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."