thought it best," he continued, "not to leave you anything in my
will."

"No," said Valentine, "because you gave me that two thousand pounds
during your lifetime."

"Yes, my dear; my memory does not fail me. John will not be cursed with
one guinea of ill-gotten wealth. Valentine!"

"Yes, uncle, yes; I am here; I am not going away."

"You have the key of my cabinet, in the library. Go and fetch me a
parcel that is in the drawer inside."

"Let me ring, then, first for some one to come; for you must not be left
alone."

"Leave me, I say, and do as I tell you."

Valentine, vexed, but not able to decline, ran down in breathless haste,
found the packet of that peculiar sort and size usually called a
banker's parcel, locked the cabinet, and returned to the old man's bed.

"Are we alone?" he asked, when Valentine had made his presence known to
him. "Let me feel that parcel. Ah, your father was very dear to me. I
owe everything to him--everything."

Valentine, who was not easy as to what would come next, replied like an
honourable man, "So you said, uncle, when you generously gave me that
two thousand pounds."

"Ill-gotten wealth," old Augustus murmured, "never prospers; it is a
curse to its possessor. My son, my John, will have none of it.
Valentine!"

"Yes."

"What do you think was the worst-earned money that human fingers ever
handled?"

The question so put suggested but one answer.

"_That_ thirty pieces of silver," said Valentine.

"Ah!" replied Augustus with a sigh. "Well, thank God, none of us can
match that crime. But murders have been done, and murderers have
profited by the spoil! When those pieces of silver were lying on the
floor of the temple, after the murderer was dead, to whom do you think
they belonged?"

Valentine was excessively startled; the voice seemed higher and thinner
than usual, but the conversation had begun so sensibly, and the wrinkled
hand kept such firm hold still of the parcel, that it surprised him to
feel, as he now did, that his dear old uncle was wandering, and he
answered nothing.

"Not to the priests," continued Augustus, and as a pause followed,
Valentine felt impelled to reply.

"No," he said, "they belonged to his family, no doubt, if they had
chosen to pick them up."

"Ah, that is what I suppose. If his father, poor wretch, or perhaps his
miserable mother, had gone into the temple that day, it would have been
a strange sight, surely, to see her gather them up.