Every one in the room knew that the thing she would not mention was the
money Mrs. Cliff had borrowed for her passage. Miss Shott had not lent
any of it, but her brother, a retired carpenter and builder, had, and as
his sister expected to outlive him, although he was twelve years younger
than she was, she naturally felt a little sore upon this point.

Now Mrs. Cliff was herself again. She was not embarrassed. She was
neither pale nor trembling. With a stern severity, not unknown to her
friends and neighbors in former days, she rose to her feet.

"Nancy Shott," said she, "I don't know anything that makes me feel more
at home than to hear you talk like that. You are the same woman that
never could kiss a baby without wanting to spank it at the same time. I
know what is the matter with you. You are thinking of that money I
borrowed from your brother. Well, I borrowed that for a year, and the
time is not up yet; but when it is, I'll pay it, every cent of it, and
interest added. I knew what I was about when I borrowed it, and I know
what I am about now, and if I get angry and pay it before it becomes due,
he will lose that much interest, and he can charge it to you. That is all
I have to say to you.

"As for you, Mrs. Perley, and the other persons who gave me these
blankets, I want you to feel that I am just as grateful as if--just as
grateful as I can be, and far more for the friendliness than for the
goods. I won't say anything more about that, and it isn't necessary, but
I must say one thing. I am ready to take the blankets, and to thank you
from the bottom of my heart, but I will not have them unless the money
Miss Shott put in is given back to her. Whatever that was, I will make it
up myself, and I hope I may be excused for saying that I don't believe it
will break me."

Now there was a scene. Miss Shott rose in anger and marched out of the
house. Mrs. Perley and the other lady expostulated with Mrs. Cliff for
a time, but they knew her very well, and soon desisted. Twenty-five
cents was handed to Mrs. Perley to take the place of the sum
contributed by Miss Shott, and the ladies departed, and the blankets
were taken up-stairs. Mrs. Cliff gave one glance at them as Willy
Croup spread them out.

"If those women could see my Californian blankets!" she said to herself,
but to Willy she said, "They are very nice, and you may put them away."

Then she went to her own room and went to bed. This last shock was too
much for her nerves to bear. In the afternoon Willy brought her some tea,
but the poor lady would not get up. So long as she stayed in bed, people
could be kept away from her, but there was nowhere else where she could
be in peace.

All night she lay and thought and thought and thought. What should she
do? She could not endure this condition of things. There was only one
relief that presented itself to her: she might go to Mr. Perley, her
minister, and confide everything to him. He would tell her what she
ought to do.

"But," she thought, "suppose he should say it should all go to the
Peruvians!" And then she had more thinking to do, based upon this
contingency, which brought on a headache, and she remained in bed all
the next day.

The next morning, Willy Croup, who had begun to regret that she had ever
said anything about blankets,--but how could she have imagined that
anybody could be so cut up at what that old Shott woman had
said?--brought Mrs. Cliff a letter.

This was from Edna, stating that she and Ralph and the two negroes had
just arrived in New York, from which point they were to sail for Havre.
Edna wished very much to see Mrs. Cliff before she left the country, and
wrote that if it would be convenient for that lady, she would run up to
Plainton and stay a day or two with her. There would be time enough for
this before the steamer sailed. When she read this brief note, Mrs. Cliff
sprang out of bed.

"Edna come here!" she exclaimed. "That would be simply ruin! But I must
see her. I must tell her everything, and let her help me."

As soon as she was dressed, she went down-stairs and told Willy that she
would start for New York that very afternoon. She had received a letter
from Mrs. Horn, and it was absolutely necessary to see her before she
sailed. With only a small leather bag in her hand, and nearly all her
ready money and her peace-destroying draft sewed up inside the body of
her dress, she left Plainton, and when her friends and neighbors heard
that she had gone, they could only ascribe such a sudden departure to the
strange notions she had imbibed in foreign parts. When Plainton people
contemplated a journey, they told everybody about it, and took plenty of
time to make preparations; but South Americans and Californians would
start anywhere at a moment's notice. People had thought that Mrs. Cliff
was too old to be influenced by association in that way, but it was plain
that they had been mistaken, and there were those who were very much
afraid that even if the poor lady had got whatever ought to be coming to
her from the Valparaiso business, it would have been of little use to
her. Her old principles of economy and prudence must have been terribly
shaken. This very journey to New York would probably cost twenty dollars!

When Mrs. Cliff entered Edna's room in a New York hotel, the latter was
startled, almost frightened. She had expected her visitor, for she had
had a telegram, but she scarcely recognized at the first glance the pale
and haggard woman who had come to her.

"Sick!" exclaimed poor Mrs. Cliff, as she sank upon a sofa. "Yes, I am
sick, but not in body, only in heart. Well, it is hard to tell you what
is the matter. The nearest I can get to it is that it is wealth struck
in, as measles sometimes strike in when they ought to come out properly,
and one is just as dangerous as the other."

When Mrs. Cliff had had something to eat and drink, and had begun to tell
her tale, Edna listened with great interest and sympathy. But when the
good lady had nearly finished, and was speaking of her resolution to
confide everything to Mr. Perley, Edna's gaze at her friend became very
intent, and her hands tightly grasped the arms of the chair in which she
was sitting.

