Black Bartlemys Treasure

"Ha, with good store of powder and shot, comrade?"

"Yes, Martin."

"How many weeks have I lain sick, comrade?"

"Nay, 'twas only four days."

At this I fell to marvelling that so much of agony might be endured in so little time.

"And you--tended me, Damaris?"

"Why, to be sure, Martin."

"And so saved my life."

"So I pray may it be a life lived to noble purpose, Martin."

And now I sat awhile very thoughtful and watched her shape the dough into little cakes and set them to bake.

"I must contrive you an oven and this at once!" says I.

"When you are strong again, Martin."

"Nay, I'm well, thanks to your care of me. And truly 'twill be wonderful to eat bread again."

"But I warned you I had no yeast!" says she, looking at me a little anxiously, "Nay, sir, why must you smile?"

"'Tis strange to see you at such labour and clad so vastly fine!"

"Indeed, sir needs must this your cook-maid go bedight like any queen since nought is there in Black Bartlemy's Treasure that is not sumptuous and splendid. Have you no desire to behold these wonders for yourself?"

"Not a tittle!" says I.

"But, Martin, three months are nigh sped and Master Penfeather not come, and according to his letter, three-quarters of this great treasure is yours."

"Why then, my lady, I do freely bestow it on you."

"Nay, this have I taken already because I needed it, look!" So saying she drew a comb from her hair and showed me how it was all fashioned of wrought gold and set with great gems, pearls and sapphires and rubies marvellous to see.

"'Tis mighty handsome," quoth I, "and beyond price, I judge."

"And yet," says she, "I would rather have my wooden pin in its stead, for surely there was none like to it in all this world."

Hereupon, groping in my pocket I brought out that three-pronged pin I had carved for her; beholding which, she uttered a little cry of glad surprise, and letting fall her golden comb, took the pin to turn it this way and that, viewing it as it had been the very wonder of the world rather than the poor thing it was.

"Why, Martin!" says she at last, "Why, Martin, where found you this?" So I told her; and though my words were lame and halting I think she guessed somewhat of the agony of that hour, for I felt her hand touch my shoulder like a caress.

"Death's shadow hath been over us of late, Martin," says she, "and hath made us wiser methinks."