n to put into your
own books and the "'Lustrated." I always was saying I 'ould be making a
gentleman of you, and I have.'

'But, mother, before I can do anything like this I must pay my debts and
make a new beginning. I will marry Netta, now, in spite of the whole
tribe of Davids and Jonathans, and they shall see us as much above them
as--as--money can make us. Now, mother, we must have a search for the
money.'

'Not whilst your father is in the house, Howel; I should be afraid. Be
you sure his spirit'll be looking after the money till the funeral's
over.'

'Nonsense; where are the keys? We'll have a turn at the old bureau
anyhow. Money I must have, at once, and Rowland is as obstinate as a pig
about what the governor told him.'

'Indeet, and indeet, Howel, you had better don't. Suppose it 'ould bring
him to life again?'

'I'll risk that. Give me the keys.'

Mrs Jenkins handed a bunch of keys to her son with trembling fingers.

'Tak you a drop of spirits first. It do show how rich they are thinking
us now. There's Jones, the Red Cow, and Lewis, draper, are letting us
have as much credit as we like; and they 'ouldn't let us have as much as
a dobbin or a yard of tape before poor Griffey died.'

Howel drank a wine-glass of raw brandy and went upstairs with the keys
in his hand. He crept stealthily into that room where the miser breathed
his last, as if fearful of arousing the body within the drawn curtains.
He proceeded to the bureau and tried the various keys of the large bunch
that he now grasped for the first time in his life. At last one key
entered the lock and turned in it. Hush! there is a sound in the room.
He turns very pale as he glances round. He sees no movement anywhere.
The curtains are so still that he almost wishes the wind would stir
them. He opens the bureau and again looks wistfully round. He is almost
sure that the curtains move. 'Coward that I am,' he cries, 'what do I
fear?'

He turns again, and, looking into the bureau, sees that all the open
divisions are filled with papers, and imagines what must be the contents
of the closed and secret compartments. As he touches one of these a
tremor seizes him, and he fancies that a hand is on his shoulder. He
starts and turns, but the curtains are motionless as ever. He goes into
the passage and calls, 'Mother, come here. Quick! I want you directly.'

Mrs Jenkins comes upstairs, looking as pale as her son.

'Just help me out with this bureau, moth