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."