ck and padlock and a handle at each end, all carved as
things were carved in that age, when art rendered the commonest metals
precious. John seized the handles and strove to lift the box; but it was
impossible.

"What can it contain, that is so heavy?" he thought. He sought to open
it; but lock and padlock were closed, and these faithful guardians
seemed unwilling to surrender their trust. Stevens inserted the sharp
end of the crowbar between the box and the lid and, bearing down with
all his strength, burst open the fastenings. Hinges and lock yielded in
their turn, holding in their grasp fragments of the boards, and with a
crash he threw off the lid, and all was open.

John Stevens found a tanned fawn-skin spread as a covering over the
contents and he tore it off. He started up with a yell and closed his
eyes involuntarily. Then he opened them and stood motionless with
amazement.

Three compartments divided the coffer. In the first blazed piles of
golden coin. In the second bars of unpolished gold were ranged. In the
third lay countless fortunes of diamonds, pearls and rubies, into which
he dived his hands as eagerly as a starving man would plunge into food.

After having touched, felt and examined these treasures, John Stevens
rushed through the ship like a madman. He leaped upon the deck, from
whence he could behold the sea. He was alone. Alone with this
countless--this unheard-of wealth. Was he awake, or was it but a dream?
Before him lay the treasures torn from Mexico, Darien and Peru. They
were his--he was alone.

Alas, he was alone! What use would those millions be to him on this
island? The reaction came, and, falling on his knees, he cried:

"O God, why is such a fate mine?"

Hours afterward he recovered enough to remove the gold and jewels from
the treasure ship to his home on the island. With more jewels than a
king, he lived the lonely life of a hermit and a pauper, dreading to
die, lest the vultures pluck out his eyes.

CHAPTER XV.

THE ANGEL OF DELIVERANCE.

Strange that when nature loved to trace
As if for God a dwelling place,
And every charm of grace hath mixed
Within the paradise she fixed,
There man, enamoured of distress,
Should mar it into wilderness.
--BYRON.

On the restoration of monarchy in England, in 1660, the Connecticut
colonists entertained serious fears regarding the future. Their sturdy
republicanis