CHAPTER XVIII THE DEATH CLUTCH MIRIAM did not stay long in her bedroom after leaving Guy Trenholm in the hall of Abbott's Lodge talking to Corbin. She had thought at first of lying down for a little while, but she was too restless. A walk would quiet her nerves, and, if Mrs. Nash had a good night, she might have an opportunity of relaxing and thereby gain some rest before morning. It took Miriam only a few minutes to put on her coat and hat again and, not bothering to take gloves, she went down the staircase. Mrs. Nash's door was closed as she passed it and she wondered if Guy Trenholm was still with her patient. She would have given much to have been present at the interview. Her thoughts veered back to Trenholm. She must see him before he left. There was something she must tell him, an idea which had come to her. Should she stay in? Miriam wavered. If she waited it would be too late to go out. Ah, she had it! Martha would give Trenholm a message for her. Knowing that Martha usually sat in a window nook just between the pantry and the dining room, Miriam went in that direction but paused near the dining room table at sight of Betty Carter standing in the doorway leading to the sunparlor. She doubted if Betty had heard her approach, for the young girl's attention was riveted on Alan Mason, who lay asleep in one of the long wicker lounging chairs standing directly at the entrance to the dining room. Alan's comely features were free of the haggard lines which had aged him in the past few days, and his graceful pose in the abandon of sleep resembled that of a tired boy after a day of play. Evidently his dreams were happy, for a smile trembled on his lips and he murmured softly, "Betty!" Betty Carter's eyes were dimmed with tears and Miriam, glancing at her, read the carefully guarded secret of her heart. Alan Mason, and not his dead cousin, was the man she loved. With a swift, graceful movement Betty stooped down and kissed him on the forehead with a touch so delicate that it did not awaken the sleeping man. Then, with a gesture of utter despair, she dropped on her knees in front of a chair and buried her face in her arms. Miriam stole softly away, her desire to see Martha forgotten in the scene she had inadvertently witnessed. It had all happened in a second of time. There had been no opportunity for her to withdraw, but Miriam felt self-reproached. Walking rapidly, head down, hands in pockets, she took no note of her direction, save that she was on a footpath leading away from Abbott's Lodge, and she honestly tried to banish Betty and Alan from her thoughts. But one idea persisted and would not down. If Betty loved Alan, why had she married Paul on Monday night?