"Mrs. Cliff," said she, when the other had finished, "there is but one
thing for you to do: you must go to Europe with us."

"Now!" exclaimed Mrs. Cliff. "In the steamer you have engaged passage
in? Impossible! I could not go home and settle up everything and come
back in time."

"But you must not go home," said Edna. "You must not think of it. Your
troubles would begin again as soon as you got there. You must stay here
and go when we do."

Mrs. Cliff stared at her. "But I have only a bag and the clothes I have
on. I am not ready for a voyage. And there's the house, with nobody but
Willy in it. Don't you see it would be impossible for me to go?"

"What you need for the passage," said Edna, "you can buy here in a few
hours, and everything else you can get on the other side a great deal
cheaper and better than here. As to your house, you can write to that
other lady to go there and stay with Miss Croup until you come back. I
tell you, Mrs. Cliff, that all these things have become mere trifles to
you. I dare say you could buy another house such as you own in Plainton,
and scarcely miss the money. Compared to your health and happiness, the
loss of that house, even if it should burn up while you are away, would
be as a penny thrown to a beggar."

"And there is my new trunk," said Mrs. Cliff, "with my blankets and ever
so many things locked up in it."

"Let it stay there," said Edna. "You will not need the blankets, and I
don't believe any one will pick the lock."

"But how shall I explain my running away in such a fashion? What will
they all think?"

"Simply write," said Edna, "that you are going to Europe as companion
to Mrs. Horn. If they think you are poor, that will explain everything.
And you may add, if you choose, that Mrs. Horn is so anxious to have
you, she will take no denial, and it is on account of her earnest
entreaties that you are unable to go home and take leave in a proper
way of your friends."

It was half an hour afterwards that Mrs. Cliff said: "Well, Edna, I will
go with you. But I can tell you this: I would gladly give up all the
mountains and palaces I may see in Europe, if I could go back to Plainton
this day, deposit my money in the Plainton bank, and then begin to live
according to my means. That would be a joy that nothing else on this
earth could give me."

Edna laughed. "All you have to do," she said, "is to be patient and wait
awhile, and then, when you go back like a queen to Plainton, you will
have had your mountains and your palaces besides."




CHAPTER XXX

AT THE HГ”TEL BOILEAU


It was early in December,--two months after the departure of Edna and her
little party from New York,--and they were all comfortably domiciled in
the Hotel Boileau, in a quiet street, not far from the Boulevard des
Italiens. This house, to which they came soon after their arrival in
Paris, might be considered to belong to the family order, but its grade
was much higher than that of the hotel in which they had lived in San
Francisco. As in the former place, they had private apartments, a private
table, and the service of their own colored men, in addition to that of
the hotel servants. But their salon was large and beautifully furnished,
their meals were cooked by a French chef, every one, from the lordly
porter to the quick-footed chambermaid, served them with a courteous
interest, and Mrs. Cliff said that although their life in the two hotels
seemed to be in the main the same sort of life, they were, in reality, as
different as an old, dingy mahogany bureau, just dragged from an attic,
and that same piece of furniture when it had been rubbed down, oiled, and
varnished. And Ralph declared that, so far as he knew anything about it,
there was nothing like the air of Paris to bring out the tones and
colorings and veinings of hotel life. But the greatest difference between
the former and the present condition of this little party lay in the fact
that in San Francisco its principal member was Mrs. Philip Horn, while in
Paris it was Miss Edna Markham.

This change of name had been the result of nights of thought and hours of
consultation. In San Francisco Edna felt herself to be Mrs. Horn as truly
as if they had been married at high noon in one of the city churches, but
although she could see no reason to change her faith in the reality of
her conjugal status, she had begun to fear that Captain Horn might have
different views upon the subject. This feeling had been brought about by
the tone of his letters. If he should die, those letters might prove that
she was then his widow, but it was plain that he did not wish to impress
upon her mind that she was now his wife.

If she had remained in San Francisco, Edna would have retained the
captain's name. There she was a stranger, and Captain Horn was well
known. His agents knew her as Mrs. Horn, the people of the _Mary
Bartlett_ knew her as such, and she should not have thought of resigning
it. But in Paris the case was very different. There she had friends, and
expected to make more, and in that city she was quite sure that Captain
Horn was very little known.

Edna's Parisian friends, were all Americans, and some of them people of
consideration, one of her old schoolmates being the wife of a secretary
of the American legation. Could she appear before these friends as Mrs.
Captain Philip Horn, feeling that not only was she utterly unable to
produce Captain Horn, but that she might never be able to do so? Should
the captain not return, and should she have proofs of his death, or
sufficient reason to believe it, she might then do as she pleased about
claiming her place as his widow. But should he return, he should not find
that she had trammelled and impeded his plans and purposes by announcing
herself as his wife. She did not expect ever to live in San Francisco
again, and in no other place need she be known as Mrs. Horn.

As to the business objects of her exceptional marriage, they were, in a
large degree, already attained. The money Captain Horn had remitted to
her in San Francisco was a sum so large as to astound her, and when she
reached Paris she lost no time in depositing her funds under her maiden
name. For the sake of security, some of the money was sent to a London
banker, and in Paris she did not deposit with the banking house which
Captain Horn had mentioned. But directions were left with that house that
if a letter ever came to Mrs. Philip Horn, it was to be sent to her in
care of Mrs. Cliff, and, to facilitate the reception of such a letter,
Mrs. Cliff made Wraxton, Fuguet & Co. her bankers, and all her letters
were addressed to them. But at Edna's bankers she was known as Miss
Markham, and her only Parisian connection with the name of Horn was
through Mrs. Cliff.

