -Atlantic City. In it the patient recounted with gratitude all the -attention he had received during a long illness suffered in Mrs. -Durgan's house. He also spoke of much pleasure in a further friendship -with her, and the hope of spending his life not far from her. More -elegance of thought and language was now displayed. - -After this there were several other letters, written at intervals during -the next year, alternately by Beardsley and Mrs. Durgan, and filled only -with matters of ordinary friendship--discussions on spiritualism, and of -a plan that Beardsley should avail himself permanently of Mrs. Durgan's -hospitality. Beardsley stated that he had no longer the health to -continue his work as a medium. - -When the reading was finished, and Alden was waiting, Durgan was loth to -speak. He felt a curious sense of helplessness. Why had these particular -letters been kept? Was it to incriminate Charlton Beardsley or to -exculpate him? The period of the letters was well chosen with reference -to the crime, but how had his wife been able to foresee a month before -the murder that she might want to produce the notes of that date? Then -arose a question of much greater interest to Durgan. The Beardsley -revealed in these letters was, as he had always believed, the last man -to attract Mrs. Durgan. If innocent, he appeared to be a simple-minded, -uneducated enthusiast in bad health and liable to fits. If guilty, there -was still less reason why a woman whose motive was always selfish, and -whose aim was ambitious, should compromise herself by befriending him. - -"What do you think of these letters?" asked Durgan impatiently. - -Alden gave a little genteel snort of anger and annoyance. He looked -towards the stairs and spoke in a low voice. "I confide in you, Mr. -Durgan. In confidence, I may say I am confounded. The world has said -that this was an extraordinary case, and that without knowing this -latest and most baffling development. I confess I am confounded." - -"But you will have some theory about them?" - -"The only thing they prove is that someone has thought it worth while to -try to deceive someone else; and I should think--pardon me--that the -agent in the matter is Mrs. Durgan. This is her writing, is it not?" - -"Yes." - -"Beardsley's letters are all forgeries except one." - -Durgan took back the letters to seek evidence of forgery. His hand -trembled. - -"Don't you see which is the genuine one?" asked Alden. - -Durgan did not see until it was pointed out to him that the letter which -contained the erasure differed from the rest in displaying some -peculiarities of crude handwriting which were more or less successfully -copied, but exaggerated, in the others which bore his supposed -signature. - -"Do you agree with me that my wife's are genuine?" asked Durgan -haughtily. - -"I have no reason to suppose otherwise. They are all in the same hand, -but I think----" - -"Go on," said Durgan. - -"I think they were not written at the dates given, but were composed to -make up this series." - -"Do you suppose, then, that my wife is the author of these Beardsley -forgeries?" - -"I cannot tell. If they were written in Beardsley's interest, why did he -not write them himself? But if not in his interest, whoever forged them -must have done it at her bidding." - -As Durgan kept silence, Alden spoke again. "I ought to explain to you, -perhaps with an apology, why I suggested that the person referred to in -the erased line may have been Mrs. Durgan. By mere accident I heard, a -year after the trial, a piece of gossip which first made me pitch on -that one letter as probably genuine. I am loth to mention it to you, for -it appeared to be trivial talk about a mere mistake. A man who had -belonged to that somewhat secret circle of Beardsley's was telling me -that Beardsley knew nothing of society, and was, like all lower-class -men, at first quite unaccustomed to the idea of mere friendship between -men and women, and, as an illustration of this, he went on to say what I -am referring to. Mrs. Durgan and Claxton seemed to have discovered some -spiritual affinity. The spirits, I understood, sometimes spoke through -Mrs. Durgan and sent messages to him----" - -"She said they did?" - -"Personally, of course, I don't believe in such communications, but we -may believe that Mrs. Durgan believed----" - -"I was not entering into that question. I merely wish to be clear as to -what occurred." - -"Yes; I understood that Mrs. Durgan said they sent messages of an -agreeable and flattering nature; and Beardsley suspected that they were -not genuine, and, being a person of primitive ideas, showed disapproval. -He thought they indicated undue interest in Claxton on Mrs. Durgan's -part. The man told me that all who knew of the incident laughed at -Beardsley's lack of knowledge of the world. He gave me to understand no -one thought the incident of any importance, and all had the good feeling -not to speak of it after poor Claxton's death." - -"Did they suppose Beardsley to be jealous?" - -"Not at all. My informant, a man of the world, represented him as -having the idea that a high moral tone was necessary to insure the -success of his entertainments, and that these flattering messages were -not in harmony with such a tone." - -"You heard this a year ago and no suspicion of Beardsley entered your -mind?" - -"No. How should it? My informant ended his chat by remarking how well -Mrs. Durgan knew how to disarm criticism, for, instead of being -offended, she had most charitably supported the simple moralist during -years of ill health." - -"It is easy to be wise after the event," said Durgan; and then he asked: -"What are you going to do now?" - -"The chief thing we have got to consider is that, although these -letters, and above all, those I have not yet shown you, confirm the -mulatto's tale that Beardsley was at the house, we have as yet no -explanation whatever of the crime, and no reason whatever to accuse -Beardsley of it beyond the fact that he was there. I do not see how to -get further except by discovering a clue to Miss Claxton's conduct. The -kernel of the secret lies there." - -"I see quite clearly," rejoined Durgan, "that we are, as you say, far -from any explanation of the mystery; but as far as my wife is concerned, -these letters appear to me to show that she knew that she was -protecting this man at the risk of danger to herself. She has prepared -this series to save herself if he is found out. The one letter which you -suppose to be his is evidence that he had the intention of visiting the -Claxtons that morning; the rest of the letters only imply that she -believed he had never gone. If, as we now suppose, the cause of quarrel -between Beardsley and poor Claxton was this misapprehension of his -regarding my wife's feeling for Claxton, she may have sheltered him at -first to save scandal involving herself." - -"Yet," said Alden, "we must admit that this does not appear to be any -sufficient motive for Mrs. Durgan's conduct. We agree that only some -important fact, as yet unknown to us, can explain the action of these -two women." - -Alden put down his notes on the small table. They sat in silence. The -smouldering birch log in the stove chimney emitted only an occasional -spit of flame. The dogs slumbered in front of it. The shaded lamp, which -Durgan had often regarded as the symbol of domestic felicity, threw the -same soft light around the graceful room as on the first evening of his -introduction to it. Upstairs there was an occasional sound made by the -movements of the sisters, which gave a soft reminder of their presence -in the house, and no more. Through the low, uncurtained windows the -mountain trees and the meadows were seen outlined in the starlight, as -on the night of his arrival. - -"What of these other letters you still have in your hand?" said Durgan -at last. - -"There are three that were tied up and hidden, evidently before the -stolen packet came into her possession; and three that were with the -rest that you have seen. These last three I cannot let you see. They are -the saddest letters I have ever read. They are written to Beardsley, and -altho without date or signature, undoubtedly in Miss Claxton's writing. -They implore him by every sacred feeling of love and duty to turn to God -in repentance and accept the Christian salvation. Mr. Durgan, nothing -but love and the most earnest sense of duty could have prompted these -letters, and I wish, in your presence, to put them in the fire. They -have been rejected and spurned by the cur to whom they were sent, and -altho they are undoubted proofs that for him she has felt the madness--I -can call it by no other word--the madness of love, they shall never be -used as evidence against her." - -The little man stepped forward and laid them on the fire. The tears, -unfelt, fell from his eyes as he did so. The flame shot up from the -glowing log, and the dark, uncurtained windows of the room repeated the -quivering light. - -The sorrow of it drowned Durgan's curiosity. He forgot to wonder what -letters Miss Claxton had previously hidden in the tree till Alden roused -himself to speak again. - -"The three letters still left, which apparently came months ago, at -intervals, in response to those just burned, are addressed to Miss -Claxton at my office. I judge from this that Beardsley never knew of the -alias 'Smith' or of this retreat. Indeed, Adolphus told me he does not -know." Alden paused absently. - -"And these letters?" Durgan reminded. - -"These letters are no doubt from that beast. They are in feigned hand -and anonymous; and the subject is money--no religion, no duty, no -affection, is to be believed as long as money is withheld. Thousands of -dollars are demanded. I've no means of knowing whether this money was -given or not." - -Durgan went over the notes, which Alden had described accurately. - -"The negro is really dying, I suppose?" he asked. "He can help us no -further?" - -"Yes; he may be dead by this time; but, curiously enough, to the end of -my interview he was chuckling, and saying that he would pay the villain -and right the lady yet. But he would not give me, or the doctor, any -indication of what he meant. He adjured me to----" - -"Listen." Durgan went to the window as he spoke, and the dogs pricked -their ears. - -"I hear nothing," said Alden. - -"I ought to be going home," said Durgan. "What were you saying?" - -"Only that the fellow told me to keep my wits about me, and tell you to -do the same. There is something to be subtracted from all the evidence -he gave, for he was certainly, if rational at all, in a very fantastic -humor." - -The lawyer's tones were low and weary. Durgan was not even listening. He -had opened the window a little. - -"I think there is a horse, or horses, on the road from the Cove," he -said. His thought glanced back to the last time he heard horsemen -approach in the night, to arrest Adam. No errand of less baneful import -seemed to fit the circumstances now. - -The French clock on the mantel-shelf rang out twelve musical strokes. - - - - -Chapter XXX - -THE VISION IN THE HUT - - -There is, perhaps, no more enthralling sound than the far but sure -approach of someone who comes unlooked-for to a lonely place. The two -men who were keeping vigil became certain that travelers were ascending -the steep zig-zags of Deer. They looked at one another in apprehensive -silence, and went softly out to that side of the house nearest the road. -The young moon had set, and there was cloud overhead. Almost an hour's -journey below them the creak of wheel, the sound of hoof, came faint but -nearer. The two house dogs stood by the men, a growl in their throats. - -Bertha came downstairs and out to them, a shawl over her head. The -mountain nights had been growing colder; the air was bleak and dry. - -"Hermie is terribly ill," she said. "She has cried till the pain in her -head is anguish--and who can possibly be coming?" - -Then she turned indignantly to Alden. "Is this some plan of your -arranging?" - -Alden denied in dispirited tones, and suggested that perhaps some -travelers had lost their way. - -"People don't usually climb a mountain by mistake," she retorted. - -"There are two horses--and two men talking--and wheels," said Durgan, -slowly reckoning up the sounds he heard. - -"Go in, and take the dogs," said Alden to Bertha. "We will go down to -the mine and meet them, so that Hermione need not be disturbed." - -"You need not be so careful to protect her now," she said hardly. "She -is in too great pain to care what happens." - -Then Durgan was striding down the trail, and Alden hopping nimbly over -the rocks beside him. - -"The last visitors who rode here through the night brought handcuffs," -said Durgan grimly. - -He could not divest himself of the idea that some armed fate was close -upon them all. - -He lit his lantern, and kindled a fire of sticks in the stove of his -hut. Alden, who was shivering with cold, warmed himself. The travelers -were now resting their horses a half-mile below. The keen air, the new -excitement, were a spur to the mind of the weary lawyer. He began to -talk with renewed melancholy, and a persistence that wearied Durgan's -ears. - -"So far, we are not only without proof, but without reasonable -hypothesis. The cleverest detective in New York tells me that Beardsley -left New York and cannot be traced. When we find him, we shall only -have, as means to incriminate him, the word of a dead negro, whose mind -was obviously failing when he gave his evidence, and one letter -which----" - -Durgan's impatience was intolerable. He went out on the dark road. He -thought of that other night, gorgeous in its whiteness, when the full -moon had looked down on the beautiful bronze form of the murdered woman -and on a strolling, dandified valet, of whose portrait Durgan remembered -every detail. He had seen him in the glamor of the silvered avenue; and -his silken hair and long whiskers, the expanse of shirt-front, the flash -of false jewels, and his mad utterance, which was now gradually taking -the form of truth, lived again in his memory. He remembered, too, the -crimson dawn in which he had witnessed Adam's passionate grief, and his -own rage of indignation when the next night had brought with it, on this -same road, the worst of insults to taint that grief. - -The cause of all that coil of evil and pain had been the quiet lady, -whom they had just left with the intense loneliness of her secret, shut -off in her anguish from sister and lover. For her sake, it seemed, Eve -had been killed, and Adam had wept, and the vain serving-man had used -his last vital powers to save her from a world's reproach. As yet there -was no outcome of it all, except dissension and misery. - -The horses below began to move again. Durgan went in to Alden. They -sometimes heard a thin, impatient voice raised high in questioning -tones, and answers given. When the horses had passed the last turn -below, the words of the thin voice could be heard clearly. - -"Drivah, what is this light?" There was a slight drawl and an assumption -of importance. - -"I think I have heard that voice before," said the lawyer slowly, -listening; "but I cannot tell where." - -"Is this the top of the mountain, drivah? Is this the house?" - -"I can't be sure, but I think I know it," commented the lawyer again. -"Do you recognize it?" - -"No, I do not." - -Durgan stood out on the road. - -"Then drive on. If this is not the summit house, drive on, drivah. -Don't stop." There was a note of alarm in the thin tone. - -Durgan's lantern flashed its light upon horses and driver and -old-fashioned surrey from the hotel at Hilyard. The driver was a silent -man, well known on the road. Within, his keen, facile face bent forward -in ill temper and alarm, sat an emaciated man, wrapped in a rich fur -coat and propped with cushions. - -The driver had so far answered in lazy monosyllables. Now, on -recognizing Durgan, he pulled up the carriage. The thin-voiced traveler -addressed Durgan. - -"I am going to the boarding-house of a Miss Smith. I understand there is -a lawyer there, the best in the State. I will not detain you, sir. Go -on, drivah; we are much too late now." - -The owner of the voice leaned back in the surrey. He was evidently -alarmed by his surroundings; but a stranger might well be excused for -showing some dislike of the long, steep road, the extreme solitude, and -the sudden appearance of a man who barred the way. - -Durgan turned his light on the face of the driver. "What's the meaning -of this?" he asked sternly. - -The man returned his inspection with a queer, sphinx-like look that had -in it something of the nature of a grin and a wink, but gave no -indication as to the cause of his humor. He grumbled as he clumsily -tumbled off his seat. Then, opening the surrey door, he remarked, in a -casual tone, that his horses could go no further. - -"If this 'ere gentleman doesn't keep summer hotels and big-bug lawyers -handy, I dunno anyone as does 'bout here. As for Miss Smith's house, -we'll have a rest first." - -Again the face of the invalid, keen and drawn by pain or passion, was -thrust forward from the shadow of the carriage. His voice was shrill -enough to sound at first like a shriek. "Look here, my man; you needn't -suppose the money I've got to pay you is in my pockets. It's in Hilyard, -where you'll get all the currency you want when you've done my work; but -you'll gain nothing by stopping here." - -On seeing Durgan more clearly he looked about him in absolute terror, -grasping the rug that impeded his movements as if wondering only how to -fling himself out of their reach, or else not knowing whether to argue -or ingratiate. - -The driver held the door, taking the volley of weak-voiced profanity in -the passive way common to the region. - -Durgan's amusement at the driver's mastery, and at being himself so -obviously mistaken for a robber, was overlaid by astonishment and -curiosity. - -"I am working a small mica mine close by. You can come into my camp to -rest and get warm if you wish to." He spoke to the agitated traveler in -the low, haughty tone that usually won for him the immediate respect of -those inferior in social position. But the traveler only answered in a -more imperious tone. - -"Who are you, sir? Is this Bear Mountain? I was told it was. This man," -he cried, pointing to the driver, "engaged to bring me to a mountain -called Bear and a house kept by a woman called Smith. We were -delayed--horribly delayed--by one of the horses casting a shoe. I ask -you, sir, what does this man mean by turning me out at a mica mine? What -does he mean?" - -"I should like to know," said Durgan. "You have evidently been misled." - -The driver here left the open carriage door, and began busying himself -about the harness. - -Again suggesting that the traveler might take advantage of his fire if -he chose, Durgan turned back to his camp. - -Alden stood outside, unseen from the carriage in the black shadow of the -hut. He had the baffled air of a hound who, thinking he has found a -scent, loses it again. He shook his head; his eyes contracted in -concentrated attention. "I've no idea who he is; but I think he is -acting a part." - -The stranger now proved himself a man of the world by descending from -the carriage with some polite expressions of relief at obtaining rest -from the intolerable road, and gratitude for Durgan's hospitality. - -He was of middle height, and stooped as he walked. His traveling coat -was of the richest, the muffling of the fur collar and the slouch of the -warm felt hat seemed habitual to him. In spite of them he shivered in -the mountain night. - -He went close to the fire, unbuttoned his coat to let the warmth reach -him, and took out a card-case. - -"Perhaps you will be good enough to extract a card," said he, handing it -to Durgan. "My fingers are numb." - -He took off his gloves, and chafed his hands before the blaze. He took -off his hat, holding its inside to the fire to warm. He had the -appearance of a man of perhaps fifty, with face withered and sunburnt. -His hair was black, his mustache waxed, his beard pointed. He looked -like a fashion plate from Paris, handsome in his way, but his skin and -eyes gave the impression of pain impatiently borne. The sense of being -an aristocrat was written large all over him. His cat's-eye pin, the -cutting of his seal ring, answered true to the glare of the firelight. -Having shown himself, as it would appear accidentally, he put on his hat -and buttoned up his collar. - -Durgan took a card from a well-filled and well-worn card-case and read -it aloud, "Mr. Adolphus Courthope." It gave as an address a club in New -Orleans. - -"I heard a few days ago that a namesake of mine, a scoundrelly fellow, -whose mother was one of our niggers, is lying in jail at Hilyard, -charged with murder. Of course, I have no responsibility for the -fellow--never saw him till to-day. Still, his mother was my -foster-sister, the daughter of the good old mammy who nursed me. She -gave him my name, and--damn it--I don't care to have the fellow publicly -hanged. Seems in a bad way now with lung trouble; but he'll -revive--that's the way with these cases." - -Durgan disliked this man, but was surprised to find that he pitied him -still more. The terror that he had just shown, the illusive resemblance -in his eyes to someone--perhaps someone more worthy of pity--the very -disparity of physical size and strength, all inspired in Durgan an -unreasoning instinct to protect him. - -The other went on. "Only reached Hilyard to-day. The poor fellow would -have it that there was a woman called Smith, who kept a small summer -hotel, or something of the kind, located here, who alone could give the -evidence that would get him off; and that there was a clever lawyer -boarding with her who would take up the case on her evidence. Would have -it there was nothing for it but for me to come straight on here. I'm not -the man to give up what I've undertaken, but if I'd known what the roads -were like, confound it if I'd not have stayed in New Orleans. I say this -to you, sir, because I see you are a man of my own class--damn it, there -are few enough of us left." - -Certain now that this man had been sent by 'Dolphus, Durgan perceived -that till now he had had some vague hope that 'Dolphus, as some _deus ex -machina_, would contrive to trick Beardsley himself into their power. -The production of this man, beguiled hither by a lie, was evidently the -mulatto's supreme effort; but this man, whoever he was, was certainly -not Charlton Beardsley, for however accomplished an actor he might be, -Durgan felt certain he had never been a man of plebeian origin. - -"Is there no hotel that I can sleep in to-night?" asked the other -shortly. "Has that cursed nigger not told me the truth?" - -"Not precisely. Had he any reason for endeavoring to mislead you?" - -"Well, I should rather think not. Trial coming on in two days. If he had -his senses about him, he'd go only the quickest road to success." - -This sounded genuine. - -"And the driver brought you all this way and did not enlighten you?" -said Durgan. - -"Great God!" cried the other. "What could they mean?" And in his tone -vibrated returning fear. - -"_I have_ a friend here--the lawyer to whom you are sent; and there _is_ -a Miss Smith living higher up, but it is a private house." - -Again the stranger overcame the fear he had a second time betrayed. "Oh, -thanks awfully. That is all that matters. Has your friend turned in for -the night?" - -Aware that Alden had been looking and listening through the chinks of -the hut, Durgan wandered out in a slow detour among the trees, and -brought Alden back with him. When they entered, the stranger was not -looking toward the door. - -"This is Mr. Theodore Alden, of New York," said Durgan; and altho the -visitor only appeared to indolently turn his head and bow, Durgan felt -sure that his whole body started and shrank under the heavy folds of his -long coat. - -"Mr. Courthope has come," began Durgan, and then, with indifferent -manner, he repeated the story of Mr. Courthope of New Orleans. He could -see that Alden had as yet no scent. - -"Are you aware," began Alden, "that the other negro apprehended for this -murder is being protected by his late owner upon the same grounds? It is -not a usual proceeding; I might almost say--speaking from a wide -knowledge of the South since the war--a novel proceeding. To have it -repeated is a novel coincidence." - -There was a little silence in which Durgan and Alden both observed the -stranger narrowly, and neither felt sure whether his pause was caused by -the inattentive habits of illness, or whether he was silent from -annoyance. It would appear to have been the first, for, after again -warming his legs and again rubbing his hands before the blaze, he lifted -his head as if he had just observed that he had not replied. - -"I beg your pardon--a bad habit of mine, forgetting to answer. As to -coincidence, it isn't coincidence at all. My nigger writes to me what a -Mr. Durgan is doing for the other nigger, and sends me a local paper, -saying in effect how much better the Durgans are than the Courthopes. I -acted on impulse--we Courthopes always do. It's the way of the world, -you know--we should never do anything if it wasn't for trying to show -that we are as good, or one better, than someone else. But if I'd known -that folks here all lived on different mountains, I'd have let the -Durgans have the field. Devilish cold at this altitude." - -As he turned from the fire to speak he shivered, pushed up his collar -still higher, and pulled his hat down almost to his eyes. He turned -again to the fire. "Desperately cold up here," he repeated. "What's the -name of this mountain?" he suddenly demanded. - -They told him. - -"'Deer Mountain.' I thought the driver said 'Bear Mountain.' I'm sure -the nigger told me to come up 'Bear.'" - -"There is a peak of that name further off," said Alden. - -"Ah, well, I must say I am relieved to find I've not come on a fool's -errand, but have achieved my purpose and discovered our friend, Mr. -Alden, altho on another mountain. Odd place this, where mountains have -to be reckoned like streets or squares. Well, Mr. Alden, my business is -just this: I'm willing to pay anything in reason, and you can use -bribery and corruption, or talent, or villainy, or anything else you -like as long as you get my man off. There is my card; and if you'll -agree to undertake it, I'd better drive back to the last village and try -to get a bed." - -He did not take a step toward the door as he spoke, but Durgan believed -that he would fain have done so. - -Alden was standing very square, alert, and upright. "Mr. Courthope, this -is a very strange thing. There is nothing that Adolphus knows better -than that I believe him to be guilty, and will not defend him." - -The stranger expressed astonishment in word and action. He moved back a -few steps, and sat down weakly on the bench by the wall; but Durgan -observed that he thus neared the door, tho appearing to settle himself -for conversation. - -"You are scarcely a hundred yards from the place where this 'Dolphus -stabbed a beautiful quadroon woman, and left her dead," said Durgan. -"She was found just here at----" - -"How ghastly!" interrupted the other in unfeigned distress. "I confess -to being afraid of ghosts--horribly afraid. But, gentlemen, I beg you -to think what an awful business it would be to have that poor nigger -hanged." - -There was no doubt as to the truth of the emotion he now displayed, any -more than in the matter of his former terror. - -"It isn't fair, you know," he said; "for the punishment is out of all -proportion to the crime, even if he is guilty. To be killed suddenly, -when you are not expecting it, you know, is no suffering at all--nothing -to compare with sitting for weeks expecting a horrible and deliberate -end. Then the disgrace, the execration of the public." His thin voice -had risen now in actual terror at the picture he had conjured up. "Save -the poor devil if you can." His eyes turned instinctively toward -Durgan's. "Sir, I do not know who you are, but I recognize a man of -feeling and of honor. I protest the very thought of such a fate for this -poor fellow appals me. I beseech you, have pity on the poor wretch, as -you would desire pity in--in--your worst extremity." - -He rose after he had spoken, moving about restlessly, as if in the -attempt to control himself. His unfeigned appeal seemed to touch even -Alden. His manner to the man suddenly became kinder. - -"There is one thing that I can do for you," said the lawyer. "If you -will write a short letter formally empowering me to find better counsel -for the defence, I will--telegraph to a man I know in Atlanta to -undertake it. Of course you must formally authorize me." - -"Certainly; certainly. I quite understand," said the stranger eagerly, -coming toward the table where Alden was arranging paper. - -"What's that?" he said sharply, as he sat down. - -There was a scrambling upon the hill above, in which Durgan recognized -the well-known run of Bertha with her dogs in leash. He determined at -once to meet her and send her back, altho he hardly knew why. - -He said to Courthope evasively, "There are cattle grazing on all these -hills." - -At the moment he felt reproach for the lie, because the stranger seemed -to trust him implicitly, for he seated himself and took the pen. - -Alden surreptitiously kicked the damper of the small stove, increasing -its heat, which was already great. He said to the stranger, who sat with -his back to it, "You will catch cold in driving if you do not open your -coat here." - -Durgan left Alden to put the stranger through his paces, and went -hastily round the ledge of the mine and swung himself up to the trail, -meaning to intercept Bertha before she came near. He had not correctly -estimated her pace, for when he emerged on the path she had just passed -over it. He could only follow her, as the girl descended by a light jump -to the rock platform. - -She was about forty feet from the door of the hut when she stood still -and, turning, spoke: "My sister has a terrible attack of neuralgia. If -the carriage is going back--we must send for the doctor. Who--who is -it?" - -In the next few confused moments Durgan was promising to send the -message, seeking words to persuade her to return, and giving some answer -to her question; while Bertha was trying to hold the dogs still, and -they, on the scent of strange footsteps, were straining on their leashes -toward the door of the hut. - -She was, perhaps, little loth to be pulled a few steps forward so that -she could look in at the open door for herself. The lantern, which -burned full in the face of the stranger, writing at the table, sent a -long, bright stream outwards, in which Bertha now stood framed. In -Durgan's memory afterwards this moment always remained with these two -faces lit up at each end of the beam of light, while all around them was -lost in darkness. - -The stranger had thrown back his coat. His face was in clear profile. - -Durgan himself was paralyzed by the intensity of emotion which leaped to -Bertha's face. She gave an inarticulate sound of terrified joy, a moan -of heart-rending joy--or was it terror? - -The stranger, turning sharply, saw the girl, her face and figure -illumined. His jaw dropped with terror. He stood up abjectly. - -She sank to the ground, and Durgan, bending over her, heard her trying -to gasp a word with a wonderful intonation of tenderness and -astonishment. That word was "Father." She tried again and again to speak -it aloud. - -She seemed fainting. Instinctively Durgan held the dogs, who broke into -a howl of rage against the abject intruder. - -As for the stranger, he appeared to become mad. Alden moved to the door -to detain him, and was caught and thrown into the room as a child would -be cast off by an athlete. The man had fled, and was lost in the gloom -of the forest. He disappeared somewhere between the glow of the carriage -lamps and Durgan's light, rushing down the hill. - -Bertha had not wholly fainted. Now she was clinging to the collars of -the dogs with her whole weight, grappling with them on the very floor -of the rock. She was entreating Durgan in almost voiceless whispers to -"Go and bring him back. Go bring him." - -Alden, who heard nothing Bertha said, was on the road shouting to the -driver, "The man is mad. He is dangerous. Head him off down the road. -Don't let him escape." The words rang sharp. - -That portion of the hill into which the stranger had run was bordered by -the rock precipice, which came up to the road beyond where the carriage -stood. - -Alden raised his voice to a reverberating shout, addressing the -fugitive. "Come back. If you don't come back we will loose the dogs." - -Durgan was trying to take the furious dogs from the girl, but she would -not relax her hold. She was crying and moaning to the dogs to quiet -them, and entreating Durgan to leave her with wild whispers. "Oh, save -him; for God's sake, save him. Bring him back to me." She ground her -teeth in anger at Alden's shout. "For pity's sake, stop that cruel man -shouting. Call him off," she demanded, as if Alden were a dog; "call him -off." - -Durgan followed Alden. "She won't give you the dogs," he said. - -"It was the sight of the dogs that frightened him," said Alden. "He is a -maddened criminal, and a very dangerous man, whoever he may be. His -weakness was feigned. He's skulking; but he's as good as caught, for he -can't get over the precipice." - -Durgan heard Bertha dragging and coaxing the dogs up the trail. In a few -minutes she would have them shut up. He felt glad of this. In Alden's -anger there was no mercy. - -The driver was making torches with sticks, lamp oil, and a bit of rope. -Before long, the three men had a glare which so illumined the wood that -each tree-trunk threw a sharp, black shadow. They distributed the lights -to lessen the shadows. They hunted all the slope between the road and -the rock wall, but the fugitive was not found. - -"If he had fallen over we should certainly have heard the fall," they -said. - -The silent driver added, "He swore he'd be good for forty dollars if I'd -get him here and back; reckon I ain't the man to lose half a chance of -that. I kep' my ears open; he ain't rolled over." - - - - -Book III - - - - -Chapter XXXI - -A FLASH OF LIGHT - - -The bank shelved: no one could come on the precipice unwarned. Soon they -found a travelling boot, and after that, at some distance, another. They -felt sure now that the fugitive had climbed one of the trees, throwing -away his boots as far as possible. Looking up, they perceived the -hopelessness, in that case, of their quest. The arms of the forest -spread out above them thick, gnarled, and black with the heaviest -foliage of the year. The flame of their torches glared only on the under -side of the boughs. Light and shadow were thrown in fantastic patches -into the higher canopies, where also the lurid smoke of their torches -curled. - -They went back to the road; the small, neat New Yorker tripping first, -his torch dying, the boots of the fugitive in his other hand; the -driver, in old, loose coat, striding indolently toward the horses; -Durgan, lingering as he went, with sinewy arm throwing his light high -and looking upward. - -Alden examined the boots by the lamp in the hut. "These are New York -boots," he said. Then he turned to the half-written letter on the table. -"This writing I made him do is in a feigned hand." Alden's eyes were -ablaze with angry excitement. "Look!" he cried. In the lining of the -boots he had found a mark in ink. The initials were "J. C. B." "Can he -be Beardsley, masquerading as a Southerner?" - -"I begin to think he has done some years of masquerading as Beardsley." - -"What do you mean?" - -But Durgan went no further. His own uncertainty, Alden's obvious -exhaustion, and the desire to let things sift themselves, kept him -silent. - -Something more alert than weary human sense was required for the vigil. -Durgan went to the stable to get the terrier. He purposely took his way -near the window of the sisters, anxious as to the nature of Bertha's -excitement and her sister's illness. - -But after passing the tranquil house, he found that Bertha had not -entered it. She still stood outside the locked door of the stable in -which she had chained the dogs. She leaned back against the door, -looking up at the quiet light in her sister's window. Durgan lit a -match, and held it in the pink lantern of his fingers until it was big -enough to give them both a clear momentary view of each other. To his -surprise, Bertha appeared to be in a quiet mood. The spark fell, and -again only her light dress glimmered in the night. The first fine drops -of gathering rain were falling. - -He did not like a calm that seemed to him unnatural. He told her of the -watch kept below, and of his errand. - -She answered, "I am glad you have come. I don't know how to go to -Hermie. Poor Hermie! How we have wronged her! But I am afraid to tell -her, for it might kill her to-night. It was some cruel plan of Mr. -Alden's, I know. I am afraid to go to her; but I am afraid, too, to -leave her alone as ill as she is. She might die; tho I don't think she -will, because she always seems to have God with her; and, do you know, I -have a queer feeling to-night that God may be here. It would seem -better, of course, if we could all three die to-night; but in that case, -why have we lived to meet again? No; there must be some way out, because -Hermie has prayed so much--prayer must make some difference, don't you -think?" - -"I don't like to hear you talking in this mild, reasonable way. Are you -not excited? Why do you not cry?" - -"I was so dreadfully excited that I thought I was going mad; and then -seemed to grow all still inside, as if there was no need to be afraid. I -can't explain. The reason I'm talking is that I want you to tell me what -to do. I've told you the danger of telling Hermie, and the danger of not -going to her; and then, too, I want to go down the hill. If I went -alone, he would come to me and speak to me. He must be cold and hungry -and tired. In the old days we never let a draught blow upon him. And he -is so terribly thin, and has done something so dreadful with his hair, -because I suppose he was afraid of being known. I ought to go to him." - -"You must not stand here and go on talking like this. You must go at -once into the house and nurse your sister. And you must not tell her -what you are fancying or thinking about. If you do, it will make her -very ill, and it will be your fault. You have wronged her terribly, as -you say. Rouse yourself, and make some amends." - -"Well--I will." She began to move with docility, but talked as he walked -with her. "Could you not send Mr. Alden down to the Cove on some -pretence? And then, you know, we could find him, and I could bring him -into the kitchen, at least, and give him warm wine--he used to like warm -wine--and get him to bed without Hermie knowing. Dear Mr. Durgan, -couldn't you do this for Hermie's sake? You know it is what she would -like." - -Durgan took her by the arm. "Miss Bertha, you have, perhaps, made a -mistake. It is very easy to make such mistakes under excitement such as -you have passed through to-night. That excitement has almost killed your -sister, and it has probably made you fanciful." - -"Yes--but then, how was it _he_ knew _me_?" - -"He saw the dogs. He may have supposed they were brought to seize him, -and so he bolted." - -She replied in the same voice as before. "But then, this explains -Hermie's secret. What else could? You know we said nothing could, but -this does." - -Durgan felt that, perhaps, her mind had become a blank, and her voice -was answering with his own thoughts, which within him were holding the -same dialog. - -"What are you saying?" he said roughly. "How can your father be alive? -And if he were, do you understand that he must have killed the other -man?" - -He had struck the right note. She pulled herself from him with natural -recoil. "Yes, yes; and that is clear from Hermie's action, too. But you -don't know what happened. There must be some excuse." - -"You know, Miss Bertha, you have thought very foolish things before; you -may not be right now." - -She sat down on the edge of the verandah, and began to weep heartily and -quietly. He was relieved: tears proved her well-being. - -They had come, walking together, to that end of the house where, on the -second day of their acquaintance, he had found her at dawn watching over -his safety. He looked about now, and longed for the dawn, but there was -nothing but glimmering darkness and the sweet smell of the gathering -rain. - -When Bertha had cried for a while she went in to her sister. In a minute -she came tip-toeing back to Durgan. - -"Hermie is sleeping quite restfully," she said. "How much softer the air -feels; I think the change has done her good." - -As he turned away Durgan's heart sank. The belief that Claxton was the -murderer, not the murdered, and had been sheltered all these years by -his own wife, forced itself upon Durgan. These innocent women might find -rest in the softened air; but what rest could that woman who bore his -name ever find, whose cruelty and selfishness must, in consequence of -the exposure now imminent, bear the light of public shame? - - - - -Chapter XXXII - -WHAT A TERRIER FOUND - - -Durgan took the terrier and led him up and down through the bit of -sequestered woodland; but the animal, beyond enjoying the unusual -festivity of a night walk, exhibited no sense of the situation. It -stopped to bark at no tree-foot, and altho it resented the intrusion of -the driver, discovered nothing else to resent. - -The slow-tongued driver made another remark. "That's a queer thing, too. -I'd have thought he'd have barked at a cat in a tree, I would." - -Durgan had despised Alden in the vicious snap of his pitiless anger -against the fugitive; but as the night wore on, and he saw his face grow -more and more haggard, as if he were aged by a decade since the last sun -shone, he was glad to procure him rest or relief of any sort. - -Confident that the dog would give warning if the prisoner climbed down, -Alden accepted the use of Durgan's bed; but it was easy to see that he -could not rest. There was the constant secret movement of one who was -pretending to be still. - -"Perhaps you would rather talk," said Durgan. "I wish you would tell me -all you know about Miss Claxton's father. Is she like him?" - -"Not at all. I found little to respect in his character." - -"I suppose you dug up his past very thoroughly." - -"There was nothing in it but selfishness and vanity. He was of old -colonial stock, but had been ill-reared to leisure and luxury--the worst -training in a new country, where these things involve no corresponding -responsibilities. He married into a plain New England family for the -sake of money. The mother of Hermione, I need not say, was immensely his -superior; but she died at the birth of the second daughter. There is -some disparity of age between them--Hermione----" - -Durgan had to bring him back from reminiscences of his love. - -"Ah--as to Claxton's ill health, if it interests you, I judge that it -dated from a blow to his vanity. He was very worldly, and, when a -widower, did a good deal of amateur acting, and became engaged to marry -a young beauty who had just come out as a public singer. Society took -her up. She was the belle of the season, and jilted Claxton. It was a -matter of talk; but I don't suppose his daughters ever heard of -it--daughters don't hear such things, you know. He kept them in a -country boarding-school, where, I am happy to say, Hermione got -religion." - -Durgan smiled to himself over the quaint phrase used so seriously. "But -the father?" - -"He married in pique a dull pink and white society woman, with more -money; and then became a chronic invalid. When he was tired of his wife -he sent for his daughters. I never heard that he was unkind to them, or -to his wife; but it seemed to me he only cared for them as they devoted -themselves to his comfort. Hermione--often has she discussed it with -me--was very anxious as to his spiritual state. It was her great desire -that he should seek salvation. It was that desire that caused her always -such distress when her father finally dabbled in spiritualism. His -death, in a still ungodly state, was, I can aver, her worst trouble in -all that terrible chain of events. She felt so much that she never -mentioned her concern about him again." - -Alden had been speaking in a sleepy way, as if his recent distrust of -his chosen lady was obliterated by some fragrance from the poppy beds -of weariness and love and night. - -He slept at last. The bleakness of the mountain night had given place to -a balmy rain. - -Durgan pondered. He knew that his wife would bow down to one like -Claxton, who had had the social ball at his feet; she would regard his -intimate knowledge of the society she desired to cajole as a most -valuable property, and would risk much to retain it. - -When the gray morning came they went out to the trees again, but no one -was hiding among them. - -Then they went down by the road, and climbed along to the foot of the -precipice; but, making the closest search along its base, they found -nothing. - -Alden became racked by a new fear: the unknown had perhaps cheated them, -and recrossed the road. The desperate condition of the man, the women -unprotected--these thoughts were so terrible that he ran up the hill to -protect them, unconscious that his valor was out of all proportion to -his frame. - -When he was gone the driver said, "Forty dollars didn't get the better -of me crossin' that road while I kep' an eye on it, I reckon." - -The mountain forest dripped and trickled, the dry ground soaking in the -moisture with almost audible expansion of each atom of earth, each pore -of fern and leaf, and the swelling of twigs. The wet and glisten -everywhere deepened the color of rock and wood, moss, lichen, and weed. - -The driver stood considering the face of the rock; the terrier began -nosing among some fallen leaves; Durgan was looking this way and that, -to see which might have invited the nearest temporary hiding. Alden had -believed the stranger's weakness a pretence; Durgan believed the -strength he had shown to be the transient effect of fear. - -The driver at length said, "Hi! Look here. What's that?" - -He pointed to a black bundle in a fissure of the precipice. - -"That there fur coat! I'll be blowed! He got down here, sir; and he had -the devil to help him--leastwise, reckoning from all I have seen this -night, I conclude that Satan was in the concern. He climbed down that -crack in the rock, sir, and caught on by the bushes on the way, and -scrambled along that slantwise bit, and then he got hold of the tree. He -warn't killed or maimed or he'd be here." - -"Then we've lost him." - -"Mr. Bantam Cock will perhaps be sending despatches for to apprehend him -at the different steam-car depôts, for to get my forty dollars." - -"Say we make it fifty?" - -"Well, sir; I would say, 'thank you.'" - -"And that would be all you would say, mind you, or I'll have you turned -off at the hotel." - -"Then I won't even say that, sir. There ain't anything comes easier to -me than shuttin' up, I reckon." - -After this colloquy, which passed quickly, Durgan was turning upwards -when he heard a horse ascending the road. In a few minutes he had met -his two negro laborers coming to their work, and, behind them, the -doctor from Hilyard, riding, as he usually did, with saddle-bags, his -old buff clothes much bespattered. - -"The yellow nigger is dead, Mr. Durgan. He died last night with the -change of the weather. You told me to keep him alive till you came, but -you didn't come. He was a very curious fellow--not half bad; and his -last freak was to ask me to come and tell you to look sharp after the -visitor he sent you. So, as you're not much out of my way to-day, I've -come at once." - -He got off his horse, and the two men talked together. - -The doctor, whose ordinary round comprised anything within a radius of -thirty miles, had not been in Hilyard when the rich traveler from New -Orleans arrived and started again. His wealth and imperious airs had -impressed the little town, but beyond the fact that he had gained a -private interview with the dying prisoner, nothing was known about him. - -"And the odd thing is," said the doctor, "that 'Dolphus sent the jailer -with every cent he had in the world--about fifteen dollars--to bribe the -driver. As to his health, he was decidedly better, and when this Mr. -Courthope turned up he seems to have acted like a well man, and made him -believe he was well. When I got home there was a report about that the -stranger was a wonder-worker, and had cured him. But when I went to him -the fever was up. After his last flash in the pan he burnt out in a few -hours." - -Durgan supposed there might be something of greater importance to -justify the doctor's ride. "Perhaps," he said, "he asked you to bring a -message to Mr. Alden or Miss Smith?" - -"He was a most extraordinary fellow," said the other. "I never was quite -sure when he was talking sense and when nonsense. But the message was to -you; and it was that you were to keep this Courthope, and write to the -chief of police in New York and claim the reward offered in the Claxton -case. And you are to give as much of the money to Adam as you think -will pay for his wife. He said he'd die easy if I'd give you that tip; -and he did die easy." - -Durgan smiled sadly at the pathos of the dying nigger's interest in his -fellows and his desire for justice to be done. "Did you reckon him -wandering?" - -"That's just as you choose to take it," said the doctor. "I'm accustomed -to hearing secrets and forgetting them. My only business before I forget -this one is to ascertain that a dangerous character is not left at -large. If you cannot give me that assurance, I suppose I ought to tell -the police myself." - -Durgan felt that the case of the Claxton sisters had now reached -extremity, and, much against his will, he replied in a nonchalant tone, -"We must come and talk the matter over with Mr. Alden." He saw no means -of securing the runaway or of hiding the scandal--he hardly desired to -hide it. He felt stunned at the shame that must fall on his wife. - -As they turned the doctor said, "You think this yellow fellow and his -sort mere trash, Mr. Durgan; but I'm inclined to think he would have -made a good citizen with any sort of training. He had more public spirit -than ten of our corrupt politicians rolled into one." - -"Perhaps so," said Durgan absently. "I may be prejudiced." - -He whistled the dog, and heard nothing at first, but then, from a nook -below the hill, came an answering yelp. The yelp was repeated. - -The driver, who had been standing passive at a distance, sauntered -nearer. "There's something queer about that dog. He's been down there a -powerful while. If he'd found another shoe he'd bark like that. And -mebbe there's another shoe still to find, sir, for if two fits out a -man, a man in conjunction with the devil might require two more." - -Durgan took the hint, and went down towards the dog. He was puzzled by -its peculiar call. It came a little way to meet him, crawling and -fawning, but returned swiftly whither it came. - -In a few minutes more Durgan was looking down on the prostrate body of -the unknown traveler. He was lying straight and flat on his back; his -eyes were open, and they met Durgan's with a mournful look of full -intelligence which, in that position, was more startling than the glazed -eye of death. The terrier licked the hand that lay nearest the face, -then licked the brow very gently just for a moment, and yelped again. - -"Why don't you get up?" - -The stranger's lips moved. Durgan had to kneel to hear the thick effort -at speech. - -"Paralyzed!" - -The lips moved feebly to let Durgan know that, after his escape, the -seizure had come as he fled. The doctor came, and gently moved hand and -foot, testing the muscles and nerves. He confirmed the self-diagnosis. -The stricken man had probably lain unconscious half through the night, -but his mind was clear now. - -The rain had washed the temporary dye and all the stiffness from his -hair. It lay gray and disheveled about his thin, brown face. The haggard -lines were partly gone; the dark eyes looked up steadily, sad as eyes -could be, but fearless. - -The change was so great that Durgan spoke his involuntary sympathy. -"Guess you feel nothing worse can come to you now." Then he added, "Keep -up your heart. I'll take you where you will be well cared for." - -The driver had followed slowly, and looked on without query. - -"You bet," he said at length; "the devil's gone out of him." - -Durgan wondered if that was actually what had happened when Bertha felt -the peace of God, and Hermione slept, and the wretched mulatto found -ease in death. - -"He had over-exerted," said the doctor, "and all the tonic went out of -the air when the rain fell." - - - - -Chapter XXXIII - -THE RESTORATION - - -They went back to Durgan's hut, and made a stretcher of his bed, and -brought down his laborers as carriers. - -A curious group walked slowly up the zig-zag road to the summit house: -Durgan and the terrier walked one on each side; the doctor rode behind. -There was naught to be said; they walked in silence. Sometimes the -eyelids of the still face drooped; again they were opened wide. The wet -forest breathed about their silence the whisper of the rain. - -When the party came in sight of the house gable, someone who was sitting -in the window of the sisters' room seemed to see them and moved away. -The place was astir for the day. Smoke was rising from the chimneys, and -the soft-voiced colored servant was singing to a Southern melody one of -the doggerel hymns of her race: - - - "De Lord He sent His angel. - (Fly low, sweet angel; - Fly low, sweet angel; - Comin' for deliver us again.) - An' He tamed de lions for Daniel; - An' for Peter broke de prison and de chain. - O! de angel of de Lord." - - -The servant was at work in an outer kitchen; the very words were clear. -The gentle melody of the stanza was ended abruptly by the soft, -triumphal shout of the last line. - -Durgan made the laborers rest their burden within the doorway of the -barn, while he went forward with the doctor. But now from the back door -Hermione came. She was clad in the simple gray morning gown which she -always wore at her housewife's duties; but she looked a shadow of -herself, so pale and wan with the pain of the night. She came forward -quickly. Durgan saw at a glance that she knew what Bertha could tell, -and was ready to meet whatever evil was sufficient for the day. Even at -such a moment, so selfless and courteous was she, she had a modest word -of greeting and gratitude for Durgan. - -Durgan made the doctor tell her the truth quickly, and Hermione went -straight on to the side of the nerveless man. - -Almost as soon as she looked, without a moment's betrayal of unusual -emotion, she stooped and kissed him. - -In thick utterance the paralytic repeated her name. What he thought or -felt none might know; the still features gave no expression. - -Then a great joy lit up her face, and the tone of her homely words was -like a song of praise. - -"We can keep you safe. You will be quite safe here; and Birdie and I -will take real good care of you. We have a beautiful home ready for -you." - -The doctor had turned away. She gave her command to the bearers, and -walked with new lightness beside the bed as it was carried toward the -house. - -Durgan followed, and found that he was holding his hat in his hand. - -How terrible, indeed, was this meeting of love and lack-love, of the -life gained by self-giving and the life lost by self-saving. The woman, -at one with all the powers of life--body, mind, and spirit a unity--able -(rare self-possession) to give herself when and for whom she would; -meeting with this self-wrecked, disintegrated man, for whom she had -suffered and was still eager to suffer. Like most things of divine -import, that kiss given by the very principle of life to the soul lying -in moral death had passed without observation. Durgan looked upon the -still face. He could now clearly recognize the likeness to Bertha in the -form, color, and inward glow of the eyes; but so fixed and -expressionless were the muscles of the face, which had taken on a look -of sensuous contentment, that the onlooker could not even guess what -that glow of suffering might betoken, how much there was of memory, of -shame, of remorse, of any love for aught but self, or how much latent -force of moral recuperation there might be. - -While they went to the house through the tears of the morning, the -negress with the velvet voice was still singing: - - - "An' de Lord He sent His angel, - An' He walked wi' de children in de flame. - (Fly low, sweet angel.)" - - -Durgan, who had been feeling like one in a dream, suddenly forgot to -listen to the song, for he saw, as in a flash, the cause of Hermione's -solemn joy. The criminal had been restored to her in the only way in -which it was possible for his life to be preserved for a time, and for -him to be allowed to die in peace. Neither Alden, nor any other, could -propose to bring this stricken man to answer in an earthly court. It was -again her privilege to lavish love upon him, to reap the result of her -sacrifice by tending his lingering life and telling him her treasure of -faith--of the mercy of God and the hope of heaven. - - - - -Chapter XXXIV - -ALL THAT HAPPENED - - -Durgan felt that day to be a distinctly happy one. A youth makes many -pictures of happiness for himself, and he must have but a poor outfit of -hope and imagery whose pictures are realized. Yet happiness springs up -beside the steps of the older wayfarer, a wild flower that he has not -sown or tended. In places where his familiar burden lightens, or when -gathering clouds disperse, it pushes up its bright flower-face with a -positive beauty and fragrance, something much fairer and better than the -mere negation of trouble, yet not so gay as mere imagined joys. Durgan, -who had come to this mountain thinking to be alone, and had become so -strenuously involved in the fate of his neighbors, to-day not only felt -peace in the cessation of fear and gloomy forebodings which had -enwrapped them all, but was lifted beyond this to participate in the joy -of heavenly deliverance which transfigured Hermione Claxton. He could -not think of her to-day without a strange, new, selfless pleasure which -he did not analyze; and, added to this, his heart leaped up in gratitude -on his own account, for surely now the wife he was bound to honor would -be spared the public odium which to her vain nature would be peculiar -agony. The fate of a long, living death for the man who had stifled -every honorable impulse to avoid the legal punishment of death was -robbed of its worst horror, because it gave him immunity from the -passion of fear by which he was enslaved, and restored him to the arms -of the only human love which could not be quenched by his misconduct and -disgrace. Durgan knew enough to suppose that when his wife's first -glamor of reverence for Claxton had passed, when, with the help of such -a skilful prompter, she had succeeded on the stage of her ambition, his -home with her had been no longer even peaceful. The letters 'Dolphus had -stolen had convinced Durgan that she was prepared to get rid of her -protégé if possible; and when he left her he was practically a homeless -fugitive, the whole world his enemy. From such a fate self-destruction, -or yielding to the last penalty of the law, were the only ways of -escape, had not the angel of mercy intervened. - -Later in the day Alden came from the room above the carriage house, the -room in which Durgan had spent his first two curious nights on Deer -Mountain. He only knew of the finding of the fugitive, for, on being -assured of this, he had fallen asleep in sheer exhaustion. - -The rain was shifting for the time, affording intervals of blithe air -and mellow sunlight. Alden sat him down upon a settle in the verandah. -The trailing vines and the passion-flower were glowing with the -life-renewing moisture, but the gorgeous leaves and long tassels of the -love-lies-bleeding had fallen, sodden with the rain. - -Durgan was waiting for some instructions concerning certain invalid -requisites. His cousins, the Durgan Blounts, were returning to Baltimore -for the winter, and Durgan had undertaken that they should make the -purchases. No sooner had Alden spoken than Miss Claxton left her writing -desk, came swiftly, and sat down beside him. - -"There is something that I am waiting to tell you," she said. Her voice -was very gentle. "I have not made any explanation, either, to Mr. -Durgan, for I wouldn't till I saw you; but he ought to know, for Mrs. -Durgan's sake." - -Durgan had moved, but, at her command, remained. - -There was a little silence, and after she began he was quite sure she -had forgotten his presence. She took Alden's passive hand in hers. - -"Herbert! my father has come back to us. No, dear; do not start like -that. He is still alive. That is my long secret, which I could