"Ran? ’Twere no running, zur," replied Dan Ratlaw. "He flew! Yea, as I live, he sailed above yon bushes like a bat. And may I be clean drownded, zur," he added in an awful whisper, "if blazing fire did not drop from en as he flew." I understood. Ammon had shed gold in flight. "But which way did he go?" I asked again. "Straight for The Havering yonder," answered Rat, "and like enough he’ll be a-perching on the roof of it." Then, for the second time that night, a clammy sweat broke out upon my face. Ammon! The Havering! My father! "Rat," said I, "I must for home at once." "Whoy, zur, what’s wrong?" he asked. "Naught, but I must away at once." "I be afeard thou canst not walk," said he. "Take one more pull at this fust." He held the bottle to my lips. "No, not a drop. Give me a hand up, man, that’s all," said I. He did it, and, staggering to my feet, I stood there swaying for a moment, giddy and bewildered. Then, when I had mastered this unsteadiness, I took Dan’s hand and said: "You’ve saved my life, and I shall not forget it." The trusty fellow rubbed a sleeve across his mouth but answered nothing; then his hand went down into his pocket and came forth glittering with gold. "See here," said he, with something of a shame-faced look, "I found this on the grass beside thee. Doubtless he meant to take it with him, but----" "Nay," I put in quickly, "’tis not mine. ’Twas his, and now is yours by right. Therefore keep it." "What, his?--the--the devil’s?" "Yes; and, look you, if you search the way he fled you will, methinks, find more of it. That was the falling fire you saw. His pockets bulged with gold." So saying, I picked my sword up from the ground, and, leaving Ratlaw gaping with amazement, sped for home. How I ran I know not, for my head was singing like a sea-shell, and my thoughts (if thoughts they could be called) were such a seething medley as it beats me to describe aright. And thus it came about that, scarce knowing how (as one but half-awake, that is), I reached The Havering gates. There I stopped a moment; then, passing through, crept like a thief into the house, and, having gently closed the door behind me, listened. All was silent, save for the mournful ticking of the great hall clock, which in such awful stillness broke on me like a death-knell. Pressing both hands upon my throbbing head, I tried to think. My father might perhaps yet be up there wrestling with his trouble. If so, I must be ready with that great surprise which could not fail to put his care to flight. Filled with this hopeful thought, I lit a candle, brought the Black Box forth, untied the binding cord, and opened it. Then, with a throttled cry, I staggered back, as though a blow had struck me. The box was empty! Ferguson had put the papers in his pocket--not in this; and, in his hurried flight, had left behind what was to me of no more value than a stone!