There were many papers in the desk, bundles of letters, souvenirs of old days of affluence. He tossed them aside with tremulous quickness until, underneath all, he came on a long, dirty envelope and a little chamois leather bag. He lifted the latter. It was heavy and emitted a faint chink. The old thief’s instincts rose in him. But he first opened the envelope, and softly drew out the two certificates, took the one he wanted, and put the other back. Then he opened the mouth of the bag. The gleam of gold shone from the aperture. Stricken with temptation he stood hesitating. At that moment the fire, a heap of red ruins, fell together with a small, clinking sound. It was no louder noise than he had made when opening the desk, but it contained some penetrating quality the former had lacked. Still hesitating, with the sack of money in his hand, he turned again to the chair. A face, white and wide-eyed, was staring at him round the side. He gave a smothered oath and the sack dropped from his hand to the table. The money fell from it in a clattering heap and rolled about, in golden zigzags in every direction. The sound roused the still unawakened intelligence of the girl. She saw the paper in his hand, half-opened. Its familiarity broke through her dazed senses. She rose and rushed at him gasping: “The certificate! the certificate!” Harney made a dash for the open window, but she caught him by the shoulder and arm, and with the unimpaired strength of her healthy youth struggled with him hand to hand, reaching out for the paper he tried to keep out of her grasp. In the fury of the moment’s conflict, neither made any sound, but fought like two enraged animals, rocking to and fro, panting and clutching at each other. He finally wrenched his arm free and struck her a savage blow, aimed at her head but falling on her shoulder, which sent her down on her knees and then back against the fire. He thought he had stunned her, and raised his arm again when she sprang up, tore the paper out of his grasp and pressed it with her hand down into the coals beside her. As she did so, for the first time she raised her voice and shrieked: “Mr. Barron! Mr. Barron! Come, come! Oh hurry!” From the hall Harney heard a movement and an answering shout. With the cries echoing through the room he beat her down against the grate, and tore the paper, curling with fire on the edges, from her hand. With it, he dashed through the open sash, a shiver of glass following him. Almost simultaneously, Barron burst into the room. He had been reading and had fallen asleep to be waked by the shrieks of the girl’s voice, which were still in his ears. The falling of broken glass and a rush of cold air from the opened window greeted him. Piled on the table and scattered about the floor were gold pieces. Mariposa was kneeling on the rug. “He’s got it!” she cried wildly, and struggling to her feet rushed to the window. “He’s got it! Oh go after him! Stop him!”