not have -kept from you for anyone's sake but his." - -Alden said not a word. He sat erect, as if someone had struck him. - -"Oh," she cried, with tears in her voice, "the fate that came to him -that terrible morning was worse than death, and now he has been carried -back to us paralyzed. Have patience with me, and I will tell you all -that happened." - -The little lawyer, as if suddenly moved by some electric force, was for -bounding from his seat, every nerve quivering with the sting of his own -mortification and the shock of surprise. It was the strength of her will -that controlled him. - -"I must tell you from the beginning--it is the only way. Upon the -morning that that crime was committed in our house, a boy came with a -note from Mr. Beardsley. It made my father very angry. He told me that -Beardsley was coming on the heels of his messenger upon an impertinent -errand. What he said was that Beardsley was bent upon dictating the -terms of his friendship with Mrs. Durgan, whom he had only lately met. - -"There was something the maids had to do that afternoon, and I sent -them then in the morning, for I could not bear that anyone should see -such a person in our house, or see my father so angry. My poor -step-mother had not risen from bed. When Beardsley came he went upstairs -to my father's sitting-room. The door was shut, but from what my father -told me afterwards, I know pretty well what happened." - -"Afterwards!" repeated Alden; "afterwards! Hermione?" - -"Dear Herbert, do not be angry, but only listen, and you will understand -how easily what seemed impossible could happen. This Mr. Beardsley had -the idea that my poor father and Mrs. Durgan had fallen in love at his -meetings. He was a simple, stupid man, and he thought it his duty to -exhort my father and warn my step-mother. I think that, angry as he was, -my father thought it best to receive his exhortation with the affection -of playfulness. It was his way, you know. He had graceful, whimsical -ways; he was not like other people. When he could not make this man see -his own folly, or divert him from his purpose, he took down the little -old pistol that was fastened on the wall as an ornament--the one that -was found. I need not tell you that he did not know it was loaded; I -did not know, and I dusted his things every day, for he could not bear -to have a servant in the room. He tried to stop Beardsley by threatening -to shoot himself in mock despair. Poor mamma, hearing loud voices, ran -in. - -"Up till then I am sure papa had not a serious thought, except that he -was naturally angered by the folly of the man; but the pistol went off, -and poor mamma was killed. Oh! can you not imagine my father's wild -grief and anger against the fellow that, as he would think, had caused -him to do it? But there was more than that. My father told me that -Beardsley denounced him as a wilful murderer, and declared that it was -only a feigned accident. Then, you see, he was the only witness, and -could ruin my father's reputation. Oh, I think it was fear as much as -anger, but I am sure it was frenzy, possessed my father. You know what -happened. The Indian battle-ax was hanging beside the pistol, and as -soon as Beardsley fell, I am sure my father lost all control of himself -or any knowledge of what he was doing." - -"Hermione," said Alden, "you cannot believe this story? Who has made you -believe it?" He lifted her hand to his lips. "Have you believed this all -these years?" - -"It is true, Herbert; you will have to believe it. I will tell you my -part of it. I do not think I did right, but you will see that I did not -know what else to do. When I heard the noise I ran upstairs, but the -door was locked. The boy that brought the note was waiting in the -kitchen all this time for Beardsley to pay him. Then, in a minute, all -was quiet, and I heard my father sobbing like a child. You cannot think -how quickly it all happened. Then my father came to the door and -whispered through, 'Hermione, are you alone? Are the servants out? Is -Bertha there?' So I told him of Beardsley's messenger waiting below. - -"Then he came out and called over the stairs to the boy. You know how -very clever and quick he always was when he wanted to do anything. He -looked the boy up and down, and then he said, 'Do you want to earn a -hundred dollars?' The boy was cautious; he did not answer. My father -said, 'Can you hold your tongue and help me, and I'll make a gentleman -of you? It's your best chance, for a crime has been committed in this -house, and if you don't do as I bid you, I'll give you up to the police -and say you did it; they'll take my word for it.' And all the time, -between speaking, he was sobbing. He shoved the boy into his -dressing-room. Then he told me what had happened. - -"He told me he would be hanged if I did not keep quite quiet. I could -not believe that they were dead. I went into the room, but I couldn't -stop an instant. The sight of that poor body, disfigured past all -recognition, even the clothes stained beyond recognition, made me almost -insensible. I saw that no doctor could be of any use. - -"My father was very quick. He shaved himself, and colored his face with -his paints, and put on the boy's clothes. He told me he would go to Mrs. -Durgan, who would get him away. He told me to call the police at once, -and tell them everything, except that I had seen him or knew anything -about him. He locked the boy in a narrow cupboard that held hot-water -pipes, and told me how to let him out at night. I did not think at the -time it could be wrong to keep silence about my father. I did just what -he told me to do. - -"You know, Herbert, you said the other night that I had deceived you; -but, indeed, the great deceit came of itself. I don't think even my -father intended it. I could never have believed they could have mistaken -that man lying there for my father. First, the police made the mistake; -then, in a few hours, we heard the newsboys crying it all over the -streets. Still I felt sure that when you came, and the coroner, the -truth would be known. When you believed it, too, what word could I have -said to you that would not have made it your duty to hunt him down? His -daughter was the only person who could take the responsibility of -silence. I don't say I was right to do it; I only know I could not do -anything else. Even the boy, as I found afterwards, had never seen -Beardsley. A servant had given him the note to bring. He naturally -thought it was Beardsley who had bribed him, and escaped in his clothes. -I only kept silent hour by hour. - -"I thought again they would find out at the inquest; but when, at -length, the poor body was buried, and those saturated, torn clothes -burned, and I had found out from Mrs. Durgan that the poor wretch had no -near relatives or friends to mourn him, I could do nothing but -acquiesce. I had a message from father, through Mrs. Durgan, before they -arrested me. She and he had decided that he must personate the dead man, -and he even ventured to play the medium's part at the dark séance. He -was always clever at disguises. I could not judge them. I hardly cared, -then, whether I lived or died; the wickedness of it all was so dreadful. -I shrank far more--and there was nothing heroic in that--from the -thought of my father being arrested and punished than from danger for -myself. Think what it would have been like if it had been your father!" - -Seeing that Alden was profoundly distressed, she hastened to say, "If I -had told you, Herbert, how painful would your position have been! And I -never even told Bertha; it was father's parting request that she should -not know. But I know that of late she has guessed something, for she has -lived in fear up here alone. I was obliged when I was ill in Paris to -tell her where she would find the truth; she guessed the rest, I fear, -and it must have been father's return that she has dreaded. But now he -has been brought back so helpless he can never hurt anyone again." - -Alden's emotion was hardly restrained from breaking through the crust of -his conventionality, and Hermione was fain to turn to a lighter aspect -of the case in addressing Durgan. - -"I gathered from my father's letters that Mrs. Durgan's motive in -befriending him was partly kindness, and partly that he could be of use -to her." - -"I can understand that," said Durgan. He also felt it a relief to speak -clearly on the only aspect of this sorrowful tale which did not awaken -emotion. "It was the one thing in the whole world that my wife -wanted--to be told how to manipulate the secret springs of a world of -fashion in which she had so far moved as one in the dark. And having -once taken your father in, she could not go back." - -He rose as he said this and went away, wondering how much Alden would -submit to the continued devotion of such a daughter to such a father, -how much Hermione's appeal would reach him: "Think how you would feel if -it were your father." - - - - -Chapter XXXV - -READJUSTMENTS - - -A day or two later Alden was returning to New York. Durgan drove him to -Hilyard in Miss Claxton's surrey. - -All the mountains had begun to wear golden caps. Lower down the yellow -pod of the wild pea and purple clusters of wild grapes were tangled in -the roadside bushes. The sun shone, and the birds cawed and chirped as -they quarreled for the scarlet berries of the ash; not a bird sang, for -it was not nesting time. - -"The doctor can't make a guess, then, as to how long Claxton may live? -It may be for months, I suppose," said Durgan. - -Alden drew himself up in the attitude of one who gives an important -opinion. He was going back to his world of conventions, and already -taking on its ways. "My dear sir, I see no reason why, with such -nursing, surrounded by such luxuries, in the finest air, and in such -tranquillity, he should not live--ah, perhaps for years." - -"It will not be so long as that, I think." - -"That must be as God wills." - -But there was too much religious starch in the tone of these words to -suggest acquiescence. - -This good little man, with all his constancy and fervor, had not a large -enough soul to see so vile a prodigal feasted without resentment. - -Said Durgan, "If his mind is as lucid as the doctor thinks, his present -experience must be pretty much like lying helpless in a lake of fire." - -"Sir, what is there to trouble him? Two of the finest, most agreeable -women who ever lived on this earth are his slaves. They wheel him hither -and thither as he suggests a preference. They read; they sing; they show -him nature in her glory; and his body suffers no pain. I do not -understand your allusion." - -"I thought it just possible that, being human, he might have a soul -latent in him." - -"'Soul'! He has, without excuse or provocation, committed the most -brutal crime of the decade; he has passed his years since ministering to -his own tastes and indolences in the society of a lady who pleased his -fancy, while, with the most horrid cruelty and worm-like cowardice, he -has left his tender daughter to suffer the consequences of his crime. -He has within him, sir, a soul, humanly speaking, beyond hope of -redemption." - -"But Christian faith compels his daughter to set aside the human aspects -of the case." - -"Women, sir--women have no standard of manly virtue. Can you conceive -that a son--a man who knew the world, could slur over such vice, such -perfidy, in a parent?" - -Alden's reiteration of "Sir," spoken between his teeth, had so very much -the force of "Damn you," that Durgan forbore to suggest that the point -of his remark had been evaded. - -Alden, half conscious of his own angry inconsistency as a religious man -in desiring the torment of the wicked, still resented Durgan's logic -enough to bring forward at this point an unpalatable subject. "With -regard to Mrs. Durgan, sir; from all the inquiries I have made, I -understand that she probably was aware that Adolphus, who has been his -valet all these years, had summoned Claxton here on threat of -disclosure, and that Claxton had gone to New Orleans, there to assume -his new incognito--which, knowing the negro's origin, was natural enough -before he interfered on his behalf in your neighborhood. But I -understand that Mrs. Durgan did not know that I or the ladies were -here, and had no suspicion of the servant's intended treachery. In all -probability she has not heard from Claxton, at any rate since he left -New Orleans. You are aware that we have decided that the Miss Claxtons -shall, till their father's death, retain the name they took upon -entering this neighborhood. I wish to suggest to you that it would not -be safe to trust Mrs. Durgan with the secret of their whereabouts. It is -undesirable, in keeping a secret, to trust human nature any further than -is absolutely necessary, and it appears to me, therefore, needful to -request you to let Mrs. Durgan be left in entire ignorance of the fate -of her late protégé." - -Durgan could not but inwardly admit that there was a certain poetic -justice in leaving his wife thus in a condition of suspense, and altho -he resented the manner of the instruction, he expressed conditional -acquiescence. - -Durgan more than suspected that Alden was querulously wreaking upon the -criminal, and upon all he met, the anger he felt against himself for -not, at the first, discerning the simple mistake which had caused the -mystery of the "Claxton case." As they drove on, mile after mile, -through the wild harvests of the woodland, this supposition was -confirmed. After talking of many things, Alden broke out in -self-soothing comment: - -"As to the mistake of the murdered man's identity, my dear sir, how -could doubt enter the mind? The body lay in Claxton's private room, -beside the couch that he constantly occupied--an unrecognizable mass; -Mrs. Claxton dead beside him, and neither of self-inflicted wounds; -Bertha wailing the loss of her father; Hermione stunned by shock of -grief. Who the dead was, seemed so self-evident; who the murderer could -be, such a puzzle, that the mind inevitably dwelt exclusively on the -latter point. My dear sir, looking back on the matter, even now I cannot -see how a suspicion of the truth could have arisen." - -With his professional pique adding to his intense private grief for -Hermione's long sacrifice, it was, perhaps, not surprising that the -return of perfect confidence in her, after the agony of reluctant -distrust, did not do more to sweeten the ferment of his little soul. -Durgan reflected that on a mind no longer young, filled with long -earlier memories of mutual trust, the suspicion of a few recent days -could make little impression. And, again, this short-lived emotion of -suspicion was succeeded by the pain of knowing that his own happiness -and hers had been voluntarily sacrificed for a wretch so devoid of any -trace of chivalry or of parental feeling. - -Before reaching Hilyard, Alden expressed his opinion upon another aspect -of the recent disclosure. "You say, sir, that to you the most amazing -part is that such a man as Claxton could do so deadly a deed. My dear -sir, my experience of crime is that the purely selfish nature only needs -the spark of temptation to flame out into some hellish deed. No doubt -you will think me puritanical, but I hold that, while to most cultured -egoists such temptation never comes, in God's sight they are none the -less evil for that mere absence of temptation. Idleness and self-love, -especially where education enhances the guilt, are the dirt in which the -most virulent plague-germs can propagate with speed and fecundity." - -Durgan felt that, whether his opinion was true or false, it was brought -forward now with an energy directed against the class to which he -himself belonged. - -The two men parted stiffly, but they both felt that Alden would return -in a more placable mood. - -That day, in a burying-ground near Hilyard, the mulatto called -"'Dolphus" was laid beneath the ground. Born the ward of a nation whose -institutions had first brought about his existence and then severed him -from his natural protectors, he had been given only a little knowledge -by way of life's equipment, which, murderer as he was, had proved in his -hands a less dangerous thing than in those of many a citizen of the -dominant race. No one in that great nation mourned his death or gave a -passing sigh to his lone burial; and if anyone set store by that bare -patch of grave cut in the unkempt grass among the wild field lilies it -must have been God, who is said to gather what mortals cast away. - -Durgan took Adam back to Deer with him. Adam was somewhat the worse for -the success of his grief and piety, genuine tho they were. These -qualities had won him praise and consideration; they were no longer -unconscious. Like a child who had been on a stage, he was inclined to -pose and show elaborate signs of grief. - -Durgan bore with him for a few days, and then spoke his mind: - -"Stop that, you absurd nigger! If you don't look alive I'll make you!" - -Adam paused in the middle of a pious ejaculation with his mouth open. - -"Reckon you don't know what I'll do to you." - -"No, Marse Neil. How can this pore child know your mind, suh?" - -"I'll have you married to the new girl Miss Smith got. I'll do it next -week!" - -Adam rolled his eyes heavenward. "An' the Lord only just took my pore -gal, suh! You's not in earnest, suh?" - -"And if I make you marry the new girl the Lord will have given you a -better one." - -Adam was deftly cooking Durgan's breakfast, moving about the hut with -the light step of pride in the new service. - -There was a silence. Durgan had become absorbed in the newspaper. - -At last, with another sigh that was cut short ere it had expanded his -huge chest, Adam meekly began: - -"Marse Neil, suh." - -"Well?" - -"The minister who visited me in my affliction, he say--sez he--that we -ought to take wi' joy all the dealin' of the Lord an' bless His name." - -And Durgan replied, without raising his eyes, "I believe it. Adam, you -are a good nigger. I'll speak to Miss Smith." - -One day, a while after, the young gardener against whose aspirations -Durgan had warned Bertha came up to the mica mine. He had left Deer Cove -soon after Bertha had dismissed him, and gone, as the old stories have -it, "into the world to seek his fortune." It was a very unusual step for -a mountain white, and had given his father so much concern that he had -had the son prayed for at the Sunday camp meeting. The errant gardener -had roamed as far as Baltimore, and worked awhile in the household of a -certain rich man. He had come away from the plutocrat's palace homesick -for his mountains, but had brought back one dominant idea. Probably his -disappointed love had made his mind peculiarly impressionable, or, true -to the traditions of his class, he might, perhaps, not have gained even -one. He had now the most exaggerated idea of the elevation to which the -"rich and great" were raised. Convinced when he left Deer that Bertha -would not receive his addresses, he had found consolation in investing -her with a new glamor, as one of an almost princely cast. Upon his -return he had heard the talk of the neighborhood--the story which Alden -had allowed to go abroad--that the invalid father, who had been leading -some kind of dissipated life abroad, had returned, after years of -estrangement, to be nursed in his last illness by his daughters. Herein -lay the motive of young Godson's errand. - -"They say that he doesn't like colored men lifting him and moving him -about--that Miss Smith's looking for a helper for him." - -Durgan laid his pick against the rock and stood in silent astonishment. -He had seen different emotions work different changes in the habits of -men, but never so remarkable a result of love as this cure of petty -pride in the stiff-necked mountaineer. He was uncertain how far the -young man had interpreted himself aright. - -"It is for Miss Bertha's sake you wish to do this?" he asked. - -Godson assented. - -And having at last satisfied himself, by more interrogation, that the -youth had actually no further hope at present than to serve his goddess -in some lowly task, Durgan undertook to support his application. - -With this end in view he went up to the summit house at his usual hour, -when the day's work was over, at sundown. - -On the lawn the invalid's flat carriage was tilted at an angle which -enabled him to see the delectable mountains bathed in the light -reflected from that other country--the cloud-land beyond the golden -river of the horizon, in which the sun, like a pilgrim, was going down. -The elder daughter was reading to him. - -Durgan had no mind to disturb them. He had come hoping that the -paralytic would have been put away for the night. He disliked -encountering Claxton; and, had he disliked the man less, the wrestling -soul that shone through the eyes of the almost inanimate face would have -distressed him. - -Bertha, who was sitting at a short distance from the pair, and out of -their sight, saw the visitor and came across the grass. - -They went for a stroll together up on the higher rocks. - -"I am very idle in these days," said Bertha. "All the children in my -nursery have grown up and are too big to be nursed. There is nothing to -do, even in the garden." - -"But the care of your father must absorb all your time and thought." - -As he said this there was a questioning inflection in his mind that he -kept out of his tone. - -She hung her head as she walked. After a while she spoke, a beautiful -flush on her face. "In the old days father loved me better than Hermie, -because I was better-looking, and I always thought all that he did was -perfect. I thought I loved him far more than Hermie did, because she -often tried to persuade him that what he did was wrong. Now----" - -Durgan waited. - -"Now he does not want to see me. He does not like me to talk or read to -him. It makes it hard for Hermie, for she has everything to do. She -thinks father is shy of me and that it will wear away." - -"I have no doubt it will." - -"No," she sighed; "you are both wrong. Father, in spite of his -helplessness, sees far more clearly. He was always quick to read -everyone. He knows"--her voice faltered--"that I cannot love him now -that I know what he did. Oh, I hate him for deserting Hermie and letting -her bear it!" She pressed her hand to her side, as if speaking of some -disease that gave her pain. "How can I help it, Mr. Durgan? I despise -him, and he knows it." - -"I dare say he does. He knows, of course, that the whole world could -regard him with no feelings but those of hatred and scorn." - -She stopped short in her walk. In a minute she said, "I think I will go -back again, Mr. Durgan. I cannot bear that you should speak that way to -me about my own father." - -He smiled. "You seem to have some filial affection left." - -"Did you only say it to make me feel angry?" - -"Yes; that is why I said it; but, at the same time, you must remember -that the world would certainly judge as you have said; and if the ties -of kindred did not give a closer embrace than the world does, there -would be no home feeling for any of us; there would be no bright spark -of the sacred fire of the next world in this." - -"'Fire.' We think of heaven as light, not heat." - -"And we think of hell as heat, not light; yet we know light and heat to -be one and the same thing; and both are the supreme need of life, and -both are the only adequate symbols of love." - -Many a red flag and gay pennon of autumn was now flying on the heights -of Deer. The leaves of the stunted oak wood were floating and falling, -and below, the chestnuts were yellowing, burr and leaf. The weeds were -sere and full of ripe seed, and the shrubs of ripe berries. Birds of -passage in flocks were talking and calling, eating their evening meal, -or settling, a noisy multitude, in verdant lodging for the night. - -"I always wonder where they come from, or where they are going," said -the girl. "I used to long so often, in all the nights and days I have -been on this mountain, to be able to fly away as the birds fly; and now, -since Eve died, what we have suffered makes me feel that just to live -here, away from the worse sorrows of the world, would be enough -happiness always." - -"That's right. Let us make the best of our mountain, for we are likely -to enjoy its solitudes for some time to come." - -"If I only could set my affections right!" she said wistfully. "Perhaps, -as you think, I have better feelings underneath, but they are not on the -top just now. I am ashamed to be with Hermie, because I suspected her; -and father is ashamed to be with me, because I am not good enough to -forget what he has done. And I have no comfort in religion, for either I -think God is cruel, or else most likely it is all chance and there is no -reason at the heart of the universe." - -"You are quite ready to believe now in God's insanity." - -"How can you taunt me that way? I have told you that I am ashamed of my -wicked thoughts about Hermione. But how can we tell that there is any -mind governing the universe?" - -"It was only when you could not understand your sister that you thought -you had found any proof of lack of mind. You would treat the great Power -that lies behind the universe in the same way." - -"I have heard many good people say as much. Do you think it wicked?" - -"I can only say that I have never liked you so well since I knew your -thoughts about your sister. How much more must all good spirits despise -us when we distrust the mind of God." - -"You speak unkindly. I cannot alter my doubt." - -"No. You are endowed with beauty and health, intellect and heart. You -have done many things well. But this, I suppose, is a radical defect." - -She did not look satisfied. "How can I alter it?" - -"If I were you I would go on laying out the orchard you were working at -in spring. You could put in a great many of the small trees yourself. I -have gained so much from delving that I offer you the same occupation -with a certificate of merit." - -"But I can't get the rows straight alone," she said, "or prepare the -ground. It is all as it was when the Godsons left. It was you who made -me send them away." - -"And now I have come to ask you to take young Godson back," he said. So -he told the young man's story. "He will have time to help in the orchard -if he is employed about your father." - -"Do you think there is no risk?" she asked, with the grave dignity that -the peculiar isolation of her life had given. - -"I would not undertake to say that," he replied, with a smile. "But, -such as it is, he takes it. You need help sadly, and perhaps you will -both learn more wisdom than I was able to impart when I first -interfered." - -Durgan went his solitary way down the trail. Godson was still waiting -for him. He was as fine a fellow as those remote mountains -produce--spare, tall, with a curious look of ideality peculiar to their -hardy sons. When he was told he might go up to the summit house, his -blue eyes, far under the projecting tow-colored brows, looked almost -like the eyes of a saint wrapped in adoration. Durgan was not in a mood -to feel that Bertha was his superior. - -Durgan built sticks for a fire on the rock-ledge to make his own coffee. -He was a better man physically than he had been when he came to Deer -Mountain--strong, sinewy, and calm, the processes of age arrested by the -vital tide of work. Alone as he was in his eyrie, he could take keen -pleasure in the stateliness of his rock palace, in the vision of nights -and days that passed before it, in the food and rest that his body -earned. To-night he was not expecting satisfaction, and when he struck -his match the whole universe was gray and seemed empty; but no sooner -had his small beacon blazed than an answering beam leaped out of the -furthest distance. It was the evening star. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Summit House Mystery, by L. 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Dougall. - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - - p { margin-top: .75em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .75em; - } - - p.bold {text-align: center; font-weight: bold;} - p.bold2 {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;} - - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; - } - h1 span, h2 span { display: block; text-align: center; } - #id1 { font-size: smaller } - - - hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; - } - - body{margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; - } - - table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 5px; border-collapse: collapse; border: none; text-align: right;} - - .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - text-indent: 0px; - } /* page numbers */ - - .center {text-align: center;} - .smaller {font-size: smaller;} - .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - .space-above {margin-top: 3em;} - .right {text-align: right;} - .left {text-align: left;} - .s3 {display: inline; margin-left: 3em;} - - .poem {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} - .poem br {display: none;} - .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} - .poem div {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem div.i1 {margin-left: 1em;} - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Summit House Mystery, by L. Dougall - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Summit House Mystery - The Earthly Purgatory - -Author: L. Dougall - -Release Date: July 24, 2017 [EBook #55189] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SUMMIT HOUSE MYSTERY *** - - - - -Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="center"><a name="cover.jpg" id="cover.jpg"></a><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<h1>THE SUMMIT<br />HOUSE MYSTERY</h1> - -<p class="bold">OR</p> - -<p class="bold">THE EARTHLY PURGATORY</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">BY</p> - -<p class="bold2">L. DOUGALL</p> - -<p class="bold">Author of<br />"Beggars All," "The Madonna of a Day," "The Zeit-Geist," etc.</p> - -<p class="center space-above"> </p> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="logo" /></div> - -<p class="bold space-above">FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY<br />NEW YORK and LONDON<br />1905</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1905, by</span><br /> -FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY<br />[Printed in the United States of America]<br /> -——<br /><i>Published, March, 1905</i></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PUBLISHERS' INTRODUCTORY NOTE</h2> - -<p>"The story's the thing" is a creed to which novel readers are supposed -to give unanimous adherence. Art, literary style, study of character, -and other of the higher, subtler elements of fiction, good as they are -acknowledged to be, must yield first place to "the story," and -afterwards shift for themselves the best way they may. How many -so-called novel readers adhere to this creed is a matter of -question—probably not as many as its exponents believe. Unquestionably -there are two forms of fiction—the one in which art, and style, and -character are pre-eminent, and control the course of the story, and the -one in which "the story's the thing," and often the only thing. But why -should not these two forms of fiction be blended? Why should not the art -of George Eliot or Mr. Meredith be wedded to the thrilling action and -absorbing mystery of Anthony Hope and Sir A. Conan Doyle?</p> - -<p>In this story, "The Summit House Mystery," Miss Dougall has illustrated -so well the possibilities of combining an exciting story with the charm -of real literary art, that it must be considered as a model for a better -school of popular fiction. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> substance and in form it is unusually -satisfying. The mystery with which it deals is so impenetrable as to -baffle the cleverest reader until the very sentence in which, literally -in a flash of light, the secret is revealed; yet from the beginning the -story progresses steadily, logically, and without straining or -melodramatic claptrap, to the inevitable solution. It is not, in the -ordinary sense, a detective story, altho the two elements of concealment -and search are present. It is not a "love story," but love, of the -noblest order, supplies the cause and the support of the terrible -mystery throughout the book. It is, as one has aptly said, a story of -mystery "into which a soul has been infused." The rare distinction of -its style and the beauty of its language place it far above stories of -its class. A wonderful setting is given, high up on the summit of Deer -Mountain, in Georgia, and the story seems to take on a quiet dignity, as -well as a deeper atmosphere of mystery, from the lofty solitude. Seldom -have the beauties of the mountains, "in all their varying moods of -cloud, and mist, and glorious night," been painted in truer colors. "The -Summit House Mystery" must inevitably set a higher standard for such -novels, and the public will thus gain more than this one good story if -it shall have, as it deserves, an immense popular success.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="left"><span class="smaller">CHAP.</span></td> - <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td class="left"> A Hut in the Precipice</td> - <td><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td class="left"> The Unwelcome Guest</td> - <td><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td class="left"> A Strange Dismissal</td> - <td><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV.</td> - <td class="left"> The Hostess Jailer</td> - <td><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>V.</td> - <td class="left"> The Northern Ladies</td> - <td><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VI.</td> - <td class="left"> Events on Deer Mountain</td> - <td><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VII.</td> - <td class="left"> The Godson Possibility</td> - <td><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VIII.</td> - <td class="left"> The Wordless Letters</td> - <td><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IX.</td> - <td class="left"> The Spectre in the Forest</td> - <td><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>X.</td> - <td class="left"> A Skeleton in the Fire</td> - <td><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XI.</td> - <td class="left"> The Mysterious 'Dolphus</td> - <td><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XII.</td> - <td class="left"> The Secret of the Oak</td> - <td><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XIII.</td> - <td class="left"> A Sob in the Dark</td> - <td><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XIV.</td> - <td class="left"> The Going Out of Eve</td> - <td><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XV.</td> - <td class="left"> The Question of Guilt</td> - <td><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XVI.</td> - <td class="left"> A Call for Help</td> - <td><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XVII.</td> - <td class="left"> Hermione's Advocate</td> - <td><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XVIII.</td> - <td class="left"> A Startling Disclosure</td> - <td><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XIX.</td> - <td class="left"> Tangled in the Coil</td> - <td><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>XX.</td> - <td class="left"> The Terrible Confession</td> - <td><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXI.</td> - <td class="left"> Opening the Past</td> - <td><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXII.</td> - <td class="left"> The Earthly Purgatory</td> - <td><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXIII.</td> - <td class="left"> What 'Dolphus Knows</td> - <td><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXIV.</td> - <td class="left"> The Woman with a Secret</td> - <td><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXV.</td> - <td class="left"> Lost in the Maze</td> - <td><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXVI.</td> - <td class="left"> A Tortured Conscience</td> - <td><a href="#Page_217">217</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXVII.</td> - <td class="left"> A Hound on the Scent</td> - <td><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXVIII.</td> - <td class="left"> Probing a Deep Wound</td> - <td><a href="#Page_238">238</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXIX.</td> - <td class="left"> Forged Letters</td> - <td><a href="#Page_251">251</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXX.</td> - <td class="left"> The Vision in the Hut</td> - <td><a href="#Page_266">266</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXXI.</td> - <td class="left"> A Flash of Light</td> - <td><a href="#Page_289">289</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXXII.</td> - <td class="left"> What a Terrier Found</td> - <td><a href="#Page_296">296</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXXIII.</td> - <td class="left"> The Restoration</td> - <td><a href="#Page_307">307</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXXIV.</td> - <td class="left"> All That Happened</td> - <td><a href="#Page_312">312</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XXXV.</td> - <td class="left"> Readjustments</td> - <td><a href="#Page_323">323</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> - -<h2>Book I</h2> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">The Summit House Mystery</p> - -<h2><span>Chapter I</span> <span class="smaller">A HUT IN THE PRECIPICE</span></h2> - -<p>In the southern part of the Appalachian Mountains the tree-clad ridges -fold and coil about one another. In this wooded wilderness the trend of -each slope, the meandering of each stream, take unlooked-for turnings, -and the valleys cross and twist. It is such a region as we often find in -dreams, where the unexpected bars the way or opens out into falling -vistas down which our souls must speed, chasing some hope or chased by -unknown fears.</p> - -<p>On a certain day a man called Neil Durgan passed through the village of -Deer Cove, in the mountains of Northern Georgia. When he had left the -few wooden buildings and the mill round which they clustered, he took a -path by the foaming mill-stream and ascended the mountain of Deer.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p><p>For more than a century before the freeing of the slaves, the Durgans -had been one of the proudest and richest families of Georgia. This man -was the present head of the house, sole heir to the loss of all its -lands and wealth. He was growing old now. Disappointment, Poverty, and -Humility walked with him. Yet Joy, the fugitive, peeped at him through -the leafless forest, from the snow-flakes of the dogwood and from the -violets in the moss, laughed at him in the mountain torrent, and wooed -him with the scent of the warming earth. Humility caught and kissed the -fleeting spirit, and led her also in attendance upon the traveller's -weary feet.</p> - -<p>Deer Cove is more than two thousand feet in altitude; Deer Mountain -rises a thousand feet above. Half-way up, Durgan came to the cabin of a -negro called Adam. According to the usage of the time, the freedman's -surname was Durgan, because he had been born and bred on the Durgan -estates. Adam was a huge black negro. He and Durgan had not met since -they were boys.</p> - -<p>Adam's wife set a good table before the visitor. She was a quadroon, -younger, lithe and attractive. Both stood and watched Durgan eat—Adam -dumb with pleasure, the negress talking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> at times with such quick rushes -of soft words that attentive listening was necessary.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Marse Neil, suh; these ladies as lives up here on Deer, they's -here for their health—they is. Very nice ladies they is, too; but -they's from the North! They don't know how to treat us niggers right -kind as you does, suh! They's allus for sayin' 'please' an' 'thank 'e,' -and 'splaining perjinks to Adam an' me. But ef you can't board with -these ladies, marsa, ther's no place you can live on Deer—no, there -ain't, suh."</p> - -<p>Durgan had had his table set before the door, and ate looking at the -chaos of valleys, domes, and peaks which, from this height, was open to -the view. The characteristic blue haze of the region was over all. The -lower valleys in tender leaf had a changeful purple shimmer upon them, -as seen in the peacock's plumage. The sun rained down white light from a -fleecy sky. The tree-tops of the slope immediately beneath them were red -with sap.</p> - -<p>After a mood of reflection Durgan said, "You live well. These ladies -must pay you well if you can afford dinners like this."</p> - -<p>"Yes, Marse Neil, suh; they pays better than any in these parts. Miss -Hermie, she's got right<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> smart of sense, too, 'bout money. Miss Birdie, -she's more for animals and flowers an' sich; but they pays well, they -does."</p> - -<p>"Look me out two good men to work with me in the mine, Adam."</p> - -<p>Adam showed his white teeth in respectful joy. "That's all right, suh."</p> - -<p>"Of course, as you are working for these ladies, you will look for my -men in your spare time."</p> - -<p>"That's all right, suh."</p> - -<p>Durgan put down sufficient payment for his food, took up his travelling -satchel, and walked on. From the turn of the rough cart-road on which -the cabin stood the rocky summit was visible, and close below it the -gables of a solitary dwelling.</p> - -<p>"A rough perch for northern birds!" said he to himself, and then was -plunged again in his own affairs. The branches, arching above, shut out -all prospect. He plodded on.</p> - -<p>The upper side of the mountain was a bald wall of rock. Where, part way -up, the zigzag road abutted on this precipice it met a foot-trail to the -summit, and at the same point an outer ledge of flat rock gave access to -an excavation near at hand in the precipice. A wooden hut<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> with a rude -bench at its door stood on the ledge, the only legacy of a former miner. -Durgan perceived that his new sphere was reached. He rested upon the -bench and looked about him wistfully.</p> - -<p>He was a large, well-built man, with patrician cast of feature, brown -skin, and hair that was almost gray. His clothes were beginning to fray -at the edges. They were the clothes of a man of fashion whose pockets -had long been empty. His manner was haughty, but subdued by that subtle -gentleness which failure gives to higher natures. A broken heart, a head -carried high—these evoke compassion which can seldom be expressed.</p> - -<p>He could look over the foot-hills to where cloud-shadows were slowly -sailing upon the blue, billowy reaches of the Georgian plains. In that -horizon, dim with sunlight, Durgan had sucked his silver spoon, and -possessed all that pertains to the lust of the eye and the pride of -life. The cruel war had wrapped him and his in its flames. When it was -over, he had sought relief in speculation, and time had brought the -episode of love. He had fought and lost; he had played and lost; he had -married and lost. Out of war and play and love he had brought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> only -himself and such a coat as is as much part of a man as its fur is part -of an animal.</p> - -<p>After a while he unfolded a letter already well worn. He read it for the -last time with the fancy that it was well to end the old life where he -hoped to commence the new one.</p> - -<p>The letter was written in New York, and dated a month before. It was -from his wife.</p> - -<blockquote><p>"It is very well for you to say that you would not want money from -me if I came to live in the south with you, but I do not believe -you could earn your own living, and it would ill become my social -position to acknowledge a husband who was out at elbows and working -like a convict. I think, too, that it is cant for you to preach to -me and say that 'it would be well for us to try and do better.' Is -it my fault that you have lost all self-respect, refusing to enter -good society, to interest yourself in the arts and all that belongs -to the spiritual side of life? Is it my fault that a spiritually -minded man has given me the sympathy which you cannot even -understand? I desire that you never again express to me your -thoughts about a friendship which is above your comprehension.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p><p>"If your rich cousin will let you delve for him for a pittance I -shall not interfere. I might tell him he could not put his mine -into worse hands! I shall not alter the agreement we made ten years -ago, which is that while you remain at a distance, and refrain from -annoyance, I shall not seek legal separation."</p></blockquote> - -<p>The husband looked with a faint smile at the crest of the Durgans on the -fashionable notepaper, at the handwriting in which a resolute effort at -fashion barely concealed a lack of education. In the diction and -orthography he discerned the work of a second mind, and it was with a -puzzled, as well as a troubled air, that he tore the paper into atoms -and let them flutter over the precipice in the soft breeze. But the -puzzle was beyond his reading, and the trouble he cast into the past. -Whatever good he had deserved at the hands of his wife, it was not in -his nature to feel that Providence dealt too hardly with him. As he rose -to examine his new scene of work, the phrase of the huge negro returned -to his mind, and he muttered to himself, "Yes, suh; that's all right!"</p> - -<p>He found a pick and hammer in the shed, and set himself instantly to -break the rock where the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> vein of mica had already been worked. Weary as -he soon became, he was glad to suppose that, having failed in dealing -with his kind, he must wrestle now only with the solid earth, and in the -peace of the wilderness.</p> - -<p>The angels, looking down upon him, smiled; for they know well that the -warfare of the world is only escaped by selfishness, not by -circumstance.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter II</span> <span class="smaller">THE UNWELCOME GUEST</span></h2> - -<p>The sun set glorious over the peaks of the Cherokee ridges, and their -crimson outline lay dark, like a haven for the silver boat of the -descending moon, when Durgan, satchel in hand, climbed the ascending -foot-trail.</p> - -<p>The cart-road evidently reached the summit by further turnings; but this -footpath, wending through close azalea scrub and under trees, emerged -between one gable of the summit house and the higher rocks above it. On -the other three sides of the house its open lands were broad enough.</p> - -<p>This had been the dwelling of the former miner. Durgan, already heralded -by the barking of watch-dogs, could hardly pause to look at a place -which would have been his perquisite had it not been bought at a fancy -price by woman's caprice.</p> - -<p>The low shingled dwelling, weathered and overgrown by vines, was faced -by a long, open<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> porch. Its lawn was already bordered by a fringe of -crocus flowers. The house was old, but, beyond a group of trees, a new -barn and carriage-house were standing. The fences of garden, field, and -meadow were also new. The whole property bore marks of recent -improvements which betokened wealth and taste.</p> - -<p>A prim little lady met Durgan in the porch. Her hair was gray; she wore -a dress of modified fashion. Even the warm glamour of the evening light -and the matchless grace of hanging vines could give but small suggestion -of romance to Miss Smith's neat, angular figure and thin face; but of -her entire goodness Durgan, after the first glance, had never a doubt. -She put on spectacles to read the letter of introduction which he -brought from the owner of Deer Mountain and of the mine. She was -startled by something she read there, but only betrayed her excitement -by a slight trembling, hardly seen.</p> - -<p>The letter read, she greeted Durgan in the neat manner of an established -etiquette which, like her accent, savored of a New England education.</p> - -<p>"Take a chair, for I guess you're tired. Yes, we bought this land from -General Durgan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> Blount, and, of course, we've had dealing with him. -That's about the extent of our acquaintance."</p> - -<p>She swayed in a light rocking-chair, and for some minutes obviously -thought over the request which the letter contained that she should give -Durgan a temporary home as a paying guest. He employed the time in -looking at books and pictures, which were of no mean quality, but seemed -to have been recently collected.</p> - -<p>At last she said, "Come to think of it, I don't see why you shouldn't -stop with us a while. My sister isn't at home just now, but I guess I'll -say 'Yes.' It isn't good for folks to be too much alone. We've a real -comfortable room over the harness-room in the carriage-house. You'll -have to sleep there, as we've no room in the house, and I guess what we -eat will be good enough." A moment's pause and she added, "My sister -won't be quite agreeable, perhaps, not being accustomed——"</p> - -<p>"Of course, I quite understand, you're not in the habit of doing such -a——"</p> - -<p>"I did not mean that we felt too grand."</p> - -<p>Miss Smith made this answer to his interruption with crisp decision, but -as she did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> return to the interrupted subject, he was left -uncertain.</p> - -<p>While she busied herself for his entertainment, Durgan, surprised into -great contentment, sat watching the darkness gather beyond the low -arches of the porch. The room was warmed, and at that hour lit, by logs -blazing in an open chimney. It was furnished with simple comfort and the -material for pleasant occupations. Glass doors stood open to the mild, -still night. The sweet, cool scent of the living forest wandered in to -meet the fragrance of the burning logs.</p> - -<p>There was one uneasy element in Durgan's sense of rest—he dreaded the -advent of the sister who might not be "quite agreeable."</p> - -<p>Out of the gloaming, stooping under the tendrils of the vine, a young -woman came quickly and stopped upon the threshold. She seemed a perfect -type of womanhood, lovely and vigorous. One arm was filled with branches -of dogwood bloom, the other hand held in short leash a mastiff. Her -figure, at once lithe and buxom, her rosy and sun-browned face, soft -lips, aquiline nose, and curly hair gave Durgan sincere astonishment, -altho he had formed no expectation. But his attention was quickly -focussed upon an indescribable depth of hope and fear in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> her eyes. -Before she spoke he had time to notice more consciously the clear brown -skin, crimson-tinted on the round of the cheek, the nose delicately -formed and curved, and the startled terror and pleading look in her sad -brown eyes.</p> - -<p>The dog, probably at the suggestion of a nervous movement on the leash, -began to growl, and was silenced by a caress as Durgan introduced -himself and explained his errand.</p> - -<p>"It is very late," she said gravely. "It will surely be difficult for -you to find your way down the mountain again."</p> - -<p>"Miss Smith has very kindly acceded to my cousin's request." Durgan -spoke in the soft, haughty tone of reserve which was habitual to him.</p> - -<p>The girl's tone, quick and subdued, had in it the faint echo of a cry. -"Oh, I don't think you would like to stay here. Oh, I don't think -you——"</p> - -<p>Miss Smith came to the door to announce his supper.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Durgan is going to stop a while with us, Bertha. It's no use his -having a mile's climb from the Cove to his work every day—at least not -that I know of. I've been fixing up the room over the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> carriage-house; I -tell him the barns are a sight better built than the house."</p> - -<p>It appeared to Durgan that she was reasoning with the younger sister as -a too indulgent mother reasons with a spoilt tyrant of the nursery. The -effort seemed successful.</p> - -<p>Without further comment Bertha said, "We bought this old house along -with the ground, but we built the rest. We took great care that they -should be good models for the people here, who are rather in need of -high standards in barns and—other things."</p> - -<p>"In many other things," said Durgan. "I have not been familiar with my -own State since the war, and the poverty and sloth I have seen in the -last few days sadly shocked me."</p> - -<p>Durgan had not of late been accustomed to kindness from women. It was -years since he had eaten and talked with such content as he did that -evening. If his material comforts were due to the essential motherliness -in Miss Smith's nature, it was Bertha's generous beauty and lively mind -that gave the added touch of delight. Miss Smith swayed in her -rocking-chair, her neat feet tapping the ground, and put in shrewd, -kindly remarks; Bertha discussed the prospects of the mine with -well-bred ease. Durgan assumed that,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> as is often the case in the -Northern States, the growing wealth of the family had bestowed on the -younger a more liberal education than had fallen to the lot of the -elder. At the hour for retiring he felt for them both equal respect and -equal gratitude.</p> - -<p>The stairs to his chamber ran up outside the carriage-house. The room -was pleasant—a rainy-day workroom, containing a divan that had been -converted into a bed. Books, a shaded lamp, even flowers, were there. As -a sick man luxuriates in mere alleviation, as the fugitive basks in -temporary safety, so Durgan, who had resigned himself to the buffets of -fortune, felt unspeakably content with the present prospect of peace.</p> - -<p>He read till late, and, putting out what was by then the only light upon -Deer Mountain, he lay long, watching the far blaze of other worlds -through the high casement. To his surprise he heard an almost noiseless -step come up the stairs; then a breathless listening. He had been given -no key, but one was now gently inserted in the lock and turned from -without.</p> - -<p>Durgan smiled to himself, but the smile grew cynical.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter III</span> <span class="smaller">A STRANGE DISMISSAL</span></h2> - -<p>When Durgan woke in the sunshine the door had been unlocked and the key -removed.</p> - -<p>The sisters, and the good cheer they offered, were the same at breakfast -as on the former evening; but the incident of the night had disturbed -Durgan's feeling of respect.</p> - -<p>Adam and his wife were betimes at their work as day servants. They had, -as commanded, brought two negro laborers for the mine. Durgan shouldered -his pick and marched before his men.</p> - -<p>They went by the cart-road, under the arching branches. Suddenly, -through the wood, Bertha appeared, walking alone in the sparkling -morning. It seemed a chance meeting till the negroes had gone on.</p> - -<p>Blushing nervously and very grave, she spoke, begging Durgan to find -another lodging. Her voice, as she gave her reason, faltered. "I am<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> -sure that my sister is not strong enough for the extra care."</p> - -<p>Durgan said within himself that the reason was false. He stiffened -himself to that dull sense of disappointment to which he was accustomed. -"I can only do as you bid me," said he.</p> - -<p>"I am afraid you will need to camp out. Believe me, I am very sorry. My -sister"—again the voice faltered—"is not very strong. She would try to -have visitors for my sake, and so she will not admit that this would be -too much—but——"</p> - -<p>Again Durgan was sure that her reason was in some way false. This woman -was so honest that her very lies were transparent.</p> - -<p>"And so—and on this account, I must ask you, Mr. Durgan, to be good -enough to—conceal from my sister that I have made this request."</p> - -<p>She dropped her eyes in confusion; her face was flushed, her hands -fluttering as she clasped them restlessly; but she was perfectly -resolute.</p> - -<p>About her and above the trees were gray. The dogwood alone held out -horizontal sprays—white flowers veined in bright mahogany. Above, the -sky was blue—a gorgeous blue—and, on a gray bough that hung over, this -hue was seen again where the gay bluebird of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> south swelled out its -glossy crimson throat in song.</p> - -<p>As Durgan looked at this beautiful woman and the wild solitude, he felt -as deeply puzzled as annoyed. General Durgan Blount had well remarked, -as he wrote the letter of introduction, that the presence of a gentleman -of Durgan's age and position would certainly appear to be an advantage -in the precincts of the lonely dwelling.</p> - -<p>"May I ask if you have heard anything to my disadvantage?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, nothing! It is for your——" She stopped, her distress growing, but -began again very rapidly. "I know it must seem very strange to you; and -living alone as we do, it is a great thing for us not to appear odd or -strange to anyone. And so—that is the reason I ask you to be so good -as——"</p> - -<p>She paused, raising her sad eyes for an answering flash of sympathy -which his reticence did not give. It was not Durgan's way to give any -play to feeling in manner or tone.</p> - -<p>Then she said impulsively, "I am trusting you. Don't you see I am -trusting you with the secret of my interference? I don't want my sister -to know, and I don't want anyone to know, that I have spoken. Hermie -would be vexed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> with me, and other people would think it very odd."</p> - -<p>"I thank you for trusting me."</p> - -<p>He was lifting his hat and moving when she stayed him.</p> - -<p>"I hope you believe that I regret this—that I will do all I can to make -your stay on the mountain pleasant for you."</p> - -<p>His eyes twinkled. "Pardon me for thinking that you have done all you -can to make it unpleasant for me. Your house is not a good one to -leave."</p> - -<p>"Still, I hope you will remain our friend, and I beg"—she flushed -scarlet at her reiteration—"I implore you, when you return for your -things, to give my sister no hint that I have interfered, or to speak of -it to your cousin."</p> - -<p>She went back into the woods, her head bowed. Durgan looked after her -with solicitude.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter IV</span> <span class="smaller">THE HOSTESS JAILER</span></h2> - -<p>There was one other house nearer to the mine than Deer Cove. A small -farm belonging to "mountain whites" lay on the other side, but cut off -from the road by precipice and torrent. Thither in the early evening -Durgan, by steep detour, bent his way, but found his journey useless. -The family was in excess of the house-room, and the food obviously -unclean.</p> - -<p>More weary with his work than laborer bred to toil can ever be, again in -the gloaming he climbed to the summit of Deer. He began the ascent with -the intention of taking his possessions to the miserable inn at Deer -Cove, but on his way reflected that one night more could make little -difference to the comfort of the sisters. He would speak to Bertha -apart, and ask if he might remain till morning.</p> - -<p>The sisters were found together, and Durgan was dumb. Until he was -confronted with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>evidence that Bertha had really given no hint to her -sister, he had not realized that, in cancelling the arrangement, much -would devolve on his own tact and readiness of excuse. He grew impatient -of the mystery, ate the supper that Miss Smith's careful housewifery had -prepared, and having no explanation to offer, accepted the early -retirement which her compassion for his evident weariness proposed. As -on the night before, Bertha offered no opposition.</p> - -<p>The work had broken at a touch Durgan's long habit of insomnia. He slept -soon and soundly.</p> - -<p>Waking in the utter silence of the mountain dawn, his brain proceeded to -fresh activities. He reviewed the events of the previous night and -morning with more impartial good-nature. From the picture of Miss -Smith's motherly age, shrewd wit, equable temper, and solid virtues, he -turned to the healthful beauty of the younger sister. He saw again the -interview on the road. How transparent her blushes! How deep the hope -and terror in her eyes! How false the ring of her tone when she murmured -her ostensible excuse! Surely this was a girl who had been sore driven -before she lied or asked secrecy of a stranger!</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p><p>He remembered that the first night someone had locked him in. A caged -feeling roused him to see if he were again a prisoner. He rose, tried -the door, and it opened.