the hearth and by the dresser, but no signs
of any thing there: now, Master Acton, tell us where it is, man, and
save us all the trouble."
Roger's newly-learnt vocabulary of oaths was drawn upon again.
"Did you look in the ash-pit?" asked Jennings.
"No, sir."
"Well, while you two search this chamber, I will examine it myself."
Mr. Jennings apparently entertained a wholesome fear of Acton's powers
of wrestling.
Up came Simon in a hurry back again, with a lot of little empty leather
bags he had raked out, and--the fragment of a shawl! the edges burnt, it
was a corner bit, and marked B.Q.
"What do you call this, sir?" asked the exulting bailiff.
"Curse that Burke!"--thought Roger; but he said nothing.
And the two men up stairs had searched, and pried, and hunted every
where in vain; the knotty mattress had been ripped up, the chimney
scrutinized, the floor examined, the bed-clothes overhauled, and as for
the thatch, if it hadn't been for Roger Acton's constant glance upwards
at his treasure in the roof, I am sure they never would have found it.
But they did at last: there it was, the crock of gold, full proof of
robbery and murder!
"Aha!" said Simon, in a complacent triumph, "Mrs. Quarles's identical
honey-pot, full of her clean bright gold, and many pieces still encased
in those tidy leather bags;" and his round eyes glistened again; but all
at once, with a hurried look over his left shoulder, he exclaimed,
involuntarily, in a very different tone, "Ha! away, I say!--" Then he
snatched the crock up eagerly, and nursed it like a child.
"Come along with us, Master Acton, you're wanted somewhere else; up,
man, look alive, will you?"
And Roger dressed himself mechanically. It was no manner of use, not in
the least worth while resisting, innocent though he was; his treasure
had been found, and taken from him; he had nothing more to live for; his
gold was gone--his god; where was the wisdom of fighting for any thing
else; let them take him to prison if they would, to the jail, to the
gallows, to any-whither, now his gold was gone. So he put on his
clothes without a murmur, and went with them as quiet as a lamb.
Never was there a clearer case; the housekeeper's hoard had been found
in his possession, with a fragment of her shawl; and Sir John Vincent
was very well aware of the mystery attending the old woman's death;
besides, he was in a great hurry to be off; for Pointer, and Silliphant,
and Lord Ge
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