The sun, while they had been gone, had penetrated the heavy mists, and shone like a lifted Host high against the walls of Heaven. In that still and golden light all the harsh acerbities of the scene stood wonderfully softened, and a great peace and quietness possessed everything. The two had walked but a little way, when Brion stopped, and taking the sweet face between his palms, and looking earnestly into the good blue eyes: ‘Tell me, Joan,’ said he: ‘shall we leave it alone?’ ‘The gold, Brion?’ she asked, wondering. ‘Yes, the gold, Joan. I think of the blood and cruelty that went to its amassing; I think of the murder that secured it; I think of all the lives that have been sacrificed to make it ours at the last, and that a curse may be on it.’ ‘I think of the dear Providence, Brion, that brought us together to reach this very end, and of how it would be sin to cross its plain intentions; I think of a thousand kind things done to extenuate a thousand evils; and I think of my dear lord no longer wickedly accusing himself of being a pauper husband--as if love, like gingerbread ships, were the better for gilding--but rich as his love for his loving maid. O!’--she slipped her arms about his neck, and clung to him a little wildly--‘it is not avarice in me, Brion, but only that--indeed, indeed it is. For a word of love a day I would follow you in rags to the world’s end.’ ‘My Joan!’ he said, in a full voice, and held her to him, whispering and fondling. For a little there was silence between them. ‘Well,’ he said at last; ‘let it be, then. Ill-got shall be well-spent, and the curse, mayhap, turned into a blessing.’ ‘By us,’ she said happily. She looked up, a sudden pink on her cheek, into his face. ‘I have thought of one thing, Brion. It is to help those--in some way--l-love children--so many like ourselves, but, unlike us, wretched and forsaken.’ ‘Yes, Joan, you good child.’ ‘Then--b-bustards they may call us, Brion, but cuckoos we will be.’ ‘Why cuckoos, Joan?’ ‘They are the birds, are they not, that look after other birds’ young?’ His eyes opened, and a premonitory spasm seemed to flutter his chest. ‘What is the matter, Brion?’ ‘Nothing, Joan.’ ‘O, I know you, i’faith! I have said something.’ ‘Whatever it was, I would not have it unsaid for all Joan’s world.’ He kissed her, laughing against her very cheek; then turned instantly sober, and, putting his arm about her, led her on. ‘So,’ said he, ‘it is settled, and let us forget it. What does it all weigh against the treasure of our love? For its safe-conduct and disposal, methinks I must take my friend the Ancient into my confidence, and in the meantime where it lies it is secure. Look, Joan--what gold a thousand times dearer greets thee!’