The amount of money now possessed by Edna was, indeed, a very fair
fortune for her, without regarding it, as Captain Horn had requested, as
a remittance to be used as a year's income. In his letters accompanying
his remittances the captain had always spoken of them as her share of the
gold brought away, and in this respect he treated her exactly as he
treated Mrs. Cliff, and in only one respect had she any reason to infer
that the money was in any manner a contribution from himself. In making
her divisions according to his directions, her portion was so much
greater than that of the others, Edna imagined Captain Horn sent her his
share as well as her own. But of this she did not feel certain, and
should he succeed in securing the rest of the gold in the mound, she did
not know what division he would make. Consequently, this little thread of
a tie between herself and the captain, woven merely of some hypothetical
arithmetic, was but a cobweb of a thread. The resumption of her maiden
name had been stoutly combated by both Mrs. Cliff and Ralph. The first
firmly insisted upon the validity of the marriage, so long as the captain
did not appear, but she did not cease to insist that the moment he did
appear, there should be another ceremony.

"But," said Edna, "you know that Cheditafa's ceremony was performed
simply for the purpose of securing to me, in case of his loss on that
boat trip, a right to claim the benefit of his discovery. If he should
come back, he can give me all the benefit I have a right to claim from
that discovery, just as he gives you your share, without the least
necessity of a civilized marriage. Now, would you advise me to take a
step which would seem to force upon him the necessity for such a
marriage?"

"No," said Mrs. Cliff. "But all your reasoning is on a wrong basis. I
haven't the least doubt in the world---I don't see how any one can have a
doubt--that the captain intends to come back and claim you as his wife;
and if anything more be necessary to make you such, as I consider there
would be, he would be as ready as anybody to do it. And, Edna, if you
could see yourself, not merely as you look in the glass, but as he would
see you, you would know that he would be as ready as any of us would wish
him to be. And how will he feel, do you suppose, when he finds that you
renounce him and are going about under your maiden name?"

In her heart Edna answered that she hoped he might feel very much as she
had felt when he did not come to see her in San Francisco, but to Mrs.
Cliff she said she had no doubt that he would fully appreciate her
reasons for assuming her old name.

Ralph's remarks were briefer, and more to the point.

"He married you," he said, "the best way he could under the
circumstances, and wrote to you as his wife, and in San Francisco you
took his name. Now, if he comes back and says you are not his wife, I'll
kill him."

"If I were you, Ralph," said his sister, "I wouldn't do that. In fact, I
may say I would disapprove of any such proceeding."

"Oh, you can laugh," said he, "but it makes no difference to me. I shall
take the matter into my own hands if he repudiates that contract."

"But suppose I give him no chance to repudiate it?" said Edna. "Suppose
he finds me Miss Edna Markham, and finds, also, that I wish to continue
to be that lady? If what has been done has any force at all, it can
easily be set aside by law."

Ralph rose and walked up and down the floor, his hands thrust deep into
his pockets.

"That's just like a woman," he said. "They are always popping up new and
different views of things, and that is a view I hadn't thought of. Is
that what you intend to do?"

"No," said Edna, "I do not intend to do anything. All I wish is to hold
myself in such a position that I can act when the time comes to act."

Ralph took the whole matter to bed with him in order to think over it. He
did a great deal more sleeping than thinking, but in the morning he told
Edna he believed she was right.

"But one thing is certain," he said: "even if that heathen marriage
should not be considered legal, it was a solemn ceremony of engagement,
and nobody can deny that. It was something like a caveat which people get
before a regular patent is issued for an invention, and if you want him
to do it, he should stand up and do it; but if you don't, that's your
business. But let me give you a piece of advice: wherever you go and
whatever you do, until this matter is settled, be sure to carry around
that two-legged marriage certificate called Cheditafa. He can speak a
good deal of English now, if there should be any dispute."

"Dispute!" cried Edna, indignantly. "What are you thinking of? Do you
suppose I would insist or dispute in such a matter? I thought you knew me
better than that."

Ralph sighed. "If you could understand how dreadfully hard it is to know
you," he said, "you wouldn't be so severe on a poor fellow if he happened
to make a mistake now and then."

When Mrs. Cliff found that Edna had determined upon her course, she
ceased her opposition, and tried, good woman as she was, to take as
satisfactory a view of the matter as she could find reason for.

"It would be a little rough," she said, "if your friends were to meet you
as Mrs. Horn, and you would be obliged to answer questions. I have had
experience in that sort of thing. And looking at it in that light, I
don't know but what you are right, Edna, in defending yourself against
questions until you are justified in answering them. To have to admit
that you are not Mrs. Horn after you had said you were, would be
dreadful, of course. But the other would be all plain sailing. You would
go and be married properly, and that would be the end of it. And even if
you were obliged to assert your claims as his widow, there would be no
objection to saying that there had been reasons for not announcing the
marriage. But there is another thing. How are you going to explain your
prosperous condition to your friends? When I was in Plainton, I thought
of you as so much better off than myself in this respect, for over here
there would be no one to pry into your affairs. I did not know you had
friends in Paris."

