Since my recovery I had seen the doctor frequently, but he had taken little apparent notice of me. Now, I had racked my puzzled mind many a time for recollection of the conversation I had been witness of on the night preceding my seizure, but still the details of it had eluded me, though its gist remained in a certain impression of uneasiness that troubled me when I thought of it. Suddenly, on this morning, a few words of the doctor’s brought the whole matter vividly before me again. “By the bye, Trender,” he said, drawlingly, and sat down and began to poke the fire--“by the bye, have you ever found that thing you accused me of losing for you on a certain night--you know when?” “No,” said my father, curtly. “Was it of any value, now?” “Maybe--maybe not,” said my father. “That don’t seem much of answer. Perhaps, now, it came from the same place those others did.” “That’s nothing to you, Dr. Crackenthorpe.” “Well, you say it’s lost, anyhow. Supposing I found it, would you agree to my keeping it? Treasure-trove, you know”--and he looked up with a grin, balancing the poker perpendicularly in his hand. “Treasure-trove, my friend,” he repeated, with emphasis, and gave the other a keen look. Something in the tone of his speech woke light in my brain, and I remembered at a flash. I stole an anxious glance at my father. His face was pale and set with anger, but there was an expression in his eyes that looked like fear. “You don’t mean to tell me you have found it?” he said in a forced voice. “Oh, by no means,” answered the doctor. “We haven’t all your good luck. Only you are so full of the unexpected in producing valuables from secret places, like a conjurer, that I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind my keeping this particular one if I should chance to pick it up.” “Keep it, certainly, if you can find it,” said my father, I could have thought almost with a faint groan. “Thanks for the permission, my friend; I’ll make a point of keeping my eyes open.” When did he not? They were pretty observant now on Zyp and Jason, who, as he spoke, walked into the room. “Hullo!” said my brother. “Good-morning to you, doctor, and a sixpence to toss for your next threppenny fee.” “Hold your tongue,” cried my father, angrily. “I would give a guinea to get half for attending on your inquest,” said the doctor, sourly. “Keep your wit for your wench, my good lad, and see then that she don’t go begging.” “I could give you better,” muttered Jason, cowed by my father’s presence, “but it shall keep and mature.” Then he turned boisterously on me. “Why don’t you go out, Renny, instead of moping at home all day?” His manner was aggressive, his tone calculated to exasperate. Moved by discretion I rose from my chair and made for the door; but he barred my way. “Can’t you answer me?” he said, with an ugly scowl. “No--I don’t want to. Let me pass.” My father had turned his back upon us and was staring gloomily down at the fire.