"Uncle, you must."

Anthony was restrained from jumping up and running away forthwith by the
peace which was in the room, and the dread of being solitary after he had
tasted of companionship.

"You have money, uncle. You are rich. You must help me. Don't you ever
think what it is to be an old man, and no one to love you and be grateful
to you? Why do you cross your arms so close?"

Anthony denied that he crossed his arms closely.

Rhoda pointed to his arms in evidence; and he snarled out: "There, now;
'cause I'm supposed to have saved a trifle, I ain't to sit as I like.
It's downright too bad! It's shocking!"

But, seeing that he did not uncross his arms, and remained bunched up
defiantly, Rhoda silently observed him. She felt that money was in the
room.

"Don't let it be a curse to you," she said. And her voice was hoarse
with agitation.

"What?" Anthony asked. "What's a curse?"

"That."

Did she know? Had she guessed? Her finger was laid in a line at the
bags. Had she smelt the gold?