Whatever he might refer to, he dismissed the subject with these words, and directed his attention to a contiguous heap of accounts. He was engaged at the accounts till the night was far advanced; and the next morning, after having taken only a few hours’ rest, he turned to them again. Thus he laboured, night and day, with unceasing vigilance, till he found that his scheme was almost accomplished, and that he had now only to remove his last treasures to the ship. It was on the sixth morning after the visit of Don Felix that this issue came fairly before him. While he was pondering thereon, he was joined by father Paul, the priest, booted and cloaked for a journey. “Whither goest thou, holy father?” cried Craftall, with affected surprise--for he well knew the priest’s destination. “To a fold of the faithful,” answered Paul. “But I cannot tarry to speak further; for, by my appointment, a man awaits me now, with a horse, at the city-gate. _Benedicite!_” “Good morrow!” rejoined Craftall. The priest had passed out of hearing; and Craftall, now quit of all impediment, rubbed his hands with glee. He had the day before him, and he failed not to turn it to account. In the first place, he arranged with the captain, whom he had completely bought over to his interests, to have some sailors at hand that night, at an early hour, to carry off his last luggage; and, in the mean time, he spared no effort to get the luggage ready. He laboured so earnestly, that shortly after nightfall, at which time he had appointed the captain to be prepared, his object was achieved, and he only waited the arrival of the sailors to take his departure. It seemed that fortune favoured him, for hardly had he finished packing, when, to his great satisfaction, a knock on the outer door, in his rear, led him to believe that the sailors were at hand. “Enter!” he cried. The door opened, and there entered--not the sailors, but Bernard Gray. Craftall drew back as, after throwing-to the door, Bernard approached him. They had not met since the occasion described in a former chapter; and though, contrary to his expectations, Bernard had never denounced him to the Government, he had lived in constant apprehension of such a result ever since. Bernard’s appearance at this moment, just as he was on the point of absconding, completely took him aback, and he saw him draw nigh without the power of accosting him. “Be under no fear!” cried Bernard, perceiving his discomposure. “I have kept thy secret, and will never betray thee!”