"'Cordin' to the headstone his name was Mason, too." Talking to an extremely pretty woman was a novel sensation and Corbin was commencing to enjoy himself. "There's a saying in these parts that he stole some money when he was 'zecutor to a friend's will and killed heself when found out. The niggers buried him, as you see. Mr. Alan ain't got much call to be proud of his gran'-dad." "But I don't think he will approve of your digging into his grave," Miriam stated quietly, "for ivy." Corbin's lips curled back viciously over his yellow teeth. "He ain't goin' to hear of it," his voice grew low and menacing. "Not from you, anyway." "Why not?" He came a step nearer and his breath was unpleasantly close. "I gave the bloodstained sheet to Sheriff Trenholm," he whispered. Miriam stared at him, open-eyed. "The bloodstained sheet!" she echoed. "What are you talking about?" "The sheet off Mr. Paul's bed after he was murdered," with a slow, knowing wink, which sent the hot blood to her cheeks. Her color ebbed as quickly as it had come, leaving her deadly pale. "The sheriff was mighty curious to know if I had shown you where to get clean linen for the bed when you fust come. Don't worry," observing her expression and misinterpreting it. "I didn't give him no direct answer." "What!" Corbin drew back at the force of her exclamation. "Why didn't you tell him _at once_ that you showed me the linen closet?" He leered at her. "There wasn't any call for me to give you away--then"--he supplemented. Miriam missed the last word. Her eyes were blazing with indignation. "And so you let Mr. Trenholm infer--" "What he pleased--yes, Miss!" Miriam's small hands were clenched. "You contemptible cur!" she cried, and would have added more but wrath choked her utterance. "Here, Miss, don't you be so handy with misnamin' me," protested Corbin. "I've got feelin's like other fellows and I done ye a good turn." "By concealing the truth!" scornfully. "You are not only a knave, Corbin, but a fool!" "Am I?" Corbin's slow smile sent a shiver down her back in spite of her hot anger. "Come, Miss, there ain't no use o' you an' me fussin'. I'll stand yer friend, if ye'll just give me a little snow"--he came nearer and brushed her shoulder with his hand--"just a little snow." Miriam stared at Corbin. Was the man demented? Her eyes left his face and fell on his hand as he stood stroking her coat. It was a remarkably small hand for a man, well-shaped, the long, creeping fingers stained with soil from the grave. The seal ring on his third finger caught on a button as she sprang back. "Don't touch me!" Corbin paid not the slightest attention to her command. His eyes aflame with desire, he stepped after Miriam and caught her hand, fawning upon her-- "You're a nurse, Miss," he whined. "Gimme a deck to-night." He saw her expression of dawning comprehension and clung to her hand more tightly than before.