"All that need not trouble me in the least," said Edna. "When I went to
school with Edith Southall, who is now Mrs. Sylvester, my father was in a
very good business, and we lived handsomely. It was not until I was
nearly grown up that he failed and died, and then Ralph and I went to
Cincinnati, and my life of hard work began. So you see there is no reason
why my friends in Paris should ask any questions, or I should make
explanations."

"I wish it were that way in Plainton," said Mrs. Cliff, with a sigh. "I
would go back there the moment another ship started from France."

So it was Miss Edna Markham of New York who took apartments at the Hotel
Boileau, and it was she who called upon the wife of the American
secretary of legation.




CHAPTER XXXI

WAITING


For several weeks after their arrival, the members of the little party
had but one common object,--to see and enjoy the wonders and beauties of
Paris,--and in their sight-seeing they nearly always went together,
sometimes taking Cheditafa and Mok with them. But as time went on, their
different dispositions began to assert themselves, and in their daily
pursuits they gradually drifted apart.

Mrs. Cliff was not a cultivated woman, but she had a good, common-sense
appreciation of art in its various forms. She would tramp with untiring
step through the galleries of the Louvre, but when she had seen a
gallery, she did not care to visit it again. She went to the theatre and
the opera because she wanted to see how they acted and sang in France,
but she did not wish to go often to a place where she could not
understand a word that was spoken.

Ralph was now under the charge of a tutor, Professor BarrГ© by name, who
took a great interest in this American boy, whose travels and experiences
had given him a precocity which the professor had never met with in any
of his other scholars. Ralph would have much preferred to study Paris
instead of books, and the professor, who was able to give a great deal of
time to his pupil, did not altogether ignore this natural instinct of a
youthful heart. In consequence, the two became very good friends, and
Ralph was the best-satisfied member of the party.

It was in regard to social affairs that the lives of Edna and Mrs. Cliff
diverged most frequently. Through the influence of Mrs. Sylvester, a
handsome woman with a vivacious intelligence which would have made her
conspicuous in any society, Edna found that social engagements, not only
in diplomatic circles and in those of the American colony, but, to some
extent, in Parisian society, were coming upon her much more rapidly than
she had expected. The secretary's wife was proud of her countrywoman, and
glad to bring her forward in social functions. Into this new life Edna
entered as if it had been a gallery she had not yet visited, or a museum
which she saw for the first time. She studied it, and enjoyed the study.

But only in a limited degree did Mrs. Cliff enjoy society in Paris. To be
sure, it was only in a limited degree that she had been asked to do it.
Even with a well-filled purse and all the advantages of Paris at her
command, she was nothing more than a plain and highly respectable woman
from a country town in Maine. More than this silks and velvets could not
make her, and more than this she did not wish to be. As Edna's friend and
companion, she had been kindly received at the legation, but after
attending two or three large gatherings, she concluded that she would
wait until her return to Plainton before she entered upon any further
social exercises. But she was not at all dissatisfied or homesick. She
preferred Plainton to all places in the world, but that little town
should not see her again until she could exhibit her Californian blankets
to her friends, and tell them where she got the money to buy them.

"Blankets!" she said to herself. "I am afraid they will hardly notice
them when they see the other things I shall take back there."

With society, especially such society as she could not enjoy, Mrs. Cliff
could easily dispense. So long as the shops of Paris were open to her,
the delights of these wonderful marts satisfied the utmost cravings of
her heart; and as she had a fine mind for bargaining, and plenty of time
on her hands, she was gradually accumulating a well-chosen stock of
furnishings and adornments, not only for her present house in Plainton,
but for the large and handsome addition to it which she intended to build
on an adjoining lot. These schemes for establishing herself in Plainton,
as a wealthy citizen, did not depend on the success of Captain Horn's
present expedition. What Mrs. Cliff already possessed was a fortune
sufficient for the life she desired to lead in her native town. What she
was waiting for was the privilege of going back and making that fortune
known. As to the increase of her fortune she had but small belief. If it
should come, she might change her plans, but the claims of the native
Peruvians should not be forgotten. Even if the present period of secrecy
should be terminated by the news of the non-success of Captain Horn, she
intended to include, among her expenses, a periodical remittance to some
charitable association in Peru for the benefit of the natives.

The Christmas holidays passed, January was half gone, and Edna had
received no news from Captain Horn. She had hoped that before leaving
South. America and beginning his long voyage across the Atlantic, he
would touch at some port from which he might send her a letter, which,
coming by steamer, would reach her before she could expect the arrival of
the brig. But no letter had come. She had arranged with a commercial
agency to telegraph to her the moment the Miranda should arrive in any
French port, but no message had come, and no matter what else she was
doing, it seemed to Edna as if she were always expecting such a message.
Sometimes she thought that this long delay must mean disaster, and at
such times she immediately set to work to reason out the matter. From
Acapulco to Cape Horn, up through the South Atlantic and the North
Atlantic to France, was a long voyage for a sailing-vessel, and to the
time necessary for this she must add days, and perhaps weeks, of labor at
the caves, besides all sorts of delays on the voyage. Like Ralph, she had
an unbounded faith in the captain. He might not bring her one bar of
gold, he might meet with all sorts of disasters, but, whenever her mind
was in a healthy condition, she expected him to come to France, as he had
said he would.

