The white light fell on the small leaves and the gray moss and lichen which covered the oak branches. It cast sharp interlacing shadows beneath. The under thicket was of those small, aromatic azaleas which can put forth their modest pink and white blossoms in sterile places. To these bushes has been given a rare, sweet scent, to console them for lack of splendor. Durgan's senses were lulled by this scent, by the soft air and glamor of light. He stood a long while, not unwillingly, intent upon every sight and sound. No hint of any human presence came near him. It seemed to him at length that he heard steps a long way down the hill on the cart-road. He thought he heard voices. Now he felt sure the negro was coming, and he was exceedingly angry to believe that Eve was with him. Who else could be there? He shuddered to think that this false, soulless creature knew every door and window in the house, every soft place in the hearts of her mistresses, perhaps every fear they entertained. With her to help, and with some prior knowledge of the sisters' secret as the basis of his operations, what tortures might not this villain inflict, what robbery might he not commit, without fear of accusation? Durgan felt angry with Eve; the other only roused his contempt. With real rage, a passion strong in his Southern nature, he slipped silently out, ready to confront the two. But now again there was silence. He could hear nothing. At every turn the lone beauty of the place met him like a benediction. He waited. There was nothing--no one. Then--ah, what was that sound? what could it be--like a gasp or sigh, far away or near? One soft but terrible sob. That was all; but Durgan felt his spirit quail. His rage was gone; he did not notice its absence. The moments in which he listened seemed long, but almost instantly he found himself wondering if he had really heard anything at all. He went as quickly and quietly as he could, by the trail and the mine, to the road below, and saw 'Dolphus some way beneath, walking slowly, not up but down the road. The casual aspect of his figure, the slight consumptive cough, effaced the weird sensation of a minute before. "Hi!" cried Durgan. Bertha's terriers in the barn barked cheerfully in answer to his well-known voice. The mountain echoed a moment. 'Dolphus stood, hat in hand. A fit of coughing seized him. Durgan went down the road. "What are you doing here?" "Trapping for coon, sir." "Not coon." "Yes, sir; I was prospecting for a likely place to set a trap. The gentleman I've been servant to wrote and said he'd pay me for coon skins." "You lie." "Yes, sir."