“Why-Not Pape,” her eyes flashed open, “you’re a—At least, you _might_ be said to be mulish, the way you stick to a point.” “Did granddad’s spirit dictate that?” he enquired mildly. “No. That’s thrown in on my own account. It is ridiculous for you to be risking life and limb, reputation, money and comfort, for something whose very nature you don’t know.” “But I do know for what I’m risking all those little things.” “For what, then?” “For you.” The pause that ensued may be utilized for the admission that Pape was not as superior to curiosity as his stand would suggest. Indeed, he had speculated, so far as his intelligence and knowledge would take him, over the exact nature of the hidden hoard. He had heard of gold and jewels buried by eccentrics of little faith in modern banks and presumed that something such was deposited in the missing crock. Once Jane had said that the buried treasure was “bigger than Central Park itself.” Just now she had declared the desperation of their hunt due to fear lest their enemies “destroy” it. Destroy what was bigger than Central Park itself? She had added a new and confusing touch to the mystery. “I set out to give you the common or garden variety of service,” he explained his stand. “That’s a kind that don’t need to understand, that digs ditches and wages wars and wins women. Don’t load me down with knowledge now. Let me go all the way to trail’s-end—the crock—just trusting that it will lead me to you.” He bent that she should not miss his promising smile—twilight was mixing with starlight by now. “Isn’t faith best proved without words, dear?” he asked her. “If you have any in me, this would seem a right good time to prove it. Cease worrying. Trust me. Rest. Isn’t everything snug and _au fait_? You have most everything you need—even a chaperone.” “Meaning Kicko or that hoot-owl?” “Meaning granddad’s spirit.” “Oh ... all right ... I’ll try.” After a time—— “Jane, tell the truth and shame the devil—don’t you prefer me to that wall?” “Why—why——” “Please prefer me.” Perhaps his arm did more than his words to persuade her. At any rate, with her head resting against his shoulder, she made admission. “I do—prefer you to a stone wall, you know.” “And aren’t you going to prefer me to everybody and everything? I don’t wish to seem to be making love to you, Miss Lauderdale—not just yet. You must admit that I have been very slow and steady.” “Slow and steady—_you_?” “But it would help to get that settled now. Aren’t you going to prefer me, Jane?” “I am. That is, I do now—did in fact from that first night when I picked you out of a grand-tier of faces as the one man who——” “Wait a minute! You say _you_ selected _me_?” He took her by both shoulders; held her away from him; peered, startled, into her eyes. “Of course. But it was more instinct than reason that made me——”