lady's
voice arrested me.

"Martin, are you there? Are you safe?"

"Indeed!" says I. "And, Damaris, I have found you treasure beyond
price."

"O Martin, is it Bartlemy's treasure--the jewels?"

"Better than that a thousand times. I have found you a real
cooking-pot!"

"O wonderful! Show me! Nay, let me see for myself. Come and aid me
up, Martin."

Setting down my candle I crawled back where she stood all eager
impatience, and clasping her hands in mine, drew her up and on hands
and knees brought her into the cave.

"Here's a goodly place, comrade!" says I.

"Yes, Martin."

"With a ladder to come and go by, this should make you a noble
bedchamber."

"Never!" says she. "O never!"

"And wherefore not?"

"First because I like my little cave best, and second because this is
too much like a dungeon, and third because I like it not--and hark!"
and indeed as we spoke the echoes hissed and whispered all about us.

"Why, 'tis airy and very dry!"

"And very dark by day, Martin."

"True enough! Still 'tis a wondrous place--"

"O very, Martin, only I like it not at all."

"Why then, the bed, the bed should serve you handsomely."

"No!" says she, mighty vehement. "You shall make me a better an you
will, or I will do with my bed of fern."

"Well then, this pot--here is noble iron pot for you, at least!"

"Why yes," says she, smiling to see me all chapfallen, "'tis indeed a
very good pot, let us bring it away with us, though indeed I could do
very well without it."

"Lord!" says I gloomily. "Here have I found you all these goodly
things, not to mention chair and table, thinking to please you and
instead--"

"I know, Martin, forgive me, but I love not the place nor anything in
it. I am very foolish belike, but so it is." And here she must needs
shiver. "As to these things, the bed, the chair and table and the
shelves yonder, why you can contrive better in time, Martin; and by
your thought and labour they will be doubly ours, made by you for our
two selves and used by none but us."

"True," says I, greatly mollified, "but this pot now, I can never make
you so brave a pot as this."

"Why, very well, Martin," says she smiling at my earnestness, "bring it
and let us begone." So I reached down the pot and espied therein a
long-barrelled pistol; whipping it out, I blew off the dust and saw
'twas primed and loaded and with flint in place albeit very rusty. I
was yet staring at this when my lad