"Four fifty's good enough for me," said Putt. "Bah! you'm a fool," answered Bickford. "You don't know how to pick a nut when you've got one. Leave her to me. I say five hunderd apiece--that, or this stone goes." "Before the eyes of Heaven, I haven't got it! Strip these dead man's rags off me; you'll find no more. 'Tis every farthing I have in the world--a long life's bitter earnings!" The labourer, with an eye upon her, drew his hand slowly back to throw again. For a second Lovey's fingers fluttered involuntarily towards her breast; and Mark Bickford saw and laughed in triumph. "Ha, ha, ha! I knowed I was right. Yet I'll send it along; just to bring the old hell-cat to reason." He flung again, without meaning to injure the amphora, but hit the rock on which it stood and missed the treasure by a hair's breadth. At the same moment Maurice Malherb's horse appeared round the rock, and the glancing stone very nearly struck Mr. Bickford's master. "You vagabonds! What means----?" cried out Malherb. Then he broke off and stared at an object near his elbow. There, under red dawnlight, glittered the Malherb amphora, and the frank yet lurid illumination awoke new beauties in that dazzling gem. Each Cupid blushed with life as he peeped from the acanthus leaves. For a moment the master glared at his treasure while Bickford and Putt shivered. Then Lovey Lee, perceiving, indeed, that hope was dead, uttered a mournful howl. The sound wakened Malherb from his trance. He dismounted, picked up the amphora, and came forward. "What man is that?" he asked; "and what are you knaves doing, loitering here?" Then he approached Lovey, and knew her, and his servants saw him turn pale. He dropped back a pace and the amphora fell out of his hand--into soft heather where it took no hurt. A moment later his face turned cherry-red and his eyes rolled up. Putt rushed forward, but the danger passed and Malherb's brain resisted the shock. "I must not rejoice too soon, or I may perish. And yet--speak. This is a woman--the woman of all women!" "'Tis true, your honour's goodness. Lovey Lee, begging your pardon; her as you thought you'd properly knocked 'pon the head." "An' she'm wrapped up in fifty-pound notes, your honour," said Bickford, "an' I hope your honour won't let her keep 'em from two honest men, for 'tis stolen money, an' her was going to----" "Peace!" thundered Malherb. "Take yourselves and your buzzing behind me." He had not removed his eyes from Lovey Lee's face. His mind and soul were there. Now he approached her and spoke gently. "Tell me," he said. "Let me hear your voice. Do not fear. Are you Lovey Lee--she whom I struck down and left for dead a thousand years ago on Cater's Beam?" Lovey calculated the chances. She was broken now, for at last the Malherb amphora lay in the power of its rightful owner. Unconquerable hate gleamed in her eyes, but her voice sounded meek and mild.