It was not until noon of the next day that some one in passing noted the unusual appearance and halted at the cabin. The old man lay on the floor. He had revived from unconsciousness, but his hands were securely fastened behind him, his face was bruised and swollen and everything in disorder. He gave the alarm and some kindly neighbors came to his assistance. Then another went for Gaspard Denys. Perhaps nothing could have happened that would have rehabilitated Antoine Freneau in the pity and good will of his fellow-men sooner. Unsocial and under suspicion for years, asking and taking nothing from them, seldom giving them a good word, his helplessness appealed now to their sympathy. Gaspard had his wounds and bruises attended to, the house made a little orderly, and found a slave woman who would care for him. That he had been robbed was evident. Even the puncheon floor had been torn up, and disclosed a sort of pit in which something had evidently been stored. Old Doctor Montcrevier came, but he shook his head doubtfully. The old man breathed and occasionally opened heavy, wandering eyes. But on the third day he rallied. “Gaspard Denys!” he moaned. “Send—tell him,” and then he lapsed away again. Denys came and watched with him through the night. Several times his name escaped the old man’s lips. Gaspard gave him some brandy he had brought. He opened his eyes again and gazed around piteously, resting them finally upon Gaspard. “I cannot think,” rubbing his forehead in a dazed fashion. “They were Indians. They wanted rum. I had none, only one jug I kept in case—in case I should need it. I am an old man, Gaspard. They—they beat me.” “Yes. Can you tell who they were? No strange Indians have been seen about.” Even here the old man’s cunning came uppermost. He would not betray himself. He shook his head slowly. “Some marauding parties. Perhaps from the river.” “The river! See if they are coming!” starting up in affright. “No one is coming,” in a reassuring tone. “Gaspard, am I hurt much? Oh, help me! I do not want to die. I hate death! I want to live;” and he tried to raise himself, but fell back exhausted. “Would you like to have the priest?” Gaspard could think of no other aid in this extremity. “No! no! I will not die! They come to your deathbed. Stay with me yourself.” “What can I do?” He was silent a long while. His breath came slowly and with effort, and shudders ran over him. “Renée,” he said presently. “You have the child, Gaspard?” “Yes; you gave her to me.” “If you had died—your money——” “I had made a will. Everything would have gone to her.” “That was right—right. Gaspard, there is some gold—is any one listening?” moving his eyes in a frightened way. “No, no!” “There is some gold and silver put away. You might better take it. Thieves may come again. Carry me to the chimney.” He was a heavy burden. Gaspard put him down on some blankets. “See! Count the stones. The third stone.” The eyes were wild in their eagerness.