on a day in late autumn, while sad winds whispered of winter and the heather blossoms perished, harvey woodman and thomas putt were setting up hurdles round about a portion of a turnip field. hard by uncle smallridge sat upon a stone, chewed tobacco and watched them. this aged man had made a close study of providence's work at fox tor farm, and, finding that all the evils resulting from the demolition of childe's tomb had fallen upon the head of malherb, he felt increased respect for the logic of heaven. now he approached the labourers fearlessly, discussed the state of affairs with relish, and threw his weight upon the side of justice. but the household of malherb showed an inclination to think the farmer too hardly treated. according to their measure of intelligence and gratitude, they mourned the master's evil fortune.

"he's changed under our living eyes," said woodman.

"a scantle of his old self, an' goes heavily with backward glances as though the wisht-hounds was arter him day an' night," declared putt. "so meek as moses now most times. i miss the thunder of him. we'm so used to it that he seems like a new man without his noise."

"not but he flashes up, like a dying fire, now an' again, however," added woodman.

uncle smallridge chewed and nodded and uttered complacent platitudes.

"what did i say? what a picture of the wrath of the loving god! you won't find in all scripture no case where the lord took a matter into his own hands quicker an' polished off a sinner so sharp. first his son cut down; then his darter undutiful; then that tantara to the war prison; then lovey lee carried away by the devil, as i hopes an' believes; an' then jack lee vanished like a cloud; an' a bad wool year; an' wages coming by fits an' starts; an' doom writ upon the man's forehead. 'tis all the hatched-out egg of the lord. full of meat—full of meat are his ways."

"hard enough to stomach all the same," said woodman; and putt viewed the ancient with considerable disgust.

"you'm worse than kekewich," he declared. "you fatten on other folks' troubles, like a crow on offal. i'd blush to smack my lips over a brave man's cares. who gave 'e that tobacco you'm chowing?"

"mr. malherb," confessed uncle. "an open-handed gentleman as need be, an' a good friend to me. an' why not? 'tis the duty of the gentlefolks to support such as me. i've growed two-double working for 'em. an' now my balance of years be their proper business. i've nought against him myself; i be only pointing out how much the lord had against him. we'm all corn for the a'mighty's grindstones; an' a very comforting thought that is for a common man. there's justice there." he waved to the sky. "us shan't be driven about to work for small money an' bad masters in eternity; but sit 'pon golden thrones an' share the property with the best of 'em."

"you're a whig," said woodman. "they talk like that in the parliament."

"i be what i be. i know there won't be no squires an' ban-dogs an' man-traps an' spring-guns to maim honest men up-along. if us be all equal in heaven, that should be the rule on earth, same as the lord prayed in his own prayer."

"you'd better keep them ideas till you get to heaven then," said thomas putt; "for they won't work on dartymoor."

as he spoke mr. beer arrived, and with him he brought interesting news.

"leave that, souls," he said; "since the weather's lifted, us have all got to go along with master to hangman's hollow 'bout that job there was talk of a fortnight since. he's made up his mind all on a sudden. go back to the farm for ropes an' picks, then come along."

"what's in the wind now, neighbour?" inquired uncle smallridge, and beer answered him.

"why, 'tis the hole where miss grace was found. 'tis said 'twas old lovey lee's den afore she bolted. dinah heard a whisper of treasures there, too. anyway us have got to go an' pull the place down an' let in light an' air, so as us can see if there be aught worth fetching."

uncle smallridge went his way speculating as to what was the next unpleasant surprise hidden for malherb by the lord of hosts; while putt, woodman and beer returned home. they collected their tools and set out soon afterwards with mark bickford for hangman's hollow.

the first result of his present experiences and position had been a development of astounding patience in maurice malherb. patient, indeed, he was not in any real sense; but a self-control relatively wonderful marked his goings now. he waited for the inevitable. every instinct called out to him to hasten it, yet he took no step. this personal attitude amazed him in secret. sometimes even a gleam of hope touched his darkness, and the fact that no word had been heard of lovey, and no report of her death had reached mankind, awoke a shadowy thought that she was not dead. but he knew right well that no human foot trod the desert south of cater's beam once in a year. the dead might there mingle with dust and never be discovered or recorded. he did nothing from day to day for thinking of his wife and daughter. they stood between him and open confession of the crime. yet each week of delay galled him worse than the last. memory kept such a vivid wakefulness as it only holds under conditions of remorse. his sin coloured his life, and the hues of it faded neither by day nor night. as the hideous incubus of a dream slowly crawls upon us, to fasten its fangs in our bosom, so this horror nightly destroyed sleep, and by day it rode abroad with him, ate with him, thought with him, thrust its shadow between him and the few things he still loved.

a thousand times his feet turned to cater's beam, a thousand times he chose rather to live on and cherish the pallid hope that his daughter and his wife were not for ever disgraced. for him the events of that appalling dawn were neither gyves nor ropes about his real nature. he had long since retraced all in spirit, probed his act to the core, and even taken the consequences of it. for no thought of self-destruction returned to him; but his women came between and held his hand, and, though they knew it not, played the first part in his hidden life, as they now stood openly for all that he still held dear.

yet at last, by an indirect road, he consented to satisfy himself, and after countless petitions from grace and from annabel, he gave way and abandoned what, from their standpoint, was a senseless determination. his daughter finally prevailed with him.