</p> - -<p>Dark ruby fire of the dawn was kindling behind the eastern peaks. Dark -as negroes' hair lay the heads and shoulders of all the couchant hills. -Their sides were shrouded in moving mists; the valleys were lost; only -in one streak of sky above the ruby dawn had the stars begun to fail.</p> - -<p>He saw a woman's figure crouching on the porch of the dwelling-house. -The wind was moaning.</p> - -<p>The woman was sitting on the low flooring of the porch, her feet on the -ground, her elbows on her knees, her head held forward, her whole -attitude indicative of watching. He thought she slept at her post or -else the wind and darkness covered his slight movement of the door.</p> - -<p>Either someone was in great need of compassion, perhaps help, or he was -outraged by a surveillance which merited displeasure. He awaited the -swift daybreak of the region. Every moment light increased visibly.</p> - -<p>When the mists, like white sea-horses, were seen romping down the -highways of the valleys; when the tree-tops were seen tossing and the -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>eastern sky was fleeced with pink, as if the petals of some gigantic -rose were shaken out, Durgan went across the grass and confronted Bertha -before she could retire.</p> - -<p>With a sudden impulse of fear she put her finger to her lips; then, -ashamed, sought to cancel the gesture. She had not changed her gown from -the evening before, but was wrapped in furs.</p> - -<p>"Last night you locked me in; to-night you watch my door. What is the -matter? Are you afraid of me?" He had noticed her abortive signal; his -customary tones met any need for quiet of which he could conceive.</p> - -<p>"You!" Her lips formed the word. She seemed confounded by his -suddenness. "You!"</p> - -<p>He gained no idea from the repeated monosyllable.</p> - -<p>"I will pack up my traps and go at once, rather than rob you of further -sleep. Perhaps you will kindly make my excuses to your sister." He was -turning, but added, "I evidently owe you an apology for remaining last -night. I hope you understand that I had no excuse to give your -sister—none, at least, that would not have been too true to suit you or -too untrue to suit me."</p> - -<p>She made an imperious gesture; she spoke so low that he wondered at the -power of command<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> in her tone. "Go back and take your sleep out—you -need it. Come to breakfast without saying that you have seen me. I have -no explanation. I have nothing to say—except—" she lifted a weary -face—"except that I hoped you were too tired to be wakeful."</p> - -<p>His incredulity was overcome by pity. "Can I do you no service?"</p> - -<p>She shook her head. "I have already asked far too much." Her voice sank -as she spoke.</p> - -<p>"We are neighbors, and I think we must be friends. You are evidently in -need of help."</p> - -<p>"From heaven—yes. But from you only what I have said."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter V</span> <span class="smaller">THE NORTHERN LADIES</span></h2> - -<p>Durgan furnished the wooden hut that stood on the ledge of the cliff -between the road and the mine. Adam's wife baked his bread and made his -bed. Durgan fell into the fanciful habit of calling her "Eve."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Marse Neil, honey; Adam an' Eve they was white folks. Thought you'd -have known your Bible better 'an us pore niggers, an' we knows that -much, sure 'nough—yes, we does, suh."</p> - -<p>When Eve spoke her words came in a multitude, soft and quick.</p> - -<p>"Wasn't mighty surprised you didn't stop with those Northern ladies. -Very nice ladies they is, but they's the mightiest 'ticlar 'bout their -house, an' the workin'est folks I ever did see. 'Tain't a sign o' good -fam'ly—no, Marse Neil, suh—gettin' up near sun-up in the mornin', and -allers a-doin'. 'Tain't like quality, an' you couldn't never have -stopped. But they's powerful nice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> ladies, Miss Hermie an' Miss Birdie, -an' I don't go to say a word against them, no, suh."</p> - -<p>Durgan watched to see if anyone else had a word to say against these -ladies. From the loungers of Deer Cove, from the country folk who -ascended Deer to sell their produce at the summit house, from the very -children who trooped up the road with field flowers and pet animals, he -heard the same testimony. In the whole countryside the sisters had the -reputation of being gentle and just. Too methodical and thrifty to -appear quite liberal in the eyes of the shiftless, too unconscious of -the distinction of color to appear quite genteel, they were yet held in -favor, and were to the whole region a source of kindly interest and -guileless extortion. No other strangeness was attributed to them than -that which "being from the North" implied.</p> - -<p>Young Blount, the son of the landowner, soon rode over to see his -cousin. The Blounts were one of the few rich Southern families who, -owning a line of merchant ships, had not lost the source of their wealth -in the war. They spent part of their time in this mountain region, of -which a large area was their own.</p> - -<p>The old General had not changed with the times, but the new epoch had -stamped the son with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> a sense of responsibility for the humanity at his -gates which his slave-owning forefathers had never known. He was twenty -years younger than Durgan. Having looked upon a devastated land from his -schoolroom windows, he had never acquired the patrician manner. He was -affable and serious.</p> - -<p>When arrived at Durgan's camp he tied his beautiful horse to a tree, and -remained for the night. The two sat on the open rock by a fire of logs. -Before darkness fell the visitor had pointed out every village, hamlet, -and cabin which lay within the wide prospect which they overlooked.</p> - -<p>The inhabitants of this land were, each for his respective station, -poor, most of them miserably poor and thriftless. Blount took an -interest in each individual. He was a gossip as confirmed as any -club-man or idle dowager; but the objects of his interest were not his -equals, and their benefit was the end he held in view.</p> - -<p>The greenery of the valleys was rising like a tide upon slopes, and -merging its verdure in the flush of flowing sap and ruddy buds which -colored the upland forest; but, far and near, the highest hills still -held up their gray woodlands to the frosty skies.</p> - -<p>After listening to a long chronicle of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> humbler neighbors, Durgan -held out his pipe for a moment, and said casually—</p> - -<p>"And the Northern ladies?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes; despite the Northern flavor, they are a godsend to the place, -if you will! Our people come from far and near to see their new-fangled -barn, and carriage-house, and kitchen stoves. It's as elevating to our -mountaineers"—he gave a laugh—"as the summer hotels they are building -in the Tennessee Mountains or at Nashville are to the people of those -parts. A new idea, an object-lesson. Most useful for children and fools. -Our mountain whites are obstinate as mules. They think they know -everything because they have never seen anything to arouse their -curiosity. You can talk a new notion into a pig's head sooner than into -them; but after they have seen an object, fingered it, and talked it -over for a year or two, they imagine that it had its origin in their own -minds. It was a good enough day for us when these ladies came here; and -then, they put some money into circulation."</p> - -<p>Durgan, with little further inquiry, soon heard all that gossip had to -tell.</p> - -<p>Miss Bertha, he said, had been delicate. After some years of travel in -Europe, a high altitude in a mild climate, and quiet, had been -prescribed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> A chance of travel had brought them to this place, and the -invalid's fancy had fixed itself on this site. Miss Smith, he said, was -rather niggardly, but she had recognized that it was worth while to -humor her sister's fancy by buying the place.</p> - -<p>"She is fanciful, then?"</p> - -<p>"I did not mean to imply that. You see, there are not many houses in the -whole mountain range at this altitude to choose from, and this -neighborhood is quiet and safe. The choice was not unnatural, but I -spoke of it being 'humored' because the General put on a fancy price. He -likes to rook a Northerner, and it was not to his interest to separate -the house from the mine."</p> - -<p>"You would say, then, that they are not fanciful or—eccentric in any -way?"</p> - -<p>"I should rather say that they have displayed great sense and -moderation, never raising a suggestion of their Northern sympathies. -They ride about and administer charity in a judicious way. They have -even won over the General. Both he and I have a great respect for them. -Their financial affairs are in the hands of an excellent firm of New -York lawyers. They have friends who keep up a very regular -correspondence. They are both fine women. It is refreshing to come -across<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> a little genuine culture in these wilds. I enjoy them every time -I call."</p> - -<p>In harmony with this last statement, young Blount called at the summit -house the next morning, and took his noonday meal with the sisters. When -he was riding down the mountain road again he called out, on passing the -mine:</p> - -<p>"Oh, Neil Durgan—say—why did you leave those quarters? Miss Smith says -she gave you leave to stop. Are you anchoriting?"</p> - -<p>The unwilling anchorite took comfort in the thought that his discomfort -and his silence were offered to, and accepted by, a woman who, for some -inscrutable reason, seemed to stand in need of them.</p> - -<p>"None so poor but that he has something to give!" he muttered.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter VI</span> <span class="smaller">EVENTS ON DEER MOUNTAIN</span></h2> - -<p>The sisters made all their expeditions on horseback, and, on the upward -ride, the horses were commonly breathed on the zigzag of the road which -abutted on the mine. Miss Smith, who was disposed to be offended by -Durgan's quick change of residence, was dry and formal when he greeted -them; but Bertha bent kind glances upon him, and always made time to -chat. Her manner to men had the complete frankness and dignity which is -more usually acquired by older women; and she always appeared to be on -perfectly open terms with her sister. Her talk was always replete with -interest in the passing events of Deer.</p> - -<p>For the first week that Durgan delved he supposed that there were no -events on Deer Mountain. Bertha aided him to discover them. She had -fraternized closely with her solitudes, not only by directing all things -concerning the garden, fields, meadows, and live-stock of the little -summit farm,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> but also by extending her love and sympathy to the whole -mountain of Deer and to all the changes in the splendid panorama round -about.</p> - -<p>"'Nothing happens!'" cried she, playfully, echoing Durgan. "Open your -eyes, Master Miner, lest by burrowing you become a veritable mole! Can -you only recognize the thrill of events when they are printed in a -vulgar journal?"</p> - -<p>So Durgan's observation was stimulated.</p> - -<p>First, there were the events of the weather—what Bertha called the -"scene-shifting."</p> - -<p>To-day the veil of blue air would be so thin that, in a radius of many -miles, the depth of each gorge, the molding of each peak, was so clear -that the covering forest would be revealed like a carpet of fern, each -tree a distinct frond when the eye focussed upon it. The rocky -precipices would declare each cave and crevice in sharply outlined -shadow, and emerald forms far off would look so near that house and -fence and wandering paths were seen. At such an hour the Cherokee ridges -would stand like the great blue-crested waves of ocean, and the "Great -Smokies" be like clouds, turquoise-tinted, on the northern horizon.</p> - -<p>The next day the azure mists that lay always on the Georgian plain would -have crept, embracing the very spurs of Deer, hiding the modeling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> of -even the adjacent mountains as with a luminous gauze. Then only a screen -of mountainous outline could be seen, standing flat against emptiness, -of uniform tint, colored like a blue-jay's wing.</p> - -<p>Again there was nothing but vapor to be seen, here towering black, here -moving fringed with glory and lit within. May showers winged their -silver way among the mist-clouds and cleft a passing chasm for the sun.</p> - -<p>Or again, following or preceding thunder, there would be an almost -terrible clearness of the sun, and big cloud-shadows would flap from -range to range like huge black bats with sharply outlined wings.</p> - -<p>Secondly, apart from the weather, came startling events in the sphere of -what Bertha called "the crops." The term did not relate chiefly to her -cultivated land, but to all the successive forms of vegetation upon -Deer.</p> - -<p>The joy of the opening leaf rose nearer the mountain-top. Already, about -Deer Cove, the trees held out a delicate fretwork of tiny leaves between -earth and sky, and the under thickets were tipped at every point with -silver-green. All along the village street a double row of marsh maples -stood, their roots drinking at the millstream. The marsh maple differs -from its patient sisters,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> who are glorified by autumn, and, like -Passion in the house of the Interpreter, insists upon having its good -things early. These now dressed themselves gorgeously in leaflets of -crimson and pink. For a day or two this bright display, seen from afar -through the branches that surrounded Durgan's mine, looked like a garden -of tulips. Then his landscape narrowed; his own trees opened their -leaves. There were days of warm, quick rain. Suddenly the gray forest -was glorious with green; serried ranks of azure stars stood out in every -bank of moss, and the gray earth was pied with dandelion, heart's-ease, -and violet.</p> - -<p>Said Durgan, as the sisters rode by, "Summer passed me in the night, -dripping and bedraggled. She was going on to you with leaps and bounds."</p> - -<p>"'Dripping,' but not 'bedraggled,'" corrected Bertha, shaking the mist -out of her riding-gloves.</p> - -<p>"Somewhat bedraggled," insisted Durgan. "Her skirts of wild flowers and -meadow grass are already too long."</p> - -<p>But more exciting still were the events of animal life in the purlieus -of Deer. The beetles were rolling their mud-balls on the earth; the -tadpoles in the mountain ponds were putting forth feet, and the -squirrels and birds were arranging their nurseries in different nooks of -the greenery above. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> polecats prowled boldly to find provender for -their wives and little ones. A coon and its cubs were seen. But more -interesting than these, because more fully interpreted, were the members -of the baby farm over which Bertha reigned. She had calves and kids, -litters of pigs and litters of pups, a nest of gray squirrels, nests of -birds, and the kit of a wildcat, which a hunter had brought her. This -last, a small, whiskered thing, gray as a fox and striped like a tiger, -had only just opened its eyes, and must needs be fed from Bertha's hand.</p> - -<p>"I am only the grandmother of the others, for they have their own -parents," said she; "but I seem to be this one's mother, for it cries -continually when I leave it."</p> - -<p>For some weeks she carried the kit with her everywhere, even when -riding; it curled contentedly in a bag on her lap, and bid fair to be -tame.</p> - -<p>If Bertha rode out twice a day she paused four times by the mine to -exhibit the growing tameness of her pet, or to recount fresh instances -of the sagacity or prowess displayed by child or parent in her -menagerie.</p> - -<p>Durgan went up often to inspect the infant prodigies, and advise (altho -he knew nothing) about their upbringing.</p> - -<p>Durgan's own work lay exclusively in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>"mineral kingdom," and he -advanced from ignorance to some degree of skill in auguring from the -bowels of the rock. Each day's work brought its keen daily interest, -each night's sleep its quota of health and increasing cheerfulness.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter VII</span> <span class="smaller">THE GODSON POSSIBILITY</span></h2> - -<p>When young Blount paid his next visit Durgan was in a mood better to -appreciate his budget of gossip. He even contributed to it.</p> - -<p>Adam had beaten his wife, and with good cause. Durgan had himself seen a -strange nigger eating Adam's dinner, waited upon by Adam's wife. He -found time to explain to his interested cousin that the nigger was both -sickly and flashy—a mulatto, consumptive and dandified.</p> - -<p>"The worst sort of trash. What could have brought him here? There is no -such fellow belonging to the county, I'll swear."</p> - -<p>"Adam's wife is not Eve, after all, I think. She can only be Lilith; and -I wish the fates would change her for a superior." Durgan spoke -musingly.</p> - -<p>"At least I hope she'll have more sense than to take a tramping scamp -nigger like that to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> summit house," said Blount. "He's sure to be a -thief."</p> - -<p>"I'd chastise her myself if she did," said Durgan, smoking lazily.</p> - -<p>"Ah, I'm glad you feel that way, for those ladies are a real benefit to -the neighborhood, and, to tell the truth, it was on their account I came -to you now. The General sent me."</p> - -<p>Durgan smoked on. They were sitting late at the door of the hut. -Darkness was falling like a mantle over all that lay below their -precipice.</p> - -<p>Blount began again. "These ladies from the North can't realize how -little our mountain whites know of class distinctions. If you have only -seen one thing, how can you appreciate the difference between that and -another? The mountain men have lived in these hills for generations, -knowing only themselves. You have to be born and bred in the brier bush -to understand their ignorance and the self-importance that underlies -their passive behavior."</p> - -<p>"So I have heard."</p> - -<p>"But Miss Bertha will be getting herself proposed to—indeed she will. -What we are afraid of is that, on that, both sisters will be as angry -and unsettled as birds whose nest has been disturbed, and that they will -leave the place."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p><p>Durgan quite enjoyed his own thrill of curiosity. "Who?"</p> - -<p>"The Godsons, father and son—gardeners, you know—have been laying out -a new orchard for the ladies. Young Godson is as fine a fellow as we -have at the Cove; and Miss Bertha has been lending him books, helping to -some education, you know."</p> - -<p>"Yes; I have seen them passing—men with blue eyes and rather spiritual -faces—father gray, son light brown?"</p> - -<p>"Just so. Fine men if they could have had a chance to look over the -hedge of their own potato plot. Miss Bertha has made a protégé of the -son. Nothing could be more kind and proper, for she has distinction of -manner which could never be misunderstood except by the ignorant. In -this case it is doing mischief. The General thought I had better mention -it to you."</p> - -<p>"Why to me?"</p> - -<p>"Well, we're trying to work up this region. If these ladies were to -leave, it would be a distinct loss. If they stay, their friends will -visit them; there is a spell about the beauty of the place; people with -means always return."</p> - -<p>"Have they friends?"</p> - -<p>Durgan in lazy manner asked a question he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> asked two weeks before; -the answer was the same. "Very regular correspondence, I understand."</p> - -<p>"Is it the money young Godson aspires to?"</p> - -<p>"I am inclined to think it may be love, which is worse; it would create -much more feeling on both sides, for they are women of culture and -refinement. That is why we thought you might be willing to warn her."</p> - -<p>Durgan mused. He was convinced that the story of the sisters and their -solitude was not the simple reading that his cousins supposed; convinced -also that what his cousin called their "culture and refinement" was of a -higher cast, because based on higher ethical standards, than the -Blounts, father or son, would be likely to understand.</p> - -<p>"The affair is not at all in my line." Durgan spoke with haughty -indolence. "Why choose me to interfere?"</p> - -<p>"But I assure you young Godson is going ahead. I tell you I positively -heard his father chaffing him about her in the post-office; all the men -were about."</p> - -<p>"That is intolerable," said Durgan, sternly. "What did you do?"</p> - -<p>"It is not as if these men were not given to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> humorous nonsense between -themselves. I could only assume it to be nonsense."</p> - -<p>"That would make it more sufferable."</p> - -<p>"I should only have injured my own popularity, and they would have held -on their own way. And, after all, if ladies leave their family and -choose to live unprotected except by their dogs, it amounts to saying to -us and to all that they are able to protect themselves. And," added -Blount, "if they knew of this fellow's folly they could protect -themselves. The General would ride over any afternoon; but neither he -nor I am on terms to broach so delicate a subject."</p> - -<p>The answer to Durgan's question, "Why I?" was obviously, "There is no -one else." He felt disposed to consider the reason inconclusive till, -lying awake that night, he had watched many stars set, one by one, over -the purple heights. Thus pondering, he admitted that he was already in a -measure Bertha's protector. However inexplicable the circumstance which -had given him this office, he could not rid himself of its -responsibility. He did not greatly blame young Blount's lack of chivalry -in silently hearing the girl's name taken in vain. Still less did he use -the word "duty" of his own intention. He only grew more conscious that, -forlorn as his present state was, he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> stumbled into a useful -relation to this radiant and kindly fellow-creature.</p> - -<p>When the next day was declining and Durgan, having dismissed his -negroes, was preparing his evening meal, he heard Bertha's step on the -narrow trail that, hidden in rocks and shrubs, led from the summit. She -paused on a ledge that overlooked his platform, and, holding with one -arm to a young fir tree, lowered a basket on the crook of her mountain -staff. Framed in a thicket of silver azalea buds, strong and beautiful -as a sylvan nymph, she looked down at him, dangling her burden and -laughing.</p> - -<p>"Pudding!" said she in oracular tone.</p> - -<p>"For me?"</p> - -<p>"Pie!" said she.</p> - -<p>He lifted a vain hand for what was still above his reach.</p> - -<p>Then she lowered the staff with an air of resigned benevolence.</p> - -<p>"Pudding and pie. But you don't deserve them, for you were too proud to -come to supper, even when I invited you."</p> - -<p>"You must remember that to be worthy of my hire I grow stiff by -sundown."</p> - -<p>She was looking at him now with grave attention. "Have you got a -looking-glass?" she asked.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p><p>He raised his eyebrows in whimsical alarm.</p> - -<p>"If not, you may not have observed how very thin you are growing. Do not -kill yourself for hire."</p> - -<p>"I shall batten on pudding."</p> - -<p>She was retracing her steps when he recalled her. "Will you pardon a -word of warning?"</p> - -<p>She instantly descended the remainder of the path. It led her round a -clump of shrubs, and when he met her at its foot he was startled at the -change the moment's suspense had worked. She now wore the face of terror -he had seen when he caught her guarding his door in the April dawn.</p> - -<p>So surprised was he that his speech halted.</p> - -<p>She was probably not at all aware of her pallor or dilated eyes. "I am -not alarmed," she said. "What is it?" But her breath came quick.</p> - -<p>"I must apologize for what may seem an impertinence. I had a little -daughter once, and I sometimes think if she had lived she would have -looked like you—let that be my excuse."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, indeed; but what——" She almost tapped her foot in strained -impatience.</p> - -<p>Then he told her, in guarded terms, that someone had suggested that -young Godson did not understand his inferior position.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p><p>The look of health and carelessness at once returned to her cheek and -eye. "Does that matter?" she asked. "Living in an isolated place as we -do, it is desirable to cultivate friendly relations with one's kind."</p> - -<p>It now occurred to him for the first time that for some reason she might -be willing to marry below her station. The pathos of her youthful -loneliness, even with that additional haunting distress of which he had -evidence, lent color to the new idea.</p> - -<p>"Godson is a very fine young fellow; if he can obtain education he will -be most intelligent. He is manly and handsome——"</p> - -<p>"But?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"I am perhaps turning busybody in my old age. I thought I saw a -difficulty like a snake in your path. If I was mistaken, forgive."</p> - -<p>"What sort of venom did you fear?"</p> - -<p>"Presumptuous love."</p> - -<p>She stood for half a minute, her face blank with astonishment; then her -cheeks flamed; but immediately the look of vital interest died out.</p> - -<p>"Truly, I never thought of that." She bit her lip in meditation.</p> - -<p>He essayed to speak, but she held up her hand.</p> - -<p>"I do not want to know your evidence. I know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> you would not have spoken -unless there was need. Only tell me what I must do."</p> - -<p>If Durgan a minute before had felt rueful with regard to his -interference, he was now even more unprepared to meet its successful -issue.</p> - -<p>While he hesitated, she began a quick, practical statement of her case.</p> - -<p>"I do not want to estrange any friend, however humble. I stand in need -of human friends, as well as of my animals."</p> - -<p>"For protection?"</p> - -<p>The question came naturally from him; but the moment it was uttered he -perceived that she shrank slightly, as if he had broken his compact of -silence.</p> - -<p>"No; not for protection, but to keep me human. My sister has less need -for friends; her religion is everything to her, and she loves her -housekeeping. But with me it is different; I must get my mind freshened -by every human I come across, and these men have work at our place for a -month to come. I could make short work of familiarity when it came from -men who know better, but these cannot conceive that anyone is above -them, and so could not see the justice of reproof. I do not wish to hurt -them, and I dare not make them my enemies. Tell me what to do."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p><p>"If you knew me better, you would not expect me to guide you. I have -made too many mistakes of my own. My misfortunes are all my own fault."</p> - -<p>"Ah, it is only the saints who say that; commoners blame the fates or -their fellows."</p> - -<p>Durgan laughed in sudden surprise. "It is the first time I have been -proposed for such a society."</p> - -<p>"You have been very kind to me," she added impulsively; "I never -expected to find so good a friend."</p> - -<p>He wondered why she should not expect to find friends, but turned his -mind perforce to her present problem.</p> - -<p>"If you could think what it has been in your dealing with young -Godson—what avoidable touch of graciousness has set his heart on fire, -you might——"</p> - -<p>"Oh!" she cried, "I have done nothing; I have only forgotten—forgotten -that for most people 'love' and 'marriage' are interesting words. They -have no interest for me." As usual, she regretted an impulsive -confession as soon as she perceived it. "I only mean that I have no -intention of marrying—or rather, that I intend not to marry."</p> - -<p>"Such resolutions are sometimes broken."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p><p>"With me that is impossible." Her manner was growing more remote.</p> - -<p>Durgan had not a prying mind, yet he found his thought full of -questions. The more closely he observed the sisters, the less was he -able to imagine an explanation of what he saw and heard. Bertha's was a -larger intellectual outlook than her sister's, and it might seem she -would weary of her companion; but, on the contrary, there was the -closest comradeship. Miss Smith managed the house solely for Bertha's -welfare; but the petted child was not spoiled, and made every return of -unselfish devotion.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter VIII</span> <span class="smaller">THE WORDLESS LETTERS</span></h2> - -<p>Close around the little village of Deer Cove, three mountain steeps -looked down in everlasting peace; two upland valleys descended to the -village, and held on their fertile slopes many small farms and hamlets. -The houses of men employed in the saw-mill, which had created the -village, lay within a nearer circle.</p> - -<p>Of all this district the post-office at Deer Cove was the centre. The -mill belonged to the Durgan Blounts, whose summer residence lay at some -distance on the one road which threaded the descending ravine to the -county town of Hilyard. All substance and knowledge which came to Deer -Cove was hauled up this long, winding road from the unseen town, and -halted at the post-office, which was also the general store and tavern. -Thither the mill-hands, and an ever-changing group of poor whites, -repaired for all refreshment of body and mind.</p> - -<p>The rush of the stream, the whirr of the mill, the sigh of the -wind-swept woods, the never-silent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> tinkling from the herds that roam -the forests—these sounds mingled always with the constant talk that -went on in the post-office. Here news of the outer world met with scant -attention; but things concerning the region were discussed, weighed, and -measured by the standard of the place. The wealth of a housekeeper was -gauged by the goods he received direct from Hilyard and further markets, -and his social importance by the number of his letters. A steady -correspondence proved stability of connection and character; a telegram -conferred distinction.</p> - -<p>In the post-office young Blount, or even the magnificent old General -himself, would not scruple to lounge for an hour at mail time, -exchanging greetings with all who came thither. Durgan came of stiffer -stuff; he could not unbend. He was also conscious that, as he never -received letters, and as his lost lands were here little known, it was -only the reflected importance of his cousins that kept him from being -reckoned a "no account" person, and suffering the natural rudeness meted -out to such unfortunates. He preferred to rely upon Adam to bring him -his paper and such news as the village afforded. Adam went to the post -every evening for Miss Smith.</p> - -<p>There came a week of rain. The road to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>Hilyard was washed away by the -first storm. The mail accumulated there, and when at last it could be -brought to Deer, it was still raining. Durgan's cutting was flooded. -Unable to work, he had paid a visit to his cousins, and returned one -evening, through a thick cloud which clothed Deer like a cerement, to -find Adam in the hut by the mine, seated before a hot fire.</p> - -<p>In the light of the dancing flame, the big black man, all his clothes -and hair dripping and glistening, was indeed a strange picture. He was -wholly intent upon a row of papers and letters, which from time to time -he moved carefully and turned before the blaze.</p> - -<p>"It's all right, suh. I only clean done forgot to put the ladies' -lettahs in de rubber bag they give me. It's a debble of a rain to-night, -suh; it soak through all I hab, and there's a powerful lot of lettahs -to-night, suh; a whole week o' lettahs, Marse Neil, so there is."</p> - -<p>Durgan looked down at a goodly assortment of mail matter—newspapers, -missionary records, magazines, business letters from well-known stores. -In the warmest place was a row of private letters. Adam's big hands -hovered over these with awesome care.</p> - -<p>"They's the lettahs the ladies is most perjink<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> about, allus." Adam -spoke proud of his own powers of distinction. "I'se not worked for 'em -so long, suh, widout bein' able to know their 'ticlarities."</p> - -<p>"I'm proud of you, Adam." Durgan went out into the mist again and sat on -a ledge of rock.</p> - -<p>It was still daylight, but the thick mantle of cloud was gray in its -depths, toning the light to dusk. Within the circle which the mist left -visible, the jeweled verdure showed all its detail as through a conclave -lens.</p> - -<p>It was the hour at which Adam's wife usually came to set Durgan's hut in -order. Through the ghostly folds of cloud she now appeared like a -beautiful animal, cowering yet nimble, swift and silent, frightened at -the loss of all things beyond the short limit of sight, the very -pressing nearness of the unknown around the known. Framed in the -magnified detail of branch and bole and dewy leaves, Durgan saw her -arrive and pause with involuntary stealth in the fire-glow from the door -of the hut.</p> - -<p>Eve did not see Durgan. As a dog, and especially a female dog, can -worship a master, so Eve worshipped Durgan. When she fawned upon him all -her attitudes were winsome, her bright eyes soft, and a gentle play of -humor was in her features. Despite his studied indifference and -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>contempt, he had never before seen an evil look upon her face, but now -with malicious shrewdness she was observing her unconscious husband.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Adam, without turning, uttered a short yell of terror.</p> - -<p>Durgan sprang and entered with the woman.</p> - -<p>Adam rose from his stooping position—his jaw dropped, his teeth -chattering. "As I'm alive, suh, the lettahs they come open of -themselves, sittin' right here before the fire; an' they was so soppin' -I jest took the inside out to get it dry. As I'm alive, Marse Neil, suh; -the debble's in this thing. 'Tain't nowise any person but the debble as -would send ladies—very nice ladies, too—lettahs like this, with no -writin' on 'em; that's the debble all right, suh, sure enough."</p> - -<p>Durgan's gaze had fixed itself involuntarily on the sheets the man had -dropped. The envelopes which had purported to hold letters of private -friendship had, in truth, held blank paper.</p> - -<p>Assured that such was the fact, however strange, Durgan sought some -words which might quiet the terrified Adam and efface the circumstance -from Eve's frivolous mind. He could trust Adam, when quiet enough, to -obey a command of secrecy; the negress must be beguiled.</p> - -<p>But she was too quick for him. She was now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> watching his eyes, reading -there part of his interpretation, and with half-animal instinct, -perceiving that he desired to hush the matter, thought to make common -cause with him.</p> - -<p>"You's a sure enough convic' now, Adam, chil'; an' I'd like to know -who's to be s'portin' o' me when you's workin' out your time in chains. -Is you so ignorant, chil', as not to know that it's a heap an' a lot wus -to read these letters than the sort as has writin' all ovah?"</p> - -<p>The negro's terrified attitude showed some relief. "I didn't know as -there was a sort o' lettah that had no writin' on, honey. Is you sure o' -that, honey? I thought these lettahs must be a sure enough work o' the -debble."</p> - -<p>"Sure as I'm a born nigger, there is lettahs o' that sort; an' it's -hangin', or somethin' wus, to open 'em. Oh, Adam, it's a powerful -hangin' crime; an' if you's cotched in this business, what'll come to -me?"</p> - -<p>The woman paused to wipe an eye, then——</p> - -<p>"I tell you, Adam, your on'y chance o' takin' care o' me any more is -nebber so much as to speak o' these lettahs down to Deer or any other -place. Because no gen'leman or lady or decen' nigger would ever so much -as say that there was this sort o' lettah—'tain't perlite, 'cause it's -on'y the great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> folks, an' the rich, an' the eddicated, as gets 'em. -Isn't that gospel truth, Marse Neil, suh?"</p> - -<p>Durgan was listening, intent on laying a trap for the wife. He gave no -sign.</p> - -<p>But Adam, honest soul, too unsuspicious to wait for Durgan's -corroboration, spoke with steadily returning confidence. "Sure as I'm -stan'in' here, Marse Neil, suh, these lettahs opened themselves—like -that yaller flower that comes open of itself in the evenin', suh; an' -takin' of them out, I only had the contention, suh, o' dryin' the -insides of 'em; for I can't read the sort o' lettah that's written all -ovah—only the big print in the Testament; an' the min'ster that learned -me, he'll tell you the same."</p> - -<p>Eve's voice rose in the soft climax of triumph. "An' that's jest the -reason, Adam, chil', that readin' o' these lettahs is hangin', an' -workin' in chains, an' States prison, an' whippin'—all that jest 'cause -niggers like you an' me can't read the other kind." Eve was getting -beyond her depth.</p> - -<p>"You've learned me somethin' this very hour, honey," said Adam kindly, -"for I didn't know before sure enough there was this sort o' lettah; but -you degogerate now, honey, for if it's hangin', it can't be work in -chains, an' if they can't prove I can read other sort o' lettah, it's -mighty powerful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> sure they can't prove I can read these. The debble -himself can't prove that."</p> - -<p>Durgan had sealing-wax with which he fastened his samples of mica for -the post. He put the blank pages back in the envelopes and fastened them -with his own seal. Telling Adam to explain only that the flaps had come -open in wet, he dismissed him. He sat watching the negress sternly, and -she grew less confident.</p> - -<p>"Us pore slave niggers don't know nothin', Marse Neil, suh."</p> - -<p>"How old are you?" He spoke as beginning a judicial inquiry.</p> - -<p>"Us pore slave niggers don't know how old we is. I's gettin' an old -woman—I's powerful old. I wus crawlin' out an' aroun' 'fore the -'mancipation. Ole Marse Durgan, he jest naturally licked me hisself one -day when I crawled 'fore his hoss in the quarters. That's what my mammy -told me. We's all Durgans—Adam's folks an' mine."</p> - -<p>"You are no Durgan nigger. I know you. We bought you and your mother out -of bad hands." Durgan spoke roughly, but in himself he said: "Alas, who -was responsible for this creature, sly and soulless? Not herself or -those of her race!"</p> - -<p>"Have you seen letters with no writing on them before?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p><p>"Why should a pore nigger know anythin' 'bout such lettahs? If you'll -tell me how God A'mighty made the first nigger, I'll tell you as well -why these ladies gets lettahs stuffed like that, an' no sooner—an' -that's gospel truth, Marse Neil, suh. I's got nothin' to do with white -folks' lettahs."</p> - -<p>He was sure now that she knew no more than what she had just seen, and -had drawn no inference.</p> - -<p>She gave way to tears, realizing that he did not approve of the address -with which she had managed Adam.</p> - -<p>"Marse Neil, Adam's a powerful low down nigger, Adam is. He's a no -account darkie, is Adam. You know yourself, suh, how he laid on to me -t'other night."</p> - -<p>"If he had let you go off with a thieving yellow coon like that other -nigger, you might say Adam was unkind—kindest thing he could do to beat -you!"</p> - -<p>She was so pretty she could not believe any man would really side with -her husband against her. "Oh, yes, Marse Neil, suh; I don't go for to -say as a darkie shouldn't beat his wife—any decen' Durgan nigger would, -suh; but the thing that's low down, an' dreffle mean, an' no account -'bout Adam is that he don't know when to stop. Lickin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>—that's all -right, suh; but when a nigger goes on so long, an' me yellin' on him all -the time—oh, Adam, he's a low down feller an' dreffle mean."</p> - -<p>"You did more yelling than he did beating. He was crying all the time. I -don't believe he hurt you—but go on."</p> - -<p>Her tears were unfeigned: she cared only to regain Durgan's good-will.</p> - -<p>"Go on with what, suh?"</p> - -<p>"With what you were telling me."</p> - -<p>There had certainly been no sequence discernible.</p> - -<p>"Well, marsa, a poor girl's like me don't go for to tell lies for -nothin'. Nex' time Adam holds a stick over me, I's got the States prison -to hold over him. An' you's mistaken, marsa, honey, in sayin' as he -didn't maul me black an' blue, for he did, suh—not that it wasn't right -an' just this time, as you say so, marsa; but for nex' time I mus' have -a way for to 'scuse myself to him. So you won't go for to tell him it -isn't hangin', will you, marsa, honey, suh?"</p> - -<p>The softness and assumed penitence of the low wail with which she ended -made Durgan laugh aloud. "Look here. Look me straight in the face!"</p> - -<p>She could do that very well, raising her soft,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> doe-like eyes to his, -then fringing them with her lashes as an accomplished beauty might. -Durgan was so angry with her on Adam's account, that he forgot that his -first object was to secure her silence.</p> - -<p>"You've got a good husband and a good home. If you ar'n't good to Adam -after this, I'll despise you. Do you understand?"</p> - -<p>"Don't speak to me so sharp, marsa." There was already a little edge of -malice in the velvet of her voice.</p> - -<p>"Now, about these letters—if I catch you ever speaking of them again, -I'll tell Adam you've lied to him, and why. I'll tell him all about you, -and he'll never trust you again. Do you understand?"</p> - -<p>"An' if I don't tell nothin' you ain't disposed on, Marse Neil, honey?"</p> - -<p>"Then I'll be kind to you, and let Adam think you're better than you -are."</p> - -<p>But the negress, turning to her work in the hut, no longer moved about -him with liquid eyes and joyful steps, as a happy spaniel does. Beneath -her calmer demeanor he saw the shade of sullenness, and still heard the -edge of malice in her voice.</p> - -<p>"I have been a fool," thought he. "She would have managed better in my -place." Then he dismissed her from his thoughts.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter IX</span> <span class="smaller">THE SPECTRE IN THE FOREST</span></h2> - -<p>The letters Durgan resealed had each borne a different handwriting; they -had not all come from New York. The sheets could hardly have been -covered with invisible ink, having been subjected to both water and fire -with no result. These, apparently, were the letters which came to the -sisters with marked regularity.</p> - -<p>"These ladies are hiding," said Durgan to himself. "This is a device of -their New York lawyers to save them from remark." He was unable to -associate trickery with the sisters.</p> - -<p>In considering Bertha's strong repudiation of future marriage, he began -to suppose that she might be already unhappily married and hiding from -some villain who held her in legal control. But, in that case, why was -she more at ease when riding than at home, and why did she betray fear -of some danger close at hand?</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p><p>With nightfall the rain-cloud sank down, and the moon, floating above -in an empty sky, showed clear on the mountain-tops. The rock wall above -and below Durgan's camp glistened with silver facets, and the wet forest -all about shimmered with reflected light.</p> - -<p>But, beautiful as was the shining island of Deer in its close converse -with the queen of night, it was not so strange a sight as the upper -moon-lit levels of the vast cloud which was floating a hundred feet -below.</p> - -<p>Durgan went up the trail, passed the vine-hung house, and climbed the -highest eminence.</p> - -<p>The cloud was composed of perpendicular layers of mist, the upper crests -of which rolled in ridge over ridge before the wind—a strong surge of -deepest foam. So white was each wave that only in its deep recess was -there a touch of shadow. The whiteness was dazzling; the silence -absolute.</p> - -<p>The adjacent mountain-tops were black islands in mid-ocean.</p> - -<p>The silence seemed a terrible thing to the cheated sense of sight. The -cloud breakers curled upon the sides of Deer, broke in fragments like -windblown froth, curled back, and broke again, as if lashing the rocks -and forest trees. Up the deep channel of the valley the waves rolled on -with a steady rhythm and fall of surf that should have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> filled the -mountain spaces with its thunder. Across the shining flood, against the -black shoulders of opposite shores, the same surf tossed and fell. Yet -there was no echo far or near, or murmur; only the hush of a phantom -world.</p> - -<p>Durgan stood long on a portion of the mountain-top which was covered -with short, scrubby oak in young leaf, fascinated by the mighty movement -and intense silence.</p> - -<p>A rustle came near him amongst the covert. He looked down and stroked -the head of one of Bertha's great dogs. He saw the mistress coming: she -was cloaked and hooded. It was the hood, perhaps, that hindered her -observing him till she was very near.</p> - -<p>She uttered a cry of undisguised terror, throwing out her arm, as if to -ward off an expected blow.</p> - -<p>This movement of defense, so instinctive, told Durgan more than any tale -of woe the lips could frame. He was confounded by such evidence of some -scene or scenes of past cruelty.</p> - -<p>"Now, in the name of Heaven," he cried, "what do you fear? You know that -the dogs would allow no mortal to injure you or yours. Is it some -murderous spectre of whom you stand in dread?"</p> - -<p>She regained a quiet pose, but seemed dazed by the unexpected fright.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p><p>"A murderous spectre! What do you mean? Why do you use that phrase, Mr. -Durgan?"</p> - -<p>"The words are pure nonsense. I used them to show you how baseless your -fear appears. But I speak now in earnest to say that you ought not to -come out at night alone if you are thus alarmed."</p> - -<p>"But I am perfectly safe with the dogs."</p> - -<p>"Just so. Then why were you afraid?"</p> - -<p>"I—I—in that shawl mistook you for——" She came to a final pause.</p> - -<p>He remembered now that, to shield himself from the drenched verdure, he -had wrapped a camp blanket around him.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I certainly cut a queer figure—like an old wife; but, pardon my -insistence, it is not good for any woman to be so terror-stricken as you -were just now. That you are safe from danger with the dogs I truly -think; but fear itself is injurious. If you are not safe from unruly -fears, why roam where you invite them? It is always possible to meet a -stranger."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I am not afraid of travelers."</p> - -<p>"Any shadow may assume a fantastic form."</p> - -<p>"But I am really not afraid of odd appearances."</p> - -<p>"Then why were you afraid of my blanket?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p><p>But her caution returned. With inconsequence and a touch of reproach -she said: "You would rather have the mountain all to yourself, I -believe."</p> - -<p>"I should be twice desolate. But that has nothing to do with my request -that you should keep where you not only are, but feel, safe."</p> - -<p>"But if my fears are the result of my own imagination, why should any -place be better?"</p> - -<p>"You are fencing with me now. If you could tell me what it is you -fear——"</p> - -<p>She walked by his side as if thinking what she might answer him. "You -used a phrase when you just spoke—what put it into your mind?—which -perhaps expressed what I fear as literally as words can."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean by endorsing such foolish words?"</p> - -<p>"Your regard—your friendship, for us, is a very great comfort to us -both—the best boon that Providence, if there be a Providence, could -have sent us. Yet you have forced me to say what forfeits your regard."</p> - -<p>"That would be impossible. Our regard for one another is based solidly -upon that touch of good principle which makes the whole world -neighbors."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p><p>"Ah! I am glad you say that. It is so comfortable to know your -benevolence does not depend on our worth. Long ago, and I would have -resented such an intimation from anyone; now it gives me the same sort -of comfort that a good fire does or, say, a good pudding."</p> - -<p>She was regaining her spirits; but there was still a tense ring in her -voice which meant intense sincerity.</p> - -<p>"Your regard for me has the same basis," said he; and added soon: "I am -greatly in earnest in what I say; you ought not to put yourself in the -path of fears you cannot master."</p> - -<p>"I thank you for the advice. What exactly was it that happened to our -letters to-night?"</p> - -<p>He ascertained that Adam had given his meagre message discreetly. He -could now have comforted her easily with half the truth, but he told all -briefly—in whose hands was the keeping of the curious fact of the blank -letters, and why he judged it comparatively safe.</p> - -<p>Bertha pushed the hood from her head, as if she felt suffocated. She sat -down upon a fragment of rock on the verge of the hill, and they both -gazed at the silent rolling of the cloud beneath.</p> - -<p>"Tricks are folly, and deserve detection," she said at length. "Silence -is the only noble form of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> concealment. Yet our friend, who is a lawyer, -told us that if we came here obviously as friendless as we are, rumor -would have been cruel. It would have worried our reputation as a dog -worries a rat. Every face we met would have been full of suspicion, -and—surely it is right to shun morbid conditions?"</p> - -<p>Durgan stood uneasy. "People often drop almost all correspondence -through indolence," he suggested.</p> - -<p>"My sister permitted the trick, I think, simply for my sake. She was -distressed by your seals and hearing that the letters had come open. I -shall be able to tell her it did not happen at the post-office."</p> - -<p>"I should have thought your sister would have trusted her fate in God's -hands with perfect resignation."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I think she does. She has great faith in God."</p> - -<p>After another pause, he said: "You were so good as to ask me the other -day for advice; will you take an old man's advice now and go home to -bed? All things appear more reasonable by daylight, and the more you -tire yourself, the more you are likely to see the circumstances of life -in distorted shape."</p> - -<p>She answered with an anger that leaped beyond<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> her more tardy -self-control. "You know no more than my dogs do what I can and cannot -do, what it is drives me here to-night, or what it is that I fear."</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon."</p> - -<p>Penitent in a moment, she said: "You are truly kind, Mr. Durgan. I am so -glad that we have a neighbor, and that he should be what you are."</p> - -<p>"I wish, since you are in misery, that he could have been one in whom -you could confide, who could perhaps help."</p> - -<p>She stood wrapping her cloak closer about her. "Let me be petulant when -I want to be petulant, mysterious when I must, tragic when I must, gay -when I can. Let my moods pass you as the winds pass. If you can do this -and preserve a secret, you will do more than any other human being could -or would." She waited a moment, and added: "I have trusted you from the -first to do this; I do not know why."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter X</span> <span class="smaller">A SKELETON IN THE FIRE</span></h2> - -<p>The mountains now burst into midsummer. Bloom, color, and fragrance -reigned; also heat and drought. The cups of the tulip tree, the tassels -of the chestnut, lit the leafy canopy. The covert of azaleas blazed on -the open slopes in all shades of red and yellow. In every crevice by the -trickling streams rhododendrons lined the glades with garlands of purple -and white.</p> - -<p>The hidden house of the sisters was embowered in climbing roses and the -passion flower. It was surrounded by gorgeous parterres, and the -tendrils of the porch vines hung still, or only fluttered at sundown. -There was no vapor at dawn or eve in gorge or on mountain-top. A dry -blue haze like wood smoke dulled light and shade in the myriad hills. -They looked like a vast perspectiveless painting by some prentice Titan, -who had ground his one color from the pale petals of the wild hydrangea. -Some clouds there were—ragged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> towers, tinted in the light browns and -pinks of seashells. They tottered round the far horizon in fantastic -trains, but came no nearer. The very azure of the sky was faded by the -heat of the sun.</p> - -<p>All moss and low wild flowers had long withered; the earth under the -forest was hot and dry. The whole region basked, and from all the -valleys a louder and more ceaseless tinkling rose from the herds of pigs -and oxen who roamed for meagre provender.</p> - -<p>One afternoon Durgan and his laborers heard a cry. It was the voice of -Adam. They heard him crash through the brushwood above them.</p> - -<p>"Fire!" yelled Adam, and crashed back toward the summit house.</p> - -<p>Durgan outran his men, and was relieved to find the evil not beyond hope -of redress. Smoke was issuing from one corner of the roof of the -dwelling-house; no flame as yet, but the roof was of shingle, like -tinder in the sun.</p> - -<p>The ladies, with admirable skill and courage, had already organized -their forces—Adam pumping, Bertha and Eve stationed on the path from -the well, Miss Smith, the most agile, taking the bucket at the door and -running up the stair. Thither Durgan followed, leaving his men to -Bertha's command. The fire was smouldering between the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>ceiling of the -kitchen and a pile of papers and books which lay on the floor far under -the sloping roof of the low attic. Miss Smith had been wise enough to -move nothing. The solid parcels of periodicals kept out the air, and she -was dashing the water on the roof and floor.</p> - -<p>With the added help smoke soon ceased. It remained to investigate the -cause of the fire, which was not obvious, to make sure that the rest of -the house was safe, and undo as far as possible the injury of the water, -which, spreading itself on the attic floor, had poured into the bedrooms -below.</p> - -<p>While the negroes were carrying out the parcels of printed matter, wet -and charred, Durgan moved about in all the recesses of the house, -examining the walls, lifting wet furniture on to the sunny veranda roof, -and otherwise helping to modify the unaccustomed disorder.</p> - -<p>While thus engaged, he realized how strongly had grown upon him a fancy -that these lonely women might be harboring some insane person, whose -escape and violence they might justly dread. He must now smile at -himself for thinking that any source of terror lurked here in visible -shape. As he followed Miss Smith from one simple room to another, -creeping under the very eaves of the roof and feeling the temperature of -every wall and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> shelf, he certainly assured himself that neither the -skeleton nor its closet was of material sort.</p> - -<p>He was struck with the orderly and cheerful arrangement of the house, -with the self-control, speed, and good sense the sisters had displayed; -but most of all was he surprised that the excitement and effort had -unnerved them so little. When the hour for relaxation came, they -appeared neither talkative nor moody; they neither shed tears nor were -unusually cheerful. In his married life he had had some experience of -women's nerves. This calm, practical way of taking a narrow escape from -great loss roused his admiration.</p> - -<p>Many bundles of papers were too much damaged to be worth keeping. Durgan -had a use for these in a stove his laborers used, and, after Miss Smith -had looked them over, they were carted down to the mine. Durgan sorted -them, storing some old magazines and more solid papers for future use.</p> - -<p>He soon found the covers of an old book, tied together over a collection -of parchment envelopes. These in turn contained newspaper clippings -still legible. Each envelope had its contents marked outside; they were -the reports of a number of criminal trials, extending over a number of -years, cut from American, English, and other European papers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> Durgan -was at once convinced that neither of the sisters could have been -interested in the collection, and, assuming it to be the work of some -dead relative, he reflected for the first time how rarely they spoke of -family ties. It was true that Bertha would sometimes say: "My dear -father would have enjoyed this view—would have liked this flower," or -"Dear papa would have said this or that." He remembered how her voice -would soften over these sacred memories, and remembered, too, how they -always came to her among the beauties of nature, never in domestic -surroundings. Such a father would scarcely have been so much interested -in annals of crime.</p> - -<p>Sitting by the lamp in his hut, Durgan went over the envelopes. The -first was dated ten years before; it contained the notorious Claxton -trial, reported by the <i>New York Tribune</i>. The next was the case of the -Wadham pearls, from the London <i>Times</i>. Durgan was not familiar with the -case, and became interested in the story of the girl, very young and -beautiful, who, being above temptation of poverty and above reproach, -had been sentenced, on convincing evidence, for theft and perjury. The -common interest in these cases obviously was that in both the accused -was a gentlewoman, and the evidence overwhelming, altho<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> chiefly -circumstantial. The cases that came after did not follow this thread of -connection. They were stories of such crimes as may almost be considered -accidental, in which respectable people fall a prey to unexpected -temptation or sudden mania. The last selection was from the <i>Galignani -Messenger</i>. It was the case of a parish priest, apparently a -<i>dilettante</i> and esthetic personage of highly religious temperament, who -was condemned for having killed his sister with sudden brutality, and -who gave the apparently insane excuse that, seeing her in the dusk, he -had thought her a spirit, and been so terrified that he knew not what he -did. The date of this last story was only about three years after the -first.</p> - -<p>Next day, when Bertha passed by on her horse, Durgan told her what he -had found.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I am sure we don't want them," said she. "Burn them with the rest."</p> - -<p>She was wearing a deep sun-bonnet; he could hardly see her face in its -shade.</p> - -<p>Durgan had very naturally tried to fit the circumstances of any of these -stories of crime to a domestic tragedy which might have resulted in the -hiding of these sisters and in Bertha's fears; but none of them seemed -to meet the case, nor did any story he could devise.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p><p>Since the opening of the letters, and Bertha's words in the moonlight, -he had wondered more than once whether she believed in some ghostly -enemy. Durgan had been rudely jostled against such fantasies in his -domestic experience. His wife was nominally a spiritualist, and altho he -was inclined, from knowledge of her character, to suppose her faith more -a matter of convenience than of conviction, he had reason to think that -the man who had long dominated her life under the guise of a spiritual -instructor was, or had been, entirely convinced of his own power to -communicate with the spirit world. This man had believed himself to see -apparitions and hear voices. Durgan did not believe such experiences to -be spiritual, but gave more weight to the question of such a belief in -Bertha than if he had not already rubbed against the dupe of such a -monomania.