On the following night they removed the whole of the gold to Goodhare’s lodging, where Amos made a rough calculation that the value of the gold, though much greater at the time it was first buried than now, would prove to be about fifteen thousand pounds. Rees made some faint suggestions about making known the discovery to Lord St. Austell; but Goodhare, while listening gravely, said it would be better for them first to take the gold up to London, and have the value decided by experts. To which Rees with little persuasion, and Sep without any, agreed. They had made their plans for going to London, and Rees was, under the auspices of the two other men, looking forward to this new experience with vague delight, when Goodhare, who constantly affected to depreciate Deborah’s charms, found an opportunity of meeting her alone as she was returning from some trifling errand for Mrs. Pennant. Deborah had never tried to hide her dislike and fear of the librarian except by the barest show of civility, and therefore her surprise was unbounded when she suddenly found that he was making her an offer of marriage. When, not heeding her prompt refusal, he proceeded to tell her that he had just had a large sum of money left him, and could make her rich and independent, she drew herself up with much indignation. “I don’t think you understand women very well, Mr. Goodhare,” she said coldly and proudly. “The first step towards marrying a man that I shall take will be to like him. That step, in your case, I have not taken.” Goodhare’s face turned the ugly grey color to which any strong feeling brought it, and his eyes flashed. “You are wasting your time waiting for Rees Pennant, Miss Audaer,” he said, coolly; “he has other aims in view. In fact, perhaps I may say you have seen the last of him. If he does ever see you again, however, don’t be surprised if he makes you proposals less honorable than those you have so very prettily rejected to-day.” Deborah broke away from him with an exclamation of disgust, and ran home as fast as she could, humiliated beyond expression by the man’s offensive words and manner. She could not quite, try as hard as she might, dismiss some of his words about Rees as idle ones. The young fellow had gone out very early that morning, and had not yet returned, although it was past dinner-time. Tea-time passed, and still he did not come. Then, overpowered by a dreadful presentiment, Deborah crept upstairs to the open door of his room, and finding it empty, went in. On the dressing-table was a note directed hastily in pencil to his mother. She carried it with a heavy heart to Mrs. Pennant. It was as follows:-- “My dearest old mother, “I am off; gone, not for long, but still gone. I have got a situation in London, and shall send you money every week, and come and see you very soon, be sure. I couldn’t bear to say good-bye.--With all love, your ever affectionate son, “Rees.”