"You have given me my life once more, shall I rob you of yours again? No! Take up that trash and begone. Bear witness she lives, you men. Now depart, and let that glass--priceless as the world goes--be my payment to you. 'Tis little enough for what I gain this day--light, air, life, Heaven, the right to walk the earth and to look the world in the face. An innocent man! Oh, God of Mercy, I thank Thee!" With a strange cry, as of some mother-beast that recovers her lost young, the ancient creature fell upon her treasure, hid it away quickly and disappeared, like a shadow, behind the mist. Not a word she spoke of thanks nor of blessing; but she gathered up the amphora and melted away into the morning air, like some fantastic exhalation of dawn that vanishes at sunrise. Neither did Malherb speak again. He mounted his horse, watched Lovey depart, and then, forgetting, as it seemed, the men behind him, galloped fast upon his way. Exultation marked his movements. His attitude was of a boy that rode to hounds, liven the gravity of the present enterprise was for a time powerless to make him grave. The men behind him felt that their master was struggling with a full heart. They knew that had he been alone, Malherb had shouted to the sun and wakened the echoes of the ancient hills with thanksgivings. The nature of his joy they failed signally to apprehend. As for Bickford and Putt, their own state was the reverse of gracious. "I can't go so fast," said Mark to Tom. "Us have made damned fools of ourselves to-day--got within reach of hundreds and missed 'em. I could tear my hair off. Blast the old witch!" "'Tis fair payment for being so beastly greedy," answered Putt. "All your fault. If you'd took what she offered last, you'd have had it in your pocket now, instead of nought. Sarve you right." "I ban't much in a mind to sit down under it, however," growled Bickford. "No more be I, for that matter--only just let me think a minute." After riding forward another hundred yards Mr. Putt stopped suddenly. "My hoss have fallen lame," he said. "Not she," answered Bickford. "Her goeth well as ever." "I say she's lame," retorted the other. "Get you after master, best pace you can. I'll come presently. There's a stone in the mare's hoof." Bickford's slow brains now perceived his friend's drift. "You'll get the sack for it," he said, looking back into the valley where Lovey Lee had disappeared. "No great matter if I did; but I shan't. When the man comes to his senses--why, that's the blessed jug all the fuss was about! 'Tis worth thousands of pounds." "Halves wi' me," said Bickford. "Shares, perhaps," answered Putt. "I ban't going to say 'halves'; I've growed rather sick of you since the morning."