</p> - -<p>The subject was not a pleasant one, yet, in connection with this painful -theme, Durgan resolved to speak to Bertha in the hope of inducing -confidence and perhaps driving away her fears.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XI</span> <span class="smaller">THE MYSTERIOUS 'DOLPHUS</span></h2> - -<p>For a few days after the fire at the summit house some of the mountain -folk from far and near took occasion to ride up to the scene of the -excitement, "to visit with" the ladies, and hear that the bruit of the -matter had greatly magnified it. They were an idle, peaceful people; a -little thing diverted them.</p> - -<p>The road by the mine was thus unusually gay; yet Durgan kept a more or -less jealous watch, and at last caught sight of the yellow negro who a -month before had visited Eve. He was dressed like a valet, in an odd -mixture of clothes from the wardrobes of a gentleman and a groom. His -features were small and regular; his long side-whiskers had an air of -fashion which did not conceal the symptoms of some chronic disease.</p> - -<p>"Ho!" cried Durgan; "where are you going?"</p> - -<p>The darkie stopped with a submissive air, almost cringing as one -accustomed to danger.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p><p>"What is your name?"</p> - -<p>"'Dolphus, sir—'Dolphus Courthope."</p> - -<p>"Courthope?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir—from New Orleans. Mr. Courthope was very rich and had a great -many slaves." He spoke correctly, with a Northern accent.</p> - -<p>"<i>You</i> never saw slavery," said Durgan in scorn. "You have no right to -that name."</p> - -<p>"No, sir; my father and mother gave me that name. They belonged to Mr. -Courthope."</p> - -<p>"You were here before."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir; I came last month, but I went back to Hilyard. I came looking -for"—there was just a perceptible pause—"the Miss Smiths; but I -thought I'd come to the wrong place."</p> - -<p>Durgan felt at a loss. On Adam's account he could have ordered the man -off, but he had no right to inquire into his errand to the Smiths.</p> - -<p>"I'm a respectable boy, sir. I'm not going to do any harm. I've got -business." The darkie made this answer to Durgan's look of suspicion, -and spoke with apparent knowledge of the world and confidence in the -importance of his errand.</p> - -<p>"See that you don't get into mischief!" With this curt dismissal Durgan -stepped back into his own place.</p> - -<p>In some minutes, when he heard the watchdog<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> barking above, he went up -the short foot-trail, expecting to reach the house with the negro, but -nearing it, saw no one without.</p> - -<p>From the open windows he heard Bertha's voice raised in excitement. "I -will not leave you alone with him, Hermie, you need not ask it. He can -have nothing to say that I should not hear."</p> - -<p>As Durgan drew nearer he heard Bertha again, this time with a sob of -distress in her voice. "I don't care what he says or does; I will brave -anything rather."</p> - -<p>"Birdie, darling, you are very, very foolish!" Miss Smith's voice was -raised above her natural tone, but was much calmer.</p> - -<p>Durgan's step was on the wooden verandah.</p> - -<p>Doors and windows were all open to the summer heat. The sisters were -standing in the low sitting-room. The negro, hat in hand, stood in a -properly respectful attitude near the door. As before, his manner -suggested that he was a servant and had no aspiration beyond his sphere.</p> - -<p>"I saw that fellow come up the road," said Durgan. "I do not know, of -course, what his errand is here; but I thought I ought to tell you that -Adam told me that he had got no regular job, and that he had found him -idling around a month ago with no apparent reason."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, sir; I was trying to discover from Adam's wife who it was that -lived up here; but she told me so many fixings out of her head about -these ladies that I come to the conclusion they wasn't the ladies I was -looking for. Miss Smith knows me, sir; and I've been very ill -lately—the doctor tells me I'm not long to live."</p> - -<p>"Oh, you folks always think you're dying if you've got a cold. You're -begging, I see."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir; I was asking this lady to help me. I'm dying of consumption, -sir."</p> - -<p>The man's manner was quiet enough. Durgan saw that both the sisters were -intensely excited. The elder had her emotion perfectly under control; -the younger looked almost fierce in the strain of some distress. What -surprised him was that his protection was equally unwelcome to both. He -could see, spite of their thanks, that, in trouble as they were, their -first desire now was that he should be gone.</p> - -<p>"I do not trust this man," Durgan said. "I would rather stay within call -till you dismiss him."</p> - -<p>"I'm all right, sir," said the darkie, again respectfully.</p> - -<p>"He won't do us any harm," cried Bertha eagerly.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p><p>"I know who he is," said Miss Smith; "I know him to be unfortunate, Mr. -Durgan."</p> - -<p>Yet Durgan saw dismay written on Bertha's face as surely as if they had -been attacked by open violence.</p> - -<p>"Birdie, go out with Mr. Durgan and wait. You cannot be afraid to leave -me while he is near."</p> - -<p>"I will not! I will not!" cried the younger, with more vehemence than -seemed necessary. So excited was she that she stamped her foot as she -spoke.</p> - -<p>The tension was relieved by what seemed propriety on the stranger's -part.</p> - -<p>"I'll go away, then," he said. "I don't want to make the young lady cry. -I sha'n't make you any trouble, ladies." He backed out to where Durgan -stood on the verandah.</p> - -<p>"Wait, I'll give you something," said Miss Smith. "You ought to have -good food." She went to her desk, and came out giving him a folded -bank-note.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, ma'am. Good-day." He went on a few steps and looked back, as -if expecting Durgan to conduct him off the premises.</p> - -<p>"I'd be much obliged, sir, if you'd show me the short way—I'm weak, -sir."</p> - -<p>Durgan indicated the trail, and followed to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> make sure that the negro -did not return through the bushes.</p> - -<p>As they went, Durgan saw him unfold the bank-note and take from inside a -slip of written paper.</p> - -<p>The mulatto went steadily down the mountain, without so much as looking -at the kitchen door, whence Eve was regarding him with eager interest.</p> - -<p>Adam had been in the meadow at the time of this incident. When going -down to the post-office on his regular evening errand, he stopped to ask -Durgan if the "yaller boy" had any genuine errand. And on the way up he -stopped again, with trouble in his eyes, to give the information that -'Dolphus was spending the night there, and had suggested staying in this -salubrious spot for his health.</p> - -<p>Durgan discovered that Adam and his own negro laborers regarded the -sickly and tawdry New Yorker as a peculiarly handsome specimen of their -race—quite the gentleman, and irresistibly attractive to any -negress—and that they agreed in denouncing his looks and manners solely -on account of the possibly vagrant affections of their own women.</p> - -<p>Durgan believed the stranger's errand to be purely mercenary, and feared -that he was levying some sort of blackmail on Miss Smith. He feared, -too, that Eve was abetting.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XII</span> <span class="smaller">THE SECRET OF THE OAK</span></h2> - -<p>Next morning Bertha rode down to the village. Later, Durgan heard that -she had visited 'Dolphus, taken pains to get him a more comfortable -lodging, and left him a basket of sundry nourishing foods. More than -this, she had sat and talked with him in a friendly way for quite an -hour. When she passed up the hill again, Durgan observed that she -appeared calm and contented. She stopped to give him an invitation.</p> - -<p>"My sister requires your attendance at supper o'clock this evening—no -excuse accepted."</p> - -<p>"Why <i>this</i> evening?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"For two reasons. First, we are very grateful for your kindness -yesterday, and sister wanted to 'make up.' Secondly, she was making your -favorite chicken salad. Perhaps you think that is all one reason, but -the second part makes your acceptance imperative, as the salad will be -already made."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p><p>At sundown Durgan surrendered himself to the attractions of the -gracious sisters and the delicacies of their table.</p> - -<p>When Adam and his wife had been dismissed, and the three were sitting on -the darkling verandah, watching the vermilion west, Miss Smith reminded -them that she had the bread to "set" for next day. Bertha and Durgan -were playing cards. She went through the dining-room to the kitchen at -the back of the house. She was not gone long, barely half an hour; the -sky had scarcely faded and the lamp but just been lit, when she came -back calm and gentle as ever.</p> - -<p>Durgan was not calm. He felt his hand tremble as he brought from the -shelf a book which Bertha had asked for.</p> - -<p>Ten minutes before a contention had arisen between himself and Bertha as -to the time of the moon's rising. To satisfy himself he had walked on -the soft grass as far as the gable of the house nearest his footpath. -Watching a moment in the shadow, he had heard a movement in the wood. As -the first moon-rays lit the gloom he saw the figure of a woman standing -on the low bough of an old oak and reaching a long arm toward an upper -branch. All the oaks here were stunted and easy to climb. That this was -Adam's wife he did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> doubt, till, when she had lightly jumped down, -he discerned that she was returning attended by the dogs.</p> - -<p>Durgan went back hastily lest Bertha should follow him. He reported only -the rising of the moon. A moment's thought convinced him that he had -been invited that evening for the purpose of keeping Bertha from the -knowledge of her sister's excursion. No one but Miss Smith could have -taken the dogs. He guessed that she had fulfilled some promise to the -boy, 'Dolphus—some promise given him on the slip of paper in the -bank-note, of putting money where he might seek it. Amazing as the -method resorted to was, Durgan felt no doubt that Miss Smith's action -was wise and right in her own eyes, but he was convinced that she was -putting herself in danger.</p> - -<p>He lingered a little while, not knowing what to do. Then he spoke of -'Dolphus, taking occasion to explain the extreme distrust he felt -concerning the man and the degraded nature which so many of this class -had exhibited.</p> - -<p>Both sisters seemed interested, but not greatly.</p> - -<p>"Of course, we never thought whether we liked or disliked him," cried -Bertha. "That is not the way one thinks of men like that. We knew him -to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> have been unfortunate; and he is certainly very ill."</p> - -<p>Miss Smith said, with a kind smile lighting up her face: "I think, Mr. -Durgan, you don't mean that even a 'thieving yellow nigger' hasn't an -immortal soul. Even if we can't get real religion into his mind, we can -show him kindness which must help him to believe in the mercy of -God—not" (she added in humble haste) "that I have ever been kind to -him, but I guess Birdie tried to be this morning."</p> - -<p>Durgan was never far from the thought that the slave-owning race was -responsible for the very existence of a people who had been nourished -and multiplied in their homes for the sake of gain.</p> - -<p>"Not only for the soul he has, but for the diseased body of him, for all -that he suffers and for all the injury he does—he and all his -class——" Durgan stopped. Both women were looking at him inquiringly. -"Before God I take my share of the blame and shame of it. But it is one -thing to be guilty, and another to know how to make reparation. Take an -illustration from the brood of snakes in the cliff here. In some slight -way you are responsible even for their existence, for you ought to have -had the parents killed. But you cannot benefit this brood by kindness; -you would wrong<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> the world by protecting them. Believe me, I have been -reared among these people; I know the good and bad of them; a -rattlesnake is less dangerous than a man like this 'Dolphus. While I -would defend such fellows as Adam with my life, if need be, I believe -that I should do the best thing for the world in killing such creatures -as 'Dolphus and Adam's wife. While such as I ought to bear the -punishment of their sins and our own in the next world, the best -reparation we could make in this world would be to slaughter them."</p> - -<p>Bertha had listened, fascinated by his most unusual earnestness of -manner. But at the last words she rose hastily and went out with averted -face. The tardy moon was now high. They saw her pacing the walk between -the tall sides of the garden beds.</p> - -<p>Miss Smith watched her a moment with eyes of loving solicitude, then -said, "I'm sure you think you're speaking right down truth, Mr. Durgan, -but, you see, <i>I'm</i> a Christian, and I b'lieve the Lord Jesus died for -'Dolphus and Eve, and not for rattlers. That makes all the difference."</p> - -<p>"And yet it is a fact that, among the men and women for whom He died, -there are fires of evil which can only burn themselves out."</p> - -<p>"All things are possible with God," said she.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p><p>He made no reply. He was always impressed by the spiritual strength of -this delicate woman. After a moment's pause it occurred to him to ask -simply—</p> - -<p>"What is your sister frightened of—I mean at different times? She seems -to suffer from fears."</p> - -<p>Slowly she raised her faded blue eyes to him with a look of deep sorrow -and puzzled inquiry. "I don't know. She won't talk to me about -it—Bertha won't."</p> - -<p>"But surely——"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I ought to know all she thinks, and be able to help her. Perhaps I -know there may be something I won't admit to myself. But, Mr. Durgan, -I'm real glad if she talks to you, for it's bad for her to be so -lonesome. She had a great shock once, Bertha had. If you can make her -talk to you, it'll do her good, Mr. Durgan."</p> - -<p>Durgan obediently went out, and walked a few minutes with Bertha in the -further shadow of the garden.</p> - -<p>"Why did you say it?" she asked. "How could you talk of it being good to -kill anyone?"</p> - -<p>"My child!" he exclaimed, and then, more calmly, "you know well what I -meant. We all know perfectly that there is a leprosy of soul as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> well as -of body, for which on this side death we see no cure, of which even God -must see that the world would be well rid. We cannot act on our belief; -we leave it in His hands."</p> - -<p>"Don't say it! Don't even hint at such a thing again!" In a moment she -exclaimed, in a voice of tears, "What does God care? Ah me! when I look -back and see my childhood—such high hope, such trustful prayer! Who -gave that heart of hope but the God of whom you speak? Who taught the -little soul the courage to trust and pray? And the hope is dead, the -courage crushed, the prayers—may my worst enemy be saved from such -answer, if answer there is, to prayer!"</p> - -<p>She leaned her head against a tree, sobbing bitterly.</p> - -<p>He supposed that 'Dolphus, bringing memories of a previous time, had -unnerved her.</p> - -<p>"You had a happy childhood." He spoke soothingly, hardly with -interrogation.</p> - -<p>She looked up fiercely. "You call God a father! It was my father who -taught me to pray. He—ah! you cannot think how beautiful he was, how -loving, how fond of all beautiful things! He taught me to pray for him. -He said that he could not pray for himself—that he had no faith. I -knelt by his knee every day, and prayed, as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> taught me, for him and -for sister and for myself, but most of all for him. Then Hermie became -religious—dear, gentle, self-denying sister—and I cannot doubt that -she spent half her time in prayer for him because he wasn't converted."</p> - -<p>"And he died?" asked Durgan.</p> - -<p>"Yes; he died." It seemed to him that she shuddered.</p> - -<p>"Had you ever anything to do with people who believe that the dead can -return to speak to us, or appear to us?"</p> - -<p>She raised her head and looked at him with interest.</p> - -<p>"I once knew a man," continued Durgan, "who believed in such things, who -saw such visions."</p> - -<p>"Do you mean the man called Charlton Beardsley?"</p> - -<p>Durgan was much surprised by hearing the name of his wife's protégé from -such a source. "I should not have supposed that you had ever even heard -his name. When he came to this country you must have been at school."</p> - -<p>"I had just left school. Tell me what he was like. Was he bad or good?"</p> - -<p>"I thought him simple, and much mistaken."</p> - -<p>"Was he a wicked man?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p><p>"I did not think him so then; I have not seen him since."</p> - -<p>"He lives with Mrs. Durgan now, and is a great invalid. Surely you must -know if he is a wicked man?"</p> - -<p>"Was it the Blounts who told you about him?"</p> - -<p>"Yes—Mr. Blount mentioned it before you came"—he thought her words -came with hesitation—"but I have wanted to ask you. He was called a -mesmerist, too—do you believe that one man's will could possess another -person, and make that person do—well, any wicked thing?"</p> - -<p>"There was some talk about what was called 'mesmerism' among Beardsley's -followers. He had nothing to do with it, I think. I do not believe in -one man controlling another to the extent you speak of. If it can -happen, it is so rare as not to be worth thought."</p> - -<p>She sat silently thinking.</p> - -<p>And he was egotistic enough to suppose that the unkindness of mentioning -his wife might now occur to her! But when she spoke again he saw that -she was only absorbed in her own thoughts.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you are right." She sighed.</p> - -<p>He said, "I am surprised to find your former life and mine have ever -touched so nearly as that we should have taken interest in the same man. -He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> was not a public medium—only known to a very few people. I spoke of -his seeing ghosts only because I wanted an opportunity to ask you if you -were frightened of ghosts."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no; I am not. I have been better taught than that. Why should you -ask?"</p> - -<p>"I see I should be ashamed of asking such a question."</p> - -<p>"Ah! I understand. I talk so wildly at times, I have been so foolishly, -childishly talkative, that you think me capable of any folly. You cannot -despise me as I despise myself; but—oh, Mr. Durgan—at times I am very -unhappy. If I were not terribly afraid to die, my greatest fear would -sometimes be that I should live another day. It is not melodrama; it is -not hysterics; it is the plain, sober truth; but I am sorry that I have -let you know it."</p> - -<p>Then, saying good-night, she added, "I have the best sister in the -world. I want to live bravely and be happy for her sake; and you can -best help me by forgetting what I have said and done. I had the best -father in the world: by the memory of your lost daughter, help me to be -worthy of him."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XIII</span> <span class="smaller">A SOB IN THE DARK</span></h2> - -<p>When Durgan had said good-night to the sisters, he made the warm -moonlight night an excuse for wandering. He sat down a little way off, -able to watch the lights in the house, and also the stunted oak into -whose keeping he had seen Miss Smith confide something. He felt pretty -sure that, as soon as the house was shut up for the night, the dogs as -usual within, 'Dolphus would appear to take money from the tree.</p> - -<p>The house was closed; the curtained windows ceased to glow; but no one -climbed the tree.</p> - -<p>The oaks were on rocky, windy ground, the old trees gnarled and -conspicuous above the denser growth of low shrub. The thought of spying -on any of Miss Smith's plans was revolting; his only wish was to see -that the negro did not approach the house. He felt at last compelled to -descend to this tree, to be sure that no one lurked near it. He had -marked it by a peculiar fork in its upper part,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> but he lost sight of -this fork on entering the thin wood, and moved about carefully for some -time before he found it, and then no one was to be seen. He stood -nonplused, wondering how long he ought to guard the house.</p> - -<p>The white light fell on the small leaves and the gray moss and lichen -which covered the oak branches. It cast sharp interlacing shadows -beneath. The under thicket was of those small, aromatic azaleas which -can put forth their modest pink and white blossoms in sterile places. To -these bushes has been given a rare, sweet scent, to console them for -lack of splendor. Durgan's senses were lulled by this scent, by the soft -air and glamor of light. He stood a long while, not unwillingly, intent -upon every sight and sound. No hint of any human presence came near him.</p> - -<p>It seemed to him at length that he heard steps a long way down the hill -on the cart-road. He thought he heard voices.</p> - -<p>Now he felt sure the negro was coming, and he was exceedingly angry to -believe that Eve was with him. Who else could be there? He shuddered to -think that this false, soulless creature knew every door and window in -the house, every soft place in the hearts of her mistresses, perhaps -every fear they entertained. With her to help, and with some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> prior -knowledge of the sisters' secret as the basis of his operations, what -tortures might not this villain inflict, what robbery might he not -commit, without fear of accusation? Durgan felt angry with Eve; the -other only roused his contempt. With real rage, a passion strong in his -Southern nature, he slipped silently out, ready to confront the two.</p> - -<p>But now again there was silence. He could hear nothing. At every turn -the lone beauty of the place met him like a benediction. He waited. -There was nothing—no one.</p> - -<p>Then—ah, what was that sound? what could it be—like a gasp or sigh, -far away or near? One soft but terrible sob. That was all; but Durgan -felt his spirit quail. His rage was gone; he did not notice its absence.</p> - -<p>The moments in which he listened seemed long, but almost instantly he -found himself wondering if he had really heard anything at all. He went -as quickly and quietly as he could, by the trail and the mine, to the -road below, and saw 'Dolphus some way beneath, walking slowly, not up -but down the road. The casual aspect of his figure, the slight -consumptive cough, effaced the weird sensation of a minute before.</p> - -<p>"Hi!" cried Durgan.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p><p>Bertha's terriers in the barn barked cheerfully in answer to his -well-known voice. The mountain echoed a moment.</p> - -<p>'Dolphus stood, hat in hand. A fit of coughing seized him. Durgan went -down the road.</p> - -<p>"What are you doing here?"</p> - -<p>"Trapping for coon, sir."</p> - -<p>"Not coon."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir; I was prospecting for a likely place to set a trap. The -gentleman I've been servant to wrote and said he'd pay me for coon -skins."</p> - -<p>"You lie."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>He stood still submissively. The full light of the moon fell on him -between the shadows of the high and drooping trees. The dust of the road -absorbed and partly returned the pearly light. The sylvan beauty of this -sheltered bank was all around. What a sorry and absurd figure the -mulatto made! His silky hair, parted in the middle and much oiled, -received also the glint of the moon. His long side-whiskers hung to his -shoulders; his false jewelry flashed. This man, whose shirt-fronts and -manners were already the envy of darkydom in Deer Cove, looked indeed so -pitiful an object in these rich surroundings, that Durgan felt that he -had overrated his power for mischief.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p><p>"I said you lied. What do you mean by saying 'yes'?"</p> - -<p>"I would not contradict you, sir. Reckon I lied. I'm a dying man, sir; -you could knock me down with a straw, sir."</p> - -<p>"What are you doing here?"</p> - -<p>"I came to do a service for Miss Smith. She's a holy one, sir. When I -found I wasn't long to live, I thought I oughter serve her if I could."</p> - -<p>"Serve her? You are trying some sort of trick to get money."</p> - -<p>"Miss Smith'll see that I'm comfortable as long as I live, sir. That's -all I want."</p> - -<p>"You're trying some game to enrich yourself, and you've got Adam's wife -helping you."</p> - -<p>'Dolphus laughed out; it was a weak, hysterical giggle. "Beg pardon, -sir, but the woman ain't in it. Beg pardon, I can't help laughing, sir. -Reckon good, religious ladies would be a sight better off without that -thieving yaller girl waiting on them."</p> - -<p>He laughed weakly till he coughed again.</p> - -<p>Durgan, revolted beyond measure, swore within himself that Eve should -never pollute the house of the sisters by entering it again.</p> - -<p>"Get home. Get out of my sight. If you come out here again I'll have the -General turn you out of the district."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p><p>He spoke as to a dog, but the dog did not turn and run. He leaned -against a tree out of sheer weakness, but faced his enemy steadily.</p> - -<p>"No, sir; you can't frighten me, 'cause I'm a dying man, anyway. Miss -Smith, she'll speak to the General, and to the Almighty too, for me. -I'll die easier 'cause I know she will." His voice had grown thin, and -now vibrated with excitement. "I've just got one thing more to say, sir. -You'll see I'm not frightened of you when I say it. If you knew the sort -o' wife you've got, sir, and what she's been hiding, you'd look after -her better than you do; and if you value your salvation, you'll stand by -the pious little lady on the hill; you'll be happier when you come to -die."</p> - -<p>"Look here, my good fellow; you're very ill, I see; you're delirious. Go -home and get to bed."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir, I'll go. But study on what I've said, sir; for it's gospel -truth, as I'm a dying man."</p> - -<p>"Can you manage to go alone? Shall I wake Adam to help you home?"</p> - -<p>'Dolphus laughed again. "No, don't wake Adam, sir. I'll go safer alone."</p> - -<p>Durgan, now convinced that hectic fever had produced delirium, went as -far as Adam's cabin to consult him. To his surprise, he found it empty.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XIV</span> <span class="smaller">THE GOING OUT OF EVE</span></h2> - -<p>When the next day was breaking, Durgan wakened to the sound of footsteps -and loud lamenting. Adam, weeping like a heart-broken schoolboy, in -terrified haste stumbled into the door of the hut.</p> - -<p>"Marse Neil, suh, I've been huntin' her the whole night long, an' I've -found her done dead. Marsa, come, for de good Lord's sake! She's lyin' -all by herself on de ground. Oh, oh, my pore gal; my pore honey!"</p> - -<p>He was now running away again, and Durgan was following. In the thick of -the forest, in a hollow of coarse fern, lay the pretty Eve—a bronze -figure of exquisite workmanship. One small dark wound was seen above her -heart, where the torn muslin of her bodice revealed the beautiful -rounding of neck and breast. She lay with her face upturned, and death's -seal of peace upon her lips. Big Adam knelt sobbing by her side, trying -to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> close the fringed eyelids, which allowed one crescent line of the -velvet eye to be seen.</p> - -<p>"Adam, tell me what you know." Durgan's imperious tone was a needed -tonic.</p> - -<p>The big negro drew himself up and controlled his sobs. With a gesture -toward the dead of great simplicity, he said, "I know nuthin', -marsa—nuthin' but this! Miss Smith, she sen' me last night with a -lettah for the Gen'ral. The hoss los' a shoe, so I leave him an' walk. I -come home very late, near middle of night, an' I meet that yaller boy, -all up an' dressed, in the Cove. So I run home, an' my poor gal was gone -from the cabin. I'se been lookin' for her the whole night through till I -foun' her. Oh, oh! Marse Neil! my pore, pore gal!" He broke down again -in tears, casting himself beside the corpse on the ground.</p> - -<p>Durgan looked at the two with indescribable sorrow. How he had desired -to have this woman out of the way—Adam free from his thraldom, the -sisters from their mischief-making! Now! There is naught on earth can -grieve the heart of the living like the face of the dead.</p> - -<p>The dawn brightened; the birds sang peans of joy; the gay wind danced; -and over the woman who had been so light and winsome a part of -yesterday's life a rigid chill had crept, which made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> her to-day a part -only of the dark cold earth. Durgan stood with head bowed. He remembered -the day his father had bought her, a babe with her mother, to save them -from a darker fate. In this dead body was the blood of fathers who, -calling themselves American gentlemen, had, one generation after -another, sold their own children as slaves. What chance had she to have -in her nerve or fibre that could vibrate to any sense of good? If her -spirit had now passed to plead at the bar of some great judgment-hall, -on whose head must the doom of her transgressions fall?</p> - -<p>At length he knelt on one knee and laid his hand on Adam's head. "Don't -cry so! Oh, Adam; you've got your old master's son to love, you big -nigger. I couldn't do without you. You'll kill yourself crying for the -poor girl like that."</p> - -<p>Adam struggled like a manful child, and subdued his grief in order to -show how deep was his gratitude for this kindness.</p> - -<p>"We were both reared in the same old place, Adam. You'll not forget that -I'm lonely in the world now, too, and a poor working man like -yourself—oh, Adam!"</p> - -<p>Adam rose up. "This nigger will try and bear up an' not shame you, Marse -Neil. This nigger<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> will never forget your kindness this day, Marse Neil, -suh."</p> - -<p>Since seeing that the woman was dead, Durgan had assumed that the low, -soft sob which had chilled his heart the night before was nothing more -than Eve's death groan. It seemed apparent that she had been stabbed to -the heart too suddenly to have had more than a moment's consciousness of -death. He supposed that 'Dolphus had perhaps been watched and waylaid by -Eve, and in a half-delirious moment had thus disposed of her to avoid -sharing the money he was seeking.</p> - -<p>Durgan took his bearings to find out where he now was, and climbed to -catch sight of the tree by which he had watched the evening before. But -as soon as he could see the upper part of the hill he perceived that it -was by no means sure such a sound could have been heard so far. This -annoyed him, as he wished to send his testimony at once to the -magistrate at Hilyard. When he remembered how 'Dolphus had laughed at -the mention of Eve, how he had raved about his innocent intentions, and -even ventured to slander Mrs. Durgan, of whose existence it would seem -he could only know through Eve's gossip, Durgan felt persuaded of his -dangerous mental state, and that there was no safety for the community -until this poor <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>irresponsible creature was in confinement. The cool -daring of offering advice on his own domestic affairs was what, above -all, convinced Durgan of his delirious condition.</p> - -<p>He wrote a statement for the magistrate, giving such evidence as he -could, and his belief that 'Dolphus was the only person within reach of -the place where the crime was committed.</p> - -<p>Leaving Adam to watch beside his dead, Durgan himself went to Deer Cove, -sent one of his laborers to Hilyard and the other to Blount's, set a -guard over the house where 'Dolphus slept, and roused the village to -Adam's aid.</p> - -<p>It was not until he had done all he could in the interests of justice -and humanity, and was again returning to his solitary hut, that it -struck him for the first time how strange it was that this sorrowful -thing should occur within the radius of Bertha's unaccountable terrors, -that a cruel, crafty stroke, such as she would appear to dread, had -actually been struck within the purlieus of her hiding-place.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XV</span> <span class="smaller">THE QUESTION OF GUILT</span></h2> - -<p>When Durgan reached the stone platform of the mine, Bertha came out to -meet him. She had apparently been sitting alone on some rock in the -lateral cutting. She was dressed for riding; her face was quite pale, -and had a strength and sternness in it that alarmed him.</p> - -<p>"I must go at once to Hilyard. I have come to—have you not heard?"</p> - -<p>"'Tis an affair of niggers," said he; "they are always knifing one -another."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, no! Do you not understand at all? Whom do you suppose to be -guilty?"</p> - -<p>"'Dolphus, of course."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Durgan, for the sake of all that is true and just, and for our -sakes, if you will, do not breathe such a thought to anyone. What has -happened is, perhaps, what I have feared for years—what I have labored -for years to prevent. May God forgive me if I have risked too much. But -the worst thing that can be done—the worst for us—would be to accuse -<i>him</i>."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p><p>"My dear Miss Bertha, you cannot possibly have anything to do with this -sad affair?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, you do not know! you do not know! Do not contradict me. Only -believe me that there is more in this than you know. I fear I have done -a terrible wrong in concealment, but I did it for the best. I hoped——"</p> - -<p>"I am quite sure that 'Dolphus killed the woman."</p> - -<p>"No! No! Alas! I am afraid I know too well who did. And I am so far yet -from knowing what I ought to do that I dare not tell you more. I'm -afraid that I should say too much or too little. But if you will do what -I ask, I think no harm will come if I go to Hilyard without saying more -than this."</p> - -<p>"Tell me why you are going to Hilyard."</p> - -<p>"I'm going to telegraph for our lawyer, Mr. Alden. He must come at once. -I intend to say in Deer that I am going to fetch Adam's mother, who -lives there; but I'm really going for the other purpose."</p> - -<p>"I cannot endure that you should mix yourself up in this affair! I am -sure that 'Dolphus did it. I caught him near the spot. He is very ill; -he was raving with fever, I think. But I will not argue with you. The -ride may do you good."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p><p>"Will you do what I am going to ask?"</p> - -<p>"Tell me what it is."</p> - -<p>She had schooled herself to rapid work and action; her thought was quite -clear. "I want you to be kind enough to saddle my horse and bring him -down to me. I want you to explain to my sister that I have no time to go -back to the house, and to tell her that there is no woman who can come -to work for us to-day. I want you to speak very gently to her, for she -is so distressed; but you must not tell her that I spoke of the lawyer. -And first, last, and above all, Mr. Durgan, I want you to be on your -guard against an enemy. Going up to our house, and coming back, and -wherever you are till I come home, be on your guard. If you will promise -to do this you will be safe, and I can do my part with some composure."</p> - -<p>Durgan looked at her, speechless with sheer astonishment. Manlike, he -found the expense involved in bringing a notable lawyer a two days' -journey, and into this desolate height, a greater proof that she had -some substantial reason for alarm than any as yet offered him.</p> - -<p>"Promise me," she said. She was beyond all mood of tears or impatient -excitement. She was only resolute.</p> - -<p>He went up the hill to do her bidding, and at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> first found himself -looking to right and left in the bushes before him, as he formerly -looked upon the ground for snakes.</p> - -<p>Miss Smith came into the front room at his knock. She was tremulous and -tearful. After expressing his sympathy for the shock which her -housemaid's sudden death must have given, he asked her if she thought -Bertha well enough to ride alone.</p> - -<p>"It sometimes does her good to have a right down long ride, doesn't it, -Mr. Durgan? I don't quite understand the way she's feeling about this -dreadful thing, but I guess she'll be safe enough riding. She's promised -me to go to our good friend Mrs. Moore, at Hilyard. I don't see as the -ride can do her any harm."</p> - -<p>"If you think so," he said, "I'll saddle the horse."</p> - -<p>But Miss Smith had something else to say. "Do you think Adam did it, Mr. -Durgan? It seems dreadful to think such a thing of our good Adam, but I -always feel that a man who can strike a woman might do almost any mean, -bad thing."</p> - -<p>Durgan felt to the full the hopelessness of explaining to a woman so -ignorant of colored folk as was Miss Smith, the kindness of Adam's -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>discipline. He could only assure her of his present innocence.</p> - -<p>"You don't think, Mr. Durgan, that it could have been——" Her face was -very troubled.</p> - -<p>"Yes; I suppose it was 'Dolphus," said Durgan. "I found him near the -spot last night. He was delirious with fever, I think, and coughing -badly. It's not safe to leave him at large. They'll give him medical -attendance in jail. It's not likely he'll live to be hanged. I have sent -what evidence I have against him to Hilyard; I could not do otherwise."</p> - -<p>He said this in a tentative way, and found that Miss Smith did not share -her sister's belief that 'Dolphus was not guilty. She only sighed deeply -and said—</p> - -<p>"The good Lord alone knows how to be just, Mr. Durgan; but I suppose the -law comes as near as it can."</p> - -<p>"Have you any evidence concerning his former character?"</p> - -<p>"No; I don't know anything about his character. I guess you've done just -right, Mr. Durgan. I'm asking the Lord to make known whatever ought to -be made known, and to hide whatever ought to be hidden, and to bless us -all. I guess<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> that's about the best prayer I can think of. But I don't -mind telling you that 'twould be a dreadful trial to me or Birdie to be -obliged to give any evidence. And I can say before God that we neither -of us know anything about him that could have any bearing on this -matter."</p> - -<p>"You may depend upon me; I'll keep you out of it if I can. It's only -what happens constantly in a niggers' brawl."</p> - -<p>His heart went out with more and more cordiality to the upright, tearful -little lady, who, in the thick of troubles, seemed by her very life to -point to God, as the church spire seems to point to heaven above the -city's smoke.</p> - -<p>When leading off the saddled horse he stopped for a moment and looked -back with irresistible curiosity, thinking of the conflicting aspects of -the life that centered here.</p> - -<p>The grass of the foreground lay patterned with the graceful shadows of -acacia boughs. Between them he saw the low gray house, about which the -luxuriance of flowers made the only confusion. Hens were pecking and -dogs basking in the neat kitchen yard; and Miss Smith, in default of a -servant, was quietly sweeping the kitchen porch. The place was like a -dream of home. "Surely," he said to himself, "if the angel of peace -could ever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> seek an earthly dwelling, she might well alight here and -fold her wings."</p> - -<p>He led the horse down the trail with brows knit, and in his mind the -intention of further remonstrance with Bertha; but she mounted and rode -away without a moment's delay.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> - -<h2>Book II</h2> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XVI</span> <span class="smaller">A CALL FOR HELP</span></h2> - -<p>That night Adam, who had given up his cabin to the female watchers of -the dead, lay stretched at the door of Durgan's hut.</p> - -<p>In the small hours Durgan was awakened by the negro's sighs.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Adam! Can't you sleep?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! Marse Neil, suh; d'you think my pore gal's in de bad place? The -min'ster, he come to see me to-day, an' he said as how she was, 'cause -she wasn't converted. D'you think so, suh?"</p> - -<p>If Durgan had the modern distrust of old-fashioned preaching, he did not -feel sure that he knew better than the preacher.</p> - -<p>He lay a moment, thinking of the brightness and lightness of the -creature so suddenly laid stark, trying in thought to place her spirit -in any sort of angelic state. It would not do; the woman, as he knew -her, refused to be content with any heaven his thought could offer. He -could not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>conceive of any sane and wholesome spiritual condition to -which the trivial, sensual soul could be adjusted.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Adam, I don't know any better than your preacher; but I can tell -you something that I suppose——"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Marse Neil?" The tone told of a deep, sustained attention which -surprised the educated man.</p> - -<p>"I think the good Lord will take you to the good place when you die, and -that——"</p> - -<p>"Yes, but marsa, I done gone an' got religion long time ago, an' my pore -gal she wer'n't ever converted."</p> - -<p>"I was going to say that I think the Lord may let you be as near her -there as you were here if you go on caring for her—which was all the -distance between heaven and hell," he added within himself.</p> - -<p>Before the dawn Durgan was again disturbed. Far off there was hint of a -sound, the hoofs of several horses, perhaps—a ring, faint and far, of a -bridle chain? Yes, certainly, horsemen were in the valley. Adam heard -nothing but the throbs of his own heart-sorrow. Durgan listened. The -road in the valley circled the mountain to Deer Cove. The sound of the -horsemen was lost again almost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> before it was clearly heard. They were -coming from Hilyard; were they coming further than the village? An hour -later he heard them again; they were on the road to the mine.</p> - -<p>Adam had fallen into the sleep of exhaustion. Durgan stood out on the -road and listened and waited. Had Bertha met with some accident, and was -this her escort home? Were the horsemen coming for some purpose quite -unknown to him, bearing on the mystery of the summit house? Alas! doubt -as he would, he knew of one errand which these sounds might easily -betoken. It was widely known that Adam had had quarrels with his wife.</p> - -<p>Soon the men appeared. There were three constables, leading an extra -horse. Durgan saw the handcuffs held by the foremost.</p> - -<p>He ground his teeth in helpless indignation.</p> - -<p>All the affection he felt for the home of his forefathers, all the -warmth of the sights and sounds of his own joyous youth in the Durgan -plantations, intensified his sentiment for the friend who still slept -on, childlike, with teardrops on his cheek.</p> - -<p>When Adam was taken, Durgan brooded over this wrong. He realized more -and more that his certainty of one man's guilt and the other's innocence -was based only on his own estimate of their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> characters. The one was -true to the core, the other false; but how to prove it?</p> - -<p>About nine o'clock Bertha rode up. Her horse was jaded, her face worn.</p> - -<p>"I started from Hilyard at daybreak," she said. "I loped nearly all the -way."</p> - -<p>"Did you meet the constables?"</p> - -<p>Her reply was a monosyllable of brief distress.</p> - -<p>"You saw Adam—had they 'Dolphus, too?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Don't let us talk of it; I can't bear it."</p> - -<p>She slid from her horse, grateful for respite, and Durgan, seeing her -weariness, offered coffee and food.</p> - -<p>She partook eagerly, as she had eaten little since the day before; but -she seemed in no hurry to go on. Hers was a depression from which words -did not come easily.</p> - -<p>He asked if the telegram had been sent.</p> - -<p>"Yes. Mr. Alden will be here the day after to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"You had his answer?"</p> - -<p>"No; but I know he will come as soon as possible. I could not decide -what to say and what not, even in cipher; I only said 'Come.'"</p> - -<p>There was silence again, for Durgan was too heartsore at the injustice -done to Adam to think much of anything else.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p><p>At last Bertha broke out almost fiercely, "It was a glorious sunrise. I -saw it as I came over the ridge. The clouds were like a meadow of -flame-flower, and the purple color ran riot upon the hills till the -common, comfortable sunshine flashed over and made all the world happy, -looking as if life was good."</p> - -<p>"It was not to see the sunrise that you started so early," said he.</p> - -<p>"No, I could not rest. I was afraid, afraid that you would not believe -what I said yesterday."</p> - -<p>"What part of it?"</p> - -<p>"About being on your guard. Indeed, indeed I beg of you—laugh if you -like, but if you have any regard for me, do as I say. I only ask it -until Mr. Alden comes. He will be here the day after to-morrow, I am -sure. When I confess that I came so early because I was afraid that you -would not take care of yourself, you will take heed, I am sure."</p> - -<p>There was an awkward silence. She was hanging her head in shame, and -seemed hardly able to find her way as she rose and groped for her -bridle.</p> - -<p>"If we are in this danger I will certainly escort you to the house."</p> - -<p>"Yes; you may do that."</p> - -<p>So he led the horse under the green arches in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> the warm silence up to -the gate where the dogs fawned on their mistress. Near the house Miss -Smith came running to meet them. She embraced Bertha with motherly -tenderness, asking crisp little questions about her journey and about -Adam's mother.</p> - -<p>"I am safe now," said Bertha, dismissing Durgan with thanks. She added -in explanation to her sister, "I felt overdone with the heat. Mr. Durgan -gave me coffee and brought me up the hill."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XVII</span> <span class="smaller">HERMIONE'S ADVOCATE</span></h2> - -<p>Durgan felt very curious to know whether Theodore Alden, the well-known -lawyer, would appear. He knew little about him except that his name was -always in the papers in connection with the law courts, with -philanthropic schemes and religious enterprise of an evangelical sort. -Report said various things—that he would plead in no case in which he -did not believe his cause to be right—that his integrity was in excess -of his brains, and was the only argument he offered worthy of a juror's -consideration—or, that the huge fees given him were often bribes to use -his reputation in the service of crime, and that his diabolical -cleverness was only equaled by his hypocrisy. These conflicting views -partly arose from the fact that he had gained some notorious cases in -the face of strong public opinion, and in one case, at least, it seemed -against all the weight of evidence.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p><p>Whatever Alden's character, it was certain that his hands would at any -time be more than full of affairs. Bertha had only given him half a day -and a night in which to prepare for the journey. Durgan had no sanguine -hope of having his curiosity satisfied as soon as she expected.</p> - -<p>Yet, on the very next day, at evening, some twenty hours before the time -Bertha had set, a carriage from Hilyard drove up, and while the horses -were resting, a dapper, townbred Northerner jumped out to inspect his -surroundings.</p> - -<p>The stranger was about sixty years of age. He had a pale face, a trim -gray beard, a brisk manner, a fineness of dress, which all carried a -whiff of New York atmosphere into the lateral mica cutting, which was as -yet but a shallow cave. As soon as he perceived the nature of Durgan's -work, he took an almost exhaustive interest in mica, although it was -probable that he had never even thought of the product in its rough -state before.</p> - -<p>In vain Durgan tried to discern solitude or impatience in the face of -the stranger. He had no doubt heard of the deed with which the county -was ringing, on his way from Hilyard, but that could hardly have put his -mind at rest concerning Bertha's enigmatical telegram.</p> - -<p>When the horses were ready, the traveler and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> his luggage went on. The -carriage soon returned empty. Durgan heard no more till the next day.</p> - -<p>He had prevailed upon the old General to ride to Hilyard to try to -obtain Adam's release, and after waiting impatiently for the result, -heard by a messenger late that evening that Adam must abide his trial. -Durgan was proportionately angry and distressed.</p> - -<p>In this mood Bertha found him the morning after the lawyer arrived. She -was somewhat less troubled than on the last occasion, but showed -confusion in explaining her errand. She said that Alden was coming at -once to see Durgan.</p> - -<p>She added, "When I sent for him, and was so terribly frightened, I—I -thought I could tell him all that I feared."</p> - -<p>"It matters less that you should tell him what you fear, but you must -tell him all that you know."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Mr. Durgan, that is just what I cannot do—now that he is here."</p> - -<p>"You must. One innocent man, at least, is most falsely accused. Do you -think poor Adam is not made of the same flesh as you are? Think of the -agony of being accused of killing one whom you fondly loved, whom you -were bound to protect. Even if he is not hanged, every hour that he lies -in jail is unutterable misery to him."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p><p>"Alas! who can know that better than I?" she asked.</p> - -<p>There was conviction in her tone. She raised her face to his; then -suddenly flushed and covered it with her hands. "You don't know? We -thought you must have guessed; but Mr. Alden will tell you. Oh, Mr. -Durgan, try to think of us as we are, not as the world thinks, -and—there! he is coming."</p> - -<p>They listened a moment to approaching footsteps.</p> - -<p>Bertha took hold of Durgan's sleeve in her intensity. "Don't tell him -anything I have said," she whispered.</p> - -<p>"Child!" he said a little sharply, "I must."</p> - -<p>Her intensity grew. "For Hermie's sake, don't. I will do anything you -tell me in defense of Adam. I will—yes, I promise—I will tell you all -I know, all I fear, only promise me this." She was clinging to his arm -in tears.</p> - -<p>He gave promise grudgingly. "Not before I see you again, then."</p> - -<p>"In spite of whatever he may tell you?"</p> - -<p>"I have promised," he said with displeasure.</p> - -<p>She had gone on, and the lawyer tripped jauntily down the path. He -brought with him the suggestion of hope. He presented his card with an -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>almost quaint formality. His manner was old-fashioned. He admired the -superb view, paid a few compliments to old Georgian families and to the -Durgans in particular, and apologized for his unceremonious intrusion -the previous evening. He went on, in elegant and precise diction, to say -that he understood from his clients at the summit house that Durgan -could give him details concerning the recent deplorable death of a -colored woman who had been in their employment.</p> - -<p>Durgan conducted him to the place where Eve was found, and to Adam's now -empty cabin. They discussed the facts that no knife had been found, that -the fern had taken no print of feet. Then Durgan described his first -sight of 'Dolphus and the interview. He was growing very tired of a -statement that he had already been obliged to make more than once.</p> - -<p>Alden took notes and gave no sign of opinion.</p> - -<p>"The mulatto did it," said Durgan, sternly.</p> - -<p>"Very probably, my dear sir; but there is as yet no proof. In such a -place, whoever did it could throw the knife where it would remain hidden -forever. There is no proof that this mulatto committed the deed before -he went down the mountain; none that Adam did not do it when he returned -later."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p><p>"Adam is a better man than I am. I am as certain of him as of myself."</p> - -<p>"I entirely take your word for it. I am convinced by what you say. But -men of the law, my dear sir, think only of what will convince the men in -the box."</p> - -<p>Having told all this of his own accord, Durgan became aware that in the -course of conversation he was being questioned, and very closely.</p> - -<p>Where had he gone when he left the sisters? How long had he rested? -Where did he go then? Why did he wait? Did he remember exactly the place -in which he waited? None of these questions were asked in categorical -form, yet he had soon rather reluctantly told his every movement, except -what he had seen of Miss Smith's actions when the moon rose, and the -location of the particular tree. He was wholly determined that what he -had so unexpectedly spied should never pass his lips.</p> - -<p>"You were very kind in guarding the house. This colored man was -evidently a dangerous character. You had reason, no doubt, for -suspecting that he would be about at that hour, Mr. Durgan?"</p> - -<p>"I knew nothing about his movements. I can tell you nothing more."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p><p>"Can you be sure that he made no attempt to enter the house that -evening?"</p> - -<p>"He could hardly have done that?"</p> - -<p>"You were in the house all the evening, and then watched it till you -heard the alarming sound of this poor woman's last breath. You are sure -that he did not come or go from the house in that time?"</p> - -<p>"Have you any reason to suppose he did?"</p> - -<p>"Suppose, merely for the sake of argument, that I had reason to suspect -he did, can you deny it?"</p> - -<p>"I am sure he did not."</p> - -<p>"Could you swear to it in a court of justice?"</p> - -<p>"No. It was impossible for me to watch every door. I expected him from -one direction, and watched only that. I should have expected the dogs to -bark if he came within the paling."</p> - -<p>"Ah! Then you could not swear that anyone who could silence the dogs -might have left the house." The lawyer relapsed into significant silence.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XVIII</span> <span class="smaller">A STARTLING DISCLOSURE</span></h2> - -<p>At last Alden said, "Mr. Durgan, I came here this morning at the request -of my clients and dear friends to make a communication to you. When I -have made it you will understand why I should have been glad had you -been certain that during the evening no one could have left or entered -the house—this negro or any other person. Have you any idea of what I -am going to tell you?"</p> - -<p>"I am aware that these ladies are, for some good reason, hiding. This -information came to me by accident. The secret is safe with me. I have -no wish to know more."</p> - -<p>"No doubt it is safe, and we are happy that it should be in your -keeping. May I ask if you came to guess it solely from those letters -which this unhappy pair opened; or did any other circumstance——?"</p> - -<p>"Solely through that accident."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p><p>"You feel convinced that this knowledge was only shared by these two?"</p> - -<p>"I quite think so. Adam will never tell. He is as safe as I am."</p> - -<p>"And the woman is dead."</p> - -<p>For the first time Durgan put the two circumstances together. He felt -vexed.</p> - -<p>"You will naturally suppose," said Alden, "that when Adam is tried, my -clients will go into court and give evidence as to his excellent -character. But if it is possible to prevent it, they must not do that. -It was never by my advice that they secluded themselves and took an -assumed name; it was Bertha who insisted upon seclusion. I would have -preferred that they had had strength to live in the open. I should not -have greatly cared had all the country found out who they were, but for -this crime, which is the most unfortunate that could have happened at -their doors. Their identity must now be hid, if it is possible without -wickedness."</p> - -<p>Durgan had been trying jealously to find some element of falsity beneath -the Northerner's quiet face and dapper exterior. Now he no longer -doubted his sincerity. The lawyer sat looking absently down where the -beautiful valley lay in all its summer tranquillity, framed in the peace -of the eternal hills, and Durgan saw the beads of sweat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> break upon his -brow. He was convinced that he had more than the interest of clients at -stake, that his whole heart was in some way concerned in this matter.</p> - -<p>Alden spoke slowly. "I have known these women since Bertha was a mere -girl. Eight years ago I was working in the same mission school with the -elder sister. For three years we met twice a week, with the most sacred -of all interests in common. Constantly I had the pleasure of walking to -or fro with her, and we talked together on the great theme of religion. -After that I knew her intimately in the midst of the greatest sorrows a -woman could endure. I have strengthened our friendship by every means in -my power ever since. Is it possible that I could be mistaken in her -character?"</p> - -<p>His small blue eyes had grown deeper and bluer as he spoke; the lines -about them also deepened. Sorrow, and that of the nobler sort, was -written there. Durgan liked him.</p> - -<p>"I am sure that our friend is a true woman," said he.</p> - -<p>"And yet, Mr. Durgan, she is publicly believed to have committed the -most barbarous of crimes. She is Hermione Claxton."</p> - -<p>Durgan uttered an exclamation of dismay. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> two men turned from each -other with mute accord.</p> - -<p>To Durgan it seemed strange and terrible that here, in these splendid -mountain solitudes, the edge of such a shameful thing should enter his -own life. Below the rock, the forest in glossy leaf breathed in the -perfect sunlight; rank below rank stood shining trees like angelic hosts -in pictures of heaven. The air was filled with the lullaby of unseen -herd-bells. Afar, where the valley widened and purpled, the mountain -stream, in quiet waters, was descried, and sunny fields.</p> - -<p>Before Durgan's mind lay the daily papers of the time of the notorious -trial of Hermione Claxton—the sensational headlines, the discursive -leaders. In his ears echoed the universal conversation of that -time—voices in street-cars, hotels, and streets. The natural horror of -brutal deeds, which had made him recoil then, darkened his outlook now -like a cloud. But in the midst of this obscurity upon all things two -figures stood, a moving vision—Bertha, fresh and beautiful, faulty and -lovable, and beside her the fragile sister, gray-haired and upright, -with steadfast face turned heavenward.