She now began to feel that she was losing a great deal of time. Paris was
all very well, but it was not everything. When news should come to her,
it might be necessary for her to go to America. She could not tell what
would be necessary, and she might have to leave Europe with nothing but
Paris to remember. There was no good objection to travel on the
Continent, for, if the _Miranda_ should arrive while she was not in
Paris, she would not be so far away that a telegram could not quickly
bring her back. So she listened to Mrs. Cliff and her own desires, and
the party journeyed to Italy, by the way of Geneva and Bern.

Ralph was delighted with the change, for Professor BarrГ©, his tutor, had
consented to go with them, and, during these happy days in Italy, he was
the preceptor of the whole party. They went to but few places that he had
not visited before, and they saw but little that he could not talk about
to their advantage. But, no matter what they did, every day Edna expected
a message, and every day, except Sunday, she went to the banker's to look
over the maritime news in the newspapers, and she so arranged her affairs
that she could start for France at an hour's notice.

But although Edna had greatly enjoyed the Italian journey, it came to an
end at last, and it was with feelings of satisfaction that she settled
down again in Paris. Here she was in the centre of things, ready for
news, ready for arrivals, ready to go anywhere or do anything that might
be necessary, and, more than that, there was a delightful consciousness
that she had seen something of Switzerland and Italy, and without having
missed a telegram by being away.

The party did not return to the Hotel Boileau. Edna now had a much
better idea of the Continental menage than she had brought with her from
America, and she believed that she had not been living up to the
standard that Captain Horn had desired. She wished in every way to
conform to his requests, and one of these had been that she should
consider the money he had sent her as income, and not as property. It
was hard for her to fulfil this injunction, for her mind was as
practical as that of Mrs. Cliff, and she could not help considering the
future, and the probability of never receiving an addition to the funds
she now had on deposit in London and Paris. But her loyalty to the man
who had put her into possession of that money was superior to her
feelings of prudence and thrift. When he came to Paris, he should find
her living as he wanted her to live. It was not necessary to spend all
she had, but, whether he came back poor or rich, he should see that she
had believed in him and in his success.

The feeling of possible disaster had almost left her. The fears that had
come to her had caused her to reason upon the matter, and the more she
reasoned, the better she convinced herself that a long period of waiting
without news was to be expected in the case of an adventure such as that
in which Captain Horn was engaged. There was, perhaps, another reason for
her present state of mind--a reason which she did not recognize: she had
become accustomed to waiting.

It was at a grand hotel that the party now established themselves, the
space, the plate-glass, the gilt, and the general splendor of which made
Ralph exclaim in wonder and admiration.

"You would better look out, Edna," said he, "or it will not be long
before we find ourselves living over in the Latin Quarter, and taking our
meals at a restaurant where you pay a sou for the use of the napkins."

Edna's disposition demanded that her mode of life should not be
ostentatious, but she conformed in many ways to the style of her hotel.
There were returns of hospitality. There was a liveried coachman when
they drove. There was a general freshening of wardrobes, and even
Cheditafa and Mok had new clothes, designed by an artist to suit their
positions.

If Captain Horn should come to Paris, he should not find that she had
doubted his success, or him.

After the return from Italy, Mrs. Cliff began to chafe and worry under
her restrictions. She had obtained from Europe all she wanted at present,
and there was so much, in Plainton she was missing. Oh, if she could only
go there and avow her financial condition! She lay awake at night,
thinking of the opportunities that were slipping from her. From the
letters that Willy Croup wrote her, she knew that people were coming to
the front in Plainton who ought to be on the back seats, and that she,
who could occupy, if she chose, the best place, was thought of only as a
poor widow who was companion to a lady who was travelling. It made her
grind her teeth to think of the way that Miss Shott was talking of her,
and it was not long before she made up her mind that she ought to speak
to Edna on the subject, and she did so.

"Go home!" exclaimed the latter. "Why, Mrs. Cliff, that would be
impossible just now. You could not go to Plainton without letting people
know where you got your money."

"Of course I couldn't," said Mrs. Cliff, "and I wouldn't. There have
been times when I have yearned so much for my home that I thought it
might be possible for me to go there and say that the Valparaiso affair
had turned out splendidly, and that was how I got my money. But I
couldn't do it. I could not stand up before my minister and offer to
refurnish the parsonage parlor, with such a lie as that on my lips. But
there is no use in keeping back the real truth any longer. It is more
than eight months since Captain Horn started out for that treasure, and
it is perfectly reasonable to suppose either that he has got it; or that
he never will get it, and in either one of these cases it will not do
any injury to anybody if we let people know about the money we have, and
where it came from."

"But it may do very great injury," said Edna. "Captain Horn may have been
able to take away only a part of it, and may now be engaged in getting
the rest. There are many things which may have happened, and if we should
now speak of that treasure, it might ruin all his plans."

"If he has half of it," said Mrs. Cliff, "he ought to be satisfied with
that, and not keep us here on pins and needles until he gets the rest. Of
course, I do not want to say anything that would pain you, Edna, and I
won't do it, but people can't help thinking, and I think that we have
waited as long as our consciences have any right to ask us to wait."

"I know what you mean," replied Edna, "but it does not give me pain. I do
not believe that Captain Horn has perished, and I certainly expect soon
to hear from him."

