uld be undone and nothing
softened. But for the sake of the little old woman ending her days
quietly in Willowfield--and for the sake of Margery's memory--yes, he
wanted to save the child's memory--but for these things there would be no
use in making any effort to secure the papers. Yet he was conscious of a
dread of the moment when he should take them into his hand.

Stamps turned eager, miserable eyes upon him as he came in.

"I thought mebbe ye'd made up yer mind to let the other feller hev them,"
he said. "Hev ye brought the money in bills?"

Latimer stood and looked down at him. "Do you know how ill you are?" he
said.

"Wal, I guess I kin feel a right smart--but I don't keer so's things
comes my way. Hev ye got the money with ye?"

"Yes. Where are the papers?"

"Whar's the money?"

Latimer took out a pocket-book and opened it that he might see.

Stamps's countenance relaxed. The tension was relieved.

"Thet's far an' squar," he said. "D'ye wanter know whar I found 'em? Tom
Dwillerby never knowed I hed more than a envelope--an' I tuk care not to
tell him the name that was writ on it. Ye was mighty smart never to let
no one know yer name; I don't know how you done it, 'ceptin' that ye kept
so much to yerselves."

Latimer remained silent, merely standing and letting him talk, as he
seemed to have a feverish, half-delirious tendency to do. He lay plucking
at the scanty bed-covering and chuckling.

"'Twas five years arter the child was born," he went on. "I was ridin'
through Blair's Holler an' it come to me sudden to go in an' hev a look
round keerful. I looked keerful--mighty keerful--an' at last I went on my
hands an' knees an' crawled round, an' there was a hole between the logs,
an' I seen a bit of white--I couldn't hev seen it ef I hadn't been
crawlin' an' looked up. An' I dug it out. It hed been hid mighty secret."
He put his hand under his wretched pillow. "Give me the money," he
wheezed. "When ye lay it in my hand I'll pass the envelope over to ye.
Count it out first."

Latimer counted the bills. This was the moment. Twenty years gone by--and
nothing could be changed. He put the money on the bed.

Stamps withdrew his hand from under the pillow. A stout, ill-directed
envelope was in its grasp and he passed it over to Latimer. He was
shivering and beginning to choke a little, but he grinned.

"I reckin' it's all right," he said. "D'ye want to read 'em now?"

"No," Latimer answered, and putting t