</p> - -<p>Alden spoke first. "You are aware, Mr. Durgan, that Mr. Claxton and his -second wife were suddenly killed, that a large body of circumstantial<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> -evidence proved that Hermione was alone in the house with them, that by -her own arranging she was alone with them—in fact, I must say there was -complete circumstantial proof that she had committed the heinous crime. -There was even motive, if just anger and love of money are motive -enough. Against this stood, I may say, only her personality, for so -reticent and modest is she that few know her character. To my mind, it -is a great honor to America that the twelve ordinary men who formed the -jury could be so impressed by her personality that, while the whole -world hooted, they were resolute in a verdict of acquittal."</p> - -<p>"It was you—your eloquence that did it."</p> - -<p>"So the world said; but I only appealed to their sense of truth, and out -of the truth of their hearts they pronounced her 'not guilty.' You are -aware, Mr. Durgan, that the world pronounced another verdict."</p> - -<p>Durgan would have been glad to be silent. In the rush of his thought he -was conscious that he chose the most childish thing to say. -"But—but—someone must have done it."</p> - -<p>When Alden did not seem to find this remark worthy even of assent he -hastened, stumbling, to explain it. "I would be understood to mean -that,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> familiar as you were with them, it is hardly possible that you do -not suspect, do not, perhaps, know, who might be guilty. I am not, of -course, asking you who—I have not the slightest right to ask—but——"</p> - -<p>"Do you suggest that, while the whole nation was roused, and rightly, to -demand justice, I screened the sinner? Mr. Durgan, I come of Puritan -descent. So strongly do I feel the wickedness of lax justice that if my -own son had done it I would have led him to the scaffold."</p> - -<p>Durgan believed him. There had flashed out of this little, dainty man so -hot a spark from the lightnings of Mount Sinai that the onlooker felt -for the moment scorched by the sudden heat.</p> - -<p>Also by this time Durgan had perceived that his imputation had really -arisen, not from the public reports of the case, or from Alden's -epitome, but from his knowledge of Bertha's perplexity, terror, and -distress. He was glad that Alden went on without waiting for reply.</p> - -<p>"You must surely be aware, Mr. Durgan, that, admitting the daughter's -innocence, the case was one of those termed 'mysteries,' and ranks among -the most obscure of these. The murder must have been the work of some -maniac intruder; my own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> suspicions have always centered about a boy who -certainly came to the house that morning, but was never heard of after, -altho large rewards were offered. But that only shifts the unknown a -step farther back. Who was this boy who could so vanish? Who sent him, -and who concealed him? Indeed, Mr. Durgan, who can have thought on this -problem as I have done? And there were many even astute lawyers and -commercial men who have confessed to me that they induced insomnia by -merely trying to conceive an adequate explanation. Remember that the -dual crime and the vanishing of this boy occurred at midday in a -fashionable neighborhood, in a household noted for propriety, elegance, -and culture. I, who know more than anyone else, know nothing; but this I -do say, Mr. Durgan: rather than believe Hermione Claxton guilty, I would -believe that the deed was done by an invisible fiend from the nether -world; and I am not superstitious."</p> - -<p>"I quite agree with you. Anyone who knows Miss Claxton must agree with -you. She is innocent of every evil thought."</p> - -<p>But he felt that he spoke mechanically. His mind was turning with more -and more distress and bewilderment to Bertha's talk and behavior. He was -glad when Alden went away for the time, altho<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> he knew that the question -of Adam's defense must be quickly settled.</p> - -<p>Alden left him with the words: "I will come back, Mr. Durgan. You can -see now that if that insane thing called the public got hold of the fact -that the victim of last week's crime belonged to the Claxton household, -unless it could be proved that no one issued from the house that -evening——"</p> - -<p>"I understand," Durgan answered with ill-controlled impatience.</p> - -<p>The small man squared his shoulders and looked up staunchly. "We must -save her at any cost, save that of breaking God's law."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XIX</span> <span class="smaller">TANGLED IN THE COIL</span></h2> - -<p>Those elemental emotions, the protection of feebleness, the vindication -of womanhood tender and motherly, were aroused in Durgan to the heat of -passion. In heart he joined hands firmly with the little lawyer who had -fought the battle so long. He had saved this good woman once from the -worst peril, but Durgan feared there was more to come, and was panting -to establish her innocence.</p> - -<p>He struggled with a temptation. If he could swear that he had heard -Eve's last breath at an hour when it was known the husband was away, -this evidence would set Adam free. He believed himself to have heard it, -conjecturing that either some peculiar atmospheric condition had -obtained, or his senses had been strained to abnormal acuteness, or the -passing spirit, terrified, had flown for safety to the nearest friend, -bringing its sob of fear when it was but an instant too late to seek -human<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> aid. Why not continue to conceal the fact that he had been half a -furlong beyond all natural earshot of the woman's death? He would not -have known so precisely where he was had not Miss Smith's action caused -him to mark one tree among its fellows. Neil Durgan, striding into court -at Hilyard to give his evidence concerning the death of one of his -father's slaves, was not likely to be strictly cross-questioned. The -terror of the past to both sisters and Bertha's present terrors (which -must yet be inquired into and allayed), surely this was enough trouble -without unnecessary delay and hesitation in the course of justice at -Hilyard.</p> - -<p>Durgan was at work all day, and desired in hacking and hewing the rock -to temper his own mind to meet the need of the hour, hardly knowing on -which side of his path honor lay, and caring more to succeed than to be -scrupulous.</p> - -<p>While the day spent itself, his thought upon all that had occurred -became clearer. It was obvious that first, before taking another step, -he must know the whole warp and woof of Bertha's suspicions, which at -present seemed to him so flimsy. He must know each thread, or Alden must -know. At this point he stopped to marvel. On what pretext should Bertha -seek to deceive so good a friend as Alden? And could it be that neither -sister had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> confessed to Alden that the criminal had some sinister hold -over them?</p> - -<p>Perhaps, after all, to give evidence against 'Dolphus was not the first -step out of this coil of trouble. In revenge the nigger might be able to -declare what they all desired most to keep silent. Bertha's strongly -expressed desire in the matter strengthened this idea.</p> - -<p>That afternoon the carriage of the Durgan Blounts was drawn by foaming -thoroughbreds up the rough and winding road to the summit of Deer. Mrs. -Durgan Blount was with her husband, and young Blount rode beside on his -chestnut mare.</p> - -<p>They stopped at the mica cutting to converse cheerfully with Durgan on -the frequency of knifing among niggers and the obvious purpose of their -journey.</p> - -<p>The dame spoke languidly. "We thought it incumbent to offer our sympathy -to the Northern ladies. This ghastly thing having happened on our -property, and so close to the site these ladies have bought, we felt -obliged."</p> - -<p>"Come along, Neil Durgan," said the old General. "Jump in and call with -us; it ought to be a family affair."</p> - -<p>Durgan excused himself, wondering grimly what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> effect the name of -Claxton would have had on this family expedition.</p> - -<p>The son waited till his mother's carriage had gone on. "You are quite -sure it was the yellow boy who did it? I heard at the post-office that -you had found his knife."</p> - -<p>Durgan explained that this was not so, but reiterated his conviction as -to the guilt of 'Dolphus.</p> - -<p>Said Blount slowly: "Your opinion will be conclusive. It wouldn't go far -in a Northern court, perhaps; but here, and for niggers, if you tell -your tale well it will prove sufficient."</p> - -<p>"I'd be satisfied to get Adam off, if that could be done without hanging -the other."</p> - -<p>Blount stooped forward to rub the mare's ears and smooth her silken -mane. His young countenance was benign and thoughtful.</p> - -<p>"You had better have him sentenced," he said quietly. "It's annoying for -you, of course, because the result rests with you—the General settled -that with the judge. But it's your duty; and you do more for the world -in ridding it of one villain than by a lot of charity."</p> - -<p>Durgan felt ill-satisfied now with the sentiment of these last words, -altho a few days before it had been his own.</p> - -<p>Young Blount rode away with serious mien.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> The hot sunflecks fell -between chestnut boughs upon horse and rider and tawny wheel-ruts.</p> - -<p>At sunset Durgan went up to the meadow, where he knew Bertha would come -to feed her four-footed friends. As he waited he sat on the ledge of the -wooden barn.</p> - -<p>He saw Bertha come through the meadow gate. The calves ran to meet and -conduct her to the place of feeding. Handsome young things they were, -red and white, with square heads and shoulders. They formed a bodyguard -on either side of the terrier and mastiff, which always had the right of -place nearest to her. Thus Bertha advanced down the green-grown road -between the ranks of deep, flowering grass. She carried a bucket and a -basket with fine, erect balance, one in either hand.</p> - -<p>The meadow slanted upward from the barn. As Durgan walked to meet her -and take the burden, he could just see over its rise the heads of the -opposite mountains. A wide gulf of slant sunbeams lay between.</p> - -<p>Bertha greeted him with serious mien. When he had taken her load and -fallen into line among her animals, she said:</p> - -<p>"You know the worst about us now."</p> - -<p>"Do I?" asked he. For he discovered at that moment that the question he -must now put was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> cruel one, and could not be shirked or smoothed -over.</p> - -<p>"Alas!" She uttered the one deprecating word slowly, and moved on in -silence.</p> - -<p>The bull calf pushed its powerful head under her hand, which now hung -free, and she walked, leaning upon it, till the mastiff slowly inserted -himself between the two, and, with a sudden push of its side, ousted the -calf, who took a short scamper and returned head downward toward the -mastiff's broad flank. The terrier laughed aloud: no one could have -interpreted his snorts of delight otherwise. The mastiff reluctantly -withdrew his soft nose from Bertha's palm, and attended to matters of -defense. All the calves scattered in an ungainly dance, and all returned -circling the dogs with lowered heads. Bertha watched these antics with a -sad smile; then by sundry cuffs and pats put an end to the feud.</p> - -<p>When they had fed the calves and the other creatures who lived in -sumptuous hutches and sties behind the barn, Durgan asked his question.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XX</span> <span class="smaller">THE TERRIBLE CONFESSION</span></h2> - -<p>Bertha and Durgan were standing in the broad central doorway of the -barn. Hay, full of meadow flowers, was piled high to right and left. The -air was full of dried pollen, and golden with the level sunlight.</p> - -<p>"Do you know who it was that killed your parents?" Durgan asked.</p> - -<p>She put up trembling hands in the brave pretense of shielding her eyes -from the sun. Her whole body shook; her head sank on her breast.</p> - -<p>At last she said in faint tones: "You think <i>this</i> because I warned you -of danger—because of all I have said; but I was distracted, and at that -time I did not foresee that you must be told who we are."</p> - -<p>"All that is true. I am more sorry for you than words can say; but it -must be better for you to share a secret you seem to be nursing alone, -and you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>cannot think I would ask if I did not need to know."</p> - -<p>She did not answer. He suspected that she was using all her attention to -regain self-control and the strength that she had lost so suddenly.</p> - -<p>"You told me that you thought you knew who committed this second crime," -he said, "and I am convinced that you connect it with that other."</p> - -<p>A low moan escaped her. Her head sank lower.</p> - -<p>"I believe that the nigger is guilty, but I can't go to court and swear -away his life, knowing only what you have told me and no more."</p> - -<p>She whispered eagerly: "Will it do if I swear now that I believe I was -mistaken—that I knew nothing, or, at least, no proof to the contrary?"</p> - -<p>"Have you ever had the least reason to suppose that another person -capable of these crimes lurked upon Deer?"</p> - -<p>"If I swear to you that I never thought anyone else was near us, or on -the mountain, will that satisfy you?" She was leaning her brow heavily -on the hand that shaded her face.</p> - -<p>"No one else—else than——?"</p> - -<p>She did not help him out. She sat down, or rather crouched, on the steps -of the loft.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p><p>He said very gently but resolutely: "You think, then, that your sister -committed these crimes."</p> - -<p>She put up her hands. "Do not, do not say it. Oh, I have never thought -it possible that you could be so cruel as to say such a thing to me. -Leave me in peace; for God's sake, leave me!"</p> - -<p>"Child! even if I could leave you, it is not right that you should go on -nursing this terrible suspicion alone. In the back of your mind you -believe this thing, and think that some time—any time, she may repeat -the crime; and the terror of it is killing you."</p> - -<p>She was trembling violently, her face buried in her hands.</p> - -<p>"Have you allowed anyone else to know of this suspicion of yours? Tell -me, have you talked it over with a single soul?"</p> - -<p>"No, no; oh, no," she moaned. "For pity's sake, stop speaking! I never -thought anyone would dare to say this to me."</p> - -<p>"That is just what I supposed. You have nursed the idea in absolute -secret. You have not even allowed your sister herself to know what you -think."</p> - -<p>"I beg that you will say no more."</p> - -<p>"You are guarding this idea in heroic silence. You imprison it in -darkness, and think it would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> be more terrible if you brought it out to -the light. You are wrong. It will vanish away in the light. It is not -true."</p> - -<p>She started, looking up at him with wide eyes in which the tears were -arrested by surprise. The flush on her face faded. She grew pale to the -lips with excitement.</p> - -<p>"How do you know?" she whispered hoarsely. "Tell me—do you know? How?"</p> - -<p>"I know just as I know that I did not do it—or you. You did not see her -do this terrible thing."</p> - -<p>"Oh, you know nothing." She sank down again and rocked herself, moaning: -"You know nothing, nothing. Why did you deceive me?"</p> - -<p>"Tell me, then—on what grounds have you formed this belief?"</p> - -<p>She grew more quiet, drooping before him as if in despair.</p> - -<p>"I must go to Hilyard to-morrow. I must know first what I can say. You -must tell me why you, even for one hour, believed 'Dolphus to be -innocent, before I go. I must judge for myself of what you tell me, but -you must tell me all you know—or else you must tell Alden."</p> - -<p>At that she uncovered her face and sought to speak calmly. "I cannot -tell Mr. Alden; I beseech you, spare me that. I thought I could tell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> -him. Then, when he came—ah, I saw then what I never knew before—that -he loves Hermie—that she loves him. There is a far deeper friendship -between them than I knew. I was but a girl when they used to be -together, and now—— It is so sad to see the feeling he has for her. -She has grown so old, and so has he—so prematurely old. This sorrow has -been so deep to them both. The night that he came here he reproached her -for not letting him protect her more openly. He asked her to marry him -now—even now; it seems he has asked her before. Surely it must be left -to her to tell him if he must ever know, if she must ever endure the -anguish of his knowing."</p> - -<p>Durgan could hardly believe his own sense of hearing, so calmly certain -did she seem of the verity of her secret.</p> - -<p>"Your sister could not tell Mr. Alden what is not true. She is wholly -innocent. She can never, thank God, have any misery that accrues to one -who has committed an evil deed."</p> - -<p>"You know nothing," she repeated gently, "and, oh, I am in a terrible -perplexity; I do not know what to do. I am in far greater straits than -you know of, Mr. Durgan. You urge me to tell you—will you accept my -confession in confidence? Otherwise—ah, if you tell Mr. Alden what I -have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> already said, it seems to me that I shall die of grief and shame. -I could never look my dear sister in the face again."</p> - -<p>"You have no choice now but to tell me. The life of an innocent man must -be saved; your sister's name must be kept out of the trial. For their -sakes I am bound to consult Mr. Alden about what you have already told -me, unless, upon knowing your whole story, I think I am justified in -keeping your secret. I am your friend. I can have no possible desire but -to serve your sister and yourself."</p> - -<p>"But truth—justice? Would you sacrifice us to a fetish you call -'justice,' pretending it is God? I have always felt that you would not. -Mr. Alden would, even if it cost him his own life."</p> - -<p>Durgan meditated on this aspect of Alden's character. He could perceive -that from her point of view this characteristic made him terrible. In -her trouble she had blindly put her finger on perhaps the main -difference between the virtue of the South and that of the North.</p> - -<p>"Hermie has always told me that about him, but till this time I never -entirely believed her. Now I do. The more he loved Hermie, the -more——Oh, Mr. Durgan, it is terrible to think of!"</p> - -<p>He looked down pityingly. "The thoughts that you are enduring, child, -are too terrible for you to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> bear alone. You must trust me. We -Southerners were never taught to think, as the Puritans did, that the -whole heart of God could be translated into a human code. I am not as -good a man as Alden, but if I were——"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I can trust you," she cried. "I know I can. And you are right—I -must, I ought, to speak; but do not know how, or how much. Question me, -and I will answer."</p> - -<p>"On what possible ground can you believe this of your sister?"</p> - -<p>"On the ground of her own confession. It is written and sealed up; I -know where it is."</p> - -<p>She had again crouched down on the lower step, and her face was hidden; -but her shaken voice was quite clear and resolute.</p> - -<p>Durgan was amazed into silence. The sun, in a dry, empty sky, had slowly -descended to the dark rim of the Cherokee ridge. Now it seemed to set -suddenly, and a cold shadow rose over Deer. Bertha saw nothing, but to -Durgan the change in the atmosphere lent emphasis to her statement, and -all the combative part of his nature rose up against it. He was -convinced that there was no such confession.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXI</span> <span class="smaller">OPENING THE PAST</span></h2> - -<p>"Are you sure of what you tell me?" asked Durgan.</p> - -<p>Bertha answered: "Yes; I do not know what she wrote, but I am sure it -was her confession."</p> - -<p>"You don't know what she wrote," sharply. "How do you know she -confessed?"</p> - -<p>"She told me so."</p> - -<p>"Then, even in the face of that, I say she is innocent."</p> - -<p>"Innocent—ah, yes, indeed—of any motive, any intent, of any knowledge -at the moment of what she was doing. As innocent as any angel of God. Do -you think I do not know the heart, the life, of my sister? It was -madness, or the possession of a demon. It was madness that came -suddenly, like a fit or stroke. That is why I want to know what I ought -to do. It may come back; any excitement, any association with the former -attack, might bring it back. Oh, consider her case, and tell me what I -ought to do. When you first came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> I was terrified. You did not see how -much roused she was—she is so shy and quiet—but I saw a new light in -her eyes. Your name is mixed up with the thought of our father in a very -sad way. I was frightened then, but mercifully nothing happened. Then -about the letters—ah, she was vexed about that, and I was so frightened -lest she should be ill again. Then, when the colored boy came, I dared -not let her be alone with him. He brought all the details of that -dreadful time back to us and—ah, I thought, living as we do and keeping -him from her, I had taken every precaution, but—on the morning after -that poor woman was killed, I found, oh, Mr. Durgan, I found her -handkerchief in the wood where she never goes. I found it because the -dogs were scenting something and I followed, and the place was in a -direct line from where poor Eve——" she stopped, shuddering.</p> - -<p>"You did not tell Alden this?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no. How could I? And <i>now</i> I hardly believe—at least, I don't -think she could have been out that night. She has been so calm since. I -am sure she cannot have gone out; but I don't know—I don't know what I -ought to believe or do."</p> - -<p>The miserable recital of her fears and perplexities came to an end only -when her voice failed her. Durgan had been obliged to listen attentively -to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> gather her full purport. He knew certainly that Miss Claxton had -been out alone that night, that the tree which she had climbed was, in -fact, in a line between Eve's beautiful deathbed and her own back door. -Nor did anyone know at what hour Eve died. His own assumption that Miss -Claxton had gone out only as far as the tree to leave money for 'Dolphus -had only the slightest foundation, and the mulatto's movements certainly -did not confirm it.</p> - -<p>While he reviewed all this with some reasonable horror, he found that -his inward belief of the propriety of all Miss Claxton's actions was not -shaken. His faith was obstinate, and facts had to be made to fit into -it.</p> - -<p>"Let us take this terrible secret of yours, and spread it out to the -light quite calmly. You believe your sister did this first dreadful -thing in a fit of sudden madness, from which she seems to have recovered -immediately, as no one else thought her mad. Did you believe this at the -time of the trial?"</p> - -<p>"I did not know what to think then."</p> - -<p>"After that, while you were abroad together, were you always in terror -like this?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no. It was when we were coming home that my sister had an illness. -It was then that she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> told me of her confession and where to find it if -it was ever needed. Then, knowing what must have been the matter, and -that it might come again, I was determined to find a lonely house where -I thought I should be the only one in danger. I thought I could take -that risk, as I only risked myself. When we found this house I felt sure -we were safe from intrusion and excitement."</p> - -<p>"After you heard of this confession you decided that she was subject to -homicidal mania. When I intruded on your privacy you feared for my life -in your house. You have feared for your own life whenever any cause of -excitement came up, and thought everyone near her was in danger. You -think now that such an attack may have been the cause of Eve's death."</p> - -<p>Bertha rose up in the twilight, looking like a trembling, guilty thing, -and slunk away from his cool voice and overbearing manner.</p> - -<p>"Do you think I have been so terribly wicked to keep this secret?" she -moaned.</p> - -<p>"I think you have been very foolish; but as your folly arose from -tenderness to your sister, I suppose you must be forgiven. You ought to -have told your sister or Alden, or consulted a good doctor. You would -have found then that you were mistaken."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p><p>"How could I speak to anyone without causing suspicion? How could I -speak to her when I thought her only chance of continued health lay in -forgetting? Indeed, our own family doctor, who never guessed this, told -us after the trial was over that our only chance of health and leading -useful lives was never to talk or let ourselves think of our trouble. -Before we went abroad he warned us again and again."</p> - -<p>"He was wise. And you—have you been obeying him?"</p> - -<p>"How can you speak to me like this?"</p> - -<p>"It is the medicine you need. Your sister is not mad—has never been -mad. It is now years since your misfortune, and had there been want of -balance or brain disease, it would have shown itself by now. Your sister -is not obstinate or foolish. She is not subject to attacks of emotion, -nor does she lack self-control. There is no sign of any such mania as -could make such a crime possible to a well-principled woman."</p> - -<p>"But—oh, but—I read constantly in the papers of people who kill -themselves, or kill others and themselves afterwards. The verdict is -always 'temporary insanity.' I supposed there was such a thing."</p> - -<p>"That verdict is usually a cloak for ignorance;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> but it assumes that had -such people lived they would have shown symptoms of mental disease."</p> - -<p>Bertha raised her hands and clasped them above her head. She drew a long -breath, dilating her frame, and looked off where an empty yellow sky -circled a fading landscape. "If I could only believe you—ah—if I could -only believe you, I should ask no greater happiness in heaven."</p> - -<p>"Believe me, I am telling you the truth."</p> - -<p>"But—but——"</p> - -<p>"Sit down again, child," he said.</p> - -<p>The term "child," used constantly by the negroes to express -half-humorous or gentle chiding, comes very naturally to Southern lips. -It carried with it little suggestion of the difference of age between -them, but gave a sense of comradeship and good-will which comforted her. -He pulled down a bundle of hay to cushion her seat on the steps.</p> - -<p>"Now tell me all the 'buts,'" he said.</p> - -<p>"Alas, Mr. Durgan, you cannot scold away our great trouble and my fears. -You cannot smile them into insignificance; but now I am willing to tell -you our story, and when it is told I hope you will see that you, too, -must bury it forever in silence, as I have tried to do."</p> - -<p>She began again. "There is another reason, which you don't know yet, why -I must tell you now.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> It is this 'Dolphus. I will try to be quick. Do -you know all that was put in the newspapers about us—about the trial?"</p> - -<p>Durgan made a sign of assent.</p> - -<p>"Day after day the court discussed every detail of our family life and -of that awful day—held it up to the whole world with an awful -minuteness and intensity. And Hermie was in prison when she was not in -court—oh, I wonder we lived—and it was all such a farce. They got hold -of everything but the things that mattered. They never came near them.</p> - -<p>"They tried to make out that we hated poor mamma because she was not our -own mother, and were jealous lest papa should make a will in her favor. -What rubbish! She was only a pretty doll, and had money of her own. No -one could hate her, and papa never thought of leaving her our money. We -never thought about his will."</p> - -<p>"I quite believe that," said Durgan heartily.</p> - -<p>"The facts they did not get hold of were about the boy they made such a -mystery of."</p> - -<p>"What did they know about the boy?"</p> - -<p>"One of the servants let him in, and one of the neighbors saw him come -in. They both took him for a beggar: one thought he was an Italian. -Hermie and I knew more. I gave evidence that he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> come in, and that -we had not seen him leave the hall, where he waited, or seen him again -that morning, which was true. But he did not come as a beggar, he did -not go away before the trouble, or vanish after it. He was hidden in the -house all that day, and we arranged his escape at night. In court they -never asked questions that I could not answer about him, for they never -once guessed."</p> - -<p>"Guessed what?"</p> - -<p>"That we wanted to save him. Their one idea was that we wanted him to be -found. Mr. Alden moved the earth to find him, and he was conducting our -case."</p> - -<p>"Who was the boy?"</p> - -<p>"May I tell you all I know? The boy was 'Dolphus. He was only a -messenger—a servant of that man who was raising spirits in dark rooms -and making them give messages and——"</p> - -<p>"You mean Beardsley?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. You said the other night that he was supposed not to be a common -medium. My sister has told me that Mrs. Durgan——"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, I know."</p> - -<p>"I only mean that just a few people went to him, and my father had gone. -Oh, I believe he went often, and he used to tell us things that vexed -Hermie so."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p><p>"What things?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, about knocks and tables moving. And then dear father began to -receive knocks and messages from our mother. That made Hermie almost -frantic. She remembered mother well, and was offended. She called it -'profanity.' But I am sure my father did not know how it vexed her; he -was always so considerate."</p> - -<p>"The boy came from Beardsley?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes. We knew, and know, nothing about the boy. He asked for my -father, and was told to wait in the kitchen. I saw him there, and so did -the maids. But only Hermie knew about the note—he gave it to her. She -took it upstairs. I saw that she looked very white and angry. She told -me that it was a message from that 'shameful impostor.' Then Hermie -asked me to gather fruit in the garden, and she sent out the maids up -the street. Then, some time after that, she—ah, you know it all!—gave -the alarm. She called in people, and they went and rang for the police. -She was very calm. Everyone knows the whole story after that."</p> - -<p>"Yes; but tell me what you did."</p> - -<p>"She never allowed me to go into that room where—— She told me my -father was too much disfigured for me to recognize him. Oh, I thought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> -of nothing but the loss of my father all that day. I went into his -dressing-room and cried there. I took out his dear clothes and laid my -head on them. Hermie sat with me part of the day. The police were in -charge of the house; but no one had thought then of accusing her.</p> - -<p>"When it was dark night Hermie came to me and said that there was -something we could do for father's sake, and I must help her. She told -me the boy was in the house and he was innocent, but that if he was -found he might be arrested unjustly. She told me that some great -disgrace might fall on father's name if we did not get him safely away. -Oh, I did not at all understand at the time that she meant that if he -were charged she must confess and be convicted. She chose some clothes -of father's, and then I found that the boy was locked in a very narrow -press in that very room. He put on the clothes, and he and Hermie -knotted some dark thing together and we let him down from the window in -the dark to the garden. He got in the neighbor's garden. She told him -how to get from garden to garden. The police were about, but he got -away. Her mind seemed quite clear. She said that because the boy was -innocent it was our duty to tell nothing that could lead to his capture. -She never told Mr. Alden that she knew who the boy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> was or who sent him, -that he had brought a letter, or how he escaped."</p> - -<p>"But how was she so certain that he was innocent?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, that is what I have asked myself night and day for years. What -could make her certain but one thing? She <i>knew</i>, and if she knew that -anyone else had committed the deed, why not tell and exonerate the boy?"</p> - -<p>"It is most extraordinary," said Durgan. The words were wrung from him -almost without his will.</p> - -<p>Bertha took no notice. "Then that night she did not know what she was -saying. She thought she saw all sorts of strange things in the room, and -she talked continually, as if seeing people who were not there. Her -words were quite fantastic and related to nothing I could understand. -But occasionally, when she seemed more coherent, she told me that the -police would come for her, that she would be proved to be guilty, and -begged me in the most touching terms to love her in spite of all. In the -daytime she would get up and go about the house, and she appeared -composed; but I knew her well enough to see that she was still strange. -But she never said a word, except when we were alone, to lead anyone to -suppose that she knew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> more than she first told. On the third day Mr. -Alden told us that she would be taken to prison. It was an awful shock -to me, but it seemed to rouse her and bring back her faculties. We were -alone together for about an hour. After she had tried to soothe and -comfort me by speaking of duty, of God, and of heaven, she spoke to me -very solemnly, and told me not to grieve for any hardship that befell -her, for she had broken the law and must suffer if she was condemned; -but that, short of doing or saying anything to inculpate anyone else, -she would do all that could be done to convince the world of her -innocence. She said: 'It would be worse for you, and for father's sake, -if I were convicted. I will fight for my liberty unless someone else is -accused; but remember, if anyone else is accused, I shall have to do -what will bring disgrace. Remember that, Bertha. Remember that if any -circumstance should come to your knowledge to tempt you to accuse anyone -else, <i>that</i> will put an end to my hopes.' She said this very solemnly -several times. Then she told me the lines on which Mr. Alden would -probably have the case conducted; and that I must tell nothing but the -truth, but refuse to tell about the boy, or what she had told me. I -never heard anyone speak more clearly and collectedly. She foresaw -almost everything.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> Our other lawyers and Mr. Alden said the same thing, -that her intellect was almost like that of a trained lawyer in its -prevision of the effect of evidence."</p> - -<p>"And did you believe her guilty?"</p> - -<p>"I did not know what to think. I was stunned. I dared not think, for it -took all my mind to act the part she assigned to me. But afterwards, -during the long time she was in prison and during the trial, I believed -her innocent. When I thought of her goodness and the perfectly -unforeseen and inexplicable manner of the way poor papa and mamma died, -I could not think Hermione guilty, and I did not. As to the wild things -she said in those nights, I supposed she had been in a fever, and put -down all I could not understand to that.</p> - -<p>"Then we formed the plan of going abroad and returning to some place -like this, only not so lonely. We packed all our valuables to be put in -a safe by Mr. Alden. When my sister had packed the family papers and her -own jewelry and locked and sealed the box, she called me to look at it -and gave me the key. When she was ill in Paris she told me of her -confession, and that it lay at the bottom of this box. But she asked me -most solemnly never to open it unless someone else was falsely accused. -She told me that she had no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> further motive in life than to make up to -me as far as possible for all that I had innocently suffered; but she -begged me not to make life too hard for her by ever speaking of this -matter again. I have never spoken to her again about it."</p> - -<p>Bertha's voice had become very melancholy; now she ceased.</p> - -<p>"This mulatto calling himself 'Dolphus is certainly the boy?"</p> - -<p>"Yes—oh, yes; we both knew him the moment he turned up again."</p> - -<p>"Have you never seen him between then and now?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Where has he been?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know."</p> - -<p>"How did he find you?"</p> - -<p>"By bribing the porter in Mr. Alden's office to show him the letters he -carried. He has a right to protection and support from us, for there is -still a great reward offered for him. Mr. Alden offered it."</p> - -<p>"And Alden does not guess that this is he?"</p> - -<p>"How should he? He has no idea that we would hide him. But now we cannot -conceive what will happen, for altho we are sure that he won't tell -about us as long as he has a chance of escape,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> Hermie herself says that -if he is condemned he may, in despair and revenge, tell all that he -knows."</p> - -<p>"Alden must be told this."</p> - -<p>She sprang up with great energy. "He must not know. It is the one thing -Hermie will not let him know if it is possible to help it. Oh, of course -the worst catastrophe may come and overwhelm us; but while we have hope -of escape, Hermie will not let Mr. Alden know that."</p> - -<p>It had become dark. Hermione Claxton was looking for her sister, walking -across the meadow and calling in motherly tones.</p> - -<p>"Answer me just one thing. Did your sister tell you in plain words that -she committed this deed?"</p> - -<p>"No; she did not. But I have tried to make what she said mean anything -else. In any case she would not have said a word she could help; such -words are too terrible. Can you think I have not sought to believe -otherwise?"</p> - -<p>She said this in a tense, hurried voice, and standing at the barn door, -called back: "I'm coming, I'm coming, dear."</p> - -<p>"She never did it," said Durgan strongly. "She knows who did. She is -shielding someone."</p> - -<p>"That is very easy to say," said the girl <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>scornfully. "Of one thing I -am certain; there is no one on earth she would shield at my expense. -Think what we have suffered while she fought through that terrible -trial. She knows no one, loves no one on earth, but me and Mr. Alden."</p> - -<p>"I'm coming, I'm coming, darling."</p> - -<p>She took up her empty pail and ran.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXII</span> <span class="smaller">THE EARTHLY PURGATORY</span></h2> - -<p>Waking or sleeping, one figure stood forth in Durgan's imagination that -night, and was the center of all his mental activity—it was Hermione -Claxton.</p> - -<p>He had been accustomed to regard her as the very incarnation of the -commonplace, in so far as good sense and good feeling can be common.</p> - -<p>Now he knew her as the chief actor in a story wherein the heights and -depths of human passion had been so displayed that it might seem -impossible for one mind to habitually hold so wide a gamut of experience -in its conscious memory. This quiet little gray-haired housewife, who -lived beside him, baking, sweeping, and sewing her placid days away, had -stood in the criminal dock almost convicted of the most inhuman of -crimes. Having passed through the awful white flame of public -execration, she had accepted her blackened reputation with quiet -dignity; for years she had lived a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> hidden life of perfect -self-sacrifice, devoting herself to the purest service of sister-love. -With character still uncleared, she had been urged to take her place as -the wife of one of New York's best-known philanthropists, with whom, it -seemed, she had long suffered the sorrows of mutual love and -disappointment. Of more than this Durgan felt assured. As he reviewed -all that had been told him that day, he was the more convinced that she -had been no involuntary victim of false accusation, that she knew the -secret that had puzzled the world, and had chosen to shield the -criminal, to bear the odium, and also inflict it on the objects of her -love. She had done all this for the sake of—what? What motive could -have been strong enough to induce a wise and good woman to make such a -sacrifice and endure the intolerable keeping of such a secret?</p> - -<p>Durgan very naturally sought again the bundle of criminal reports which -had fallen into his hands after the fire. Packed in the pile which fed -the miners' stove, they had not, as yet, been burned. He reconsidered -them, supposing now that they had been collected by Miss Claxton -herself. A motley band of prisoners was thus evoked. They passed in -procession before Durgan, beginning with Hermione Claxton, and ending -with that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>curious figure of the dilettante priest who had beaten a -sister to death in fear that she was an apparition. The well-born woman -who, without temptation, had stolen jewels; the French peasant who had -killed a loved wife to save her from the sufferings of a painful -disease, and all the other members of this strange procession, -represented the eccentricities of the respectable, rather than the -characteristics of the degraded class. From a fresh scrutiny of each -Durgan gained no information, only a strong suspicion that the criminal -for whom Miss Claxton had so bravely stood scapegoat belonged to the -same respectable class. He assumed that while her lawyers had been -hunting for some inconsequent housebreaker who had taken a maniacal -delight in dealing death, she had covered the guilt of someone whose -reputation defied suspicion. Love, blind love, could have been the only -motive strong enough to initiate and sustain such a course of action. -The only way to discover the villain to whom she had sacrificed herself -was to discover the man to whom she had given her heart. No doubt, since -the crime and cowardice had betrayed his true value, such a woman would -turn with some affection to a man like Alden. But Durgan's surmise -required that before the crime she should have had another lover. Such a -lover, if at enmity with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> the father and in need of money, would have -had all the motive that the prosecution had attributed to Miss Claxton. -She was supposed to have sent all witnesses out of the house before the -crime; if her lover was demanding a private interview with her father, -and her engagement was as yet private, such action on her part—— But -Durgan paused, vexed at the nimbleness of his fancy. He derided himself -for assuming that so obvious a suspicion had not long ago been probed to -the bottom by acuter minds than his.</p> - -<p>When he came to question more soberly what clues he held by which he -might himself seek for any truth in his new suspicion, more unquiet -suggestions came thick and fast.</p> - -<p>More than once lately he had had the unpleasant sensation of hearing his -wife's name very unexpectedly. Bertha had more than once referred to -her; and what was it the raving mulatto had said? It took him some time -to recollect words that had fallen on his astonished ears only to -convince him of their nonsense. The mulatto had implied that his wife -had concealed something for years which put her in some rivalry or -enmity with Miss Claxton. His advice that Durgan should look into his -wife's conduct and take Miss Claxton's part could, if it meant anything, -only point to some mutual interest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> both women had with the -spiritualist, Charlton Beardsley.</p> - -<p>Durgan was amazed at such an idea. He remained for some time, as he said -to himself, "convinced" that the mulatto was raving; and yet he went as -far as to reflect that there had never been any visible reason for his -wife's devotion to this man; furthermore, that Bertha had said that Mr. -Claxton, an hour before his sad death, had received a message from -Charlton Beardsley, that the mulatto had come from Beardsley, and was it -not likely that he had sought shelter with his employer? The mulatto -evidently knew Hermione to be innocent; in that case Beardsley would -know it, and perhaps Durgan's own wife knew it. They had come forward -with no evidence. What possible motive could they have had for -concealment?</p> - -<p>Durgan broke from his camp bed and from his hut, hot and stifled by the -disagreeable rush of indignant and puzzled thoughts. He stood in the -free air and dark starlight, trying to shake off his growing suspicions. -Details gathered from different sources were darting into his mind, and -it seemed to him that fancy, not reason, was rapidly constructing a dark -story of which he could conceive no explanation, but which involved even -himself—through tolerance of his wife's conduct<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>—in the guilt of Miss -Claxton's unmerited sufferings.</p> - -<p>Alarmed at the trend of these memories and hasty inferences, he -controlled himself, to reflect only on the more instant question of -Eve's death, and the evidence he must give at the trial. It would appear -that until 'Dolphus was condemned, even the Claxtons did not fear his -tongue. To give evidence against him, and at the same time to seal his -tongue, appeared to be Durgan's immediate duty, but the performance -seemed difficult. What bribe, what threat could move a condemned man who -was but a waif in the world, and need care for none but himself?</p> - -<p>Yet if rational meaning was to be granted at all to his raving on the -night of Eve's death, it would appear that even this creature had a -reverence for Miss Claxton, and a desire to be the object of her -prayers. Was this motive strong enough to be worked upon? It would be -better, no doubt, to gain an interview with the prisoner and try to -discover if he had any tenacity of purpose, but to this Durgan felt -strong repugnance.</p> - -<p>In avoiding this issue, his mind began to torment him regarding the -evidence against Miss Claxton, which he alone knew, and which he might -not have a right to conceal. His ardent belief in her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>goodness, his -firm belief that he had heard Eve die, rested only on intuitive insight, -common in men of solitary habit and unscholarly minds; he knew that this -was no basis on which to found legal evidence.</p> - -<p>With these uneasy and unfinished thoughts he at last fell asleep in the -faint light of the dawn, and waked again soon with a vivid and bad -dream.</p> - -<p>He dreamed that he was again on the lonely mountain on the night of -Eve's death, groping under the stunted thicket of old oak. Again he saw -Miss Claxton come to the forked tree. She climbed as before, and reached -up one thin arm to deposit something in the highest cleft of the trunk. -The moon rose as before; Durgan saw in his dream that the thing she hid -there was a knife, and the blade was red. Rousing himself from a sleep -that brought so odious a vision, he woke to find the rays of a red -sunrise in his face.</p> - -<p>One of his laborers brought up the borrowed horse which he had arranged -to ride to Hilyard. Before he started he went up the trail to the summit -house, hoping that Alden might be about. He had nothing definite to ask, -and yet he would have been glad to have some parting advice from him. No -one was up. The very house was drowsy under the folded petals of its -climbing flowers. Durgan went down through the stunted oak wood, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> -looked up as he passed the forked tree. It was the first time he had -been close to it in daylight. In one branch of the fork, close to the -notch, there was a round hole, such as squirrels choose for their nests. -Better hiding-place for a small object could not be. To act the spy so -far as to look into the hole without Miss Claxton's permission would -have been what Durgan called "a nigger's trick." Like all the better -class of slave-owners, he habitually sought to justify his own -assumption of superiority by holding himself high above all mean actions -or superstitious ideas. As he went down the hill he was vexed with -himself for having been so far influenced by a dream as to have even -looked for the hole in the tree.</p> - -<p>Yet as he rode out into the glorious morning, he found himself arguing -that if money for the mulatto had been put in the tree, it was odd that -the mulatto had made no effort to get it before his arrest or to send -for it after. The thing which had really been put there, if not meant -for 'Dolphus, was probably intended to be long hidden. But a dream, of -course, meant nothing, and his could easily be accounted for by the -tenor of his waking thoughts and the color of the sunrise.</p> - -<p>When he reached the saw-mill he turned by the long, wooden mill-race and -set his horse at a gentle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> gallop for Hilyard. Even at that speed he -began to wonder whether if, by such evidence as had convinced Bertha, he -were induced to hold the erroneous opinion of Miss Claxton's guilt, he -would be also forced into Bertha's conclusion, that fits of mania were -the only explanation. Since last night he had called Bertha a fool; now, -while most unwelcome suspicions followed him like tormenting demons, he -was driven into greater sympathy with the younger sister.</p> - -<p>He galloped gently down the slope of the valley, tree and shrub and -flower rushing past him in the freshness of the morning. Suddenly he -checked his horse to look up. He was beneath his own precipice. The mine -was on a ledge about three hundred feet above him. The rock rose sheer -some hundred and fifty feet above that. He could trace the opening of -the trail, but even the smoke of the hidden dwelling-house could not be -seen here. As Durgan listened for the faint chink of his workmen's -tools, and sought from this unfamiliar point of view to trace each -well-known spot, he began, for the first time, to realize fully the -dreadfulness of the story which only yesterday had revealed.</p> - -<p>Involuntarily he drew rein. The memory that had transfixed him was the -description of the Claxton murder. While the step-mother had been -killed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> by only one well-aimed shot, the father had been beaten with -such brutal rage that no likeness of the living man appeared in the -horrid shape of the dead.</p> - -<p>He spoke aloud in the sunny solitude, and his words were of Bertha and -her sister. "My God! She has lived alone with her there for two years -believing this."</p> - -<p>He had very often of late thought slightingly of Bertha's excitability. -Last night he had thought scorn of her conclusions. Now, when he -perceived how the terrible form of death which had befallen her loved -father must have wrought upon her nerves, and how much more reason she -had to believe her sister guilty than the most bigoted member of the -public who had tried to condemn her, he felt only reverence for the -courage and devotion of such a life. No doubt her womanly proneness to -nervous fears, and the undisciplined activity of her imagination, had -sometimes pictured scenes of impossible distress, and resulted in words -and looks inconsistent with her resolution of secrecy; but, also, how -much did this timorous and excitable disposition heighten the heroism of -the office she had so perseveringly filled.</p> - -<p>Yet while he remained in deep admiration of this heroism, he thought -that he himself could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> never forgive Bertha's suspicion of her sister. -How much less could Alden forgive? And if it ever reached the trustful -mind of that loving sister that the child of her delight had thought her -prone to madness, the word "forgiveness" would have no meaning between -them. A wound would be made that no earthly love could ever heal.</p> - -<p>Bertha's beauty came vividly before him—her kind, honest, impulsive -girlhood. "God help her," he said slowly. "She has cheerfully borne -worse than hell for love's sake, and such is the extreme tragedy of -love, that if she is mistaken, all this loyalty and suffering can never -atone for her mistake."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXIII</span> <span class="smaller">WHAT 'DOLPHUS KNOWS</span></h2> - -<p>Durgan left the breeze of the sunrise and the mountains behind him, and -after that one first gallop, rode slowly down into the stillness of the -lower country and the heat of the midday hours. The smoke of some -distant forest fire filled the air, diffusing the sunlight in a golden -glow. Who can tell the sweetness that the flame of distant pine-woods -lends? It is not smoke after it has floated many hundred miles; it is a -faint and delicious aroma and a tint in the air—that is all.</p> - -<p>On the lower side of the road now the hill dropped, in ragged harvest -fields and half-cultivated vineyards, towards the wide hot cotton plains -of the sea-board. On the other side were enclosed pastures where tame -cattle were straying among young growths of trees, which were everywhere -again conquering the once smooth clearings.</p> - -<p>In the long, central street of Hilyard, behind the weathered palings, -garden flowers brimmed over.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> Great heads of phlox, white and crimson, -sent forth the sweetest and most subtle fragrance. Petunias, large as -ladies' bonnets, soft and purple, breathed of honey. Rose and poppy, -love-in-a-mist and lovelies-bleeding, marigold and prince's feather, all -fought for room in tangles of delight. Over the old wooden houses the -morning-glory held its gorgeous cups still open under the mellow veil of -smoke. No house in the town was newly painted, or bore to the world the -sharp, firm outline of good repair; but there was not one which nature -had not adorned with flower or vine or moss. Everywhere there was the -trace of poverty and languor after war; everywhere there was beauty, -sweetness, and warmth, and the gracious outline of repose.</p> - -<p>Hilyard lay on the way from the mountains to the broad plantations which -still bore Durgan's name. It was soothing to him to find himself again -in a country where he had lost so much for the Federal cause that he had -gained proportionate respect. The mountain whites knew nothing but their -own hills; but here, to everyone, high or low, it was enough that he was -Neil Durgan, however shabby his clothes and empty his pocket; and he -felt afresh the responsibility and self-confidence which an honorable -ancestry and personal sacrifice have power to give.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p><p>The interview with the magistrate was a short one. The trial of the two -negroes was put off because the mulatto had asked for ten days in which -to obtain money and advice from his friends in the North. A few days -before Durgan would have been enraged at the delay on Adam's account; -now he was only too thankful. He took his resolution, and obtained leave -to visit both prisoners.</p> - -<p>The prison was a square house, differing from others only in having bars -in the windows and standing nakedly to the street without fence or -garden. Outside and in it was dirty and slovenly. Adam's cell was in -bright contrast, well furnished, clean and neat as its inmate. Adam's -skin shone with soap; his shirt was spotless; he sat on a rocking-chair, -large-print Bible in hand; and when Durgan came he wept.</p> - -<p>"There, there," said Durgan, patting him. "Reckon you'd better cheer up. -The folks all speak well of you, you big nigger."</p> - -<p>The jailer stood in the doorway grinning with delight at the novel -juxtaposition of a good prisoner and a local hero.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Adam," went on Durgan, "you look like a man in a tract. I'm proud -of you, Adam. How's this for a good Durgan nigger?" he asked, turning to -the hard-featured jailer.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p><p>The excellence of Adam's behavior, which might have been art, had -evidently been accepted as artless; for the callous and indolent -authorities knew well enough the broad difference between good and bad -in the unsophisticated blacks.</p> - -<p>"Adam—he does you credit, Mr. Durgan, sir," said the jailer. "Reckon -Hilyard always had a good word for your pa's niggers, sir. Adam—he's -all right. General Durgan Blount said as how you said he was to have his -comforts."</p> - -<p>When Durgan stepped again into the dirty passage way, and recalled the -turnkey to open the mulatto's cell, all the easy, brutal injustice of it -weighed upon his sense of honor; he felt ashamed for his country. -'Dolphus, backed by no local influence, too weak to wash his cell, was -confined amid dirt and vermin. The crusted window-glass let in little -light. The wretch sat on the edge of a straw bed, almost his only -furniture, his silken hair long and matted, his smart clothes crushed, -his linen filthy. Durgan was shocked; in such case it was but evident -that his disease, already advanced, would make rapid progress. It was -with a new sensation of pity that he took the chair that the jailer -thrust in before he withdrew.</p> - -<p>"Have you no money to get yourself comforts?" Durgan asked.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p><p>"Yes, sir. Miss—that lady, you know, sir—has given me as much as I -can spend on food and drink. I ain't got much appetite, sir." He seemed -entirely frank as to Miss Claxton's kindness.</p> - -<p>"I have come to see if I can do anything for you."</p> - -<p>"I thought, sir, you was only the friend of your own niggers like Adam."</p> - -<p>"Whom did your father belong to?"</p> - -<p>"General Courthope, of Louisiana. No, sir, he isn't dead; but my father -ran away when the 'mancipation came, and left the ole Gen'ral, and -pulled up in New York; so the fam'ly might as well be dead for all -they'll do for me."</p> - -<p>"Have you no folks?"</p> - -<p>"Not now, sir. I got called for up North, for something I hadn't done; -so I had to lie low, and lost any folks I had. But there's one gen'leman -I've written to; he'll play up to get me out of this." A curious look -came over the face of the speaker. He chuckled.</p> - -<p>Durgan felt puzzled at the look and the laugh. "Are you sure he got the -letter?"</p> - -<p>'Dolphus pulled a well-worn bit of paper out of his pocket. It was a -telegram dated only a few days before. He regarded it with an intense -expression which might have been hatred, and after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> gloating over it for -a few moments, he showed it to Durgan. It was dated, "Corner of Beard -and 84th Street." It said only, "Received letter; you may depend on me." -It was signed "B. D." It had been handed in at a New York office two -days before.</p> - -<p>"And if this friend should fail you?"</p> - -<p>"He says, sir, that I can depend upon him; an' I wrote to him that if he -didn't come up to the scratch he could depend on me." Another chuckle -ended this speech.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I see; you have some threat to hold over his head."</p> - -<p>'Dolphus did not answer.</p> - -<p>Durgan, looking at the lustrous eyes and clever, sickly face, became -exceedingly interested in the object of his contemplation. How strange -to sit thus face to face, with perhaps nothing between him and the -Claxton secret but this dying mulatto's flimsy will, and yet go away -unsatisfied.</p> - -<p>Almost in spite of himself, he bent forward and said, "You were in a -certain house when a murder was committed. I do not believe you guilty -or wish to harm you, but I believe you know who <i>is</i> guilty."</p> - -<p>A look of caution came over the other's face; he listened and looked -intently. "Look here, sir; I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> wasn't never at no house where there was -such things done. I wasn't never at no place such as you say."