“In the name o’ Moses!” faltered Mrs. Purvine between her chattering teeth, as she rose to her feet, “air that thar Mink Lorey—or—or”—she remembered how far away, how safe in jail, she had thought him—“or his harnt?” Mink turned his pallid face toward her. She saw the lustrous gleam of his dark eyes. He hesitated for a moment. Then, he could not resist. “I died ’bout two weeks ago,” he drawled circumstantially. Mrs. Purvine stood as one petrified for a moment. Then credulity revolted. “Naw, Mink Lorey!” she said sternly. “Naw, sir! Ye ain’t singed nowhar. Ef ye war dead, ye’d never hev got back onscorched.” She shook her enveloped head reprehensively at him. Regret had seized upon him. The fleeting privilege of frightening Mrs. Purvine scarcely compensated for the risks he felt he ran in revealing himself. He stood silent and grave enough as she set her arms akimbo and gazed speculatively at him. “How d’ ye git out’n jail?” she demanded. “Through thar onlockin’ the door,” said Mink. Mrs. Purvine knitted her puzzled brows. “War they willin’ fur ye ter leave?” she asked, seeking to fathom the mystery. “Waal, Mis’ Purvine,” equivocated the fugitive, jauntily, “I ain’t never fund nobody, nowhar, right up an’ down _willin’_ fur me to leave ’em. They hed ter let me go, though.” “Waal, sir!” exclaimed Mrs. Purvine, with the accent of disappointment. “I never b’lieved ez Jedge Gwinnan war in earnest whenst he promised Lethe Sayles ter git ye pardoned. Whenst she kem back rej’icin’ over it so, I ’lowed the jedge war jes’ laffin’ at her.” The man, staring at her with unnaturally large and brilliant eyes, recoiled suddenly, and his shadow seemed to revolt from her words. “Jedge Gwinnan! pardon!” he cried, contemptuously, his voice rising shrilly into the quiet night. “He got me no pardon! I’d hev none off’n him, damn him! I’d bide in the prison twenty year, forty year,—I’d rot thar,—afore I’d take enny faviors out’n _his_ hand! Lord! let me lay my grip on that man one more time, an’ hell an’ all the devils can’t pull me off!” His strength failed to support his excitement. He staggered to the pile of boards and leaned against them, panting. Mrs. Purvine noted how white his face was, how exhausted his attitude. “Ye ’pear sorter peaked,” she remarked, prosaically, “an’ ye walk toler’ble cripple.” “Yes,” observed Mink, with his wonted manner, “it ’peared ter me a toler’ble good joke ter jump off the middle o’ the bredge inter the Tennessee Ruver. But it turned out same ez mos’ o’ my jokes,—makes me laugh on the wrong side o’ my mouth.” Mrs. Purvine began to understand. Her lower jaw dropped. “Whar hev ye hed ennything ter eat?” she demanded, with bated breath. “Waal,” said Mink, argumentatively, “eatin’ ’s a powerful expensive business; we-uns would all save a heap ef we’d quit eatin’.” Mrs. Purvine received this in pondering silence. Then she broke forth suddenly:—