“Well, auntie, how is the rheumatism to-day?” he inquired cheerfully, as the old woman stood up and courtesied.
“T’anky, Marse Doctor, sah. Dis warm sun hab melted it all out’n my bones. ’Deed it’s de trufe. Will you come inter de house, Marse Doctor, or take a chair out yere?” she inquired, politely.
“I will stay out here,” replied the doctor, as he settled himself on a little bench outside the door.
“Have anyfing been yeard ’bout po’ dee Miss Lilif, Marse Doctor?” anxiously questioned old Adah.
“No. Not since the verdict of the coroner’s jury,” significantly replied Dr. Kerr.
“Oh, Lor’, Marse Doctor, dat want nuffin. Dat hadn’ nuffin to do long ob Miss Lilif. Dat war de gypsy gal wot war foun’ in dem woods, and war sot on by dat jury. I done tole Marse Tudor Her’ward all bout dat a mont’ ago,” said old Adah, speaking with the utmost confidence.
“Yes; I have heard so from Mr. Hereward himself. I know all the evidence you have brought forward in rebuttal of the evidence given before the coroner. I would to Heaven it had been as conclusive as you thought. But we will not go into that. I only wish to ask you a few questions.”
“Go on Marse Doctor. I’ll answer de trufe. I ain’t got no secrets from nobody.”
“Well, then, did you see the clothing worn by the gypsy girl on the night she left the hut in company with her husband?”
“Yes, Marse Doctor, I did. I yeard her say how Missis Her’ward had gib it to her, an’ I seed her put it on, an’ tie her ole close—nuffin but duds dey was—in a bundle.”