If her father had only given her that letter before, she might have stopped Corbin's coming at all; she might even have met him in time to hurry him and her cousin's provocative remains out of the country.

In the midst of these reflections she had to pass the little hillside cemetery.

It was a spot of great natural beauty, cypress-shadowed and luxuriant.

It was justly celebrated in Pineville, and, but for its pretentious tombstones, might have been peaceful and suggestive.

Here she recognized a figure just turning from its gate.