re, after the wreck of the Storm in
the cave, of forty men. They are all dead but me. I have been here forty
years--nine of them passed alone; and now my time has almost come. I
took the name of George Dunman because I had disgraced that of my
parents, and because I am an outlaw, and I want to die here and be
forgotten."

It was after midnight when the old man finished his story. His manner
became nervous and restless, and it was evident there was something more
he wanted to disclose, but hesitated to do.

The strangers accepted the old man's invitation, and took up their abode
under his roof, finding plenty of food and kind treatment. But they soon
became weary of so monotonous a life, and longing for some means of
reaching their homes and civilization, would visit the coast nearly
every day, in the hope of seeing some friendly sail and effecting their
deliverance. This anxiety to get away on the part of his new friends so
preyed on the old man's mind that his strength began to fail fast, and
at the end of two months it became evident that his sands of life had
but a few more days to run.

Two months passed, and the weather was becoming cold. The old man was up
earlier than usual one morning; still he seemed more feeble. He tottered
about the cabin, his frame shook and trembled, and his whole system
seemed to be under some new excitement. He had formed a strong
attachment for Tite, whom he now approached with his hands extended.
"Like you," he said, grasping his hand firmly and looking up imploringly
into his face, "I was young and handsome once. I am old and ugly now.
Crime has written its ugly finger all over my face; has thrust its
poison into this poor heart of mine. Never let it lay one ugly finger on
your face. Make yours a life of joy, so that you may die happy. Oh,
these poor old gray hairs of mine, this head that has sinned so much."
And he raised his hard, bony hand to his head, and tossed the long white
hair back over his shoulders.

"Come with me, come with me, young man," he resumed, grasping Tite by
the arm nervously and tottering to the door. When they got outside he
whispered in his ear: "You shall see where it is buried before I die. It
has made my life wretched; it may make yours happy." He paused for a few
seconds, and looking back, saw the two men standing watch at the door.
"Come," said he, beckoning to them, "you may as well come, too."

The men joined them, and when they had reached a spot a