ate, that you're going to get. Will you have it now?"

"You found the tomb, did you?"

"Yes; I found the tomb. Here is a photograph of it. You can keep a copy
if you like it."

"What do I want of a copy," said the man, taking the photograph in his
hand. "He was always more trouble than he was worth,--was Ferdy. It's a
pity she didn't marry me. I'd 've made a woman of her." Peacocke
shuddered as he heard this, but he said nothing. "You may as well give us
the picter;--it'll do to hang up somewhere if ever I have a room of my
own. How plain it is. Ferdinand Lefroy,--of Kilbrack! Kilbrack indeed!
It's little either of us was the better for Kilbrack. Some of them
psalm-singing rogues from New England has it now;--or perhaps a right-down
nigger. I shouldn't wonder. One of our own lot, maybe! Oh; that's the
money, is it?--A thousand dollars; all that I'm to have for coming to
England and telling you, and bringing you back, and showing you where you
could get this pretty picter made." Then he took the money, a thick roll
of notes, and crammed them into his pocket.

"You'd better count them."

"It ain't worth the while with such a trifle as that."

"Let me count them then."

"You'll never have that plunder in your fists again, my fine fellow."

"I do not want it."

"And now about my expenses out to England, on purpose to tell you all
this. You can go and make her your wife now,--or can leave her, just as
you please. You couldn't have done neither if I hadn't gone out to you."

"You have got what was promised."

"But my expenses,--going out?"

"I have promised you nothing for your expenses going out,--and will pay
you nothing."

"You won't?"

"Not a dollar more."

"You won't?"

"Certainly not. I do not suppose that you expect it for a moment,
although you are so persistent in asking for it."

"And you think you've got the better of me, do you? You think you've
carried me along with you, just to do your bidding and take whatever you
please to give me? That's your idea of me?"

"There was a clear bargain between us. I have not got the better of you
at all."

"I rather think not, Peacocke. I rather think not. You'll have to get up
earlier before you get the better of Robert Lefroy. You don't expect to
get this money back again,--do you?"

"Certainly not,--any more than I should expect a pound of meat out of a
dog's jaw." Mr. Peacocke, as he said this, was waxing angry.

"I don't