here's the confounded box," tapping with his cane the old chest that
lay on the top shelf.

"I see, sir," said Mr. James, taking his cue.

"And as for its contents, the firm of James Bowdoin's Sons are
responsible. Perhaps you'd like to poke your nose in there?"

"Oh no, sir," said Mr. James. And that chest was never opened by
James Bowdoin or James Bowdoin's Sons.

"When the pirate wants it, he can have it,--in hell or elsewhere,"
ended Mr. Bowdoin profanely.

But coming out, and after Mr. James had gone away, the old gentleman
went to Jamie McMurtagh's desk. Poor Jamie had seen them enter the
vault, and his heart stood still. But all Mr. Bowdoin said was to ask
him if his salary was sufficient. For once in his life the poor old
man had failed to meet his benefactor's eye.

"It is quite enough, sir. I--I deserve no more."

But Mr. Bowdoin was not satisfied. "Jamie," he said, "if you should
ever need more money,--a good deal of money, I mean,--you will come to
me, won't you? You could secure it by a policy on your life, you
know."

Jamie's voice broke. "I have no need of money, sir."

"And Mercedes? How is she?"

"It is some time since I heard, sir; the last was, she had gone with
her husband to Havana."

"Havana!" shouted Mr. Bowdoin; and before Jamie could explain he had
crushed his beaver on his head and rushed from the bank.

Jamie's head sank over the desk, and the tears came. If only this cup
could pass from him! If Heaven would pardon this one deceit in all his
darkened, upright life, and let him restore the one trust he had
broken, before he died! And then he dried his eyes, and took to
figuring,--figuring over again, as he had so often done before, the
time needed, at the present rate, to make good his theft. Ten years
more--a little less--would do it.

But old Mr. Bowdoin ran to the counting-room, where he found his son
and Harley in that gloomy silence that ends an unsatisfactory
communication.

"Say what you will, you'll never make me believe old Jamie is a
thief," said Harley.

"Thief! you low-toned rascal!" cried Mr. Bowdoin. "Thief yourself!
He's just told me Mercedes is in Havana. Of course he wants Spanish
gold!"

"Of course he does!" cried Harley.

"Of course he does!" cried James.

Their faces brightened, and each one inwardly congratulated himself
that the others had not thought how much easier it would have been for
Jamie to send her bills of exchange.

V.

Meant