</p> - -<p>Durgan had no argument to meet this obvious lie. He could not quote his -authority. He was, however, more interested than angry, because the -prisoner was so evidently enjoying the momentous question raised, and -with lips parted, sat expectant, as if he did not intend his denial to -be believed.</p> - -<p>"I only desire to see justice done," said Durgan coldly.</p> - -<p>'Dolphus looked at him with eyes half-shut, and, to Durgan's -astonishment, a sensation of fear found room in his consciousness. "Are -you sure of that, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Of what?"</p> - -<p>"That you'd like to see justice done—all round, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Justice—yes. And what else could I desire but justice?" Then he added, -hardly knowing why, "But unless you have evidence, no one will believe -anything you choose to say."</p> - -<p>'Dolphus chuckled aloud. "I've got evidence all right enough, sir; an' I -know where one witness is to be found—a truthful lady, sir, who is so -queer made that she'd die rather than hurt a gen'leman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> she cared for, -sir; but she'd sooner hurt him than swear what was false. I'm agoin' to -clear her in spite of herself."</p> - -<p>"Do you wish to hurt this good lady by making her real name known here, -where she wishes it to be concealed?"</p> - -<p>"Look you here, sir. You're a mighty fine gen'leman; I'm a poor yaller -nigger; you wouldn't trust me with a ten-cent bit. Well, sir, one of us -has got to give a good deal to save that lady. Which 'ull it be, sir?"</p> - -<p>Durgan received this astonishing challenge in amazement. He began to -believe the fellow was in terrible earnest under his mocking tone and -light manner. He was too proud to answer.</p> - -<p>"Look here, sir; you can go an' tell that pious little lady I won't harm -her—not if I die for it; but I ain't goin' to die till I've done better -than that. I'm turnin' ill now, sir. You'd better send for the man -outside to bring me something to drink. I'll pay him, sir."</p> - -<p>He actually refused the greenbacks his visitor offered. Before Durgan -had summoned the turnkey, 'Dolphus had curled himself up on the pallet -in all the appearance of a swoon.</p> - -<p>Durgan went to the "hotel" where he had left his horse. It was a wooden -house with scanty <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>furniture, all its many doors and windows open to the -street. Two old women sat in one doorway, ceaselessly rubbing their gums -with snuff—a local vice. Three rickety children were playing in the -barroom. The landlord was exercising his thoroughbred horses in the -yard. The horses were beautiful creatures, neither rickety nor vicious.</p> - -<p>A valuable microscope and a case of surgical instruments stood on a -table, surrounded by the ash of cigars. They were the property of the -country doctor, a noted surgeon, who was satisfied to make his home in -this fantastic inn. The wife of the hotel-keeper, who always wore a blue -sun-bonnet whether in or out of the house, brought Durgan a glass of the -worst beer he had ever tasted, and delicious gingerbread hot from the -oven.</p> - -<p>When Durgan had found the doctor and made sure that he would go at once -and better the mulatto's condition, he set out on his homeward journey. -He had said to the medical man, "Whatever happens, you must not let the -fellow die till I come back."</p> - -<p>The answer had been, "I won't do that."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXIV</span> <span class="smaller">THE WOMAN WITH A SECRET</span></h2> - -<p>Durgan had ridden down the hills in rather leisurely fashion; now he -urged his horse to speed. He had come uncertain how to meet the issue of -the day; now he was eager to forestall the issue of the next.</p> - -<p>He had brought from his interview with the dying prisoner a strong -impression that the poor fellow had more mind and purpose than he had -supposed, and that he certainly had some scheme on hand from the -development of which he expected excitement and some lively -satisfaction.</p> - -<p>The hints thrown out sounded madder than the supposed raving of his last -night of freedom. He had control over some unknown person, or persons, -of wealth in New York, who would send to save him, and he would -sacrifice something—perhaps his salvation—to Miss Claxton; further, he -threatened Durgan with discomfiture.</p> - -<p>What could seem more mad than all this? But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> to-day Durgan was not at -all sure that the poor creature did not mean all he said and could not -do all he promised. The development of the mulatto's purpose might be -left to time, but Durgan's purpose was to follow up the clues he had -obtained, and two facts had to be dealt with now. 'Dolphus had freely -expressed the belief that Miss Claxton had shielded an unknown criminal -of the male sex whom she loved. Durgan had been so astonished, and even -shocked, at hearing his own bold surmise so quickly and fully -corroborated, that he knew now for the first time how little confidence -he had had in his own detective powers. Further, it was probably this -guilty person over whom 'Dolphus had power. He was rich, and could not -be unknown; he was within reach, for he had recently telegraphed, and -the address given must be meant to find him. Durgan felt that it would -be criminal to lose a moment in putting this clue in Alden's hand.</p> - -<p>Bertha had desired that Alden should be left in ignorance of the -mulatto's identity because she feared it might lead to her sister's -condemnation; now that 'Dolphus himself had implied that he could clear -the sister's reputation, Bertha could not, must not, hesitate. Miss -Claxton's desire to hide from Alden who the mulatto was and what he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> -knew must be part of her desire to hide the miscreant; but with time, -Durgan was ready to believe, this desire must have lessened or almost -failed, as love must have cooled. In any case, Miss Claxton held all her -desires as subordinate to the will of God; persuasion, reason, pressure, -must move her. Durgan urged on his horse.</p> - -<p>All the way home he passed over shady roads flecked with pink sunlight. -The heaviest foliage of summer mantled the valleys. The birds were -almost still, resting in the deep shadows of the mature season.</p> - -<p>When Durgan was almost within hearing of the waterfall and the hum of -the saw-mill at Deer Cove, he met three riders. Mr. Alden and Bertha, in -company with young Blount, were descending for a gallop in the cool of -the evening. They all stopped to say they had heard by post that the -trial was deferred, and to inquire after Adam's welfare.</p> - -<p>Durgan could reply cheerfully as to Adam, that he was spending his time -in ablutions and pious exercises, and that the authorities were bent -upon having him acquitted.</p> - -<p>"Reckon they are," said young Blount. "My father saw to that when he -went over."</p> - -<p>Durgan saw that neither Bertha nor Mr. Alden would ask about the other -prisoner in his cousin's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> presence. He said in a casual tone, "The -yellow fellow seems assured that he will have money and influence behind -him, too, by next week."</p> - -<p>"Yes," cried Blount, interested always in minutiæ, "he sent a letter and -received a telegram."</p> - -<p>Durgan rode on. He must wait now an hour or two for an opportunity to -speak to Alden or Bertha, and he began to wonder whether it would not be -more honorable to approach Miss Claxton direct, confess what he had -chanced to see of her secret actions, and tell her frankly what the -mulatto had let fall that day. His borrowed horse had been offered the -hospitality of her stable for the night, so he must, perforce, reach the -summit.</p> - -<p>The horse rubbed down and fed in the spacious stable, Durgan sought the -front of the low house, now richly decorated by the scarlet -trumpet-flower, which had conquered the other creepers of earlier -summer, and had thrown out its triumphal flag from the very chimneys.</p> - -<p>He found the lady, as he had expected, sitting quietly busy at some -woman's work in the front porch. The house mastiff lay at her feet, and -round the corner came the low, sweet song of the colored maid who had -taken Eve's place in the kitchen. The rich crimson plant called -"love-lies-bleeding," now in full flower, trailed its tassels on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> the -earth on either side of the low doorway. It seemed, indeed, a fit emblem -of the tragedy of the life beside it.</p> - -<p>Miss Claxton welcomed Durgan with her usual self-effacing gentleness. -"Bertha and Mr. Alden have ridden out with Mr. Blount. Thought likely -you would have met them."</p> - -<p>Durgan's avowal of the meeting caused her to expect an explanation of -his visit; but for some minutes he dallied, glad to rest in her gentle -presence, and feeling now the extreme difficulty of saying things he -thought it only honorable to say.</p> - -<p>He had hitherto blamed Bertha and Alden for not addressing themselves to -Miss Claxton more openly. He now realized to what degree she had the -power which many of the meekest people possess, of hiding from the -strife of tongues behind their own gentle, inapproachable dignity.</p> - -<p>Durgan rested in pacific mood while she uttered gentle words of sympathy -for his fatigue, and fell into a muse of astonishment that she should be -the center of such pressing and tragic interests. So strong was his -silent thought that it would have forced him into questions had she been -less strong. He longed to ask, "Why do you assume that this 'Dolphus -will not expose the criminal you have suffered so much to hide?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p><p>Instead, he only began to describe his visits to the prisoners, taking -Adam first, and coming naturally to 'Dolphus.</p> - -<p>"It was real kind of you, Mr. Durgan, to see after him; and it was very -mean of the jail folks not to wash up for him. He had money to pay -them."</p> - -<p>"The doctor will make them stand round. But I wanted to tell you that I -have been wondering upon what or whom 'Dolphus relies for his defence. -Adam has such a strong backing, there seems to be no doubt of his -acquittal. I did not know this till I went to-day, or how little -difference the emancipation has really made as to the justice or -injustice meted out to niggers. I supposed—I have been absent since the -close of the war—that the evidence given at the trial would be -all-important. Now I think the conclusion is foregone; judge and jury, -whoever the jurors may be, have already fallen into the belief that I -and my cousins have insisted on."</p> - -<p>She had dropped her work; she was absorbed in his every word. "It's a -bad principle, of course," she said; "but as to Adam, it is working out -all right. I suppose—I suppose, Mr. Durgan, that 'Dolphus did kill poor -Eve? I'd feel pretty mean if he's being punished for nothing."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p><p>"I believe he did; but I have no proof."</p> - -<p>"I don't mind telling you, Mr. Durgan, that I got Mr. Alden to get a -lawyer—quite privately, of course—to offer his services to -'Dolphus—to tell him we would pay the costs, because Adam and Eve were -our 'help,' and of course we wanted to see only justice done. 'Dolphus -wouldn't accept it. He refused; we don't know why. He told the lawyer he -knew 'a game worth two of that.' Of course, if there is miscarriage of -justice, we can't feel quite so badly as if we hadn't made the offer."</p> - -<p>"What do you think he meant by 'knowing a better game'?"</p> - -<p>"It wasn't just fooling, was it, Mr. Durgan?" Underneath her quiet there -was now a tremulous eagerness; her faded eyes looked to his with -sorrowful appeal.</p> - -<p>"No; after seeing him to-day, I am inclined to think more of him than I -did; but I think he's up to tricks of some sort. May I tell you what he -said to me, Miss Claxton?"</p> - -<p>"I'm just praying to the Lord all the time, Mr. Durgan, and trying to -leave it all in His hands. He won't let us suffer more than is right; -and I hope He'll give us grace to bear what He sends, if it isn't the -full deliverance I pray for."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p><p>Durgan was nonplused. "Do you mean to say you would rather not hear -what the man said? because I must tell Alden, and as it concerns you -most, I thought——"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I guess perhaps I ought to hear it. And if you tell me you don't -need to tell Mr. Alden, because I know better than you what he ought to -hear—that is, if it concerns me."</p> - -<p>This seemed a simple and self-evident view of the case; Durgan hardly -knew how he could have thought of interfering. Nor did he find it at all -easy to put significance into the prisoner's words apart from his own -foreknowledge and prejudgment of the case.</p> - -<p>"'Dolphus suggested to me that I would not wish to see justice done -in—to say the truth—in your own case, Miss Claxton. He challenged me, -asking if I were willing to make a sacrifice to prove your innocence."</p> - -<p>She looked at him straight. Her eyes were not faded now; he was amazed -at the flash and flush of energy and youth he had brought to her face. -He thought he had never in his life seen so honest, so spiritual a face -as that which confronted him; but whether her present expression was one -of astonishment or dismay he could not tell.</p> - -<p>"You could not have expected him to speak on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> this subject; and you -never had any connection with our trouble? What more did he say?"</p> - -<p>"He never really mentioned your name; I only assumed that his reference -was to you. He said that he knew a lady who would die to save a—well, -he <i>said</i>, a gentleman she loved, but would let even <i>him</i> die rather -than swear falsely."</p> - -<p>She never flinched. "Was that all?" she asked.</p> - -<p>But Durgan was already cut with remorse to think how impertinent his -words must sound. "No, that was not all. He asked me to give you a -message, to tell you that he would not harm you—that he would rather -die than harm you. This was in answer to my suggestion that you would -not wish your real name to be known in these parts."</p> - -<p>She looked relieved. "I have always believed that he had more good in -him than you thought. But tell me all. I'd liefer hear every word, if -you please."</p> - -<p>"I hope I remember all that he said. I think that was all that I took to -be a direct reference to you, Miss Claxton; but what I thought most -needful to tell Alden——"</p> - -<p>"Yes?" The little word pulsed with restrained excitement.</p> - -<p>"I asked the fellow on what defence he relied, and he said what made me -think he had the pull of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> some threat over the person he relied on. He -had had a telegram."</p> - -<p>"I don't exactly understand, Mr. Durgan."</p> - -<p>"Neither do I, I assure you."</p> - -<p>"But I mean, what has that to do with Mr. Alden?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I think I assumed that 'Dolphus believed this person to be the -criminal, and his address was on the telegram."</p> - -<p>"May I ask why you made this assumption?"</p> - -<p>"It may have been unwarranted, but taken in connection with his boast -that he could establish your entire freedom from blame——" Durgan was -floundering in his effort to find words for the very painful subject. He -paused, with face red and dew on his brow.</p> - -<p>"I guess, Mr. Durgan, if you'll speak quite plainly what you mean, it -will be better for us both."</p> - -<p>"Why do you include me? Do you know why this boy threatens me, -reproaches me, challenges me?"</p> - -<p>"Tell me first, Mr. Durgan, what you made out, and what you think this -telegram has to do with it?"</p> - -<p>"To be plain, I suspect that this man knows who was guilty of the crime -for which you were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> tried, that he is now in communication with him, and -I saw an address in the telegram he had received."</p> - -<p>"What was the address?"</p> - -<p>"'Corner of Beard and 84th Street,' and it was signed 'B. D.'" He told -her its contents.</p> - -<p>She went into the house and brought out a New York directory a year or -two old. "I guess there isn't any such corner," she said, and in a -moment she showed him there was not.</p> - -<p>"Do you know of anyone who has these initials?"</p> - -<p>"I do not."</p> - -<p>"If Alden sent a detective to the office where it was received, I wonder -if he could find out who sent it?"</p> - -<p>"Is it likely that if anyone took the trouble to give a wrong address, -they would leave any clew to their whereabouts?"</p> - -<p>"Could 'Dolphus give Alden any information of moment?"</p> - -<p>"He could give him none that would do anyone any good."</p> - -<p>"Might that not be a matter of opinion?"</p> - -<p>"I don't see that folks who don't know what they are doing can have a -right to an opinion about the results."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p><p>There was then a silence. The sun had long set on the valley, but from -this eminence its last rays were still seen mingling with a foam of -crimson cloud in a vista of the western hills. Both the man and the -woman had their faces turned to the great red cloud-flower in which the -light of day was declining. The mountains were solemn and tender; the -valleys dim and wide. It was not a scene on which the sober mind could -gaze without gaining for the hour some reflection of the greatness and -earnestness of God.</p> - -<p>But the world about could only be environment to their thought, not for -a moment its object. Durgan was roused in spirit. The quiescent temper -which he had sought to obtain in compensation for a stormy and -disappointed youth was lost for the time. This woman, who bore the odium -of a cruel and dastardly deed, was still intent on shielding the real -doer. Durgan looked at the splendid arena of the mountains and the -manifest struggle of light and darkness therein; the many tracks of -suspicion in which his thoughts had all day been moving gathered -together.</p> - -<p>"Miss Claxton, are you willing to tell me all you know about Charlton -Beardsley?"</p> - -<p>She looked at him for a moment as if trying to read his thoughts, then -looked back at the outer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> world, as if moved by his question only to -profound and regretful reverie.</p> - -<p>"About Charlton Beardsley I know very little," she said, in a voice -touched as with compassion; "very, very little, Mr. Durgan; but I had -once occasion to ask your wife something about him, and she told me, I -believe truly, that he had been brought up, an orphan, in an English -charity school, that he had no relatives that he knew of and no near -friends. That was all she could tell me. He was by taste a somewhat -solitary mystic, I believe, only sought after by those who had -discovered his delusions and wished to be deluded by them. You see, I -can easily tell you all I know; it is not much."</p> - -<p>Durgan sat watching her, too entirely amazed at both words and manner to -find speech. Just so a good woman, treading the violets of some -neglected graveyard, might speak of the innocent dead who lay beneath.</p> - -<p>There was silence.</p> - -<p>Miss Claxton said, "I always like the time just after the sun goes down, -Mr. Durgan; I have a fancy it is the time one feels nearest God. I -suppose it's only fancy, but it does say in Genesis, you know, that God -walked in the garden in the cool of the day."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p><p>Then, as darkness grew, and finding that he made no response, she -exerted herself and rose to light the lamp.</p> - -<p>In the full light she faced him. "Mr. Durgan, I don't wonder you feel -the responsibility of the suspicions the negro has put into your mind. I -don't blame you, and it's only natural he should like the excitement of -talking. It would not be right for me to tell you exactly what I believe -he was referring to; but there are some things I can tell you, and I can -only pray God to help you believe what I say. I believe it was your wife -who sent that telegram; it was, at least, paid for with her money, and -it will be her money that will be used freely to get 'Dolphus acquitted. -If you pursue the suspicions he has started for you, I don't believe you -will make any discovery. But even if you did, what would happen? You -would drag your wife's name in the mire; you would"—she paused, and -tried to steady her voice. "Oh, Mr. Durgan, think of Bertha; you would -break Bertha's heart and mine. You think you understand justice, and -that there is someone whom you ought to bring to justice. Justice -belongs to God. He alone can mete it out in this world so as to save the -soul that has sinned. Are you afraid to leave it to Him? I am not. I -have left it to Him for five years, and I am not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> sorry, but glad. And I -entreat you to consider that if you interfere you don't know what you -are doing; you may make the worst mistakes. 'Dolphus thinks he knows the -name of the person who should be brought to justice; I assure you he -does not. I spoke to him on the night Eve died, and found out that he -did not. Believe me, Mr. Durgan, I am making no romantic and fantastic -sacrifice of myself, as this negro supposes. The truth, were it made -public, would be the worst thing for me, as for Bertha, and would bring -yourself shame and pain. And it could never be the real, whole truth, -for that you could not understand, nor could anyone. I hear their horses -on the hill. Please go. Do not let them find you here, as if you had had -news of some strange thing. You know nothing, for the thing you think -you know is not true. Do nothing, for fear you do harm. You cannot do -any good."</p> - -<p>"But how can you be sure this sick man will not do the thing you dread?"</p> - -<p>"I begged him not to do anything, just as I've begged you. I don't -think, anyway, that he will get the chance he reckons on. If he did, I -think that when he has to choose between accepting the help that will -get him acquitted, if anything will, of the present charge against him, -and, as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> thinks, righting me, the love of life will be too strong. He -will not die on my behalf, even though his intentions are good, as I -believe yours are, Mr. Durgan."</p> - -<p>Durgan had turned to the door the moment she had asked him to go. He was -tarrying on the threshold to ask his last question, to hear her -response. When he heard himself, with no unkind intent, naturally linked -with the wretched mulatto, his pace was accelerated. With a word of -farewell he disappeared into the dusk, hearing the horses arrive at the -stables as he went his fugitive way down the familiar trail.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXV</span> <span class="smaller">LOST IN THE MAZE</span></h2> - -<p>Durgan had still one strong emotion regarding his wife; he was able to -feel overwhelming shame on her account, and he dreaded any publicity -concerning her behavior. She had always lived so as to command the -consent of good society to her doings. He had perfectly trusted her -social instinct to do this as long as it lay in her power to tell her -own story; but he knew, with a sense of bitter degradation, that if -someone else had need to tell that story, it would sound very different.</p> - -<p>His wife was the daughter of an uneducated hotel-keeper, and had married -him, as he afterward discovered, because he had the entrance into -certain drawing-rooms and clubs, which, if skilfully used, might have -proved the stepping-stone to almost any social eminence. At the time of -her marriage she had professed passionate love for him and sympathy for -the Southern cause; and her fortune, not small, was naturally to be used -in the difficult task<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> of making part of his paternal acres productive -by the paid labor of the negroes reared and trained by his father, and -justly dear to the son. Disconsolate at the loss of friends and -fortune—for all near to him had died in the war, of wounds or -sorrow—Durgan repaid the love and sympathy of one who seemed a -warm-hearted and impulsive woman with tender gratitude.</p> - -<p>A little later, when the wife found out that Durgan would not push -himself into the fashionable <i>milieu</i> which was open to him in Europe -and America, he began to discover, tho slowly, that she would not bestow -affection or time upon any less fashionable pursuit. She needed her -whole fortune for the social adventures that she must make alone; and as -he would not open the door of Southern pride for her, she fell to -knocking at the door of Northern pride for herself. No doubt Providence -has a good reason for making men before marriage blind to female -character, but it was many years before Durgan bowed to the fate to -which defect, not fault, had brought him. Too proud to accept any bounty -from such a wife, he had sullenly shielded her from remark till she -reached a position of middle-class fashion in which she could stand -alone. Having attempted, in the meantime, to increase by speculation the -small patrimony left him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> and losing much, he had retired from the -scene of her struggles some six years before the present time, proudly -thankful that any public reproach was directed only at himself. Since -then she had scaled social heights seemingly beyond her—he had often -wondered how.</p> - -<p>That his wife was tricky and false, that the means she had used to -cajole or overawe the society she was determined to conquer bore no -necessary relation to the truth, he knew; but knowing her also to be -clever and cold-hearted, he had not feared that she would so transgress -any social law as to make her small or large meannesses known.</p> - -<p>But the most surprising thing in his wife's career since he left her was -that she had not dropped the medium, Beardsley, as soon as his health -and popularity were lost. She had been wont to drop all her instruments -as soon as their use was over, and most of them had more attractions -than he. The man had been poor, plebeian, and sickly; and Durgan, who -had never suspected love as the cause of the odd relationship, had now -some cause to suppose it rooted in the unspeakable shame of the worst of -crimes. In what possible way this had come about he could not even begin -to imagine, but he continued to consider his maturing suspicion in -growing consternation.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p><p>If Miss Claxton had not told him the truth, she was a more finished -actress than the world had yet seen. If what she said of his wife were -true, the mulatto's words were corroborated—his wife was nearly -connected with this awful crime.</p> - -<p>In Durgan's mind the telegraphic address—evidently suggestive to Miss -Claxton—had at last become significant. "Beard" suggested Beardsley; -"84" was the date of the Claxton murder; "B" might possibly stand for -Beardsley, and "D" for his wife. Then the help promised evidently -involved his wife's purse. Beardsley had nothing.</p> - -<p>If this Beardsley was guilty, he must be a most extraordinary man. It -was clear that if it was he whom Hermione Claxton was shielding, she was -as much determined to keep his secret to-day as at first. She could not -speak of him save in tones of sorrow and tenderness. For him, too, the -wife whom Durgan knew to be cold and ambitious had apparently ventured -all. The extraordinary nature of a man who could on short acquaintance -so deeply involve two such different women, gave Durgan so much room for -astonished thought that some other things Miss Claxton had said for the -time escaped his memory.</p> - -<p>His strongest impulse after the last interview was to take Miss Claxton -at her word and make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> no further move in the matter—at least, not now -and on her account. Ultimately he must find out if his wife was in any -plot to conceal a criminal, and if so, put a stop to her connivance. At -present he had certainly no desire to make such action on his wife's -part public, or break Bertha's heart by filling the air with a public -scandal in which her sister's name would be linked with a lover who was -a common charlatan and brutal criminal. If for this man's sake Hermione -had left her father's death unavenged and ruined her sister's life, -Bertha's wrath and sorrow might well be a thing to dread, and such -knowledge a disaster that might well crush her. The mulatto might work -to bring truth to light; he must work alone.</p> - -<p>But at this point Durgan again shifted his ground of suspicion; for he -still believed in Hermione Claxton's singular purity of mind and -gentleness of disposition, and in his wife's callousness and shrewd -selfishness. Was it possible that Beardsley had some mysterious power -over both women such as a magician or modern hypnotist is said to use? -But then, was not such influence in such a man too strange to be -possible, too like a cheap novel to be true? A terrible thought struck -cold at Durgan's heart; the man, as he knew him, was more likely to be a -cat's-paw than the mover<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> in any momentous deed. The surprise of -ascertaining that his wife had had some connection with the Claxtons -forced him to realize how little he knew about her life, how totally -ignorant he was as to any cause she might have to hate Mr. and Mrs. -Claxton. His heart failed him.</p> - -<p>He drew in his breath in quick terror, trying to persuade himself that -he could not have arrived at the bottom of a secret over which Alden had -brooded so long in vain.</p> - -<p>"Well, I understand that your visit to Hilyard was most satisfactory. -You are assured of your good Adam's safety; and I find the mulatto sent -a message to our friends that he would not drag their name into the -business. So far so good. Do you suppose that the money and advice he -expects to receive are all in the air, or how?" Alden, dandified and -chirpy, his little gray beard wagging in the morning sunlight, was -standing on the mountain road. There was a sharpness as of autumn in the -sunshine, which made the New Yorker fresh. Durgan, who had taken to his -pick and spade very early that morning, already warm, dirty, and tired, -looked like some grim demiurge. Called from his work to this colloquy, -he was not in good humor.</p> - -<p>"These fellows are always boasting," continued Alden. "The peculiarity -in this case is that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> would not take the cost of his own defence from -us."</p> - -<p>"And <i>I</i> offered him what I had in my pocket. He would not look at it," -said Durgan, dully.</p> - -<p>"Odd."</p> - -<p>"Do you think so?"</p> - -<p>"Well, of course, when a flimsy, tawdry creature of that sort refuses a -bird in the hand, one wonders what he sees in the bush, especially when, -as in this case, the bird in the hand could hardly prevent his robbing -the bush also."</p> - -<p>"I reckon it's beyond me," said Durgan, stupidly. Alden's simile -reminded him afresh of the hole in the forked tree, which had not ceased -to haunt his mind.</p> - -<p>"You have a headache this morning, my dear sir."</p> - -<p>"Thanks; I'm all right."</p> - -<p>A boy, a slovenly country lout, came up the hill. He was whistling a -merry air attuned to the snap of the morning. He was looking about him -in the trees for birds and squirrels. His hands hung in the delicious -idleness of his pockets. There was a spring in his legs to match his -tone. Durgan envied him unfeignedly. He thought of his own gallant, -cheerful purpose of the day before, and wished that he dare form any -fresh resolve.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> Alden was evidently alarmed by what he had heard.</p> - -<p>"As you know, being widely known as counsel for the Claxtons, I -preferred not to appear to take any interest in this prisoner. A -possible inference might have been drawn by someone. We of the law, my -dear sir——"</p> - -<p>Durgan perceived that it would be a vast relief to his conscience if -Alden could visit 'Dolphus himself.</p> - -<p>"They are lax," continued Alden; "there would be no difficulty in my -seeing the man."</p> - -<p>"Why do you want to see him?"</p> - -<p>"I hear he wrote to New York and got a telegram back. He may, for all we -know, be a member of a gang of thieves or blackmailers. They may bribe -judge and jury with a thousand dollars if he threatens to round on them. -A little money would go a long way in Hilyard. Then, if it is proved, so -to say, that both prisoners are innocent, the authorities might arrest -someone else."</p> - -<p>"Me, for instance? I was there."</p> - -<p>"Probably not you!" Then after a pause he added, "Miss Claxton is -disposed to think that we have done all we can honestly do, and must now -leave the matter in the hand of Providence; but, under Providence, I -myself feel that I am<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> responsible for leaving no effort untried to gain -further light as to the basis of this fellow's hopes."</p> - -<p>The boy, bobbing his head, explained to Durgan that he had been sent to -fetch the borrowed horse.</p> - -<p>When he had gone on, Durgan said, "'Dolphus may die before anything -happens; that would be the simplest solution, perhaps." He remembered -how yesterday it had seemed all-important to extract all the knowledge -this man had before life went from him.</p> - -<p>"Ah; you spoke to the doctor, I hear. It is always right, in any case, -to preserve life as long as possible."</p> - -<p>Durgan looked toward his mine. The triteness to which the dialog had -descended was the more irksome because he suspected that Alden read -beneath his own sudden dullness and inertia.</p> - -<p>"When the boy brings along the horse you can ride it as far as my -cousins'. He will find you a buggy, and will give you a letter which -will open things at Hilyard without giving much publicity to your name -and position. But you, of course, can best judge whether it's worth -while to go."</p> - -<p>"Miss Claxton has seemed averse to my going," said Alden; and because -Durgan made no answer to this, he sat down on a rock, with brows knit, -and determined to go.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p><p>Some twenty minutes later Durgan was called again into the road. The -lout of a boy refused to give Alden the horse. He said very little; he -even blubbered; but he hung on to the bridle and tried to pass.</p> - -<p>It was soon discovered that he had been commissioned by Miss Claxton to -take a telegram to Hilyard, for which service he had been promised -excessive pay.</p> - -<p>Wrath rose in Durgan. "Fool that I was to warn her," he thought. "She -has wired to the man she shields to be on his guard." At that moment his -wife's welfare was not in his thought, and he felt he would rather have -suffered the last penalty of crime himself than allow this coil of -secrets to exist longer. He inwardly cursed all women, and was very -sorry for Alden.</p> - -<p>Alden, meanwhile, unconscious of need for passion, was explaining that -he knew what the telegram must be, as he had heard Miss Claxton mention -that some supplies on which she was depending were delayed. As he was -going he would assume the responsibility of sending it. He would pay the -boy.</p> - -<p>Durgan was afraid to speak. He picked up the boy, took a letter -addressed to the telegraph clerk out of his pocket, and sent him running -down the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> road at a forced pace. He put the sealed message in Alden's -hands, and returned to his work before a word could escape his lips.</p> - -<p>As he toiled all day with spade and mattock, he wondered incessantly -whether or not Alden would open the message to see it correctly -transmitted.</p> - -<p>When the long work-day had calmed his pulse he was still too impatient -to await Alden's time; sauntered down the hill, and finally reached Deer -Cove.</p> - -<p>There he saw Alden looking very tired and haggard, but in no haste to -return.</p> - -<p>The saw-mill was silent for the night. The quiet plash of the water over -the dam made a pleasing accompaniment to a banjo played by a negro. The -musician sat on the steps of the general store and post-office; he wore -a red handkerchief on his head. Some of his kind were dancing in -leisurely burlesque in an open space between the steps and the -mill-race. A circle of white men looked on, exchanging foolish jokes and -puffing strong tobacco. Many a bright necktie or broad-brimmed hat gave -picturesqueness to the group. The quiet of the sylvan evening was over -and around them all.</p> - -<p>Alden, standing on the verandah of the post-office, looking upon this -scene as if he were an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> habitual lounger, struck Durgan as presenting -one of the saddest figures he had ever seen. No sign that could be -controlled of any grief was there; but the incongruity between what the -man was doing, and what in a better state of mind he would have liked to -do, seemed to betoken a depression so deep that normal action was -inhibited for the time.</p> - -<p>Durgan thought one of the Blounts was perhaps with Alden. He accordingly -went straight inside the store; but the place was empty. No one of -gentle birth was to be seen near or far. When he came out on the -verandah Alden explained that he had insisted on leaving the trap at the -Blounts' and walking. "I was stiff with the drive and felt the walk -would do me good. You found me resting by the way."</p> - -<p>Durgan remarked that there was nothing like a leisurely walk when -cramped with sitting long.</p> - -<p>After a while the two were beginning the ascent of Deer together, still -uttering trivial words.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXVI</span> <span class="smaller">A TORTURED CONSCIENCE</span></h2> - -<p>"Did you see the prisoners?" asked Durgan.</p> - -<p>He assumed that Alden would visit Adam as a blind.</p> - -<p>"Ah—I saw the doctor. It occurred to me to see him first."</p> - -<p>"How long will 'Dolphus live?" asked Durgan, eagerly. Again he felt that -he could not let this man die without extracting whatever clue he held.</p> - -<p>"Impossible to make any forecast. The doctor has had the glass removed -from his window—in short, the proper steps are being taken. Absolute -quiet is ordered."</p> - -<p>"Then you <i>could</i> not see him?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>After a minute Alden sat down wearily on a fallen tree. The wood was -close upon them on all sides. The crescent moon, like a golden boat -sailing westward, was seen through chinks in the leafy roof.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p><p>"I sent him a message to say that if there was anything he wished done, -he might trust me to do it. I made sure that the doctor, honest man, -would impress on him the fact that I, too, am honest."</p> - -<p>"That doctor <i>is</i> a man to be relied on. It's wonderful how one comes -across an honest man once in a while."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Durgan, when I first related to you my clients' unfortunate story, -you were kind enough to express your faith and reverence for such a -woman as Miss Claxton, and your willingness to serve her. I felt very -grateful to you. I should like to speak to you in confidence, and take -counsel with you now."</p> - -<p>Durgan sat still, suspecting that he might be subjected to the subtle -cross-questioning for which Alden was celebrated.</p> - -<p>Alden continued: "I naturally asked the clerk to read Miss Claxton's -telegrams to see if he understood them. There are so often errors of -transcription."</p> - -<p>"There were two, then?"</p> - -<p>"One was, as I had supposed, about the supplies. I did not send the -other. It is about that I wish to consult you. The address of Mrs. -Durgan is——?"</p> - -<p>Durgan gave a number on Fifth Avenue.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p><p>"I supposed as much. The message was addressed quite openly to Charlton -Beardsley at that address. It said, 'Lost article being traced. Reward -likely to be claimed.' It was not signed. Why is this man kept under -your wife's roof?"</p> - -<p>"As a sort of adviser in occult matters—as one might say, a spiritual -director."</p> - -<p>"There is only one reward with which the Claxtons have any interest. -That is offered for information concerning the murderer."</p> - -<p>"I thought it was offered for the missing boy."</p> - -<p>"It's all the same. Whoever can be proved to have been in the house at -the time, having hidden himself afterwards, must have been in some way -concerned with the murder. The laws of chance preclude the idea of there -being two mysteries in one house at one time. I now ask you, would you -have advised me to send this telegram without further information? It -goes to a house over which you have at least some legal control."</p> - -<p>Durgan perceived that it was any information he might possess, rather -than advice, that Alden really sought; but determined only to give -advice. His thoughts and passions had been wavering this way and that -for twenty-four hours; now he knew his mind, and answered Alden's -question. "It lies in a nutshell," said he. "Are you able to trust<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> Miss -Claxton's goodness against all evidence to the contrary, or are you not? -You have assured me that no one who knew her could mistrust her; and -you, of all people, not only know her best, but, pardon me, love her. If -you trust her you should have sent the telegram and asked no questions. -If not, set your detectives to work, for I don't believe you will learn -anything further from Miss Claxton."</p> - -<p>Alden turned on him fiercely. "You know more than you say in this -matter. You are trying to shield your wife."</p> - -<p>"As far as I know, my wife has done nothing wrong. As to Miss Claxton, I -have known her only a few months, and that slightly. I see clearly, as -you do, that facts point to some underhand dealing on her part. Further, -I have been taught from my childhood to distrust anyone who uses -hackneyed religious phrases as she does. In spite of all this I believe -in her. I cannot conceive of any circumstance that could justify her -secrecy and double-dealing; but I believe there is a justification. Is -not that about what you feel, too?"</p> - -<p>"You speak somewhat evasively, Mr. Durgan. You can surely tell me more -about your wife than about Miss Claxton. It was not until I read this -message that I knew—what I never could have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> supposed—that any member -of your household could be guilty of any connection with that crime. You -must see that it now becomes my positive duty to make the strictest -inquiry."</p> - -<p>"Why—if Miss Claxton does not wish it? If she was, through your -exertions, acquitted, she has, as you know, suffered the penalty of the -crime ten times over. If she prefers to continue that pain and ignominy -rather than allow you to again open the inquiry, what right have you, as -her friend and agent, to reopen it?"</p> - -<p>"I owe a higher allegiance—to the law of my country, and the law of my -God."</p> - -<p>"And when these laws conflict, I presume you would wish to obey the -latter? My notion is that Miss Claxton's conduct indicates such a -conflict." Durgan's voice was still hard and cold.</p> - -<p>"I should need to be assured of such contradiction."</p> - -<p>"Are you not willing to give her the benefit of the presumption?"</p> - -<p>There is not a man on earth who is content to be alone. Durgan, recently -horror-stricken at the thought of the part his wife might have played, -realized how little reason he had to feel such blind confidence in -anyone whom he had the right to love, and envied Alden his opportunity -for faith. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>Nothing like starvation to give a man a clear sight of -another's luxuries and corresponding duties.</p> - -<p>"In the war," he added, "we Southerners had to learn to trust out and -out whom we trusted at all."</p> - -<p>"That Miss Claxton is doing what she conceives to be right, I have no -doubt," said Alden, stiffly.</p> - -<p>Even in the dim light there was a visible improvement of attitude; some -heart for life appeared to return to him with this declaration, which a -moment before would have been a lie. Durgan could almost have laughed -out in irony.</p> - -<p>"What she supposes to be right," repeated the reviving lover, "but I -cannot approve."</p> - -<p>"She is a reasonable woman; you ought to trust her reason. As you don't -know what she is doing, you don't know whether you approve or not."</p> - -<p>"<i>You</i> know what she is doing, Mr. Durgan. You have information from -Mrs. Durgan or Beardsley that I have not."</p> - -<p>"No; if my wife is in it, I have been as completely hoodwinked as you. I -cannot even yet imagine how my wife could be inculpated in any way. And -this Beardsley—I know nothing more of him than I told you; and the only -explanation I can suggest as to the message you hold is merely the -crudest imagination: supposing him to be the guilty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> person, Miss -Claxton must have been in love with him to shield him as she did—as she -does. You cannot wish that made public."</p> - -<p>Alden rose up, his back stiff with indignation. "Sir! that is at least a -contingency which is entirely impossible. Are you aware that, before her -father's death, Hermione Claxton had consented to marry me? We were -about to make the engagement public. I had asked Mr. Claxton to accord -me an interview. He was a confirmed hypochondriac; it was difficult to -see him. I was waiting his pleasure when the tragedy——. Ah! it is -impossible to explain how this tragedy has wrecked our lives, for, with -an unparalleled strength of will and sensitive honor, Miss Claxton at -once, and ever since, has refused to link her name with mine. But one -thing, at least, this relation gives me reason to assure you: before -this crime Miss Claxton had not a serious thought that she did not -confide to me. There was no one on earth that she would wish to shield -in the way you suggest; I know there was not. Her father, and her -anxiety concerning the state of irreligion in which he lived; her -sister, whom she loved with a mother's love; her mission work, which -with her was done as under a direct command from our Lord—these, and -the friendship she felt for my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> unworthy self, made up her life. I am -certain of that, sir. As for this Beardsley, she not only despised him -as a common impostor, but she abhorred him for the hold he had over her -father."</p> - -<p>"Your view, then, coincides with that of her sister," Durgan pondered, -as he spoke.</p> - -<p>The lawyer's eyelids flickered at this use of Bertha's name.</p> - -<p>"So," continued Durgan, "to come to the point; what do you suppose this -intercepted message means?"</p> - -<p>"The mulatto, you tell me, expected a large sum of money to be expended -on his defence. Our first supposition to account for this was that he -might be one of a gang, and his fellows would buy him off. I judge now, -rather, that he must have information that would enable him to claim the -reward in the Claxton case. It must have been the possession of this -information that brought him round this neighborhood. This telegram -seems to show that what you told Miss Claxton yesterday led her to -believe he was about to claim it. As I read it, she wishes, through -Beardsley, to warn someone on whom she believes the suspicion likely to -fall."</p> - -<p>"But you say there can be no one whom Miss Claxton would wish to -shield."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p><p>The lawyer's whole manner faltered. "I could not have believed it," he -said. "I may say I cannot believe it now."</p> - -<p>"My suspicions center on Beardsley himself," Durgan said, "and I cannot -understand why, at the time of the trial, the clue afforded by the note -brought by the missing boy was not closely followed up. Beardsley, I -happen to know, was seriously ill shortly after the crime, for he was at -my wife's house; but, as he sent the boy, he must have been able to give -some suggestion as to where he came from or went to. I cannot understand -when you sought for the boy why he was not cross-questioned."</p> - -<p>Alden got up, and they began to ascend the road.</p> - -<p>"I am interested in the result of any mature reflection of yours, Mr. -Durgan. I notice that your observations are astute." He walked, his head -slightly bent, in an attitude of attention.</p> - -<p>"I can't understand," said Durgan, "why it was assumed at the trial that -this note was merely a begging letter. My belief is that it gave a -warning of someone's visit."</p> - -<p>Alden put in: "It is true Miss Claxton said at the inquest that she had -not seen its contents."</p> - -<p>Durgan spoke with increasing eagerness. "But she said at the same time -that she knew it came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> from Charlton Beardsley. Her very words were, -'From that impostor Beardsley.'"</p> - -<p>"Your memory is evidently good. And this might have suggested to you, at -any rate, that she could have no affection for Beardsley. But I have -been thinking that perhaps you are right; the clue of the note was not -followed up as it ought to have been."</p> - -<p>"You must have seen Beardsley. How did he convince you that he could -throw no light on the whereabouts of the missing boy? What did he say -was in the note?" Durgan turned upon his companion almost angrily, and -saw the little gray-haired man walking steadily on with abstracted mien. -But there was a peculiar aspect of attention about his shoulders, his -neck; it seemed to alter the very shape of his ears. Durgan felt himself -warned of some unseen pitfall. "You must consider my crude way of -dealing with a problem to which you have brought your highly trained -mind somewhat absurd," he said.</p> - -<p>"By no means. I am only surprised at your able handling of the matter, -and—ah—a little surprised, perhaps, at some omissions which seem to -have occurred in my conduct of the case. May I ask you, Mr. Durgan, if -you have had any corroboration of the idea that this note came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> from -Beardsley, either from him or from your wife?"</p> - -<p>"No. Certainly not. I only know what Miss Claxton said before the -coroner."</p> - -<p>"Miss Claxton never gave that evidence. Until you told me a moment ago I -never heard the note came from Beardsley. I am shocked and surprised."</p> - -<p>Durgan started. "Surely I am quoting the verbatim report."</p> - -<p>"I can see, Mr. Durgan, that you believe Miss Claxton did say this; and -as it was not given publicly, someone must have told you in private. I -will not ask you again the source of your information, which I now -suppose to have been Miss Bertha."</p> - -<p>"I have made a mistake," said Durgan.</p> - -<p>"But only in telling me what you would have withheld, and what, it would -appear, those for whom I have done everything have long withheld—the -one thing that it most behooved me to know." The lawyer stopped in his -walk, and spoke, shaken with distress. "I will admit to you, Mr. Durgan, -that for years I have been aware that my clients withheld something from -me; I may say 'bitterly aware,' for, the trial being over, I could not -with delicacy renew my questions. But I believed in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> their integrity, -and have assured myself that their secret must be unimportant. You can -estimate how acute is my present distress when I perceive that this -concealment has covered what was the vital point, the clue to the -murderer."</p> - -<p>"I had no intention of telling you anything they did not tell you, Mr. -Alden. At the same time, no one would be more glad than myself if they -could emerge from the shadow of this mystery. But I think, as I said to -you at the beginning, that unless you obtain Miss Claxton's permission -to act further, you ought to leave the matter in her hands. You must -trust to her good sense and good feeling."</p> - -<p>Durgan had paused at his own turning; Alden went a few steps further and -faced round, hat in hand. Under the trees, in the glimmer of the summer -night, his jaded attitude and unkempt hair were just seen and no more. -He looked, indeed, like a storm-tossed soul, already in the shades of -some nether world. Even then he summoned up all that he might of his -precise manner:</p> - -<p>"My dear sir—my dear sir! I have had more experience of such matters -than you, and much more knowledge of this most distressing and -mysterious case. I thank you for your advice. I thank you. I must act -according to my own conscience."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXVII</span> <span class="smaller">A HOUND ON THE SCENT</span></h2> - -<p>It was that season in the summer when, in regions remote from fields of -harvest, time itself stands still. Nothing is doing in the wild wood. -Each young thing is fledged and flown, or, strong in its coat of fur, is -off and away; the flower of the season is passed, the berry hangs green -on the bush. The panting trees of the valleys speak to the trees of the -mountains, telling them, in hot, dry whispers, to look out for the -autumn that comes from afar. Only sometimes, in the morning on the -hilltops, a courier comes from the season that tarries. With feet that -trip on the nodding weeds, and a voice singing in the fluttering trees, -and a smile that speaks in a bluer sky, the unseen courier of autumn -comes and goes. The hearts of men and beasts are excited, they know not -why, and the berry and the grape and the tender leaf turn red.</p> - -<p>Such was the weather in which the time of waiting passed.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p><p>Within two days Bertha passed down the road twice on village errands. -Her horse each time loitered as it passed the mine until Durgan at last -went out and walked a few steps by her bridle. He was afraid to talk -with her lest he should say more, or less, or something quite different -from what he would wish to say. But Bertha would speak.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Durgan, are you still quite sure? I cannot tell you how you have -lightened my heart, but I must hear it again. It came to you freshly the -other night; after thinking it over, are you still quite sure?"</p> - -<p>"Of what?" he asked. He could not think of anything connected with -Bertha's misfortunes of which he was sure at all.</p> - -<p>"That it could not have been as I thought—that my dear sister——"</p> - -<p>"Your sister has no mental weakness; and she did not commit that crime," -he said almost sharply. "If that is what you mean, I am as sure of it as -that I stand here."</p> - -<p>"Don't be angry with me. You speak so severely. But I can't tell you how -I like to hear you say it."</p> - -<p>"It was a bugbear of your own imagination, and I feel angry with you -when I think of it. And if you take my advice you will never, never, -under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> any circumstances, let her, or anyone else, know that you thought -such a thing."</p> - -<p>"I would rather tell her all about it sometime. She would forgive it."</p> - -<p>"I dare say she would." Durgan spoke bitterly. "I don't know what -forgiveness in such a case is; but no doubt, whatever it is, it would -cost her more than you can conceive. She would give it to you; but you -are a child if you think that she would ever recover from the wound of -such knowledge. God may put such things right in the next life, but -never in this. That, at least, is my opinion."</p> - -<p>"I am offended with you," she said. She was looking very well that day. -Her blue cotton riding-dress and blue sun-bonnet well displayed the warm -color and youthful contour of her face. There was a peace in her eyes, -too, that he had never seen there before. "I wanted to tell you -something else, but you have made me angry."</p> - -<p>"Forgive me, then. It is so easy." There was sarcasm in his voice.</p> - -<p>She thought for a few minutes, and seemed to forget her quarrel.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Alden went to Hilyard, and he has come back without finding out -anything about 'Dolphus. I was so much afraid. I have asked Hermie if we -might not tell him just about 'Dolphus; but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> she spoke to me so -solemnly, so sadly, that now I only regret that I told <i>you</i>. I want to -beg you never to repeat it. I don't understand Hermie's motives, but I -can't side against her."</p> - -<p>"What has Alden been doing?"</p> - -<p>"He has been attending to business letters and papers. He is making this -his holiday, but of course he has always a great deal of business on -hand. He thinks a great deal over his writing. This morning he spent -hours pacing in the pasture and sitting on the stile."</p> - -<p>"Ah!" said Durgan.</p> - -<p>"He actually came in with his necktie crooked, he was thinking so hard," -continued Bertha. "He is good, but I can't think why Hermie cares for -him so; he usually looks so like a doll."</p> - -<p>In a few minutes Durgan dropped the bridle and turned back. His mind was -uneasy.</p> - -<p>But the next afternoon Bertha descended in a different mood. She had -evidently been watching to see his negro laborers depart, for she stood -on the rock ledge before they were out of sight.</p> - -<p>"You told him my secret. How could you? You promised at least not to -tell until you had spoken to me. You never explained yesterday that you -had told. Oh, how he has turned against us!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> And you! There is no one in -the world we can trust."</p> - -<p>Durgan stood in awkward distress before her. His intention not to tell -could not balance his stupidity in having betrayed anything.</p> - -<p>"I told you because you said you must know my story on Adam's account, -but you found Adam's safety provided for; you said you must know lest -you should do injustice to 'Dolphus, but he will likely die before the -trial comes on; and yet you have babbled to Mr. Alden, not being able to -keep faith with a most unhappy woman for a few days. I was foolish, I -was wrong, to tell you our secret; but you forced me to speak. Oh, how -could you call yourself a gentleman and betray me so?"</p> - -<p>She was very imperious, very handsome; but she was far too sad and -frightened to be really angry.</p> - -<p>As he stood before her without a word, contrition written on his face, -she took shelter in the threshold of his hut and, sitting by the open -door, began to cry piteously, not with abandonment, but with the -quietude of a real sorrow.</p> - -<p>She spoke again. "Mr. Alden is a hound, with his keen nose on a scent. -He will not lift it off till his victim is at bay. When I said to -Hermie<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> that Mr. Alden would not rest now till whoever did it was -hanged, she fainted. She was so ill upstairs in our room that I was -terrified, but she would not let Mr. Alden know."</p> - -<p>"Yes, but <i>who</i> is the victim?"</p> - -<p>She looked up suddenly. "He said you told him who it is; and that I had -told you. Hermie never betrayed any feeling when he told her—it was -afterwards—but I know her heart is breaking."</p> - -<p>"I am at my wit's end," said Durgan sadly.</p> - -<p>"He says Hermie, my own Hermie, has made every sacrifice to protect this -Charlton Beardsley. It is not true. There was no one she despised and -disliked so much. Whatever else is or is not true, that is. Do I not -know? Did I not see her even quarrel with our dear father about this man -because he had pretended to give messages from mother?" At this -recollection she wept again, her head in her hands. "My dear, dear -father," she whispered. "Oh, if he could come back to us! If he could -only come back!"</p> - -<p>Durgan stood helpless. That faculty by which words arise unbidden in the -mind kept obstinately repeating in Durgan's the name Charlton Beardsley, -in that tone of almost tender compassion given to it by Miss Claxton -when he last spoke to her.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p><p>At last Bertha rose to go. "There is no such thing as truth," she -cried. "I was false to Hermie in telling you what I did; you were false -to me. Mr. Alden is a false friend to us all. There is no truth."</p> - -<p>Durgan laid a detaining hand on her arm. "Look up," he said.