t the entire profit of the transaction was yet to come; viz., by the
sale of the gold dust.

"Then sell it," said Wylie.

"I dare not. The affair must cool down before I can appear as a seller of
gold; and even then I must dribble it out with great caution. Thank
Heaven, it is no longer in those cellars."

"Where is it, then?"

"That is my secret. You will get your two thousand all in good time; and,
if it makes you one-tenth part as wretched as it has made me, you will
thank me for all these delays."

At last Wylie lost all patience, and began to show his teeth; and then
Arthur Wardlaw paid him his two thousand pounds in forty crisp notes.

He crammed them into a side pocket, and went down triumphant to Nancy
Rouse. Through her parlor window he saw the benign countenance of Michael
Penfold. He then remembered that Penfold had told him some time before
that he was going to lodge with her as soon as the present lodger should
go.

This, however, rather interrupted Wylie's design of walking in and
chucking the two thousand pounds into Nancy's lap. On the contrary, he
shoved them deeper down in his pocket, and resolved to see the old
gentleman to bed, and then produce his pelf, and fix the wedding-day with
Nancy.

He came in and found her crying, and Penfold making weak efforts to
console her. The tea-things were on the table, and Nancy 's cup half
emptied.

Wylie came in, and said, "Why, what is the matter now?"

He said this mighty cheerfully, as one who carried the panacea for all
ills in his pocket, and a medicine peculiarly suited to Nancy Rouse's
constitution. But he had not quite fathomed her yet.

As soon as ever she saw him she wiped her eyes, and asked him, grimly,
what he wanted there. Wylie stared at the reception; but replied stoutly,
that it was pretty well known by this time what he wanted in that
quarter.

"Well, then," said Nancy, "Want will be your master. Why did you never
tell me Miss Helen was in that ship? my sweet, dear mistress as was, that
I feel for like a mother. You left her to drown, and saved your own great
useless carcass, and drowned she is, poor dear. Get out o' my sight, do."

"It wasn't my fault, Nancy," said Wylie, earnestly. "I didn't know who
she was, and I advised her to come with us; but she would go with that
parson chap."

"What parson chap? What a liar you be! She is Wardlaw's sweetheart, and
don't care for no parsons. If you didn't know you was to blame, why
did