treasure cupboard.

Saunders slipped it into the lock before him. It moved with ease,
backwards and forwards.

'H'm! that's strange,' he said, taking out the key and turning it over
thoughtfully in his hand. 'Yer didn't think as there were _another_ key
in this 'ouse that would open your cupboard, did yer, Bolderfield?'

The old man sank weeping on a chair. He was too broken, too exhausted,
to revile Bessie any more.

'Yo tell her, Muster Saunders,' he said, 'to gie it me back! I'll not
ast for all on it, but some on it, Muster Saunders--some on it. She
_can't_ a spent it. She must a got it somewhere. Yo speak to her, Muster
Saunders. It's a crule thing to rob an old man like me--an her own
mother's brother. Yo speak to 'er--an yo, too, Mary Anne.'

He looked piteously from one to the other. But his misery only seemed to
goad Bessie to fresh fury. She turned upon him, arms akimbo.

'Oh! an of course it must be _me_ as robs yer! It couldn't be nobody
else, could it? There isn't tramps an thieves, an rogues--'undreds of
'em--going about o' nights? Nary one, I believe yer! There isn't another
thief in Clinton Magna, nobbut Bessie Costrell, is ther? But yer'll not
blackguard me for nothin, I can tell yer. Now will yer jest oblige me by
takin yourselves off? I shall 'ave to clean up after yer'--she pointed
scornfully to the marks of their muddy boots on the floor--'an it's
gettin late.'