"Yes'm," he muttered, with a view to ending a silence that had become
intolerable.

Her eyes danced to the accompaniment of her thoughts, but in no way did
she betray the slightest perturbation.

"I ain't done nothin'; hones' to God, I ain't!" he protested brokenly.

"I saw you through the window when you entered this room and I was
watching while you read that note," said his captor. "I thought it funny
that you should do that instead of packing up the silver. Do you mind
telling me just why you read that note?"

"Well, miss, I jes' thought it kind o' funny there wuzn't nobody round an'
the letter was layin' there all open, an' I didn't see no harm in
lookin'."

"It was awfully clever of you to crawl into the corner so nobody could see
your light from the windows," she said with a tinge of admiration. "I
suppose you thought you might find out how long the people of the house
were likely to be gone and how much time you could spend here. Was that
it?"

"I reckon ut wuz some thin' like that," he agreed.

This was received with the noncommittal "Um" of a person whose thoughts
are elsewhere. Then, as though she were eliciting from an artist or man of
letters a frank opinion as to his own ideas of his attainments and
professional standing, she asked, with a meditative air that puzzled him
as much as her question:--