“Oh! oh! how she devours it, while I am starving. Peg, oh! misery, Peg, how can you?” Again Jane Kelly burst into an unfeeling laugh. “How much will you give now, old lady,” she said, “for a piece of steak, like that which poor, dear, grateful Peg is tearing with her claws?” “How much will I give? Oh! if I had thousands here, you should have them—only for the least mouthful. But you have taken my all!” cried the old woman, piteously. “Tell me where the box of gold and jewels is, and I’ll give you some,” replied Jane, flinging another piece of steak to the cat, and preparing to seat herself before the broken platter, on which she had placed the larger portion. “The box? The box? Oh, I have told you. In the bank. I sent it there!” was the affrighted answer. Jane divided the steak before her, and tearing out the heart of a white loaf with her hand, began to eat. “Oh, Jane Kelly! how can you? Have pity, have pity. I am so hungry, Jane Kelly!” “Of course you are, so is Peg; so am I, and the poor chickens too!” answered Jane, rising with her mouth full, and playfully aiming fragments of bread at the open bars of the hen-coop. “It’s human nature to be hungry.” “Oh! it’s against nature. I shall perish with hunger—with enough to eat all around me, every living thing mocks my want. See them eat! see them eat! the greedy, ungrateful wretches—see them! and I starving, starving, starving!” The poor woman made a desperate effort to spring up and seize the food before her; but her head reeled, her limbs quivered, and darkness filled her eyes instead of tears. She fell back upon the bed with an impatient cry of anguish, which was rendered hideous by the eager munching of the cat and the satisfied chuckle of the hens,—all too busy with their own wants for any thought of her. “Come, come!” said Jane, more feelingly, “tell me where the box is, and you shall have a beautiful meal!” “I cannot, I cannot!” moaned the old lady,—“ask anything else, and I will. Do!” “That box, with the iron clamps. Nothing more, nothing less, tell me where it is!” “In the bank. I have told you.” “It is here. I will have it within an hour, whether you tell me or not. But if I am obliged to search for it, the fiends may feed you if they will—not a mouthful shall you have from me!” “Oh! cruel, cruel. What can I say? how shall I move you?” “Tell where the box is!” “I cannot—I do not know. It is at the bank—in the bank.” CHAPTER LXIII. THE IRON-BOUND BOX. Jane Kelly sat down resolutely and went on with her supper. The old woman watched each mouthful that she swallowed, with working lips and eyes that grew fiercer and larger each moment. “Oh, mother of heaven, I shall die!” she sobbed out at last, throwing her flail-like arms over her head. “Give me something to eat—give me something to eat, or I will tear you—tear you in pieces!”