"You have been expecting that a long time," said the other.

"Yes, and I shall expect it for a good while yet. I have made up my mind
that I shall not give up my belief that Captain Horn is alive, and will
come or write to us, until we have positive news of his death, or until
one year has passed since he left Acapulco. Considering what he has done
for us, Mrs. Cliff, I think it very little for us to wait one year before
we betray the trust he has placed in us, and, merely for the sake of
carrying out our own plans a little sooner, utterly ruin the plans he has
made, and which he intends as much for our benefit as for his own."

Mrs. Cliff said no more, but she thought that was all very well for Edna,
who was enjoying herself in a way that suited her, but it was very
different for her.

In her heart of hearts, Mrs. Cliff now believed they would never see
Captain Horn again. "For if he were alive," she said to herself, "he
would certainly have contrived in some way or other to send some sort of
a message. With the whole world covered with post routes and
telegraph-wires, it would be simply impossible for Captain Horn and those
two sailors to keep absolutely silent and unheard of for such a long
time--unless," she continued, hesitating even in her thoughts, "they
don't want to be heard from." But the good lady would not allow her mind
to dwell on that proposition; it was too dreadful!

And so Edna waited and waited, hoping day by day for good news from
Captain Horn; and so Mrs. Cliff waited and waited, hoping for news from
Captain Horn--good news, if possible, but in any case something certain
and definite, something that would make them know what sort of life they
were to lead in this world, and make them free to go and live it.




CHAPTER XXXII

A MARINER'S WITS TAKE A LITTLE FLIGHT


When Captain Horn, in the brig _Miranda_, with the American sailors Burke
and Shirley, and the four negroes, left Acapulco on the 16th of
September, he might have been said to have sailed "in ballast," as the
only cargo he carried was a large number of coffee-bags. He had cleared
for Rio Janeiro, at which port he intended to touch and take on board a
small cargo of coffee, deeming it better to arrive in France with
something more than the auriferous mineral matter with which he hoped to
replace a large portion of discarded ballast. The unusual cargo of empty
coffee-bags was looked upon by the customs officials as a bit of Yankee
thrift, it being likely enough that the captain could obtain coffee-bags
in Mexico much cheaper than in Rio Janeiro.

The voyage to the Peruvian coast was a slow one, the _Miranda_ proving to
be anything but a clipper, and the winds were seldom in her favor. But at
last she rounded Aguja Point, and the captain shaped his course toward
the coast and the Rackbirds' cove, the exact position of which was now
dotted on his chart.

A little after noon on a quiet October day, they drew near enough to
land to recognize the coast-line and the various landmarks of the
locality. The negroes were filled with surprise, and afterwards with
fright, for they had had no idea that they were going near the scene of
their former horrible captivity. From time to time, they had debated
among themselves the intentions of Captain Horn in regard to them, and
now the idea seized them that perhaps he was going to leave them where he
had found them. But, through Maka, who at first was as much frightened as
the rest, the captain succeeded in assuring them that he was merely going
to stop as near as possible to the cave where he had stayed so long, to
get some of his property which it had been impossible to take away when
the rest of the party left. Maka had great confidence in the captain's
word, and he was able to infuse a good deal of this into the minds of the
three other negroes.

Captain Horn had been in considerable doubt in regard to the best method
of shipping the treasure; should he be so fortunate as to find it as he
had left it. The cove was a quiet harbor in which the small boats could
easily ply between the vessel and the shore, but, in this case, the gold
must be carried by tedious journeys along the beach. On the other hand,
if the brig lay too near the entrance to the caves, the treasure-laden
boats must be launched through the surf, and, in case of high seas, this
operation might be hazardous; consequently, he determined to anchor in
the Rackbirds' cove and submit to the delay and inconvenience of the
land transportation of the gold.

When the captain and Shirley went ashore in a boat, nothing was seen to
indicate that any one had visited the spot since the last cargo of guano
had been shipped. This was a relief, but when the captain had wandered
through the place, and even examined the storehouse of the Rackbirds, he
found, to his regret, that it was too late for him to visit the caves
that day. This was the occasion of a night of wakefulness and
unreasonable anxiety--unreasonable, as the captain assured himself over
and over again, but still impossible to dissipate. No man who has spent
weeks in pursuit of a royal treasure, in a vessel that at times seemed
hardly to creep, could fail to be anxious and excited when he is
compelled to pause within a few miles of that treasure.

But early in the morning the captain started for the caves. He took with
him Shirley and Maka, leaving the brig in charge of Burke. The captain
placed great confidence in Shirley, who was a quiet, steady man. In fact,
he trusted every one on the ship, for there was nothing else to do. If
any of them should prove false to him, he hoped to be able to defend
himself against them, and it would be more than foolish to trouble his
mind with apprehensions until there should be some reason for them. But
there was a danger to be considered, quite different from the criminal
cupidity which might be provoked by companionship with the heap of gold,
and this was the spirit of angry disappointment which might be looked for
should no heap of gold be found. At the moment of such possible
disappointment, the captain wanted to have with him a man not given to
suspicions and resentments.

In fact, the captain thought, as the little party strode along the
beach, that if he should find the mound empty,--and he could not drive
from his mind that once he had found it uncovered,--he wished to have
with him some one who would back him up a little in case he should lower
his lantern into a goldless void.