</p> - -<p>She looked up at the dogwood tree whose spring blossom had first cheered -that rocky spot for Durgan. Across the unutterable brightness of the sky -the tree held its horizontal sprays of golden leaves. The bluebird of -the South, dashed with gloss of crimson and green, pecked at the scarlet -berries. The tree glistened in the light of evening. Above and beyond it -the sky was radiant with the level light.</p> - -<p>"Very probably there is no such thing as the truth you seek in this -world," he said; "but there must be truth somewhere, or why should we -all try to approximate to it, and feel so like whipped dogs when we have -failed?"</p> - -<p>For two or three days after that Durgan heard nothing, but Alden came -and went on the mountain road, and once again made the journey to -Hilyard.</p> - -<p>At last, one evening after dark, Durgan received a message demanding his -presence at the summit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> house. He went, and found the little family in -some formal condition of distress—the elder lady sitting calm, but very -sad, her usually busy hands idle in her lap; Bertha, her face swollen -with tears, sitting beside her sister in an attitude of defiant -protection; Alden moving restlessly about, his face blanched and -haggard. The weather over all the mountain was still tense and dry. The -cold had come without rain—a highly nervous condition for the human -frame.</p> - -<p>It was only Miss Claxton who tried to make Durgan's arrival more -agreeable to him by a few words of ordinary conversation.</p> - -<p>Then Alden spoke. "I believe now that yours was the right suspicion, Mr. -Durgan. Miss Claxton having declined to help me at all, I resolved to -ask you to be present while I tell her exactly what I suspect with -regard to Charlton Beardsley. I would not have Miss Claxton without a -protector while I am obliged to say and do what she tells me will make -me her worst enemy. If so, it must be so. I cannot be silent. I cannot -be inactive. I cannot be responsible for a murderer's freedom. But I -will do no more without giving you all fair warning. I believe your wife -to be implicated. We are here agreed in desiring your presence."</p> - -<p>Durgan looked at the women. How often had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> he seen them here in the -mellow lamplight, at peace in this beautiful retreat.</p> - -<p>Bertha looked up at him. "Stay with us," said she. "You have done us an -injury by betraying my confidence; now ward off the consequences if you -can."</p> - -<p>Miss Claxton's gentle face was also upturned. "It is right that you -should stay to know what accusation will be brought against your wife; -but I do not need your protection."</p> - -<p>She looked towards Alden when she had spoken, and Durgan saw the little -man quiver with distress.</p> - -<p>Durgan sat down beside the sisters.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXVIII</span> <span class="smaller">PROBING A DEEP WOUND</span></h2> - -<p>Alden began with a stiff, quaint bow to his little audience. It was easy -to see that he had fallen into the mannerism of a court. "In making my -statement it is not necessary for me to tell from what source I obtained -any part of my information, or what is inference from information. I -will say exactly what I now suppose to have happened upon the morning of -the day on which Mr. Claxton was killed with unparalleled brutality, and -his wife shot."</p> - -<p>Durgan felt rebellion in its keenest form at this beginning, but sat in -silence.</p> - -<p>When Alden had once begun it was obvious that he felt the relief of open -speech. He told in detail how he believed 'Dolphus to have been sent to -Mr. Claxton's with a note announcing Beardsley's visit, which caused -Miss Hermione to send the maids and Miss Bertha out of the house.</p> - -<p>"But how," asked Alden, "did Beardsley come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> to the house without -observation? I have found again and again that the thing that is hardest -to detect has been done in the simplest and most obvious way. Negative -evidence is often no evidence at all; and the thing done most openly -more often escapes remark than an attempt at secrecy. In this case two -neighbors saw the maids go out on their errand; one saw the dark-faced -boy enter. She swore he was an Italian music boy, while in fact he was a -mulatto. The servant of a neighbor said she saw the boy leave the house -again. They both agreed that he was long and lanky. Everyone else in the -neighborhood, with a chance of seeing, testified that no boy came or -went. I believe that Beardsley came, as the boy came, in an open way, -and was admitted by Miss Hermione. Again, one neighbor swears that she -saw the two maids go down the street together; another, that only one -went down alone while she was looking. Cross-examined, she could not be -sure whether the one maid she saw was the cook, or housemaid, or -charwoman, but only that she came out of the Claxton house. The other -neighbors had not seen any woman leave the house. This shows what such -evidence is worth. I believe Beardsley left the house disguised in the -clothes of the boy. The boy was almost grown, Beardsley not large. No<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> -doubt, being in the habit of personating spirits and juggling, escape -would be no difficulty to him. I am still unable to suggest any motive -for the crime." Alden paused.</p> - -<p>"Go on." The words were spoken breathlessly by Bertha.</p> - -<p>Alden went on solemnly. "I think, Hermione, you knew the boy's message -to be from Beardsley. You must have admitted Beardsley to the house, -Hermione! In the night you helped the boy to escape. It is not possible -that you did not know that Beardsley had committed the crime. I am -convinced that you helped him also to escape. One possible explanation -of your action, and the subsequent concealment, is that he extracted -some oath of secrecy which you wrongly considered binding."</p> - -<p>There was a breathless silence.</p> - -<p>"But I think you have too much good sense to consider such a compulsory -promise binding. You have had another reason."</p> - -<p>There was still silence.</p> - -<p>"The fact that you did not denounce him points to the fact that you -helped Beardsley's escape. The fact that you sent the mulatto to Mrs. -Durgan's address proves that you knew where Beardsley had taken refuge. -Beardsley went to Mrs. Durgan's house, not to his former lodgings. She -must have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> known that some disaster had happened if he returned in -disguise; she must quickly have known from the papers the extent of his -guilt. She certainly had him in her house ill a week after—really very -ill, for Mr. Durgan, on one of his rare visits, found two hospital -nurses attending him. It was said to be a severe case of pleurisy with -complications; and he has been, or has pretended to be, more or less of -an invalid ever since. But before his illness he acted his part well. He -certainly held his séances regularly for a number of evenings after the -crime. I made very strict inquiry at the time of several members of this -circle as to its nature, because of the connection Mr. Claxton had with -it. Beardsley went into his trances, and spoke with strange tongues, and -what not, during that week. I knew this because several of his -disciples, who believed in his dealings with the unseen world, tried to -call up the spirits of Mr. and Mrs. Claxton, so unhappily departed, and -entreated for some information as to their murderer. The villain had not -the hardihood to personate his own victims."</p> - -<p>Alden paused suddenly, and demanded of the sisters: "You remember -hearing of the incident?"</p> - -<p>Bertha, her face flushed and excited, gave a hasty "Yes." Miss Claxton -made an indifferent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> motion of assent. She preserved a uniform -expression of great sadness. She seemed to take hardly any special -interest in anything said.</p> - -<p>"This boy, 'Dolphus, went also straight to Mrs. Durgan's house. He has -been sheltered by Beardsley and Mrs. Durgan; he has been Beardsley's -valet ever since. Mrs. Durgan may have hid them both in the first -instance out of pity; or she, too, may have had another reason. She -would fear to send them away later lest her connivance in their hiding -should become known."</p> - -<p>"Consider," said Durgan. "Do you think my wife, or any other woman, -would voluntarily live in daily terror of being killed by such a madman -as you describe?"</p> - -<p>"Is there no adequate motive that you can suggest?" Alden returned.</p> - -<p>"Love," said he. "But I am certain that my wife has not been in love."</p> - -<p>Hermione Claxton looked at Durgan for a moment; a tinge of color and an -abatement of her sorrow were evident. Then she relapsed into her former -attitude.</p> - -<p>Alden stood in front of her, watching her changing expression with -impassioned eagerness. "In the name of God, Hermione," he cried -solemnly, "why do you shield this man? Why do you still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> wish to shield -him? Why are you glad that Mr. Durgan should believe that love does not -exist between him and Mrs. Durgan?"</p> - -<p>His sudden manner of agonized affection, and words that came like a cry -from the heart, brought a hush of trembling expectation. Bertha gazed -intently at her sister, unconscious of the tears of excitement that were -running over her own eyes. Durgan, who had never thought to see Alden so -moved, felt the utmost wonder. But the fragile, faded woman, to whom the -passionate question had been addressed, faced her questioner with no -other change in the calm front she bore than an added degree of sadness.</p> - -<p>"Hermione," cried Alden again, "why did you conceal this man's guilt -from me at the time, and why do you still wish to conceal it?"</p> - -<p>"Herbert," she replied very gently, "you have no evidence of his guilt."</p> - -<p>"I have," he replied.</p> - -<p>Durgan felt himself start nervously. Such a statement from this keen -legal mind was like a declaration of proof.</p> - -<p>The effect of the words upon Miss Hermione was a visible shudder which -ran through her frame.</p> - -<p>"Evidence?" she said, as if still doubting; but terror was written on -her face.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p><p>"Two days ago I went to Hilyard at the summons of the doctor and -constable. The colored prisoner, called Adolphus Courthope, was supposed -to be dying, and desired to see me. When I went, he asked me to take -down a confession and a statement, parts of which supplied links in the -story I have told you. The doctor was witness to the interview. -Courthope swore that Beardsley was the criminal."</p> - -<p>Miss Claxton looked at him steadily. "What reason have you to assume -that what he said is true?"</p> - -<p>"In all those parts where I can test its truth it appears to be true. He -referred me to Bertha for the fact that she aided his escape at night."</p> - -<p>"Birdie will not corroborate that. She will tell you nothing."</p> - -<p>"He would hardly have asked her to corroborate a lie," said Alden. "He -told me that when in New York he knew he was dying, his conscience -caused him to bring some documents which he believed to incriminate -Beardsley; that he gave them to you by appointment on the night of Eve's -death; that after giving them he discovered that Adam's wife had been -spying on the interview and had followed you up the hill. She showed him -a certain place where she saw you hide these letters. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> added, in the -most matter-of-fact way, that he then killed Eve for her treachery to -you, and because she would only make mischief."</p> - -<p>Bertha stood up in great wrath. "How can you say that my sister did such -things as this? No word of this is true. How can you believe a man who -is a murderer?"</p> - -<p>Alden went on looking at Hermione. "I went to the tree of which he gave -me a rough drawing."</p> - -<p>He took from his coat two packets of old letters, with their wrapping of -oil-silk, which he had unfastened.</p> - -<p>"I have read them," he said. "I did not wish to do so without your -permission and that of Mr. Durgan, as they chiefly belong to his wife; -but it was necessary, and the fact that I found them there, and also -their contents, prove the most unlikely part of his tale to be -true—that you have trafficked secretly with such a man as he, and crept -out at night to meet him and hide documents which——" He paused -half-way through the sentence; his voice broke, and the tremor coming at -so strong a moment, brought all the little gracious ways of his long -friendship and service for Hermione to their minds. The strange scene -vibrated with a throb of sorrow.</p> - -<p>"Herbert," she said falteringly, "you have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>indeed become my enemy, -concerting with this poor wretch to outwit me, spying upon my most -private actions."</p> - -<p>"Nay, Hermione; I did not even ask the man for his evidence. I was -forced, in the name of common justice, and above all, of justice to you, -to hear it; and I am justified in what I have done since, because I have -done it to save you from yourself."</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," said she. "For a moment I spoke unjustly; but, -whatever your motives, you have become my enemy. Those letters were -stolen by a servant to injure a master who, whatever else his faults, -had treated him with unvarying kindness. They were given to me under the -mistaken idea that I could use them for my own advantage. I cannot; nor -can you."</p> - -<p>"I read them, Hermione, because, without suspicion and by mere accident, -I had read your telegram to Charlton Beardsley the other day."</p> - -<p>She rose up now. There was a movement of her small clasped hands, as tho -she wrung them together.</p> - -<p>"When I read it at the post-office, merely to aid in its transmission, I -saw its significance only too plainly. I withheld it for a day. Then I -had it sent by an agent whom I could trust, and whom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> I instructed to -watch the house of the recipient. I could not have connived at the man's -escape. Had he tried to get away after receiving your wire, I should -have been justified in his arrest."</p> - -<p>"Did you have my message sent from Hilyard?" she asked suddenly.</p> - -<p>"No. From New York. But it was the exact message."</p> - -<p>She was white to the lips. "It had no significance coming from New -York." She lifted both hands with a gesture of despair.</p> - -<p>Instinctively he chose quick words to comfort her. "No, you wanted to -warn him against coming here! But Beardsley had gone. I suppose he had -got some other warning. He had fled three days before. My men could gain -no information."</p> - -<p>She was comforted. Some color returned to her face.</p> - -<p>Alden spoke out once more. "In Heaven's name, what motive have you for -seeking this man's freedom? Why hide these letters? They are written -between Beardsley and Mrs. Durgan. What secret of yours can they -contain?"</p> - -<p>She looked at him with unutterable pain in her face, but gave no word or -sound.</p> - -<p>"Hermione!" he cried; "this trickster had only been a few months upon -this continent when this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> crime was committed; and during those few -months you gave me to understand that I was your dearest and only -intimate friend. We were together constantly; we were looking forward to -marriage. It cannot be possible that, at that same time, you contracted -a friendship—shall I say an affection?—for this man? You spoke of him -to me as a person whose pretensions you despised, whose slight -acquaintance with your father you deplored; and, beyond this, you told -me that you had never seen him. Am I to believe that, in spite of all -this, he was your lover?"</p> - -<p>"My lover!" She repeated the word with white lips, and remained gazing -at him for some minutes as if paralyzed with surprise. Then with a -gesture of that dignity which only a mind innocent in thought and act -can command, she rose and turned away, with no further word, toward the -staircase that led from the room.</p> - -<p>"You know that is not true," cried Bertha to Alden fiercely. She stood -up as a man would who was ready to make good the word with a blow. Then -she called: "Hermione! Hermione! Come back. Don't you see that Mr. Alden -has no choice but to give this Beardsley up to justice, and hand over -all the evidence he has in these letters to the police?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p><p>Hermione turned to Alden again. "Is that true? Do not deceive me in the -hope of making me confess anything; but tell me truly, do not say you -have no choice."</p> - -<p>But he could not abandon the point which gave him such unbounded -astonishment. "What motive have you for protecting him? Why do you love -him?—for you do love him, Hermione."</p> - -<p>"I am asking you whether it is no longer in my power to protect him, -should I wish to do so."</p> - -<p>"Oh, my dear; give me some notion why you want to save him."</p> - -<p>The term of affection, if not used between them for the first time, was -certainly now first used before others. A slow flush mantled her faded, -sensitive face.</p> - -<p>"Alas! Herbert, is it not clear now why I should have kept my secret -from you, if your conscience is such that you can concede no mercy to a -criminal? You may be right. You may have no choice but to wield the law, -and the law only. But if I had a choice, you cannot blame me for not -telling you, who admit you have none. Do you not know that I have loved -you—you only? Do you think I could have endured to be separated from -you for a slight or a low motive, for a whim, or for a duty about which -I felt the slightest doubt? And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> nothing has taken away the need for my -silence. I cannot tell you my motive, or give you any indication whether -the clue you now hold is true or false, or whether these letters will -help you to do justice or lead you astray, or why I went out to get them -at night, or why I put them where Bertha would not have found them in -the event of my death. I put these letters where I could find them -should a certain contingency arise in my life, and where, failing that, -they would be lost. I will not tell you more, or give you leave to use -them."</p> - -<p>"Hermione!" cried Bertha, the energy of a long distress in her tone, -"for my sake, can you not help us to understand? I have tried to be -brave; and if you will not tell, I will stand by you in anything; but my -courage is all gone now. I cannot bear this mystery and disgrace."</p> - -<p>The elder sister looked at her with tenderness and pity. It was a -lingering look that a mother might cast on a child doomed to a crippled -life. But she gave no answer, and went up the stairs.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXIX</span> <span class="smaller">FORGED LETTERS</span></h2> - -<p>Alden looked at Bertha. "Mr. Durgan must read these letters," he said, -"because they belong to his wife. You must choose whether you will be a -witness to the reading. Yours is a filial as well as a sisterly part. It -is in the effort to bring your father's enemy to justice that I take -this step. On the other hand, you may think that your sister has also -acted with that filial duty in view, and that, in taking a course in -opposition to her wishes, you would be casting a reflection upon her -conduct which is disloyal. I cannot advise you, you must judge for -yourself."</p> - -<p>Bertha did not speak.</p> - -<p>"The course which your sister has pursued appears to me suicidal," -continued Alden. "I cannot, if I would, endorse her action further; but -you must judge for yourself."</p> - -<p>"Whatever duty to my dear father I leave <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>unperformed, his happiness -cannot now be marred. I only wish to serve my sister now."</p> - -<p>Then she followed her sister upstairs.</p> - -<p>When Alden was relieved from constraint, his face and figure settled -into lines even more haggard and weary than before.</p> - -<p>"I will give you the letters in the order of their dates," said he to -Durgan.</p> - -<p>The letters were carefully arranged. He had made notes concerning each -on a slip of paper.</p> - -<p>The first was written upon cheap notepaper in a cramped hand. Durgan, as -he read, characterized the writer as a half-educated person, -unaccustomed to social usage. It was dated from New York, and on a day -about a month before the Claxton tragedy. It ran thus:</p> - -<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Mrs. Durgan</span>:</p> - -<p>"Madame—I find the boarding-house to which you have been so good -as to recommend me very comfortable. The parcel of comforts has -reached and been duly received by me, for which also kindly receive -my thanks. But I cannot forbear from reminding you that he who -would seek spiritual knowledge and communion with those in a finer -state of being than our own, must eschew such unnecessary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> -gratification of the flesh. Again thanking you, dear madame,</p> - -<p class="right">"I remain, your obedient servant,<span class="s3"> </span><br /> -"<span class="smcap">John Charlton Beardsley</span>."</p></blockquote> - -<p>Durgan turned this over and over. There was no postmark or stamp on the -envelope. It had perhaps been returned by the bearer of the parcel -referred to. The paper was not soiled, and the fragrance of his wife's -own stationery adhered to it. She had evidently kept this paltry note -among her own papers until recently—why? A fashionable woman must -receive hundreds of such notes. Then, too, to keep what was of no use -was not in accordance with his wife's business habits.</p> - -<p>After this followed three more notes on the same paper. They also were -brief and formal, giving thanks for favors, making or cancelling -engagements to teach spiritual lore.</p> - -<p>Then came one dated the day before the Claxton murder. Durgan felt a -strange thrill as he read it:</p> - -<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Madame</span>: I feel compelled to visit Mr. Claxton at his own residence -to-morrow. I feel that it is my duty to declare to him in the -presence of Mrs. Claxton—or if he will not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> consent to this to -warn Mr. Claxton of the risk to his soul which he encounters in his -present meetings with——"</p></blockquote> - -<p>Here a line had been carefully erased. The next line began in the middle -of a sentence.</p> - -<blockquote><p>"——not think that I have any other than an honorable intention. -For again I say that if we seek to know the spirit world we must -purge ourselves of all dross.</p> - -<p class="right">"I am, your obedient servant,<span class="s3"> </span><br /> -"<span class="smcap">John Charlton Beardsley</span>."</p></blockquote> - -<p>"This is of importance", said Durgan. "He intended to go to the house on -the fatal day, and there is suggestion of material for a quarrel over -some unknown person—a woman, probably, as Mrs. Claxton's presence is -required."</p> - -<p>"Is there reason to assume this third person unknown? It may have been a -name that is erased, or it may have been a pronoun in the second person. -Shall we read on?"</p> - -<p>The next letter was dated the day after the crime. It ran:</p> - -<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Mrs. Durgan</span>:</p> - -<p>"Madame—I am sensible of kindness in your inquiries about my -health. I have, as you are aware, received a great shock in -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>hearing of the terrible fate of our friend, Mr. Claxton. Alas! In -the midst of life we are in death. I had, as you know, held the -intention of paying him a call upon that very day, but, instead, -fell into a trance soon after my simple breakfast of bread and -milk. In that trance I saw the dark deed committed, but could not -see the actor. The terror of the hour has preyed upon my health. If -I can keep my evening engagements this week it will be all that I -can do. I will not see you again at present, except in public. Your -obedient servant,</p> - -<p class="right">J. C. B."</p></blockquote> - -<p>"Do you think he could possibly have gone out and done it in his trance, -and never known his own guilt?" asked Durgan.</p> - -<p>"Observe that that letter appears to be written from Beardsley's, while -'Dolphus swears that he was then in Mrs. Durgan's house."</p> - -<p>The next was a reply from Mrs. Durgan, upon the costly, scented paper -her husband knew so well—crest and monogram and address embossed in -several delicate colors. It was dated the same day.</p> - -<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Charlton Beardsley</span>: I am sorry indeed to hear that your -health has been too greatly strained by spiritual exercises<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> and -(may I not say?) by too great abstinence. I regret this on my own -account, for I am deprived of the valuable instruction you have -been giving me in spiritual matters. I confess I cannot glean so -much wisdom from you when I meet you only in the more public -séance. But on no account risk any danger to your health. Yours -cordially,</p> - -<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Anna Durgan</span>.</p> - -<p>"P.S.—I was so absorbed in my personal disappointment that I have -forgotten to express my horror and sympathy at the terrible news -(which is now in all the papers) concerning your friend, Mr. -Claxton, and his family."</p></blockquote> - -<p>Next, with the same date, came another note from Mrs. Durgan, briefly -inviting the medium to pay a week's visit at her house, and stating that -an old nurse of her own would wait on him if he preferred to keep his -room.</p> - -<p>The next letter was dated two months later, and was from Beardsley at -Atlantic City. In it the patient recounted with gratitude all the -attention he had received during a long illness suffered in Mrs. -Durgan's house. He also spoke of much pleasure in a further friendship -with her, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> hope of spending his life not far from her. More -elegance of thought and language was now displayed.</p> - -<p>After this there were several other letters, written at intervals during -the next year, alternately by Beardsley and Mrs. Durgan, and filled only -with matters of ordinary friendship—discussions on spiritualism, and of -a plan that Beardsley should avail himself permanently of Mrs. Durgan's -hospitality. Beardsley stated that he had no longer the health to -continue his work as a medium.</p> - -<p>When the reading was finished, and Alden was waiting, Durgan was loth to -speak. He felt a curious sense of helplessness. Why had these particular -letters been kept? Was it to incriminate Charlton Beardsley or to -exculpate him? The period of the letters was well chosen with reference -to the crime, but how had his wife been able to foresee a month before -the murder that she might want to produce the notes of that date? Then -arose a question of much greater interest to Durgan. The Beardsley -revealed in these letters was, as he had always believed, the last man -to attract Mrs. Durgan. If innocent, he appeared to be a simple-minded, -uneducated enthusiast in bad health and liable to fits. If guilty, there -was still less reason why a woman whose motive was always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> selfish, and -whose aim was ambitious, should compromise herself by befriending him.</p> - -<p>"What do you think of these letters?" asked Durgan impatiently.</p> - -<p>Alden gave a little genteel snort of anger and annoyance. He looked -towards the stairs and spoke in a low voice. "I confide in you, Mr. -Durgan. In confidence, I may say I am confounded. The world has said -that this was an extraordinary case, and that without knowing this -latest and most baffling development. I confess I am confounded."</p> - -<p>"But you will have some theory about them?"</p> - -<p>"The only thing they prove is that someone has thought it worth while to -try to deceive someone else; and I should think—pardon me—that the -agent in the matter is Mrs. Durgan. This is her writing, is it not?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Beardsley's letters are all forgeries except one."</p> - -<p>Durgan took back the letters to seek evidence of forgery. His hand -trembled.</p> - -<p>"Don't you see which is the genuine one?" asked Alden.</p> - -<p>Durgan did not see until it was pointed out to him that the letter which -contained the erasure differed from the rest in displaying some -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>peculiarities of crude handwriting which were more or less successfully -copied, but exaggerated, in the others which bore his supposed -signature.</p> - -<p>"Do you agree with me that my wife's are genuine?" asked Durgan -haughtily.</p> - -<p>"I have no reason to suppose otherwise. They are all in the same hand, -but I think——"</p> - -<p>"Go on," said Durgan.</p> - -<p>"I think they were not written at the dates given, but were composed to -make up this series."</p> - -<p>"Do you suppose, then, that my wife is the author of these Beardsley -forgeries?"</p> - -<p>"I cannot tell. If they were written in Beardsley's interest, why did he -not write them himself? But if not in his interest, whoever forged them -must have done it at her bidding."</p> - -<p>As Durgan kept silence, Alden spoke again. "I ought to explain to you, -perhaps with an apology, why I suggested that the person referred to in -the erased line may have been Mrs. Durgan. By mere accident I heard, a -year after the trial, a piece of gossip which first made me pitch on -that one letter as probably genuine. I am loth to mention it to you, for -it appeared to be trivial talk about a mere mistake. A man who had -belonged to that somewhat secret circle of Beardsley's was telling me -that Beardsley knew nothing of society, and was, like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> all lower-class -men, at first quite unaccustomed to the idea of mere friendship between -men and women, and, as an illustration of this, he went on to say what I -am referring to. Mrs. Durgan and Claxton seemed to have discovered some -spiritual affinity. The spirits, I understood, sometimes spoke through -Mrs. Durgan and sent messages to him——"</p> - -<p>"She said they did?"</p> - -<p>"Personally, of course, I don't believe in such communications, but we -may believe that Mrs. Durgan believed——"</p> - -<p>"I was not entering into that question. I merely wish to be clear as to -what occurred."</p> - -<p>"Yes; I understood that Mrs. Durgan said they sent messages of an -agreeable and flattering nature; and Beardsley suspected that they were -not genuine, and, being a person of primitive ideas, showed disapproval. -He thought they indicated undue interest in Claxton on Mrs. Durgan's -part. The man told me that all who knew of the incident laughed at -Beardsley's lack of knowledge of the world. He gave me to understand no -one thought the incident of any importance, and all had the good feeling -not to speak of it after poor Claxton's death."</p> - -<p>"Did they suppose Beardsley to be jealous?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span></p><p>"Not at all. My informant, a man of the world, represented him as -having the idea that a high moral tone was necessary to insure the -success of his entertainments, and that these flattering messages were -not in harmony with such a tone."</p> - -<p>"You heard this a year ago and no suspicion of Beardsley entered your -mind?"</p> - -<p>"No. How should it? My informant ended his chat by remarking how well -Mrs. Durgan knew how to disarm criticism, for, instead of being -offended, she had most charitably supported the simple moralist during -years of ill health."</p> - -<p>"It is easy to be wise after the event," said Durgan; and then he asked: -"What are you going to do now?"</p> - -<p>"The chief thing we have got to consider is that, although these -letters, and above all, those I have not yet shown you, confirm the -mulatto's tale that Beardsley was at the house, we have as yet no -explanation whatever of the crime, and no reason whatever to accuse -Beardsley of it beyond the fact that he was there. I do not see how to -get further except by discovering a clue to Miss Claxton's conduct. The -kernel of the secret lies there."</p> - -<p>"I see quite clearly," rejoined Durgan, "that we are, as you say, far -from any explanation of the mystery; but as far as my wife is concerned, -these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> letters appear to me to show that she knew that she was -protecting this man at the risk of danger to herself. She has prepared -this series to save herself if he is found out. The one letter which you -suppose to be his is evidence that he had the intention of visiting the -Claxtons that morning; the rest of the letters only imply that she -believed he had never gone. If, as we now suppose, the cause of quarrel -between Beardsley and poor Claxton was this misapprehension of his -regarding my wife's feeling for Claxton, she may have sheltered him at -first to save scandal involving herself."</p> - -<p>"Yet," said Alden, "we must admit that this does not appear to be any -sufficient motive for Mrs. Durgan's conduct. We agree that only some -important fact, as yet unknown to us, can explain the action of these -two women."</p> - -<p>Alden put down his notes on the small table. They sat in silence. The -smouldering birch log in the stove chimney emitted only an occasional -spit of flame. The dogs slumbered in front of it. The shaded lamp, which -Durgan had often regarded as the symbol of domestic felicity, threw the -same soft light around the graceful room as on the first evening of his -introduction to it. Upstairs there was an occasional sound made by the -movements of the sisters, which gave a soft reminder of their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> presence -in the house, and no more. Through the low, uncurtained windows the -mountain trees and the meadows were seen outlined in the starlight, as -on the night of his arrival.</p> - -<p>"What of these other letters you still have in your hand?" said Durgan -at last.</p> - -<p>"There are three that were tied up and hidden, evidently before the -stolen packet came into her possession; and three that were with the -rest that you have seen. These last three I cannot let you see. They are -the saddest letters I have ever read. They are written to Beardsley, and -altho without date or signature, undoubtedly in Miss Claxton's writing. -They implore him by every sacred feeling of love and duty to turn to God -in repentance and accept the Christian salvation. Mr. Durgan, nothing -but love and the most earnest sense of duty could have prompted these -letters, and I wish, in your presence, to put them in the fire. They -have been rejected and spurned by the cur to whom they were sent, and -altho they are undoubted proofs that for him she has felt the madness—I -can call it by no other word—the madness of love, they shall never be -used as evidence against her."</p> - -<p>The little man stepped forward and laid them on the fire. The tears, -unfelt, fell from his eyes as he did so. The flame shot up from the -glowing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> log, and the dark, uncurtained windows of the room repeated the -quivering light.</p> - -<p>The sorrow of it drowned Durgan's curiosity. He forgot to wonder what -letters Miss Claxton had previously hidden in the tree till Alden roused -himself to speak again.</p> - -<p>"The three letters still left, which apparently came months ago, at -intervals, in response to those just burned, are addressed to Miss -Claxton at my office. I judge from this that Beardsley never knew of the -alias 'Smith' or of this retreat. Indeed, Adolphus told me he does not -know." Alden paused absently.</p> - -<p>"And these letters?" Durgan reminded.</p> - -<p>"These letters are no doubt from that beast. They are in feigned hand -and anonymous; and the subject is money—no religion, no duty, no -affection, is to be believed as long as money is withheld. Thousands of -dollars are demanded. I've no means of knowing whether this money was -given or not."</p> - -<p>Durgan went over the notes, which Alden had described accurately.</p> - -<p>"The negro is really dying, I suppose?" he asked. "He can help us no -further?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; he may be dead by this time; but, curiously enough, to the end of -my interview he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> chuckling, and saying that he would pay the villain -and right the lady yet. But he would not give me, or the doctor, any -indication of what he meant. He adjured me to——"</p> - -<p>"Listen." Durgan went to the window as he spoke, and the dogs pricked -their ears.</p> - -<p>"I hear nothing," said Alden.</p> - -<p>"I ought to be going home," said Durgan. "What were you saying?"</p> - -<p>"Only that the fellow told me to keep my wits about me, and tell you to -do the same. There is something to be subtracted from all the evidence -he gave, for he was certainly, if rational at all, in a very fantastic -humor."</p> - -<p>The lawyer's tones were low and weary. Durgan was not even listening. He -had opened the window a little.</p> - -<p>"I think there is a horse, or horses, on the road from the Cove," he -said. His thought glanced back to the last time he heard horsemen -approach in the night, to arrest Adam. No errand of less baneful import -seemed to fit the circumstances now.</p> - -<p>The French clock on the mantel-shelf rang out twelve musical strokes.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXX</span> <span class="smaller">THE VISION IN THE HUT</span></h2> - -<p>There is, perhaps, no more enthralling sound than the far but sure -approach of someone who comes unlooked-for to a lonely place. The two -men who were keeping vigil became certain that travelers were ascending -the steep zig-zags of Deer. They looked at one another in apprehensive -silence, and went softly out to that side of the house nearest the road. -The young moon had set, and there was cloud overhead. Almost an hour's -journey below them the creak of wheel, the sound of hoof, came faint but -nearer. The two house dogs stood by the men, a growl in their throats.</p> - -<p>Bertha came downstairs and out to them, a shawl over her head. The -mountain nights had been growing colder; the air was bleak and dry.</p> - -<p>"Hermie is terribly ill," she said. "She has cried till the pain in her -head is anguish—and who can possibly be coming?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p><p>Then she turned indignantly to Alden. "Is this some plan of your -arranging?"</p> - -<p>Alden denied in dispirited tones, and suggested that perhaps some -travelers had lost their way.</p> - -<p>"People don't usually climb a mountain by mistake," she retorted.</p> - -<p>"There are two horses—and two men talking—and wheels," said Durgan, -slowly reckoning up the sounds he heard.</p> - -<p>"Go in, and take the dogs," said Alden to Bertha. "We will go down to -the mine and meet them, so that Hermione need not be disturbed."</p> - -<p>"You need not be so careful to protect her now," she said hardly. "She -is in too great pain to care what happens."</p> - -<p>Then Durgan was striding down the trail, and Alden hopping nimbly over -the rocks beside him.</p> - -<p>"The last visitors who rode here through the night brought handcuffs," -said Durgan grimly.</p> - -<p>He could not divest himself of the idea that some armed fate was close -upon them all.</p> - -<p>He lit his lantern, and kindled a fire of sticks in the stove of his -hut. Alden, who was shivering with cold, warmed himself. The travelers -were now resting their horses a half-mile below. The keen air, the new -excitement, were a spur to the mind of the weary lawyer. He began to -talk with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> renewed melancholy, and a persistence that wearied Durgan's -ears.</p> - -<p>"So far, we are not only without proof, but without reasonable -hypothesis. The cleverest detective in New York tells me that Beardsley -left New York and cannot be traced. When we find him, we shall only -have, as means to incriminate him, the word of a dead negro, whose mind -was obviously failing when he gave his evidence, and one letter -which——"</p> - -<p>Durgan's impatience was intolerable. He went out on the dark road. He -thought of that other night, gorgeous in its whiteness, when the full -moon had looked down on the beautiful bronze form of the murdered woman -and on a strolling, dandified valet, of whose portrait Durgan remembered -every detail. He had seen him in the glamor of the silvered avenue; and -his silken hair and long whiskers, the expanse of shirt-front, the flash -of false jewels, and his mad utterance, which was now gradually taking -the form of truth, lived again in his memory. He remembered, too, the -crimson dawn in which he had witnessed Adam's passionate grief, and his -own rage of indignation when the next night had brought with it, on this -same road, the worst of insults to taint that grief.</p> - -<p>The cause of all that coil of evil and pain had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> been the quiet lady, -whom they had just left with the intense loneliness of her secret, shut -off in her anguish from sister and lover. For her sake, it seemed, Eve -had been killed, and Adam had wept, and the vain serving-man had used -his last vital powers to save her from a world's reproach. As yet there -was no outcome of it all, except dissension and misery.</p> - -<p>The horses below began to move again. Durgan went in to Alden. They -sometimes heard a thin, impatient voice raised high in questioning -tones, and answers given. When the horses had passed the last turn -below, the words of the thin voice could be heard clearly.</p> - -<p>"Drivah, what is this light?" There was a slight drawl and an assumption -of importance.</p> - -<p>"I think I have heard that voice before," said the lawyer slowly, -listening; "but I cannot tell where."</p> - -<p>"Is this the top of the mountain, drivah? Is this the house?"</p> - -<p>"I can't be sure, but I think I know it," commented the lawyer again. -"Do you recognize it?"</p> - -<p>"No, I do not."</p> - -<p>Durgan stood out on the road.</p> - -<p>"Then drive on. If this is not the summit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> house, drive on, drivah. -Don't stop." There was a note of alarm in the thin tone.</p> - -<p>Durgan's lantern flashed its light upon horses and driver and -old-fashioned surrey from the hotel at Hilyard. The driver was a silent -man, well known on the road. Within, his keen, facile face bent forward -in ill temper and alarm, sat an emaciated man, wrapped in a rich fur -coat and propped with cushions.</p> - -<p>The driver had so far answered in lazy monosyllables. Now, on -recognizing Durgan, he pulled up the carriage. The thin-voiced traveler -addressed Durgan.</p> - -<p>"I am going to the boarding-house of a Miss Smith. I understand there is -a lawyer there, the best in the State. I will not detain you, sir. Go -on, drivah; we are much too late now."</p> - -<p>The owner of the voice leaned back in the surrey. He was evidently -alarmed by his surroundings; but a stranger might well be excused for -showing some dislike of the long, steep road, the extreme solitude, and -the sudden appearance of a man who barred the way.</p> - -<p>Durgan turned his light on the face of the driver. "What's the meaning -of this?" he asked sternly.</p> - -<p>The man returned his inspection with a queer,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> sphinx-like look that had -in it something of the nature of a grin and a wink, but gave no -indication as to the cause of his humor. He grumbled as he clumsily -tumbled off his seat. Then, opening the surrey door, he remarked, in a -casual tone, that his horses could go no further.</p> - -<p>"If this 'ere gentleman doesn't keep summer hotels and big-bug lawyers -handy, I dunno anyone as does 'bout here. As for Miss Smith's house, -we'll have a rest first."</p> - -<p>Again the face of the invalid, keen and drawn by pain or passion, was -thrust forward from the shadow of the carriage. His voice was shrill -enough to sound at first like a shriek. "Look here, my man; you needn't -suppose the money I've got to pay you is in my pockets. It's in Hilyard, -where you'll get all the currency you want when you've done my work; but -you'll gain nothing by stopping here."</p> - -<p>On seeing Durgan more clearly he looked about him in absolute terror, -grasping the rug that impeded his movements as if wondering only how to -fling himself out of their reach, or else not knowing whether to argue -or ingratiate.</p> - -<p>The driver held the door, taking the volley of weak-voiced profanity in -the passive way common to the region.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p><p>Durgan's amusement at the driver's mastery, and at being himself so -obviously mistaken for a robber, was overlaid by astonishment and -curiosity.</p> - -<p>"I am working a small mica mine close by. You can come into my camp to -rest and get warm if you wish to." He spoke to the agitated traveler in -the low, haughty tone that usually won for him the immediate respect of -those inferior in social position. But the traveler only answered in a -more imperious tone.</p> - -<p>"Who are you, sir? Is this Bear Mountain? I was told it was. This man," -he cried, pointing to the driver, "engaged to bring me to a mountain -called Bear and a house kept by a woman called Smith. We were -delayed—horribly delayed—by one of the horses casting a shoe. I ask -you, sir, what does this man mean by turning me out at a mica mine? What -does he mean?"</p> - -<p>"I should like to know," said Durgan. "You have evidently been misled."</p> - -<p>The driver here left the open carriage door, and began busying himself -about the harness.</p> - -<p>Again suggesting that the traveler might take advantage of his fire if -he chose, Durgan turned back to his camp.</p> - -<p>Alden stood outside, unseen from the carriage in the black shadow of the -hut. He had the baffled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> air of a hound who, thinking he has found a -scent, loses it again. He shook his head; his eyes contracted in -concentrated attention. "I've no idea who he is; but I think he is -acting a part."</p> - -<p>The stranger now proved himself a man of the world by descending from -the carriage with some polite expressions of relief at obtaining rest -from the intolerable road, and gratitude for Durgan's hospitality.</p> - -<p>He was of middle height, and stooped as he walked. His traveling coat -was of the richest, the muffling of the fur collar and the slouch of the -warm felt hat seemed habitual to him. In spite of them he shivered in -the mountain night.</p> - -<p>He went close to the fire, unbuttoned his coat to let the warmth reach -him, and took out a card-case.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps you will be good enough to extract a card," said he, handing it -to Durgan. "My fingers are numb."</p> - -<p>He took off his gloves, and chafed his hands before the blaze. He took -off his hat, holding its inside to the fire to warm. He had the -appearance of a man of perhaps fifty, with face withered and sunburnt. -His hair was black, his mustache waxed, his beard pointed. He looked -like a fashion plate from Paris, handsome in his way, but his skin and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> -eyes gave the impression of pain impatiently borne. The sense of being -an aristocrat was written large all over him. His cat's-eye pin, the -cutting of his seal ring, answered true to the glare of the firelight. -Having shown himself, as it would appear accidentally, he put on his hat -and buttoned up his collar.</p> - -<p>Durgan took a card from a well-filled and well-worn card-case and read -it aloud, "Mr. Adolphus Courthope." It gave as an address a club in New -Orleans.</p> - -<p>"I heard a few days ago that a namesake of mine, a scoundrelly fellow, -whose mother was one of our niggers, is lying in jail at Hilyard, -charged with murder. Of course, I have no responsibility for the -fellow—never saw him till to-day. Still, his mother was my -foster-sister, the daughter of the good old mammy who nursed me. She -gave him my name, and—damn it—I don't care to have the fellow publicly -hanged. Seems in a bad way now with lung trouble; but he'll -revive—that's the way with these cases."</p> - -<p>Durgan disliked this man, but was surprised to find that he pitied him -still more. The terror that he had just shown, the illusive resemblance -in his eyes to someone—perhaps someone more worthy of pity—the very -disparity of physical size and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> strength, all inspired in Durgan an -unreasoning instinct to protect him.</p> - -<p>The other went on. "Only reached Hilyard to-day. The poor fellow would -have it that there was a woman called Smith, who kept a small summer -hotel, or something of the kind, located here, who alone could give the -evidence that would get him off; and that there was a clever lawyer -boarding with her who would take up the case on her evidence. Would have -it there was nothing for it but for me to come straight on here. I'm not -the man to give up what I've undertaken, but if I'd known what the roads -were like, confound it if I'd not have stayed in New Orleans. I say this -to you, sir, because I see you are a man of my own class—damn it, there -are few enough of us left."</p> - -<p>Certain now that this man had been sent by 'Dolphus, Durgan perceived -that till now he had had some vague hope that 'Dolphus, as some <i>deus ex -machina</i>, would contrive to trick Beardsley himself into their power. -The production of this man, beguiled hither by a lie, was evidently the -mulatto's supreme effort; but this man, whoever he was, was certainly -not Charlton Beardsley, for however accomplished an actor he might be, -Durgan felt certain he had never been a man of plebeian origin.</p> - -<p>"Is there no hotel that I can sleep in to-night?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> asked the other -shortly. "Has that cursed nigger not told me the truth?"</p> - -<p>"Not precisely. Had he any reason for endeavoring to mislead you?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I should rather think not. Trial coming on in two days. If he had -his senses about him, he'd go only the quickest road to success."</p> - -<p>This sounded genuine.</p> - -<p>"And the driver brought you all this way and did not enlighten you?" -said Durgan.</p> - -<p>"Great God!" cried the other. "What could they mean?" And in his tone -vibrated returning fear.</p> - -<p>"<i>I have</i> a friend here—the lawyer to whom you are sent; and there <i>is</i> -a Miss Smith living higher up, but it is a private house."</p> - -<p>Again the stranger overcame the fear he had a second time betrayed. "Oh, -thanks awfully. That is all that matters. Has your friend turned in for -the night?"</p> - -<p>Aware that Alden had been looking and listening through the chinks of -the hut, Durgan wandered out in a slow detour among the trees, and -brought Alden back with him. When they entered, the stranger was not -looking toward the door.</p> - -<p>"This is Mr. Theodore Alden, of New York," said Durgan; and altho the -visitor only <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>appeared to indolently turn his head and bow, Durgan felt -sure that his whole body started and shrank under the heavy folds of his -long coat.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Courthope has come," began Durgan, and then, with indifferent -manner, he repeated the story of Mr. Courthope of New Orleans. He could -see that Alden had as yet no scent.</p> - -<p>"Are you aware," began Alden, "that the other negro apprehended for this -murder is being protected by his late owner upon the same grounds? It is -not a usual proceeding; I might almost say—speaking from a wide -knowledge of the South since the war—a novel proceeding. To have it -repeated is a novel coincidence."</p> - -<p>There was a little silence in which Durgan and Alden both observed the -stranger narrowly, and neither felt sure whether his pause was caused by -the inattentive habits of illness, or whether he was silent from -annoyance. It would appear to have been the first, for, after again -warming his legs and again rubbing his hands before the blaze, he lifted -his head as if he had just observed that he had not replied.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon—a bad habit of mine, forgetting to answer. As to -coincidence, it isn't coincidence at all. My nigger writes to me what a -Mr. Durgan is doing for the other nigger, and sends<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> me a local paper, -saying in effect how much better the Durgans are than the Courthopes. I -acted on impulse—we Courthopes always do. It's the way of the world, -you know—we should never do anything if it wasn't for trying to show -that we are as good, or one better, than someone else. But if I'd known -that folks here all lived on different mountains, I'd have let the -Durgans have the field. Devilish cold at this altitude."</p> - -<p>As he turned from the fire to speak he shivered, pushed up his collar -still higher, and pulled his hat down almost to his eyes. He turned -again to the fire. "Desperately cold up here," he repeated. "What's the -name of this mountain?" he suddenly demanded.</p> - -<p>They told him.</p> - -<p>"'Deer Mountain.' I thought the driver said 'Bear Mountain.' I'm sure -the nigger told me to come up 'Bear.'"</p> - -<p>"There is a peak of that name further off," said Alden.</p> - -<p>"Ah, well, I must say I am relieved to find I've not come on a fool's -errand, but have achieved my purpose and discovered our friend, Mr. -Alden, altho on another mountain. Odd place this, where mountains have -to be reckoned like streets or squares. Well, Mr. Alden, my business is -just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> this: I'm willing to pay anything in reason, and you can use -bribery and corruption, or talent, or villainy, or anything else you -like as long as you get my man off. There is my card; and if you'll -agree to undertake it, I'd better drive back to the last village and try -to get a bed."</p> - -<p>He did not take a step toward the door as he spoke, but Durgan believed -that he would fain have done so.</p> - -<p>Alden was standing very square, alert, and upright. "Mr. Courthope, this -is a very strange thing. There is nothing that Adolphus knows better -than that I believe him to be guilty, and will not defend him."</p> - -<p>The stranger expressed astonishment in word and action. He moved back a -few steps, and sat down weakly on the bench by the wall; but Durgan -observed that he thus neared the door, tho appearing to settle himself -for conversation.</p> - -<p>"You are scarcely a hundred yards from the place where this 'Dolphus -stabbed a beautiful quadroon woman, and left her dead," said Durgan. -"She was found just here at——"</p> - -<p>"How ghastly!" interrupted the other in unfeigned distress. "I confess -to being afraid of ghosts—horribly afraid. But, gentlemen, I beg<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> you -to think what an awful business it would be to have that poor nigger -hanged."</p> - -<p>There was no doubt as to the truth of the emotion he now displayed, any -more than in the matter of his former terror.</p> - -<p>"It isn't fair, you know," he said; "for the punishment is out of all -proportion to the crime, even if he is guilty. To be killed suddenly, -when you are not expecting it, you know, is no suffering at all—nothing -to compare with sitting for weeks expecting a horrible and deliberate -end. Then the disgrace, the execration of the public." His thin voice -had risen now in actual terror at the picture he had conjured up. "Save -the poor devil if you can." His eyes turned instinctively toward -Durgan's. "Sir, I do not know who you are, but I recognize a man of -feeling and of honor. I protest the very thought of such a fate for this -poor fellow appals me. I beseech you, have pity on the poor wretch, as -you would desire pity in—in—your worst extremity."</p> - -<p>He rose after he had spoken, moving about restlessly, as if in the -attempt to control himself. His unfeigned appeal seemed to touch even -Alden. His manner to the man suddenly became kinder.</p> - -<p>"There is one thing that I can do for you," said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> the lawyer. "If you -will write a short letter formally empowering me to find better counsel -for the defence, I will—telegraph to a man I know in Atlanta to -undertake it. Of course you must formally authorize me."</p> - -<p>"Certainly; certainly. I quite understand," said the stranger eagerly, -coming toward the table where Alden was arranging paper.</p> - -<p>"What's that?" he said sharply, as he sat down.</p> - -<p>There was a scrambling upon the hill above, in which Durgan recognized -the well-known run of Bertha with her dogs in leash. He determined at -once to meet her and send her back, altho he hardly knew why.</p> - -<p>He said to Courthope evasively, "There are cattle grazing on all these -hills."</p> - -<p>At the moment he felt reproach for the lie, because the stranger seemed -to trust him implicitly, for he seated himself and took the pen.</p> - -<p>Alden surreptitiously kicked the damper of the small stove, increasing -its heat, which was already great. He said to the stranger, who sat with -his back to it, "You will catch cold in driving if you do not open your -coat here."</p> - -<p>Durgan left Alden to put the stranger through his paces, and went -hastily round the ledge of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> mine and swung himself up to the trail, -meaning to intercept Bertha before she came near. He had not correctly -estimated her pace, for when he emerged on the path she had just passed -over it. He could only follow her, as the girl descended by a light jump -to the rock platform.</p> - -<p>She was about forty feet from the door of the hut when she stood still -and, turning, spoke: "My sister has a terrible attack of neuralgia. If -the carriage is going back—we must send for the doctor. Who—who is -it?"</p> - -<p>In the next few confused moments Durgan was promising to send the -message, seeking words to persuade her to return, and giving some answer -to her question; while Bertha was trying to hold the dogs still, and -they, on the scent of strange footsteps, were straining on their leashes -toward the door of the hut.</p> - -<p>She was, perhaps, little loth to be pulled a few steps forward so that -she could look in at the open door for herself. The lantern, which -burned full in the face of the stranger, writing at the table, sent a -long, bright stream outwards, in which Bertha now stood framed. In -Durgan's memory afterwards this moment always remained with these two -faces lit up at each end of the beam of light, while all around them was -lost in darkness.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p><p>The stranger had thrown back his coat. His face was in clear profile.</p> - -<p>Durgan himself was paralyzed by the intensity of emotion which leaped to -Bertha's face. She gave an inarticulate sound of terrified joy, a moan -of heart-rending joy—or was it terror?</p> - -<p>The stranger, turning sharply, saw the girl, her face and figure -illumined. His jaw dropped with terror. He stood up abjectly.</p> - -<p>She sank to the ground, and Durgan, bending over her, heard her trying -to gasp a word with a wonderful intonation of tenderness and -astonishment. That word was "Father." She tried again and again to speak -it aloud.</p> - -<p>She seemed fainting. Instinctively Durgan held the dogs, who broke into -a howl of rage against the abject intruder.</p> - -<p>As for the stranger, he appeared to become mad. Alden moved to the door -to detain him, and was caught and thrown into the room as a child would -be cast off by an athlete. The man had fled, and was lost in the gloom -of the forest. He disappeared somewhere between the glow of the carriage -lamps and Durgan's light, rushing down the hill.</p> - -<p>Bertha had not wholly fainted. Now she was clinging to the collars of -the dogs with her whole weight, grappling with them on the very floor -of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> the rock. She was entreating Durgan in almost voiceless whispers to -"Go and bring him back. Go bring him."</p> - -<p>Alden, who heard nothing Bertha said, was on the road shouting to the -driver, "The man is mad. He is dangerous. Head him off down the road. -Don't let him escape." The words rang sharp.</p> - -<p>That portion of the hill into which the stranger had run was bordered by -the rock precipice, which came up to the road beyond where the carriage -stood.