Black Bartlemys Treasure

"Will you have a candle, Martin?" And there was my lady standing below me on the table, all anxious-eyed. So I took the candle and creeping through this narrow passage suddenly found myself in another cavern very spacious and lofty; and now, standing in this place, I stared about me very full of wonder, as well I might be, for I saw this: Before me a narrow door, very stout and pierced with a loophole, and beyond this a rocky passage that led steeply down: on my right hand, in a corner, a rough bed with a bundle of goat-skins and sheets that looked like sailcloth; on my left a table and armchair, rough-builded like the bed, and above these, a row of shelves against the rocky wall whereon stood three pipkins, an iron, three-legged cooking-pot, a candlestick and an inkhorn with pen in it. Lastly, in a corner close beside the bed, I spied a long-barrelled firelock with bandoliers complete. I was about to reach this (and very joyously) when my lady's voice arrested me.

"Martin, are you there? Are you safe?"

"Indeed!" says I. "And, Damaris, I have found you treasure beyond price."

"O Martin, is it Bartlemy's treasure--the jewels?"

"Better than that a thousand times. I have found you a real cooking-pot!"

"O wonderful! Show me! Nay, let me see for myself. Come and aid me up, Martin."

Setting down my candle I crawled back where she stood all eager impatience, and clasping her hands in mine, drew her up and on hands and knees brought her into the cave.

"Here's a goodly place, comrade!" says I.

"Yes, Martin."

"With a ladder to come and go by, this should make you a noble bedchamber."

"Never!" says she. "O never!"

"And wherefore not?"

"First because I like my little cave best, and second because this is too much like a dungeon, and third because I like it not--and hark!" and indeed as we spoke the echoes hissed and whispered all about us.

"Why, 'tis airy and very dry!"

"And very dark by day, Martin."

"True enough! Still 'tis a wondrous place--"

"O very, Martin, only I like it not at all."

"Why then, the bed, the bed should serve you handsomely."

"No!" says she, mighty vehement. "You shall make me a better an you will, or I will do with my bed of fern."

"Well then, this pot--here is noble iron pot for you, at least!"

"Why yes," says she, smiling to see me all chapfallen, "'tis indeed a very good pot, let us bring it away with us, though indeed I could do very well without it."