Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
The lad obeyed slowly, and with apparent reluctance. When he was out
of sight, Gridley, who had stepped a few paces from the tree that he
might watch him the better, returned and picked up his spade. "There,
he is gone!" he said, with an inquisitive look at the woman, whose
mood puzzled him. "And if you will have the things up, it must be
done. Let us lose no more time."
He struck the spade into the ground, and began to dig, while his
companion watched him. But her face betrayed none of the greedy
excitement which had always marked it before when the treasure was in
question. Instead, it wore a look of dread and expectation. Something
like grey fear lay like a shadow upon it, and left it only when the
man stopped digging, and throwing down his spade, dragged a small
white bundle from the shallow hole he had made.
Then she showed at last some animation. "They _are_ there," she
muttered, her eyes beginning to burn. "I fancied----"
"Oh, they are here," he answered, chuckling as he stooped to unfasten
the napkin. "They are here, never fear! Safe bind safe find, you know,
my lady."
Scarcely were the words out of his mouth, however, when he fell back
pale and trembling. A hideous look of disappointment and dismay took
in a moment the place of the gloating smile which had before distorted
his features. The napkin being untied disclosed three stones; no gold,
no cups, no treasure, but only three stones!
For a moment the two stood silent and thunderstruck, gazing at the
pebbles, which in their perfect worthlessness seemed to mock them.
Then the man turned swiftly and suddenly on the woman, rage and
suspicion so transforming him, that he did not look like the same
person. "You hag!" he cried, with lips which writhed under the effort
he made to control himself. "You thieving witch! This is your work!
Where is my gold? Where is my gold, I say?" he repeated wildly. "Tell
me, or I will murder you!" And he advanced upon her, his hands opening
and shutting on the empty air.
His frantic gestures and the passion of his manner might have appalled
even a brave man. But the woman, who had evinced less surprise and
more fear on making the discovery, waved him back with the purest
contempt. "Fool!" she hissed, with a flash of scorn in her eyes, "do
you think that I should have played this farce with you?"
"But the gold?" he cried, cowering away from her in a moment like the
craven he was. "It is gone, woman! It is gone, you see! If you have
not taken it, who has? For heaven's sake, say you have taken it, and
hidden it somewhere else!"
She looked darkly at him, and the look did more to persuade him she
was innocent than any words. He wrung his hands and all but wept.
"Some one has taken it," he moaned. "It is gone, and I shall never see
it again!"
"What brought the boy sitting here?" she muttered on a sudden.
"Jack Patten?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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