"And now less than before. A man might live in that den we've just torn down, and live happy, too, if he'd escaped from such dreams as have of late tormented me. This hour, with my own hands, would I build up a hut of stone and shaggy heath and dwell therein for ever rather than go back to yesterday. But yesterday is past, and to-morrow I shall make holiday and hold a revel that all must share if they still want my friendship." "You are your dear self again!" "What is myself? What am I? I have been a storm-cloud drifting over men's heads to burst in unseasonable hail. Now will I be a sun to shine upon men's hearts and warm 'em. Oh, I have learnt wisdom in a dreadful book; but leave that. Talk about her--the old woman--so tough and so terrible in her ways. She's far enough off now--in France, I'll wager." "Indeed, she may be. I hope rather that poor John Lee is safe. He haunted me to-day. It seemed so possible that he might have chosen this place. Why, father, father! what has happened? Forgive me; I should not have named him." She stopped, for Malherb suddenly stood still and stared up into the sky. The gladness fell away from his face like sunlight suddenly shadowed. He struck one fist thrice into his open palm, then dropped his hands again. "Forgive me--I have hurt you cruelly," cried the girl. "I had thought you quite pardoned John Lee." "Yes," he said gently; "I had pardoned him and I had forgot him too. Poor fool of one thought that I am! He knew--he knew this secret place and the wealth stored in it! 'Tis possible--nay, certain--that he rifled all. Who would blame him? 'Twas he whom you saw from far off in the ruins." "Never! Had he found the amphora---- Is he not a Malherb himself?" "Hold your peace," her father answered, in a voice grown harsh again. "That man has all, and who shall blame him? He may well hold it his dead father's portion. I, that thought I had awakened, only dreamed. Things are as they were." "Oh, if I could understand! If I could help you in this suffering that you hide from us!" "It is impossible. A dream, I say. Things are as they were." He turned to her and she heard his voice sink down into a dreary lifeless monotone. "The ship has passed by; but no man has seen the struggling wretch in the water or heard him shout." "Come home," she said. "This suffering will kill you. If you would but let those who love you---- A great grief, though nothing shared by three, may break the heart of one." Next morning Putt and Bickford approached their master in the farmyard and ventured to remind him of his promise. He had forgotten it, and now turned upon them and cursed them for a pair of greedy fools. "Guineas--guineas! What have you to do with them? Madmen! If you only knew. There--take them, and get out of my sight. You can grin still. Gather enough of that and you'll grin no more!" He dashed down the money at their feet and turned his back upon them. CHAPTER II