As they walked up the plateau in the path worn principally by his own
feet, and the captain beheld the great stone face against the wall of
rock, his mind became quieter. He slackened his pace, and even began to
concoct some suitable remarks to make to Shirley in case of evil fortune.

Shirley looked about him with great interest. He had left the place
before the great stone face had been revealed by the burning of the
vines, and he would have been glad to stop for a minute and examine it.
But although Captain Horn had convinced himself that he was in no hurry,
he could not allow delay. Lighting a lantern, they went through the
passageway and entered the great cave of the lake, leaving Maka rummaging
around with eager delight through the rocky apartments where he had once
been a member of a domestic household.

When they reached the mound, the captain handed his lantern to Shirley,
telling him to hold it high, and quickly clambered to the top.

"Good!" he exclaimed. "The lid is just as I left it. Come up!"

In a moment Shirley was at his side, and the captain with his
pocket-knife began to pick out the oakum which he had packed around the
edges of the lid, for otherwise it would have been impossible for him to
move it. Then he stood up and raised the lid, putting it to one side.

"Give me the lantern!" he shouted, and, stooping, lie lowered it and
looked in. The gold in the mound was exactly as he had left it.

"Hurrah!" he cried. "Now you take a look!" And he handed the lantern to
his companion.

Shirley crawled a little nearer the opening and looked into it, then
lowered the lantern and put his head down so that it almost disappeared.
He remained in this position for nearly a minute, and the captain gazed
at him with a beaming face. His whole system, relieved from the
straining bonds of doubt and fear and hope, was basking in a flood of
ecstatic content.

Suddenly Shirley began to swear. He was not a profane man, and seldom
swore, but now the oaths rolled from him in a manner that startled
the captain.

"Get up," said he. "Haven't you seen enough?"

Shirley raised his head, but still kept his eyes on the treasure beneath
him, and swore worse than before. The captain was shocked.

"What is the matter with you?" said he. "Give me the lantern. I don't see
anything to swear at."

Shirley did not hand him the lantern, but the captain took it from him,
and then he saw that the man was very pale.

"Look out!" he cried. "You'll slip down and break your bones."

In fact, Shirley's strength seemed to have forsaken him, and he was on
the point of either slipping down the side of the mound or tumbling into
the open cavity. The captain put down the lantern and moved quickly to
his side, and, with some difficulty, managed to get him safely to the
ground. He seated him with his back against the mound, and then, while he
was unscrewing the top of a whiskey flask, Shirley began to swear again
in a most violent and rapid way.

"He has gone mad," thought the captain. "The sight of all that gold has
crazed him."

"Stop that," he said to the other, "and take a drink."

Shirley broke off a string of oaths in the middle, and took a pull at the
flask. This was of service to him, for he sat quiet for a minute or two,
during which time the captain brought down the lantern. Looking up at
him, Shirley said in a weak voice:

"Captain, is what I saw all so?"

"Yes," was the reply, "it's all so."

"Then," said the other, "help me out of this. I want to get out into
common air."

The captain raised Shirley to his feet, and, with the lantern in one
hand, he assisted him to walk. But it was not easy. The man appeared to
take no interest in his movements, and staggered and leaned upon the
captain as if he were drunk.

As soon as they came out of the utter darkness and had reached the
lighter part of the cave, the captain let Shirley sit down, and
went for Maka.

"The first mate has been taken sick," said he to the negro, "and you must
come help me get him out into the open air."

When the negro saw Shirley in a state of semi-collapse, he began to
tremble from head to foot, but he obeyed orders, and, with a great deal
of trouble, the two got the sailor outside of the caves and gave him
another drink of whiskey.

Maka had his own ideas about this affair. There was no use telling him
Mr. Shirley was sick--at least, that he was afflicted by any common
ailment. He and his fellows knew very well that there were devils back
in the blackness of that cave, and if the captain did not mind them, it
was because they were taking care of the property, whatever it was,
that he kept back here, and for which he had now returned. With what
that property was, and how it happened to be there, the mind of the
negro did not concern itself. Of course, it must be valuable, or the
captain would not have come to get it, but that was his business. He
had taken the first mate into that darkness, and the sight of the
devils had nearly killed him, and now the negro's mind was filled with
but one idea, and that was that the captain might take him in there and
make him see devils.

After a time Shirley felt very much better, and able to walk.

"Now, captain," said he, "I am all right, but I tell you what we must do:
I'll go to the ship, and I'll take charge of her, and I'll do whatever
has got to be done on shore. Yes, and, what's more, I'll help do the
carrying part of the business,--it would be mean to sneak out of
that,--and I'll shoulder any sort of a load that's put out on the sand in
the daylight. But, captain, I don't want to do anything to make me look
into that hole. I can't stand it, and that is the long and short of it. I
am sorry that Maka saw me in such a plight--it's bad for discipline; but
it can't be helped."

"Never mind," cried the captain, whose high spirits would have overlooked
almost anything at that moment. "Come, let us go back and have our
breakfast. That will set you up, and I won't ask you to go into the caves
again, if you don't want to."

"Don't let's talk about it," said Shirley, setting off. "I'd rather get
my mind down to marlin-spikes and bilge-water."

