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.