Maria had been content merely
to remember it; but Zerkow's avarice goaded him to a belief that it was
still in existence, hid somewhere, perhaps in that very house, stowed
away there by Maria. For it stood to reason, didn't it, that Maria could
not have described it with such wonderful accuracy and such careful
detail unless she had seen it recently--the day before, perhaps, or that
very day, or that very hour, that very HOUR?
"Look out for yourself," he whispered, hoarsely, to his wife. "Look out
for yourself, my girl. I'll hunt for it, and hunt for it, and hunt for
it, and some day I'll find it--I will, you'll see--I'll find it, I'll
find it; and if I don't, I'll find a way that'll make you tell me where
it is. I'll make you speak--believe me, I will, I will, my girl--trust
me for that."
And at night Maria would sometimes wake to find Zerkow gone from the
bed, and would see him burrowing into some corner by the light of his
dark-lantern and would hear him mumbling to himself: "There were more'n
a hundred pieces, and every one of 'em gold--when the leather trunk was
opened it fair dazzled your eyes--why, just that punchbowl was worth a
fortune, I guess; solid, solid, heavy, rich, pure gold, nothun but gold,
gold, heaps and heaps of it--what a glory! I'll find it yet, I'll find
it.
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