"lovey lee fled to save her own life," declared grace. "perchance she never returned to her hiding-place at all. there, then, remain her treasures and the amphora that i saw with my own eyes. surely it is worth the trouble of a search?"

"'twould be fifteen thousand pounds at least to us. your brother himself might purchase it," said annabel.

"he at least never will," answered her husband. "rather would i grind it under my heel. 'brother'! 'tis too noble a title for him. norcot can offer to aid me in my extremity, yet he whose duty it should be, and whose privilege—does he come forward?"

"for the best of all reasons, dearest. you have not told him a word of your circumstances."

"'told him'! do such things want telling to a brother? he ought to feel it in his bones; he ought to dream that all is not well with me; he ought to breathe it in with the air. if he were in trouble, my blood would have beat it into my heart. nevertheless, no farthing of his would i take to keep my wife and daughter from starving."

"yet here's your own money as like as not hid within five miles," said grace. "how i've longed to go! once i rode in sight, and i never felt so tempted to break my word to you, dear father. but i was glad afterwards, for, looking back, i marked a man moving in the ruin. he saw me too and vanished."

the matter dropped then; yet, within a week malherb resolved to permit a search. to him the enterprise must be a crucial test of matters more vital than the amphora. if it was there, then lovey indeed had perished; if it was not there, then she lived. but the truth might still be buried in his own bosom. it was not necessary that others should know of it; and, in any case, the circumstances of his family must be ameliorated by recovery of the treasure. that fact alone he strove to keep before him; yet now, as he tramped over the moor with his daughter, and saw wan sunlight all soaked in moisture, spread great fleeting vans along the way, he prayed very earnestly that his mission might fail.

grace was silent and busy with her own thoughts. that lovey lee had long since escaped from dartmoor and taken her treasure with her, the girl felt certain; but that john lee might be using the cavern in hangman's hollow seemed likely enough. his escape was a nine days' wonder, and some persons, sergeant bradridge among the number, stoutly maintained that john must have been born to drown and had met his destiny. the sergeant was back at prince town; only kekewich knew of putt's successful proceedings; while, as for peter norcot, he took this further rebuff from fortune smiling, and absented himself from fox tor farm for a considerable time. for the present he was reported to be very diligent about his own affairs.

"you dream," said malherb. "twice i have spoken and received no answer, grace."

"i did dream—of the blessedness of finding this treasure; yet i am sure 'tis too late to hope."

her father sighed.

"who can tell?" he said.

only the carrion crows, that croaked aloft out of the morning air and flapped their sooty wings towards cater's beam, knew the truth. often with his eyes he followed them out of sight; with his mind's eye he saw what they saw; and that was never out of sight.

presently the labourers drew up in hangman's hollow and stood amazed at the secret which grace revealed to them. from the top, beer and woodman set to work; and putt and bickford attacked the place beneath. they cut away the masses of briar and undergrowth that bound the foundations of the old blowing-house, forced a hole in the wall, and made entry from that point. malherb also toiled and wearied his body with great feats of strength to distract his mind.

"if us should catch the old cat-a-mountain now!" said woodman. "my stars, she'd scratch our faces to the bone, i lay!"

but the treasure house was empty. they let in light from every side, and after two hours' hard work had dismantled the den. sweet air searched its dark corners; day illuminated its secrets.

malherb's heart fell as grace pointed to two great boxes of plate and jewels; but it rose with a bound, for they proved to be empty. where lovey's money-bags had stood and leered at grace out of the darkness, like a row of little pot-bellied fiends roosting there, they found nothing. the ledges were bare. malherb made no attempt to conceal his exultation. dissimulation was impossible before his growing hope. he toiled like a giant, tore his clothes and smothered himself in dust and dirt.

"not a watch—not a coin—not a teaspoon!" he shouted. "all gone—everything. but don't give up yet; seek and seek; make very sure. tear every stone from another; break every stone in half. dig up the floors; sound the nooks and crannies. let no shadow of doubt remain!"

the men spoke under their breath to one another.

"he'm going daft, or i am," said putt. "the less we find, the better he likes it!"

"'tis his troubles have turned his head," answered beer. "i've knowed it happen so. look at him—all in a muck o' sweat like a common man."

woodman, as he ripped up the floor, discovered a hole by lovey's stone altar.

"see here, your honour; i be much feared something's been took out of this place. 'tis lined wi' stone an' the cover lies beside it. but 'tis empty."

maurice malherb smiled and approached eagerly.

"yes, yes; even here might she have hidden her treasure—not a doubt of it—not a doubt. say!" he continued to bickford, who stood nearest to him, "don't stand like a clown carved in wood. speak. tell me—is it not clear something has been lifted up from here and carried off?"

"clear enough," answered the man in a surly voice. "us was only wondering, begging your honour's pardon, why for you was so mighty pleased to find your trouble wasted."

