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A cry broke the silence, and rang out loud and wild upon the still night air. It came from Flint’s side. He turned to find his companion tottering and trembling.

Dick Edmonstone had dropped the pocket-book, and was nervously counting a roll of crisp, crackling papers.

“They are all here! all! all!” he whispered in a strange, broken voice.

“Never!”

“Yes, all all! Only think of it; our fortune is not lost, after all it’s made the key to it is in my hand again! Jack, the fellow had pity on me. No, I mean on us. I don’t mean to be selfish, Jack; it’s share and share alike, between you and me, and always will be. But if you knew if you knew! Jack, I’ll put in that good word for him I’ll make it more than words, if ever I get the chance! For I do owe him something,” said the poor fellow, carried away by reaction and excitement, so that his breaking voice trembled between sobs and laughter. “I do owe that Sundown something. God bless him that’s all I say.”

But Flint said nothing at all; he was much too amazed for words.