Uncle Jenico got clearer after his meal, though he was still disinclined to move. I sat with him all the morning, while he showed and explained to me more of the contents of his box; and about midday a visitor, the Reverend Mr. Sant, was announced. I stood up expectant, and saw a thin, dark young man, in clerical dress, enter the room at a stride. He had the colourless face, large-boned nose, and burning eyes of a zealot, and not an ounce of superfluous flesh anywhere about him. Much athletic temperance had trimmed him down to frame and muscle, but had not parched the sources of a very sweet smile, which was the only emotional weakness he retained. He came up to the bed, took my uncle’s hand, and introduced himself in a word. “Permit me,” he said; “I heard of your accident. I know a trifle of surgery, and our apothecary visits us but twice in the month. May I look?” He examined the hurt, and, saying he would send a salve for it, settled down to talk. Now, I could not follow the persuasive process; but all I know is that within a quarter of an hour he had learned all my uncle’s and my history, and the reason for our coming to Dunberry, and that, having once mastered the details, he very ingeniously set himself to appropriating them to the schemes of Providence. “It is clear,” he said, “that you, free-lances of Destiny, were inspired to select this, out of all the world, for your operations. _We_ looked for visitors to report for us upon the attractions of the place; _you_ for a quiet and healthful spot in which to develop your schemes.” “Very true,” said Uncle Jenico. “I’ve long had an idea for extracting gold from sea-water.” “You see?” cried Mr. Sant, greatly pleased. “It’s a clear interposition of Providence. This coast is, I am sure, peculiarly adapted, from the accessibility of its waters, to gold-seeking.” I could not restrain my excitement. “Please,” I said, “did-d-d the smugglers hide it there?” Mr. Sant glanced at me sharply. “Who told you about smugglers?” he demanded. “Mr. Rampick,” I whispered, hanging my head. “Ah!” he exclaimed, and turned to my uncle. “Old Joel Rampick, was it? One of the most cherished of my converts, sir; a deeply religious man at bottom, though circumstances long obscured the light in him. Old Rampick, now! And talked about smuggling, did he? He’ll have drawn the moral of it from his own experience, _I_ don’t doubt. Dunberry, there’s no use concealing, has been a long thorn in the side of the Revenue, though happily the earthquake has changed all that.” “Ah, to be sure!” said my uncle; “the earthquake.” “It was without question a Divine visitation,” said Mr. Sant, resolutely. “Do you think so?” said my uncle, his face falling. “My purpose in coming here was really most harmless, sir.” Mr. Sant looked puzzled; then went on, with a dry smack of his lips: