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.