le. Equilibrium, however, was
restored by the addition of a pennyweight and five grains to the opposite
side. He stood, head thrown back, transfixed. The sack was empty, but
the potentiality of the scales had become immeasurable. Upon them he
could weigh any amount, from the tiniest grain to pounds upon pounds.
Mammon laid hot fingers on his heart. The sun swung on its westering way
till it flashed through the open doorway, full upon the yellow-burdened
scales. The precious heaps, like the golden breasts of a bronze
Cleopatra, flung back the light in a mellow glow. Time and space were
not.

"Gawd blime me! but you 'ave the makin' of several quid there, 'aven't
you?"

Jacob Kent wheeled about, at the same time reaching for his
double-barrelled shotgun, which stood handy. But when his eyes lit on
the intruder's face, he staggered back dizzily. _It was the face of the
Man with the Gash_!

The man looked at him curiously.

"Oh, that's all right," he said, waving his hand deprecatingly. "You
needn't think as I'll 'arm you or your blasted dust.

"You're a rum 'un, you are," he added reflectively, as he watched the
sweat pouring from off Kent's face and the quavering of his knees.

"W'y don't you pipe up an' say somethin'?" he went on, as the other
struggled for breath. "Wot's gone wrong o' your gaff? Anythink the
matter?"

"W--w--where'd you get it?" Kent at last managed to articulate, raising a
shaking forefinger to the ghastly scar which seamed the other's cheek.

"Shipmate stove me down with a marlin-spike from the main-royal. An' now
as you 'ave your figger'ead in trim, wot I want to know is, wot's it to
you? That's wot I want to know--wot's it to you? Gawd blime me! do it
'urt you? Ain't it smug enough for the likes o' you? That's wot I want
to know!"

"No, no," Kent answered, sinking upon a stool with a sickly grin. "I was
just wondering."

"Did you ever see the like?" the other went on truculently.

"No."

"Ain't it a beute?"

"Yes." Kent nodded his head approvingly, intent on humoring this strange
visitor, but wholly unprepared for the outburst which was to follow his
effort to be agreeable.

"You blasted, bloomin', burgoo-eatin' son-of-a-sea-swab! Wot do you
mean, a sayin' the most onsightly thing Gawd Almighty ever put on the
face o' man is a beute? Wot do you mean, you--"

And thereat this fiery son of the sea broke off into a string of Oriental
profanity, mingling gods and