In Her Own Right Part 41

"And when the two weeks have expired we shall consider whether to extend the period."

"To--life?" smiling down at her.

She flung him a look that was delightfully alluring.

"Do you wish me to--consider that?" she asked, softly.

"If you will," he said, bending down.

She laughed, gayly.

"We are coming on!" she exclaimed. "This pace is getting rather brisk--did you notice it, Mr. Macloud?"

"You're in a fast cla.s.s, Miss Carrington."

She glanced up quickly.

"Now don't misunderstand me----"

"You were speaking in the language of the race track, I presume."

"I was--you understand?"

"A Southern girl usually loves--horses," with a tantalizing smile.

"It is well for you this is a public street," he said.

"Why?" she asked, with a.s.sumed innocence.

"But then if it hadn't been, you would not have ventured to tempt me,"

he added. "I'm grateful for the temptation, at any rate."

"His first temptation!" she mocked.

"No, not likely--but his first that he has resisted."

"And why did you resist? The fact that we are on a public street would not restrain you. There was absolutely no one within sight--and you knew it."

"How do _you_ know it?"

"Because I looked."

"You were afraid?"

"Not at all!--only careful."

"This is rather faster than the former going!" he laughed.

"We would better slow down a bit!" she laughed back. "Any way, here is the Cemetery, and we dare not go faster than a walk in it. Yonder, just within the gates, is the Duval burial place. Come, I'll show you Parmenter's grave?"

They crossed to it--marked by a blue slate slab, which covered it entirely. The inscription, cut in script, was faint in places and blurred by moss, in others.

Macloud stooped and, with his knife, scratched out the latter.

"He died two days after the letter was written: May 12, 1738," said he.

"His age is not given. Duval did not know it, I reckon."

"See, here is the picture--it stands out very plainly," said Miss Carrington, indicating with the point of her shoe.

"I'm not given to moralizing, particularly over a grave," observed Macloud, "but it's queer to think that the old pirate, who had so much blood and death on his hands, who buried the treasure, and who wrote the letter, lies at our feet; and we--or rather Croyden is the heir of that treasure, and that we searched and dug all over Greenberry Point, committed violence, were threatened with violence, did things surrept.i.tiously, are threatened, anew, with blackmail and violence----"

"Pirate's gold breeds pirate's ways," she quoted.

"It does seem one cannot get away from its pollution. It was gathered in crime and crime clings to it, still. However, I fancy Croyden would willingly chance the danger, if he could unearth the casket."

"And is there no hope of finding it?" she asked.

"Absolutely none--there's half a million over on Greenberry Point, or in the water close by, and none will ever see it--except by accident."

"What sort of accident?"

"I don't know!" he laughed. "My own idea--and Croyden's (as he has, doubtless, explained to you) is that the place, where Parmenter buried the jewels, is now under water, possibly close to the sh.o.r.e. We dragged every inch of the bottom, which has been washed away to a depth more than sufficient to uncover the iron box, but found nothing. A great storm, such as they say sometimes breaks over the Chesapeake, may wash it on the beach--that, I think, is the only way it will ever be found.... It makes everything seem very real to have stood by Parmenter's grave!" he said, thoughtful, as they turned back toward town.

On nearing the Carrington house, they saw Croyden approaching. They met him at the gates.

"I've been communing with Parmenter," said Macloud.

"I didn't know there was a spiritualistic medium in Hampton! What does the old man look like?" smiled Croyden.

"I didn't see him."

"Well, did he help you to locate his jewel box?"

"He wasn't especially communicative--he was in his grave."

"That isn't surprising--he's been dead something over one hundred and seventy years. Did he confide where he's buried?"

"He's buried with the Duvals in the Cemetery, here."

"He is!" Croyden exclaimed. "Humph! one more circ.u.mstance to prove the letter speaks the truth. Everything but the thing itself. We find his will, probated with Marmaduke Duval as executor, we even discover a notice of his death in the _Gazette_, and now, finally, you find his body--or the place of its interment! But, hang it all! what is really worth while, we can't find."

"Come into the house--I'll give you something to soothe your feelings temporarily," said Miss Carrington.

They encountered Miss Erskine just coming from the library on her way to the door.

"My dear Davila, so glad to see you!" she exclaimed. "And Mr. Croyden, we thought you had deserted us, and just when we're trying to make you feel at home. So glad to welcome you back!" holding out her fat hand.

"I'm delighted to be back," said Croyden. "The Carringtons seemed genuinely glad to see me--and, now, if I may include you, I'm quite content to return," and he shook her hand, as though he meant it.