</p> - -<p>Alden raised his voice to a reverberating shout, addressing the -fugitive. "Come back. If you don't come back we will loose the dogs."</p> - -<p>Durgan was trying to take the furious dogs from the girl, but she would -not relax her hold. She was crying and moaning to the dogs to quiet -them, and entreating Durgan to leave her with wild whispers. "Oh, save -him; for God's sake, save him. Bring him back to me." She ground her -teeth in anger at Alden's shout. "For pity's sake, stop that cruel man -shouting. Call him off," she demanded, as if Alden were a dog; "call him -off."</p> - -<p>Durgan followed Alden. "She won't give you the dogs," he said.</p> - -<p>"It was the sight of the dogs that frightened him," said Alden. "He is a -maddened criminal,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> and a very dangerous man, whoever he may be. His -weakness was feigned. He's skulking; but he's as good as caught, for he -can't get over the precipice."</p> - -<p>Durgan heard Bertha dragging and coaxing the dogs up the trail. In a few -minutes she would have them shut up. He felt glad of this. In Alden's -anger there was no mercy.</p> - -<p>The driver was making torches with sticks, lamp oil, and a bit of rope. -Before long, the three men had a glare which so illumined the wood that -each tree-trunk threw a sharp, black shadow. They distributed the lights -to lessen the shadows. They hunted all the slope between the road and -the rock wall, but the fugitive was not found.</p> - -<p>"If he had fallen over we should certainly have heard the fall," they -said.</p> - -<p>The silent driver added, "He swore he'd be good for forty dollars if I'd -get him here and back; reckon I ain't the man to lose half a chance of -that. I kep' my ears open; he ain't rolled over."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> - -<h2>Book III</h2> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXXI</span> <span class="smaller">A FLASH OF LIGHT</span></h2> - -<p>The bank shelved: no one could come on the precipice unwarned. Soon they -found a travelling boot, and after that, at some distance, another. They -felt sure now that the fugitive had climbed one of the trees, throwing -away his boots as far as possible. Looking up, they perceived the -hopelessness, in that case, of their quest. The arms of the forest -spread out above them thick, gnarled, and black with the heaviest -foliage of the year. The flame of their torches glared only on the under -side of the boughs. Light and shadow were thrown in fantastic patches -into the higher canopies, where also the lurid smoke of their torches -curled.</p> - -<p>They went back to the road; the small, neat New Yorker tripping first, -his torch dying, the boots of the fugitive in his other hand; the -driver, in old, loose coat, striding indolently toward the horses; -Durgan, lingering as he went, with sinewy arm throwing his light high -and looking upward.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p><p>Alden examined the boots by the lamp in the hut. "These are New York -boots," he said. Then he turned to the half-written letter on the table. -"This writing I made him do is in a feigned hand." Alden's eyes were -ablaze with angry excitement. "Look!" he cried. In the lining of the -boots he had found a mark in ink. The initials were "J. C. B." "Can he -be Beardsley, masquerading as a Southerner?"</p> - -<p>"I begin to think he has done some years of masquerading as Beardsley."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>But Durgan went no further. His own uncertainty, Alden's obvious -exhaustion, and the desire to let things sift themselves, kept him -silent.</p> - -<p>Something more alert than weary human sense was required for the vigil. -Durgan went to the stable to get the terrier. He purposely took his way -near the window of the sisters, anxious as to the nature of Bertha's -excitement and her sister's illness.</p> - -<p>But after passing the tranquil house, he found that Bertha had not -entered it. She still stood outside the locked door of the stable in -which she had chained the dogs. She leaned back against the door, -looking up at the quiet light in her sister's window. Durgan lit a -match, and held it in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> pink lantern of his fingers until it was big -enough to give them both a clear momentary view of each other. To his -surprise, Bertha appeared to be in a quiet mood. The spark fell, and -again only her light dress glimmered in the night. The first fine drops -of gathering rain were falling.</p> - -<p>He did not like a calm that seemed to him unnatural. He told her of the -watch kept below, and of his errand.</p> - -<p>She answered, "I am glad you have come. I don't know how to go to -Hermie. Poor Hermie! How we have wronged her! But I am afraid to tell -her, for it might kill her to-night. It was some cruel plan of Mr. -Alden's, I know. I am afraid to go to her; but I am afraid, too, to -leave her alone as ill as she is. She might die; tho I don't think she -will, because she always seems to have God with her; and, do you know, I -have a queer feeling to-night that God may be here. It would seem -better, of course, if we could all three die to-night; but in that case, -why have we lived to meet again? No; there must be some way out, because -Hermie has prayed so much—prayer must make some difference, don't you -think?"</p> - -<p>"I don't like to hear you talking in this mild, reasonable way. Are you -not excited? Why do you not cry?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p><p>"I was so dreadfully excited that I thought I was going mad; and then -seemed to grow all still inside, as if there was no need to be afraid. I -can't explain. The reason I'm talking is that I want you to tell me what -to do. I've told you the danger of telling Hermie, and the danger of not -going to her; and then, too, I want to go down the hill. If I went -alone, he would come to me and speak to me. He must be cold and hungry -and tired. In the old days we never let a draught blow upon him. And he -is so terribly thin, and has done something so dreadful with his hair, -because I suppose he was afraid of being known. I ought to go to him."</p> - -<p>"You must not stand here and go on talking like this. You must go at -once into the house and nurse your sister. And you must not tell her -what you are fancying or thinking about. If you do, it will make her -very ill, and it will be your fault. You have wronged her terribly, as -you say. Rouse yourself, and make some amends."</p> - -<p>"Well—I will." She began to move with docility, but talked as he walked -with her. "Could you not send Mr. Alden down to the Cove on some -pretence? And then, you know, we could find him, and I could bring him -into the kitchen, at least, and give him warm wine—he used to like warm -wine—and get him to bed without Hermie knowing. Dear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> Mr. Durgan, -couldn't you do this for Hermie's sake? You know it is what she would -like."</p> - -<p>Durgan took her by the arm. "Miss Bertha, you have, perhaps, made a -mistake. It is very easy to make such mistakes under excitement such as -you have passed through to-night. That excitement has almost killed your -sister, and it has probably made you fanciful."</p> - -<p>"Yes—but then, how was it <i>he</i> knew <i>me</i>?"</p> - -<p>"He saw the dogs. He may have supposed they were brought to seize him, -and so he bolted."</p> - -<p>She replied in the same voice as before. "But then, this explains -Hermie's secret. What else could? You know we said nothing could, but -this does."</p> - -<p>Durgan felt that, perhaps, her mind had become a blank, and her voice -was answering with his own thoughts, which within him were holding the -same dialog.</p> - -<p>"What are you saying?" he said roughly. "How can your father be alive? -And if he were, do you understand that he must have killed the other -man?"</p> - -<p>He had struck the right note. She pulled herself from him with natural -recoil. "Yes, yes; and that is clear from Hermie's action, too. But you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> -don't know what happened. There must be some excuse."</p> - -<p>"You know, Miss Bertha, you have thought very foolish things before; you -may not be right now."</p> - -<p>She sat down on the edge of the verandah, and began to weep heartily and -quietly. He was relieved: tears proved her well-being.</p> - -<p>They had come, walking together, to that end of the house where, on the -second day of their acquaintance, he had found her at dawn watching over -his safety. He looked about now, and longed for the dawn, but there was -nothing but glimmering darkness and the sweet smell of the gathering -rain.</p> - -<p>When Bertha had cried for a while she went in to her sister. In a minute -she came tip-toeing back to Durgan.</p> - -<p>"Hermie is sleeping quite restfully," she said. "How much softer the air -feels; I think the change has done her good."</p> - -<p>As he turned away Durgan's heart sank. The belief that Claxton was the -murderer, not the murdered, and had been sheltered all these years by -his own wife, forced itself upon Durgan. These innocent women might find -rest in the softened air; but what rest could that woman who bore his -name<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> ever find, whose cruelty and selfishness must, in consequence of -the exposure now imminent, bear the light of public shame?</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXXII</span> <span class="smaller">WHAT A TERRIER FOUND</span></h2> - -<p>Durgan took the terrier and led him up and down through the bit of -sequestered woodland; but the animal, beyond enjoying the unusual -festivity of a night walk, exhibited no sense of the situation. It -stopped to bark at no tree-foot, and altho it resented the intrusion of -the driver, discovered nothing else to resent.</p> - -<p>The slow-tongued driver made another remark. "That's a queer thing, too. -I'd have thought he'd have barked at a cat in a tree, I would."</p> - -<p>Durgan had despised Alden in the vicious snap of his pitiless anger -against the fugitive; but as the night wore on, and he saw his face grow -more and more haggard, as if he were aged by a decade since the last sun -shone, he was glad to procure him rest or relief of any sort.</p> - -<p>Confident that the dog would give warning if the prisoner climbed down, -Alden accepted the use of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> Durgan's bed; but it was easy to see that he -could not rest. There was the constant secret movement of one who was -pretending to be still.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps you would rather talk," said Durgan. "I wish you would tell me -all you know about Miss Claxton's father. Is she like him?"</p> - -<p>"Not at all. I found little to respect in his character."</p> - -<p>"I suppose you dug up his past very thoroughly."</p> - -<p>"There was nothing in it but selfishness and vanity. He was of old -colonial stock, but had been ill-reared to leisure and luxury—the worst -training in a new country, where these things involve no corresponding -responsibilities. He married into a plain New England family for the -sake of money. The mother of Hermione, I need not say, was immensely his -superior; but she died at the birth of the second daughter. There is -some disparity of age between them—Hermione——"</p> - -<p>Durgan had to bring him back from reminiscences of his love.</p> - -<p>"Ah—as to Claxton's ill health, if it interests you, I judge that it -dated from a blow to his vanity. He was very worldly, and, when a -widower, did a good deal of amateur acting, and became engaged to marry -a young beauty who had just come out as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> a public singer. Society took -her up. She was the belle of the season, and jilted Claxton. It was a -matter of talk; but I don't suppose his daughters ever heard of -it—daughters don't hear such things, you know. He kept them in a -country boarding-school, where, I am happy to say, Hermione got -religion."</p> - -<p>Durgan smiled to himself over the quaint phrase used so seriously. "But -the father?"</p> - -<p>"He married in pique a dull pink and white society woman, with more -money; and then became a chronic invalid. When he was tired of his wife -he sent for his daughters. I never heard that he was unkind to them, or -to his wife; but it seemed to me he only cared for them as they devoted -themselves to his comfort. Hermione—often has she discussed it with -me—was very anxious as to his spiritual state. It was her great desire -that he should seek salvation. It was that desire that caused her always -such distress when her father finally dabbled in spiritualism. His -death, in a still ungodly state, was, I can aver, her worst trouble in -all that terrible chain of events. She felt so much that she never -mentioned her concern about him again."</p> - -<p>Alden had been speaking in a sleepy way, as if his recent distrust of -his chosen lady was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>obliterated by some fragrance from the poppy beds -of weariness and love and night.</p> - -<p>He slept at last. The bleakness of the mountain night had given place to -a balmy rain.</p> - -<p>Durgan pondered. He knew that his wife would bow down to one like -Claxton, who had had the social ball at his feet; she would regard his -intimate knowledge of the society she desired to cajole as a most -valuable property, and would risk much to retain it.</p> - -<p>When the gray morning came they went out to the trees again, but no one -was hiding among them.</p> - -<p>Then they went down by the road, and climbed along to the foot of the -precipice; but, making the closest search along its base, they found -nothing.</p> - -<p>Alden became racked by a new fear: the unknown had perhaps cheated them, -and recrossed the road. The desperate condition of the man, the women -unprotected—these thoughts were so terrible that he ran up the hill to -protect them, unconscious that his valor was out of all proportion to -his frame.</p> - -<p>When he was gone the driver said, "Forty dollars didn't get the better -of me crossin' that road while I kep' an eye on it, I reckon."</p> - -<p>The mountain forest dripped and trickled, the dry ground soaking in the -moisture with almost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> audible expansion of each atom of earth, each pore -of fern and leaf, and the swelling of twigs. The wet and glisten -everywhere deepened the color of rock and wood, moss, lichen, and weed.</p> - -<p>The driver stood considering the face of the rock; the terrier began -nosing among some fallen leaves; Durgan was looking this way and that, -to see which might have invited the nearest temporary hiding. Alden had -believed the stranger's weakness a pretence; Durgan believed the -strength he had shown to be the transient effect of fear.</p> - -<p>The driver at length said, "Hi! Look here. What's that?"</p> - -<p>He pointed to a black bundle in a fissure of the precipice.</p> - -<p>"That there fur coat! I'll be blowed! He got down here, sir; and he had -the devil to help him—leastwise, reckoning from all I have seen this -night, I conclude that Satan was in the concern. He climbed down that -crack in the rock, sir, and caught on by the bushes on the way, and -scrambled along that slantwise bit, and then he got hold of the tree. He -warn't killed or maimed or he'd be here."</p> - -<p>"Then we've lost him."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Bantam Cock will perhaps be sending despatches for to apprehend him -at the different steam-car depôts, for to get my forty dollars."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p><p>"Say we make it fifty?"</p> - -<p>"Well, sir; I would say, 'thank you.'"</p> - -<p>"And that would be all you would say, mind you, or I'll have you turned -off at the hotel."</p> - -<p>"Then I won't even say that, sir. There ain't anything comes easier to -me than shuttin' up, I reckon."</p> - -<p>After this colloquy, which passed quickly, Durgan was turning upwards -when he heard a horse ascending the road. In a few minutes he had met -his two negro laborers coming to their work, and, behind them, the -doctor from Hilyard, riding, as he usually did, with saddle-bags, his -old buff clothes much bespattered.</p> - -<p>"The yellow nigger is dead, Mr. Durgan. He died last night with the -change of the weather. You told me to keep him alive till you came, but -you didn't come. He was a very curious fellow—not half bad; and his -last freak was to ask me to come and tell you to look sharp after the -visitor he sent you. So, as you're not much out of my way to-day, I've -come at once."</p> - -<p>He got off his horse, and the two men talked together.</p> - -<p>The doctor, whose ordinary round comprised anything within a radius of -thirty miles, had not been in Hilyard when the rich traveler from New<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> -Orleans arrived and started again. His wealth and imperious airs had -impressed the little town, but beyond the fact that he had gained a -private interview with the dying prisoner, nothing was known about him.</p> - -<p>"And the odd thing is," said the doctor, "that 'Dolphus sent the jailer -with every cent he had in the world—about fifteen dollars—to bribe the -driver. As to his health, he was decidedly better, and when this Mr. -Courthope turned up he seems to have acted like a well man, and made him -believe he was well. When I got home there was a report about that the -stranger was a wonder-worker, and had cured him. But when I went to him -the fever was up. After his last flash in the pan he burnt out in a few -hours."</p> - -<p>Durgan supposed there might be something of greater importance to -justify the doctor's ride. "Perhaps," he said, "he asked you to bring a -message to Mr. Alden or Miss Smith?"</p> - -<p>"He was a most extraordinary fellow," said the other. "I never was quite -sure when he was talking sense and when nonsense. But the message was to -you; and it was that you were to keep this Courthope, and write to the -chief of police in New York and claim the reward offered in the Claxton -case. And you are to give as much of the money to Adam<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> as you think -will pay for his wife. He said he'd die easy if I'd give you that tip; -and he did die easy."</p> - -<p>Durgan smiled sadly at the pathos of the dying nigger's interest in his -fellows and his desire for justice to be done. "Did you reckon him -wandering?"</p> - -<p>"That's just as you choose to take it," said the doctor. "I'm accustomed -to hearing secrets and forgetting them. My only business before I forget -this one is to ascertain that a dangerous character is not left at -large. If you cannot give me that assurance, I suppose I ought to tell -the police myself."</p> - -<p>Durgan felt that the case of the Claxton sisters had now reached -extremity, and, much against his will, he replied in a nonchalant tone, -"We must come and talk the matter over with Mr. Alden." He saw no means -of securing the runaway or of hiding the scandal—he hardly desired to -hide it. He felt stunned at the shame that must fall on his wife.</p> - -<p>As they turned the doctor said, "You think this yellow fellow and his -sort mere trash, Mr. Durgan; but I'm inclined to think he would have -made a good citizen with any sort of training. He had more public spirit -than ten of our corrupt politicians rolled into one."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p><p>"Perhaps so," said Durgan absently. "I may be prejudiced."</p> - -<p>He whistled the dog, and heard nothing at first, but then, from a nook -below the hill, came an answering yelp. The yelp was repeated.</p> - -<p>The driver, who had been standing passive at a distance, sauntered -nearer. "There's something queer about that dog. He's been down there a -powerful while. If he'd found another shoe he'd bark like that. And -mebbe there's another shoe still to find, sir, for if two fits out a -man, a man in conjunction with the devil might require two more."</p> - -<p>Durgan took the hint, and went down towards the dog. He was puzzled by -its peculiar call. It came a little way to meet him, crawling and -fawning, but returned swiftly whither it came.</p> - -<p>In a few minutes more Durgan was looking down on the prostrate body of -the unknown traveler. He was lying straight and flat on his back; his -eyes were open, and they met Durgan's with a mournful look of full -intelligence which, in that position, was more startling than the glazed -eye of death. The terrier licked the hand that lay nearest the face, -then licked the brow very gently just for a moment, and yelped again.</p> - -<p>"Why don't you get up?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p><p>The stranger's lips moved. Durgan had to kneel to hear the thick effort -at speech.</p> - -<p>"Paralyzed!"</p> - -<p>The lips moved feebly to let Durgan know that, after his escape, the -seizure had come as he fled. The doctor came, and gently moved hand and -foot, testing the muscles and nerves. He confirmed the self-diagnosis. -The stricken man had probably lain unconscious half through the night, -but his mind was clear now.</p> - -<p>The rain had washed the temporary dye and all the stiffness from his -hair. It lay gray and disheveled about his thin, brown face. The haggard -lines were partly gone; the dark eyes looked up steadily, sad as eyes -could be, but fearless.</p> - -<p>The change was so great that Durgan spoke his involuntary sympathy. -"Guess you feel nothing worse can come to you now." Then he added, "Keep -up your heart. I'll take you where you will be well cared for."</p> - -<p>The driver had followed slowly, and looked on without query.</p> - -<p>"You bet," he said at length; "the devil's gone out of him."</p> - -<p>Durgan wondered if that was actually what had happened when Bertha felt -the peace of God, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> Hermione slept, and the wretched mulatto found -ease in death.</p> - -<p>"He had over-exerted," said the doctor, "and all the tonic went out of -the air when the rain fell."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXXIII</span> <span class="smaller">THE RESTORATION</span></h2> - -<p>They went back to Durgan's hut, and made a stretcher of his bed, and -brought down his laborers as carriers.</p> - -<p>A curious group walked slowly up the zig-zag road to the summit house: -Durgan and the terrier walked one on each side; the doctor rode behind. -There was naught to be said; they walked in silence. Sometimes the -eyelids of the still face drooped; again they were opened wide. The wet -forest breathed about their silence the whisper of the rain.</p> - -<p>When the party came in sight of the house gable, someone who was sitting -in the window of the sisters' room seemed to see them and moved away. -The place was astir for the day. Smoke was rising from the chimneys, and -the soft-voiced colored servant was singing to a Southern melody one of -the doggerel hymns of her race:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>"De Lord He sent His angel.</div> -<div class="i1">(Fly low, sweet angel;</div> -<div class="i1">Fly low, sweet angel;</div> -<div class="i1">Comin' for deliver us again.)</div> -<div>An' He tamed de lions for Daniel;</div> -<div>An' for Peter broke de prison and de chain.</div> -<div class="i1">O! de angel of de Lord."</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The servant was at work in an outer kitchen; the very words were clear. -The gentle melody of the stanza was ended abruptly by the soft, -triumphal shout of the last line.</p> - -<p>Durgan made the laborers rest their burden within the doorway of the -barn, while he went forward with the doctor. But now from the back door -Hermione came. She was clad in the simple gray morning gown which she -always wore at her housewife's duties; but she looked a shadow of -herself, so pale and wan with the pain of the night. She came forward -quickly. Durgan saw at a glance that she knew what Bertha could tell, -and was ready to meet whatever evil was sufficient for the day. Even at -such a moment, so selfless and courteous was she, she had a modest word -of greeting and gratitude for Durgan.</p> - -<p>Durgan made the doctor tell her the truth quickly, and Hermione went -straight on to the side of the nerveless man.</p> - -<p>Almost as soon as she looked, without a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>moment's betrayal of unusual -emotion, she stooped and kissed him.</p> - -<p>In thick utterance the paralytic repeated her name. What he thought or -felt none might know; the still features gave no expression.</p> - -<p>Then a great joy lit up her face, and the tone of her homely words was -like a song of praise.</p> - -<p>"We can keep you safe. You will be quite safe here; and Birdie and I -will take real good care of you. We have a beautiful home ready for -you."</p> - -<p>The doctor had turned away. She gave her command to the bearers, and -walked with new lightness beside the bed as it was carried toward the -house.</p> - -<p>Durgan followed, and found that he was holding his hat in his hand.</p> - -<p>How terrible, indeed, was this meeting of love and lack-love, of the -life gained by self-giving and the life lost by self-saving. The woman, -at one with all the powers of life—body, mind, and spirit a unity—able -(rare self-possession) to give herself when and for whom she would; -meeting with this self-wrecked, disintegrated man, for whom she had -suffered and was still eager to suffer. Like most things of divine -import, that kiss given by the very principle of life to the soul lying -in moral<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> death had passed without observation. Durgan looked upon the -still face. He could now clearly recognize the likeness to Bertha in the -form, color, and inward glow of the eyes; but so fixed and -expressionless were the muscles of the face, which had taken on a look -of sensuous contentment, that the onlooker could not even guess what -that glow of suffering might betoken, how much there was of memory, of -shame, of remorse, of any love for aught but self, or how much latent -force of moral recuperation there might be.</p> - -<p>While they went to the house through the tears of the morning, the -negress with the velvet voice was still singing:</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>"An' de Lord He sent His angel,</div> -<div>An' He walked wi' de children in de flame.</div> -<div class="i1">(Fly low, sweet angel.)"</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Durgan, who had been feeling like one in a dream, suddenly forgot to -listen to the song, for he saw, as in a flash, the cause of Hermione's -solemn joy. The criminal had been restored to her in the only way in -which it was possible for his life to be preserved for a time, and for -him to be allowed to die in peace. Neither Alden, nor any other, could -propose to bring this stricken man to answer in an earthly court. It was -again her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> privilege to lavish love upon him, to reap the result of her -sacrifice by tending his lingering life and telling him her treasure of -faith—of the mercy of God and the hope of heaven.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXXIV</span> <span class="smaller">ALL THAT HAPPENED</span></h2> - -<p>Durgan felt that day to be a distinctly happy one. A youth makes many -pictures of happiness for himself, and he must have but a poor outfit of -hope and imagery whose pictures are realized. Yet happiness springs up -beside the steps of the older wayfarer, a wild flower that he has not -sown or tended. In places where his familiar burden lightens, or when -gathering clouds disperse, it pushes up its bright flower-face with a -positive beauty and fragrance, something much fairer and better than the -mere negation of trouble, yet not so gay as mere imagined joys. Durgan, -who had come to this mountain thinking to be alone, and had become so -strenuously involved in the fate of his neighbors, to-day not only felt -peace in the cessation of fear and gloomy forebodings which had -enwrapped them all, but was lifted beyond this to participate in the joy -of heavenly deliverance which transfigured Hermione Claxton. He could -not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> think of her to-day without a strange, new, selfless pleasure which -he did not analyze; and, added to this, his heart leaped up in gratitude -on his own account, for surely now the wife he was bound to honor would -be spared the public odium which to her vain nature would be peculiar -agony. The fate of a long, living death for the man who had stifled -every honorable impulse to avoid the legal punishment of death was -robbed of its worst horror, because it gave him immunity from the -passion of fear by which he was enslaved, and restored him to the arms -of the only human love which could not be quenched by his misconduct and -disgrace. Durgan knew enough to suppose that when his wife's first -glamor of reverence for Claxton had passed, when, with the help of such -a skilful prompter, she had succeeded on the stage of her ambition, his -home with her had been no longer even peaceful. The letters 'Dolphus had -stolen had convinced Durgan that she was prepared to get rid of her -protégé if possible; and when he left her he was practically a homeless -fugitive, the whole world his enemy. From such a fate self-destruction, -or yielding to the last penalty of the law, were the only ways of -escape, had not the angel of mercy intervened.</p> - -<p>Later in the day Alden came from the room<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> above the carriage house, the -room in which Durgan had spent his first two curious nights on Deer -Mountain. He only knew of the finding of the fugitive, for, on being -assured of this, he had fallen asleep in sheer exhaustion.</p> - -<p>The rain was shifting for the time, affording intervals of blithe air -and mellow sunlight. Alden sat him down upon a settle in the verandah. -The trailing vines and the passion-flower were glowing with the -life-renewing moisture, but the gorgeous leaves and long tassels of the -love-lies-bleeding had fallen, sodden with the rain.</p> - -<p>Durgan was waiting for some instructions concerning certain invalid -requisites. His cousins, the Durgan Blounts, were returning to Baltimore -for the winter, and Durgan had undertaken that they should make the -purchases. No sooner had Alden spoken than Miss Claxton left her writing -desk, came swiftly, and sat down beside him.</p> - -<p>"There is something that I am waiting to tell you," she said. Her voice -was very gentle. "I have not made any explanation, either, to Mr. -Durgan, for I wouldn't till I saw you; but he ought to know, for Mrs. -Durgan's sake."</p> - -<p>Durgan had moved, but, at her command, remained.</p> - -<p>There was a little silence, and after she began<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> he was quite sure she -had forgotten his presence. She took Alden's passive hand in hers.</p> - -<p>"Herbert! my father has come back to us. No, dear; do not start like -that. He is still alive. That is my long secret, which I could not have -kept from you for anyone's sake but his."</p> - -<p>Alden said not a word. He sat erect, as if someone had struck him.</p> - -<p>"Oh," she cried, with tears in her voice, "the fate that came to him -that terrible morning was worse than death, and now he has been carried -back to us paralyzed. Have patience with me, and I will tell you all -that happened."</p> - -<p>The little lawyer, as if suddenly moved by some electric force, was for -bounding from his seat, every nerve quivering with the sting of his own -mortification and the shock of surprise. It was the strength of her will -that controlled him.</p> - -<p>"I must tell you from the beginning—it is the only way. Upon the -morning that that crime was committed in our house, a boy came with a -note from Mr. Beardsley. It made my father very angry. He told me that -Beardsley was coming on the heels of his messenger upon an impertinent -errand. What he said was that Beardsley was bent upon dictating the -terms of his friendship with Mrs. Durgan, whom he had only lately met.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p><p>"There was something the maids had to do that afternoon, and I sent -them then in the morning, for I could not bear that anyone should see -such a person in our house, or see my father so angry. My poor -step-mother had not risen from bed. When Beardsley came he went upstairs -to my father's sitting-room. The door was shut, but from what my father -told me afterwards, I know pretty well what happened."</p> - -<p>"Afterwards!" repeated Alden; "afterwards! Hermione?"</p> - -<p>"Dear Herbert, do not be angry, but only listen, and you will understand -how easily what seemed impossible could happen. This Mr. Beardsley had -the idea that my poor father and Mrs. Durgan had fallen in love at his -meetings. He was a simple, stupid man, and he thought it his duty to -exhort my father and warn my step-mother. I think that, angry as he was, -my father thought it best to receive his exhortation with the affection -of playfulness. It was his way, you know. He had graceful, whimsical -ways; he was not like other people. When he could not make this man see -his own folly, or divert him from his purpose, he took down the little -old pistol that was fastened on the wall as an ornament—the one that -was found. I need not tell you that he did not know it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> loaded; I -did not know, and I dusted his things every day, for he could not bear -to have a servant in the room. He tried to stop Beardsley by threatening -to shoot himself in mock despair. Poor mamma, hearing loud voices, ran -in.</p> - -<p>"Up till then I am sure papa had not a serious thought, except that he -was naturally angered by the folly of the man; but the pistol went off, -and poor mamma was killed. Oh! can you not imagine my father's wild -grief and anger against the fellow that, as he would think, had caused -him to do it? But there was more than that. My father told me that -Beardsley denounced him as a wilful murderer, and declared that it was -only a feigned accident. Then, you see, he was the only witness, and -could ruin my father's reputation. Oh, I think it was fear as much as -anger, but I am sure it was frenzy, possessed my father. You know what -happened. The Indian battle-ax was hanging beside the pistol, and as -soon as Beardsley fell, I am sure my father lost all control of himself -or any knowledge of what he was doing."</p> - -<p>"Hermione," said Alden, "you cannot believe this story? Who has made you -believe it?" He lifted her hand to his lips. "Have you believed this all -these years?"</p> - -<p>"It is true, Herbert; you will have to believe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> it. I will tell you my -part of it. I do not think I did right, but you will see that I did not -know what else to do. When I heard the noise I ran upstairs, but the -door was locked. The boy that brought the note was waiting in the -kitchen all this time for Beardsley to pay him. Then, in a minute, all -was quiet, and I heard my father sobbing like a child. You cannot think -how quickly it all happened. Then my father came to the door and -whispered through, 'Hermione, are you alone? Are the servants out? Is -Bertha there?' So I told him of Beardsley's messenger waiting below.</p> - -<p>"Then he came out and called over the stairs to the boy. You know how -very clever and quick he always was when he wanted to do anything. He -looked the boy up and down, and then he said, 'Do you want to earn a -hundred dollars?' The boy was cautious; he did not answer. My father -said, 'Can you hold your tongue and help me, and I'll make a gentleman -of you? It's your best chance, for a crime has been committed in this -house, and if you don't do as I bid you, I'll give you up to the police -and say you did it; they'll take my word for it.' And all the time, -between speaking, he was sobbing. He shoved the boy into his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> -dressing-room. Then he told me what had happened.</p> - -<p>"He told me he would be hanged if I did not keep quite quiet. I could -not believe that they were dead. I went into the room, but I couldn't -stop an instant. The sight of that poor body, disfigured past all -recognition, even the clothes stained beyond recognition, made me almost -insensible. I saw that no doctor could be of any use.</p> - -<p>"My father was very quick. He shaved himself, and colored his face with -his paints, and put on the boy's clothes. He told me he would go to Mrs. -Durgan, who would get him away. He told me to call the police at once, -and tell them everything, except that I had seen him or knew anything -about him. He locked the boy in a narrow cupboard that held hot-water -pipes, and told me how to let him out at night. I did not think at the -time it could be wrong to keep silence about my father. I did just what -he told me to do.</p> - -<p>"You know, Herbert, you said the other night that I had deceived you; -but, indeed, the great deceit came of itself. I don't think even my -father intended it. I could never have believed they could have mistaken -that man lying there for my father. First, the police made the mistake; -then, in a few hours, we heard the newsboys crying it all over the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> -streets. Still I felt sure that when you came, and the coroner, the -truth would be known. When you believed it, too, what word could I have -said to you that would not have made it your duty to hunt him down? His -daughter was the only person who could take the responsibility of -silence. I don't say I was right to do it; I only know I could not do -anything else. Even the boy, as I found afterwards, had never seen -Beardsley. A servant had given him the note to bring. He naturally -thought it was Beardsley who had bribed him, and escaped in his clothes. -I only kept silent hour by hour.</p> - -<p>"I thought again they would find out at the inquest; but when, at -length, the poor body was buried, and those saturated, torn clothes -burned, and I had found out from Mrs. Durgan that the poor wretch had no -near relatives or friends to mourn him, I could do nothing but -acquiesce. I had a message from father, through Mrs. Durgan, before they -arrested me. She and he had decided that he must personate the dead man, -and he even ventured to play the medium's part at the dark séance. He -was always clever at disguises. I could not judge them. I hardly cared, -then, whether I lived or died; the wickedness of it all was so dreadful. -I shrank far more—and there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> was nothing heroic in that—from the -thought of my father being arrested and punished than from danger for -myself. Think what it would have been like if it had been your father!"</p> - -<p>Seeing that Alden was profoundly distressed, she hastened to say, "If I -had told you, Herbert, how painful would your position have been! And I -never even told Bertha; it was father's parting request that she should -not know. But I know that of late she has guessed something, for she has -lived in fear up here alone. I was obliged when I was ill in Paris to -tell her where she would find the truth; she guessed the rest, I fear, -and it must have been father's return that she has dreaded. But now he -has been brought back so helpless he can never hurt anyone again."</p> - -<p>Alden's emotion was hardly restrained from breaking through the crust of -his conventionality, and Hermione was fain to turn to a lighter aspect -of the case in addressing Durgan.</p> - -<p>"I gathered from my father's letters that Mrs. Durgan's motive in -befriending him was partly kindness, and partly that he could be of use -to her."</p> - -<p>"I can understand that," said Durgan. He also felt it a relief to speak -clearly on the only aspect of this sorrowful tale which did not awaken<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> -emotion. "It was the one thing in the whole world that my wife -wanted—to be told how to manipulate the secret springs of a world of -fashion in which she had so far moved as one in the dark. And having -once taken your father in, she could not go back."</p> - -<p>He rose as he said this and went away, wondering how much Alden would -submit to the continued devotion of such a daughter to such a father, -how much Hermione's appeal would reach him: "Think how you would feel if -it were your father."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>Chapter XXXV</span> <span class="smaller">READJUSTMENTS</span></h2> - -<p>A day or two later Alden was returning to New York. Durgan drove him to -Hilyard in Miss Claxton's surrey.</p> - -<p>All the mountains had begun to wear golden caps. Lower down the yellow -pod of the wild pea and purple clusters of wild grapes were tangled in -the roadside bushes. The sun shone, and the birds cawed and chirped as -they quarreled for the scarlet berries of the ash; not a bird sang, for -it was not nesting time.</p> - -<p>"The doctor can't make a guess, then, as to how long Claxton may live? -It may be for months, I suppose," said Durgan.</p> - -<p>Alden drew himself up in the attitude of one who gives an important -opinion. He was going back to his world of conventions, and already -taking on its ways. "My dear sir, I see no reason why, with such -nursing, surrounded by such <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span>luxuries, in the finest air, and in such -tranquillity, he should not live—ah, perhaps for years."</p> - -<p>"It will not be so long as that, I think."</p> - -<p>"That must be as God wills."</p> - -<p>But there was too much religious starch in the tone of these words to -suggest acquiescence.</p> - -<p>This good little man, with all his constancy and fervor, had not a large -enough soul to see so vile a prodigal feasted without resentment.</p> - -<p>Said Durgan, "If his mind is as lucid as the doctor thinks, his present -experience must be pretty much like lying helpless in a lake of fire."</p> - -<p>"Sir, what is there to trouble him? Two of the finest, most agreeable -women who ever lived on this earth are his slaves. They wheel him hither -and thither as he suggests a preference. They read; they sing; they show -him nature in her glory; and his body suffers no pain. I do not -understand your allusion."</p> - -<p>"I thought it just possible that, being human, he might have a soul -latent in him."</p> - -<p>"'Soul'! He has, without excuse or provocation, committed the most -brutal crime of the decade; he has passed his years since ministering to -his own tastes and indolences in the society of a lady who pleased his -fancy, while, with the most horrid cruelty and worm-like cowardice, he -has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> left his tender daughter to suffer the consequences of his crime. -He has within him, sir, a soul, humanly speaking, beyond hope of -redemption."</p> - -<p>"But Christian faith compels his daughter to set aside the human aspects -of the case."</p> - -<p>"Women, sir—women have no standard of manly virtue. Can you conceive -that a son—a man who knew the world, could slur over such vice, such -perfidy, in a parent?"</p> - -<p>Alden's reiteration of "Sir," spoken between his teeth, had so very much -the force of "Damn you," that Durgan forbore to suggest that the point -of his remark had been evaded.</p> - -<p>Alden, half conscious of his own angry inconsistency as a religious man -in desiring the torment of the wicked, still resented Durgan's logic -enough to bring forward at this point an unpalatable subject. "With -regard to Mrs. Durgan, sir; from all the inquiries I have made, I -understand that she probably was aware that Adolphus, who has been his -valet all these years, had summoned Claxton here on threat of -disclosure, and that Claxton had gone to New Orleans, there to assume -his new incognito—which, knowing the negro's origin, was natural enough -before he interfered on his behalf in your neighborhood. But I -understand that Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> Durgan did not know that I or the ladies were -here, and had no suspicion of the servant's intended treachery. In all -probability she has not heard from Claxton, at any rate since he left -New Orleans. You are aware that we have decided that the Miss Claxtons -shall, till their father's death, retain the name they took upon -entering this neighborhood. I wish to suggest to you that it would not -be safe to trust Mrs. Durgan with the secret of their whereabouts. It is -undesirable, in keeping a secret, to trust human nature any further than -is absolutely necessary, and it appears to me, therefore, needful to -request you to let Mrs. Durgan be left in entire ignorance of the fate -of her late protégé."</p> - -<p>Durgan could not but inwardly admit that there was a certain poetic -justice in leaving his wife thus in a condition of suspense, and altho -he resented the manner of the instruction, he expressed conditional -acquiescence.</p> - -<p>Durgan more than suspected that Alden was querulously wreaking upon the -criminal, and upon all he met, the anger he felt against himself for -not, at the first, discerning the simple mistake which had caused the -mystery of the "Claxton case." As they drove on, mile after mile, -through the wild harvests of the woodland, this supposition was -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>confirmed. After talking of many things, Alden broke out in -self-soothing comment:</p> - -<p>"As to the mistake of the murdered man's identity, my dear sir, how -could doubt enter the mind? The body lay in Claxton's private room, -beside the couch that he constantly occupied—an unrecognizable mass; -Mrs. Claxton dead beside him, and neither of self-inflicted wounds; -Bertha wailing the loss of her father; Hermione stunned by shock of -grief. Who the dead was, seemed so self-evident; who the murderer could -be, such a puzzle, that the mind inevitably dwelt exclusively on the -latter point. My dear sir, looking back on the matter, even now I cannot -see how a suspicion of the truth could have arisen."</p> - -<p>With his professional pique adding to his intense private grief for -Hermione's long sacrifice, it was, perhaps, not surprising that the -return of perfect confidence in her, after the agony of reluctant -distrust, did not do more to sweeten the ferment of his little soul. -Durgan reflected that on a mind no longer young, filled with long -earlier memories of mutual trust, the suspicion of a few recent days -could make little impression. And, again, this short-lived emotion of -suspicion was succeeded by the pain of knowing that his own happiness -and hers had been voluntarily sacrificed for a wretch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> so devoid of any -trace of chivalry or of parental feeling.</p> - -<p>Before reaching Hilyard, Alden expressed his opinion upon another aspect -of the recent disclosure. "You say, sir, that to you the most amazing -part is that such a man as Claxton could do so deadly a deed. My dear -sir, my experience of crime is that the purely selfish nature only needs -the spark of temptation to flame out into some hellish deed. No doubt -you will think me puritanical, but I hold that, while to most cultured -egoists such temptation never comes, in God's sight they are none the -less evil for that mere absence of temptation. Idleness and self-love, -especially where education enhances the guilt, are the dirt in which the -most virulent plague-germs can propagate with speed and fecundity."</p> - -<p>Durgan felt that, whether his opinion was true or false, it was brought -forward now with an energy directed against the class to which he -himself belonged.</p> - -<p>The two men parted stiffly, but they both felt that Alden would return -in a more placable mood.</p> - -<p>That day, in a burying-ground near Hilyard, the mulatto called -"'Dolphus" was laid beneath the ground. Born the ward of a nation whose -institutions had first brought about his existence and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> then severed him -from his natural protectors, he had been given only a little knowledge -by way of life's equipment, which, murderer as he was, had proved in his -hands a less dangerous thing than in those of many a citizen of the -dominant race. No one in that great nation mourned his death or gave a -passing sigh to his lone burial; and if anyone set store by that bare -patch of grave cut in the unkempt grass among the wild field lilies it -must have been God, who is said to gather what mortals cast away.</p> - -<p>Durgan took Adam back to Deer with him. Adam was somewhat the worse for -the success of his grief and piety, genuine tho they were. These -qualities had won him praise and consideration; they were no longer -unconscious. Like a child who had been on a stage, he was inclined to -pose and show elaborate signs of grief.</p> - -<p>Durgan bore with him for a few days, and then spoke his mind:</p> - -<p>"Stop that, you absurd nigger! If you don't look alive I'll make you!"</p> - -<p>Adam paused in the middle of a pious ejaculation with his mouth open.</p> - -<p>"Reckon you don't know what I'll do to you."</p> - -<p>"No, Marse Neil. How can this pore child know your mind, suh?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p><p>"I'll have you married to the new girl Miss Smith got. I'll do it next -week!"</p> - -<p>Adam rolled his eyes heavenward. "An' the Lord only just took my pore -gal, suh! You's not in earnest, suh?"</p> - -<p>"And if I make you marry the new girl the Lord will have given you a -better one."</p> - -<p>Adam was deftly cooking Durgan's breakfast, moving about the hut with -the light step of pride in the new service.</p> - -<p>There was a silence. Durgan had become absorbed in the newspaper.</p> - -<p>At last, with another sigh that was cut short ere it had expanded his -huge chest, Adam meekly began:</p> - -<p>"Marse Neil, suh."</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"The minister who visited me in my affliction, he say—sez he—that we -ought to take wi' joy all the dealin' of the Lord an' bless His name."</p> - -<p>And Durgan replied, without raising his eyes, "I believe it. Adam, you -are a good nigger. I'll speak to Miss Smith."</p> - -<p>One day, a while after, the young gardener against whose aspirations -Durgan had warned Bertha came up to the mica mine. He had left Deer Cove -soon after Bertha had dismissed him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> and gone, as the old stories have -it, "into the world to seek his fortune." It was a very unusual step for -a mountain white, and had given his father so much concern that he had -had the son prayed for at the Sunday camp meeting. The errant gardener -had roamed as far as Baltimore, and worked awhile in the household of a -certain rich man. He had come away from the plutocrat's palace homesick -for his mountains, but had brought back one dominant idea. Probably his -disappointed love had made his mind peculiarly impressionable, or, true -to the traditions of his class, he might, perhaps, not have gained even -one. He had now the most exaggerated idea of the elevation to which the -"rich and great" were raised. Convinced when he left Deer that Bertha -would not receive his addresses, he had found consolation in investing -her with a new glamor, as one of an almost princely cast. Upon his -return he had heard the talk of the neighborhood—the story which Alden -had allowed to go abroad—that the invalid father, who had been leading -some kind of dissipated life abroad, had returned, after years of -estrangement, to be nursed in his last illness by his daughters. Herein -lay the motive of young Godson's errand.</p> - -<p>"They say that he doesn't like colored men <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span>lifting him and moving him -about—that Miss Smith's looking for a helper for him."</p> - -<p>Durgan laid his pick against the rock and stood in silent astonishment. -He had seen different emotions work different changes in the habits of -men, but never so remarkable a result of love as this cure of petty -pride in the stiff-necked mountaineer. He was uncertain how far the -young man had interpreted himself aright.</p> - -<p>"It is for Miss Bertha's sake you wish to do this?" he asked.</p> - -<p>Godson assented.</p> - -<p>And having at last satisfied himself, by more interrogation, that the -youth had actually no further hope at present than to serve his goddess -in some lowly task, Durgan undertook to support his application.</p> - -<p>With this end in view he went up to the summit house at his usual hour, -when the day's work was over, at sundown.</p> - -<p>On the lawn the invalid's flat carriage was tilted at an angle which -enabled him to see the delectable mountains bathed in the light -reflected from that other country—the cloud-land beyond the golden -river of the horizon, in which the sun, like a pilgrim, was going down. -The elder daughter was reading to him.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p><p>Durgan had no mind to disturb them. He had come hoping that the -paralytic would have been put away for the night. He disliked -encountering Claxton; and, had he disliked the man less, the wrestling -soul that shone through the eyes of the almost inanimate face would have -distressed him.</p> - -<p>Bertha, who was sitting at a short distance from the pair, and out of -their sight, saw the visitor and came across the grass.</p> - -<p>They went for a stroll together up on the higher rocks.</p> - -<p>"I am very idle in these days," said Bertha. "All the children in my -nursery have grown up and are too big to be nursed. There is nothing to -do, even in the garden."</p> - -<p>"But the care of your father must absorb all your time and thought."</p> - -<p>As he said this there was a questioning inflection in his mind that he -kept out of his tone.</p> - -<p>She hung her head as she walked. After a while she spoke, a beautiful -flush on her face. "In the old days father loved me better than Hermie, -because I was better-looking, and I always thought all that he did was -perfect. I thought I loved him far more than Hermie did, because she -often tried to persuade him that what he did was wrong. Now——"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p><p>Durgan waited.</p> - -<p>"Now he does not want to see me. He does not like me to talk or read to -him. It makes it hard for Hermie, for she has everything to do. She -thinks father is shy of me and that it will wear away."</p> - -<p>"I have no doubt it will."</p> - -<p>"No," she sighed; "you are both wrong. Father, in spite of his -helplessness, sees far more clearly. He was always quick to read -everyone. He knows"—her voice faltered—"that I cannot love him now -that I know what he did. Oh, I hate him for deserting Hermie and letting -her bear it!" She pressed her hand to her side, as if speaking of some -disease that gave her pain. "How can I help it, Mr. Durgan? I despise -him, and he knows it."</p> - -<p>"I dare say he does. He knows, of course, that the whole world could -regard him with no feelings but those of hatred and scorn."</p> - -<p>She stopped short in her walk. In a minute she said, "I think I will go -back again, Mr. Durgan. I cannot bear that you should speak that way to -me about my own father."</p> - -<p>He smiled. "You seem to have some filial affection left."</p> - -<p>"Did you only say it to make me feel angry?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p><p>"Yes; that is why I said it; but, at the same time, you must remember -that the world would certainly judge as you have said; and if the ties -of kindred did not give a closer embrace than the world does, there -would be no home feeling for any of us; there would be no bright spark -of the sacred fire of the next world in this."</p> - -<p>"'Fire.' We think of heaven as light, not heat."</p> - -<p>"And we think of hell as heat, not light; yet we know light and heat to -be one and the same thing; and both are the supreme need of life, and -both are the only adequate symbols of love."</p> - -<p>Many a red flag and gay pennon of autumn was now flying on the heights -of Deer. The leaves of the stunted oak wood were floating and falling, -and below, the chestnuts were yellowing, burr and leaf. The weeds were -sere and full of ripe seed, and the shrubs of ripe berries. Birds of -passage in flocks were talking and calling, eating their evening meal, -or settling, a noisy multitude, in verdant lodging for the night.</p> - -<p>"I always wonder where they come from, or where they are going," said -the girl. "I used to long so often, in all the nights and days I have -been on this mountain, to be able to fly away as the birds fly; and now, -since Eve died, what we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> have suffered makes me feel that just to live -here, away from the worse sorrows of the world, would be enough -happiness always."</p> - -<p>"That's right. Let us make the best of our mountain, for we are likely -to enjoy its solitudes for some time to come."</p> - -<p>"If I only could set my affections right!" she said wistfully. "Perhaps, -as you think, I have better feelings underneath, but they are not on the -top just now. I am ashamed to be with Hermie, because I suspected her; -and father is ashamed to be with me, because I am not good enough to -forget what he has done. And I have no comfort in religion, for either I -think God is cruel, or else most likely it is all chance and there is no -reason at the heart of the universe."</p> - -<p>"You are quite ready to believe now in God's insanity."</p> - -<p>"How can you taunt me that way? I have told you that I am ashamed of my -wicked thoughts about Hermione. But how can we tell that there is any -mind governing the universe?"</p> - -<p>"It was only when you could not understand your sister that you thought -you had found any proof of lack of mind. You would treat the great Power -that lies behind the universe in the same way."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span></p><p>"I have heard many good people say as much. Do you think it wicked?"</p> - -<p>"I can only say that I have never liked you so well since I knew your -thoughts about your sister. How much more must all good spirits despise -us when we distrust the mind of God."</p> - -<p>"You speak unkindly. I cannot alter my doubt."</p> - -<p>"No. You are endowed with beauty and health, intellect and heart. You -have done many things well. But this, I suppose, is a radical defect."</p> - -<p>She did not look satisfied. "How can I alter it?"</p> - -<p>"If I were you I would go on laying out the orchard you were working at -in spring. You could put in a great many of the small trees yourself. I -have gained so much from delving that I offer you the same occupation -with a certificate of merit."</p> - -<p>"But I can't get the rows straight alone," she said, "or prepare the -ground. It is all as it was when the Godsons left. It was you who made -me send them away."</p> - -<p>"And now I have come to ask you to take young Godson back," he said. So -he told the young man's story. "He will have time to help in the orchard -if he is employed about your father."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span></p><p>"Do you think there is no risk?" she asked, with the grave dignity that -the peculiar isolation of her life had given.</p> - -<p>"I would not undertake to say that," he replied, with a smile. "But, -such as it is, he takes it. You need help sadly, and perhaps you will -both learn more wisdom than I was able to impart when I first -interfered."</p> - -<p>Durgan went his solitary way down the trail. Godson was still waiting -for him. He was as fine a fellow as those remote mountains -produce—spare, tall, with a curious look of ideality peculiar to their -hardy sons. When he was told he might go up to the summit house, his -blue eyes, far under the projecting tow-colored brows, looked almost -like the eyes of a saint wrapped in adoration. Durgan was not in a mood -to feel that Bertha was his superior.</p> - -<p>Durgan built sticks for a fire on the rock-ledge to make his own coffee. -He was a better man physically than he had been when he came to Deer -Mountain—strong, sinewy, and calm, the processes of age arrested by the -vital tide of work. Alone as he was in his eyrie, he could take keen -pleasure in the stateliness of his rock palace, in the vision of nights -and days that passed before it, in the food and rest that his body -earned. To-night he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> was not expecting satisfaction, and when he struck -his match the whole universe was gray and seemed empty; but no sooner -had his small beacon blazed than an answering beam leaped out of the -furthest distance. It was the evening star.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Summit House Mystery, by L. 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