As the captain walked back to the cove, he said to himself:

"I expect it struck Shirley harder than it did the rest of us because
he knew what he was looking at, and the first time we saw it we were
not sure it was gold, as it might have been brass. But Shirley knew,
for he had already had a lot of those bars, and had turned them into
money. By George! I don't wonder that a poor fellow who had struggled
for life with a small bag of that gold was knocked over when he saw a
wagon-load of it."

Maka, closely following the others, had listened with eagerness to what
had been said, and had been struck with additional horror when he heard
Shirley request that he might not again be asked to look into that hole.
Suddenly the captain and Shirley were startled by a deep groan behind
them, and, turning, saw the negro sitting upon the sand, his knees drawn
up to his face, and groaning grievously.

"What's the matter?" cried the captain.

"I sick," said Maka. "Sick same as Mr. Shirley."

"Get up and come along," said the captain, laughing. He saw that
something was really ailing the black fellow, for he trembled from head
to foot, and his face had the hue of a black horse recently clipped. But
he thought it best not to treat the matter seriously. "Come along," said
he. "I am not going to give you any whiskey." And then, struck by a
sudden thought, he asked, "Are you afraid that you have got to go into
that cave?"

"Yes, sir," said Maka, who had risen to his feet. "It make me pretty near
die dead to think that."

"Well, don't die any more," said the captain. "You sha'n't go anywhere
that you have not been before."

The pupils of Maka's eyes, which had been turned up nearly out of sight,
were now lowered. "All right, cap'n," said he. "I lot better now."

This little incident was not unpleasant to the captain. If the negroes
were afraid to go into the blackness of the caves, it would make fewer
complications in this matter.




CHAPTER XXXIII

THE "MIRANDA" TAKES IN CARGO


The next day the work of removing the treasure from the caves to the
vessel began in good earnest. The Miranda was anchored not far from the
little pier, which was found in good order, and Shirley, with one negro,
was left on board, while the captain and Burke took the three others,
loaded with coffee-bags, to the caves.

For the benefit of the minds of the black men, the captain had instructed
Maka to assure them that they would not be obliged to go anywhere where
it was really dark. But it was difficult to decide how to talk to Burke.
This man was quite different from Shirley. He was smaller, but stout and
strong, with a dark complexion, and rather given to talk. The captain
liked him well enough, his principal objection to him being that he was
rather too willing to give advice. But, whatever might be the effect of
the treasure on Burke, the captain determined that he should not be
surprised by it. He had tried that on Shirley, and did not want to try it
again on anybody. So he conversed freely about the treasure and the
mound, and, as far as possible, described its appearance and contents.
But he need not have troubled himself about the effect of the sight of a
wagon-load of gold upon Burke's mind. He was glad to see it, and whistled
cheerfully as he looked down into the mound.

"How far do you think it goes down?" said he to the captain.

"Don't know," was the reply. "We can't tell anything about that until we
get it out."

"All right," said Burke. "The quicker we do it, the better."

The captain got into the mound with a lantern, for the gold was now too
low for him to reach it from above, and having put as many bars into a
coffee-bag as a man could carry, he passed it up to Burke, who slid it
down to the floor, where another lantern had been left. When five bags
had been made ready, the captain came out, and he and Burke put each bag
into another, and these were tied up firmly at each end, for a single
coffee-bag was not considered strong enough to hold the weighty
treasure. Then the two carried the bags into the part of the cave which
was lighted by the great fissure, and called the negroes. Then, each
taking a bag on his shoulder, the party returned to the cove. On the
next trip, Shirley decided to go with the captain, for he said he did
not care for anything if he did not have to look down into the mound,
for that was sure to make him dizzy. Maka's place was taken by the negro
who had been previously left in the vessel. Day by day the work went on,
but whoever might be relieved, and whatever arrangements might be made,
the captain always got into the mound and handed out the gold. Whatever
discovery should be made when the bottom of the deposit was reached, he
wanted to be there to make it.

The operations were conducted openly, and without any attempt at secrecy
or concealment. The lid of the mound was not replaced when they left it,
and the bags of gold were laid on the pier until it was convenient to
take them to the vessel. When they were put on board, they were lowered
into the hold, and took the place of a proportionate amount of ballast,
which was thrown out.

All the negroes now spoke and understood a little English. They might
think that those bags were filled with gold, or they might think that
they contained a mineral substance, useful for fertilizer; but if by
questioning or by accidental information they found out what was the load
under which they toiled along the beach, the captain was content. There
was no reason why he should fear these men more than he feared Burke and
Shirley. All of them were necessary to him, and he must trust them.
Several times when he was crouched down in the interior of the mound,
filling a bag with gold, he thought how easy it would be for one of the
sailors to shoot him from above, and for them, or perhaps only one of
them, to become the owner of all that treasure. But then, he could be
shot in one place almost as well as in another, and if the negroes should
be seized with the gold fever, and try to cut white throats at midnight,
they would be more likely to attempt it after the treasure had been
secured and the ship had sailed than now. In any case, nothing could be
gained by making them feel that they were suspected and distrusted.
Therefore it was that when, one day, Maka said to the captain that the
little stones in the bags had begun to make his shoulder tender, the
captain showed him how to fold an empty sack and put it between the bags
and his back, and then also told him that what he carried was not stones,
but lumps of gold.