figure crept into the kitchen, the figure of Ephraim Shine. The man was
clad only in a tattered shirt and old moleskins; his face was as gaunt as
that of death, and his skin a ghastly yellow. He moved into the room on
his hands and knees, seeking something, and chummered insanely as he
scratched at the hard flooring-boards with his claw-like fingers, and
peered eagerly into the cracks. He moved about the room in this way,
searching in the corners, dragging his way about with his face close to
the floor.

'I'll find it, I'll find it,' he muttered; 'oh! I'll find it. Rogers is
cunnin', but I'm more cunnin'. I know where it's hid, an' when I get it
it'll be mine--all mine!

Mrs. Hardy stole close to the girl, and they clasped hands.

'Is he mad?' asked the elder woman hoarsely.

'He has taken a fever, I think,' answered the girl, 'and I can hide him
no longer. I cannot help him now.' She sank back upon a chair and
followed her father's movements with tearless, hopeless eyes.

'Rogers is a liar!' muttered Shine. 'A liar he is, an' he'd rob me; but
I'll beat him. It's hid down here, down among the rocks. The gold is
mine, mine, mine!' His voice rose to a thin scream and he beat fiercely
upon the boards with his bony hand.

'He has been ill ever since Rogers was taken, but he only took this turn
this evening. Oh! I tried hard to help him; I tried hard! He is my
father. Oh, my poor father! my poor, poor father!