"Her can talk an' tell lies, so her's no more a ghost than us," said Bickford. "Now what be you doing here, an' where be you going, you bad old devil?" Lovey drew herself up and regarded the two clowns with indignation. She felt it hard that at this critical moment of her life such rubbish should beard her thus. All had fallen out as she desired. Her wealth was secure. In her flat bosom she carried two thousand pounds of paper money provided by Peter Norcot; upon her back was a little box strapped tightly there. For the rest she bore a heavy stick and was now upon her way to Ashburton. Plans were completed for her escape. She would proceed to Dartmouth and thence to France. Perceiving that she had been recognised, the miser attempted no further evasion. These peasants must be bought and that instantly. Putt was angry with Lovey for the tricks that she had played on honest men; but Bickford appeared merely curious to learn her recent history. "They wanted to hang you, and still want to," declared Tom. "But now the world thinks as master killed you." "Let it go on thinking so," said Lovey. "What matter what the world thinks, my bold heroes, so long as you've got money in your purses? I be busy just now, so let me go my way, please, without more speech." "A man's purse be his stronghold as you say," answered Bickford; "an' mine's nought better'n a shelled peascod this many days; but since there's twenty pound on your head, me an' Putt here will make ten apiece by you." "Ten pound was offered, not twenty," answered Lovey. "I say 'twas twenty." "You'm a cruel devil to rob an old woman." "'Tis the State will pay, not you," answered Bickford. "An' you'm the cruel devil," retorted Putt--"you as have brought Malherb's head so low--to the grave a'most." "Money's money," repeated Bickford, "an' if you've got any, Mother Lee, now be the time to spend some. Us know you'm made of it, for all your rags. What'll you pay us not to take you along to Prince Town?" Lovey wrung her hands. "You silly zanies--me--look at me--clad in a dead man's clothes! Money--a few poor pounds scraped together--God He knows how few. An' a long life of starvation to come by 'em." "What's in thicky box?" asked Bickford abruptly. "Nought--a mere glass toy kept for old sake's sake. A thing not worth a rush but for memory. An' since you ax for money, I'll give 'e half I've got, though 'tis like giving 'e my life's blood--a five-pound note to share." Her greed, even in this tremendous crisis, overreached her wit. A round sum had dazzled the labourers, and they had doubtless accepted it and let her depart, only to regret their conduct too late. But this miserly offer ruined Lovey Lee. Bickford was of a grasping nature also. Now greed met greed, and both man and woman were presently punished. "'Tis much too little. Us want to see what be in that box slung so snug on your shoulder." "An' see I will," added Tom Putt.