."

"I know, I know, and that is the pity of it. The trouble between man and
woman is that not in one case out of a million, even if they be lovers,
do they understand each other. Their eyes may seek one another, their
hands and lips may meet, and yet they remain distinct, apart, and often
antagonistic. There is no communication of the soul. But when it chances
to be hewn from the same rock as it were--oh! then what happiness may be
theirs, and what opportunities!"

"Possibly, Mr. Meyer; but, to be frank, the question does not interest
me."

"Not yet; but I am sure that one day it will. Meanwhile, I owe you an
apology. I lost my temper before you last night. Well, do not judge me
hardly, for I was utterly worn out, and that old idiot vexed me with his
talk about ghosts, in which I do not believe."

"Then why did it make you so angry? Surely you could have afforded to
treat it with contempt, instead of doing--as you did."

"Upon my word! I don't know, but I suppose most of us are afraid lest we
should be forced to accept that which we refuse. This ancient place gets
upon the nerves, Miss Clifford; yours as well as mine. I can afford
to be open about it, because I know that you know. Think of its
associations: all the crime that has been committed here for ages and
ages, all the suffering that has been endured here. Doubtless human
sacrifices were offered in this cave or outside of it; that great burnt
ring in the rock there may have been where they built the fires. And
then those Portuguese starving to death, slowly starving to death while
thousands of savages watched them die. Have you ever thought what it
means? But of course you have, for like myself you are cursed with
imagination. God in heaven! is it wonderful that it gets upon the
nerves? especially when one cannot find what one is looking for, that
vast treasure"--and his face became ecstatic--"that shall yet be yours
and mine, and make us great and happy."

"But which at present only makes me a scullery-maid and most unhappy,"
replied Benita cheerfully, for she heard her father's footstep. "Don't
talk any more of the treasure, Mr. Meyer, or we shall quarrel. We have
enough of that during business hours, when we are hunting for it, you
know. Give me the dish, will you? This meat is cooked at last."

Still Benita could not be rid of that treasure, since after breakfast
the endless, unprofitable search began again. Once more the cave was
sounded, and other