"then take yourself and your insolent wonder from fox tor farm to-morrow at daybreak!" cried malherb. the old flash was in his eyes, the old deep thunder in his voice.

"jimmery! he'm coming back to hisself!" murmured putt.

then malherb spoke again.

"wonder as you will. what are your thoughts to me? work—work on—all of you, and keep your wonder to yourselves."

his daughter, like the rest, felt upon the brink of mystery, yet doubted not but that her father would presently explain. she was bitterly disappointed yet not surprised.

at last malherb flung down a pick and mopped his forehead.

"'tis done—to the last corner!" he cried. "and what have we found?"

"a dead dog, some old rotten boxes, some-candle-ends and some crustes, your honour," said mr. beer.

"so be it. i thank god—before you all i thank god! and let each man remember this day!"

he pulled off two heavy signet rings, the only adornments that he wore, gave one to beer and the other to harvey woodman.

"keep them for a sign of your fruitless labour. and you men, come to me to-morrow: i've a guinea for each of you. remember, all, that i'm your best friend for evermore. i'll never forget one of ye! you stare, you good, worthy clods—well, stare and wonder. it is your part to do so. know at least that my heart is light."

he turned, drew on his coat, then gave his daughter his arm. he seemed to have shaken off a weight of years with his hard work. his step was elastic, his head was thrown back.

"i cannot say that i am sorry any more when i see your joy, dear father. yet, like the men, i wonder too. but i will not ask you why you are glad to have lost your treasure, or i may get answered as bickford was."

"the rascal had an impudent tone in his voice, though i'll swear he meant no offence. but for you, indeed, do not ask, my little maid. 'tis enough that what looks evil news is not so. this day, as the wrecked sailor, who, from his perilous spar floating on ocean, sees suddenly a great ship at hand, and finds salvation even in the grave of his hopes, even so am i. i—i have been through dark waters—i have suffered to the very last hiding-places of the heart. my life turned upon me and rent me. my wrath roused up such a devil as i knew not man could harbour. god hid his face and i was lost in the darkness. but now—now my cup is full. he has spared me; he has lifted my load. i must commune with him. i cannot talk to mankind until i have praised the name of the lord. with david i could dance before him, because he has made my heart whole again and lifted my head in my own sight."

"then will i bless god too, dear father. indeed, your face says more to me than your words. you are grown young. there is even laughter in your eyes again."

he held her hand and pressed it.

"money's not everything—how well i know that," she said. "'tis nothing—less than nothing—glorified mould—scum—a dirty mantle on the deep water of life—the poisonous berries we children clutch at. i hate it. i scorn it. the gilded moss in that hole there—the moss that will grow black and die in the glare of day—that is money. let in light and we see it as it is."

"you never cared for money."

"and now less than before. a man might live in that den we've just torn down, and live happy, too, if he'd escaped from such dreams as have of late tormented me. this hour, with my own hands, would i build up a hut of stone and shaggy heath and dwell therein for ever rather than go back to yesterday. but yesterday is past, and to-morrow i shall make holiday and hold a revel that all must share if they still want my friendship."

"you are your dear self again!"

"what is myself? what am i? i have been a storm-cloud drifting over men's heads to burst in unseasonable hail. now will i be a sun to shine upon men's hearts and warm 'em. oh, i have learnt wisdom in a dreadful book; but leave that. talk about her—the old woman—so tough and so terrible in her ways. she's far enough off now—in france, i'll wager."

"indeed, she may be. i hope rather that poor john lee is safe. he haunted me to-day. it seemed so possible that he might have chosen this place. why, father, father! what has happened? forgive me; i should not have named him."

she stopped, for malherb suddenly stood still and stared up into the sky. the gladness fell away from his face like sunlight suddenly shadowed. he struck one fist thrice into his open palm, then dropped his hands again.

"forgive me—i have hurt you cruelly," cried the girl. "i had thought you quite pardoned john lee."

"yes," he said gently; "i had pardoned him and i had forgot him too. poor fool of one thought that i am! he knew—he knew this secret place and the wealth stored in it! 'tis possible—nay, certain—that he rifled all. who would blame him? 'twas he whom you saw from far off in the ruins."

"never! had he found the amphora—— is he not a malherb himself?"

"hold your peace," her father answered, in a voice grown harsh again. "that man has all, and who shall blame him? he may well hold it his dead father's portion. i, that thought i had awakened, only dreamed. things are as they were."

"oh, if i could understand! if i could help you in this suffering that you hide from us!"

"it is impossible. a dream, i say. things are as they were."

he turned to her and she heard his voice sink down into a dreary lifeless monotone.

"the ship has passed by; but no man has seen the struggling wretch in the water or heard him shout."

"come home," she said. "this suffering will kill you. if you would but let those who love you—— a great grief, though nothing shared by three, may break the heart of one."

next morning putt and bickford approached their master in the farmyard and ventured to remind him of his promise. he had forgotten it, and now turned upon them and cursed them for a pair of greedy fools.

"guineas—guineas! what have you to do with them? madmen! if you only knew. there—take them, and get out of my sight. you can grin still. gather enough of that and you'll grin no more!"

he dashed down the money at their feet and turned his back upon them.