"Me!" echoed the tramp. "It's--it's the rumm'est start; but--you see I was on the lay atwixt Blackborough an' Liverpool. Outer-work-an'-emigration lay it 'twas, an' not a bad one in the summer time, for them Welsh is generous. I was asleep in the gorse close by when you two come by an' smashed. Then you begun shieing the shiners about, an' I waited thinkin' to get some of 'em out after you'd gone. An' I did too, what with bein' able to dive. But there! The 'ole thing wasn't much worth; not more than one good drunk, an' then it was over. But don't you go a-lyin' an' damnin' the wrong fellar. It was me, not 'im; so curse me an' welcome if it do you any good." He rolled over on his pillow, and said no more. Ned lay still, and smiled inwardly. His mind was clouding fast. He felt vaguely glad that Ted had not taken the money. But, then, how could he have taken it, seeing that it had never existed? They had all thought of it, and relied on it, and gone to look for it; and there was nothing. It never had been anything but a dream. The gold sun-ray had crept down the ward. It lay now closer to him. If he could only die in the sunlight! That was the only gold worth having. How the atoms danced in it! unceasing, endless. He felt their vibration in himself, but beyond the dancer lay sightlessness, and touchlessness, and soundlessness. Faint voices came to him from around his bed. "There is time yet! Repent and be saved. Put your trust in Him! Keep your eyes fixed on Him--remember that you are bought with a price." There was just the flicker of a faint courteous smile. "_Caveat Emptor_," murmured the dying man, and turned his face to the sun-ray. "Aura!" he murmured. "_Tad ek am_." The sun--ray shifted, crept to his bed, and lay there, golden.