During that period Bax experienced the great delight of feeling a.s.sured that Amy loved him, and the great misery of knowing that he had not a sixpence in the world. Of course, Guy sought to cheer him by saying that there would be no difficulty in getting him the command of a ship; but Bax was not cheered by the suggestion; he felt depressed, and proposed to Guy that they should take a ramble together over the Sandhills.

Leaving the cottage, to which the family had returned the day before, the two friends walked in the direction of Sandown Castle.

"What say you to visit old Jeph?" said Guy; "I have never felt easy about him since he made me order his coffin and pay his debts."

"With all my heart," said Bax. "I spent a couple of hours with him this forenoon, and he appeared to me better than usual. Seeing Tommy and me again has cheered him greatly, poor old man."

"Stay, I will run back for the packet he left with me to give to you.

He may perhaps wish to give it you with his own hand."

Guy ran back to the cottage, and quickly returned with the packet.

Old Jeph's door was open when they approached his humble abode. Guy knocked gently, but, receiving no answer, entered the house. To their surprise and alarm they found the old man's bed empty. Everything else in the room was in its usual place. The little table stood at the bedside, with the large old Bible on it and the bundle of receipts that Guy had placed there on the day he paid the old man's debts. In a corner lay the black coffin, with the winding-sheet carefully folded on the lid. There was no sign of violence having been done, and the friends were forced to the conclusion that Jeph had quitted the place of his own accord. As he had been confined to bed ever since his illness-- about two weeks--this sudden disappearance was naturally alarming.

"There seems to have been no foul play," said Bax, examining hastily the several closets in the room. "Where _can_ he have gone?"

"The tomb!" said Guy, as Jeph's old habit recurred to his memory.

"Right," exclaimed Bax, eagerly. "Come, let's go quickly."

They hastened out, and, breaking into a smart run, soon reached the Sandhills. Neither of them spoke, for each felt deep anxiety about the old man, whose weak condition rendered it extremely improbable that he could long survive the shock that his system must have sustained by such a walk at such an hour.

Pa.s.sing the Checkers of the Hope, they soon reached Mary Bax's tomb.

The solitary stone threw a long dark shadow over the waste as the moon rose slowly behind it. This shadow concealed the grave until they were close beside it.

"Ah! he is here," said Bax, kneeling down.

Guy knelt beside him, and a.s.sisted to raise their old friend, who lay extended on the grave. Bax moved him so as to get from beneath the shadow of the stone, and called him gently by name, but he did not answer. When the moonlight next moment fell on his countenance, the reason of his silence was sufficiently obvious.

Old Jeph was dead!

With tender care they lifted the body in their arms and bore it to the cottage, where they laid it on the bed, and, sitting down beside it, conversed for some time in low sad tones.

"Bax," said Guy, pulling the sealed packet from his breast-pocket, "had you not better open this? It may perhaps contain some instructions having reference to his last resting-place."

"True," replied Bax, breaking the seals. "Dear old Jeph, it is sad to lose you in this sudden way, without a parting word or blessing. What have we here?" he continued, unrolling several pieces of brown paper.

"It feels like a key."

As he spoke a small letter dropt from the folds of the brown paper, with an old-fashioned key tied to it by a piece of twine. Opening the letter he read as follows:--

"DEAR BAX,--When you get this I shall be where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. There is a hide in the north-west corner of my room in the old house, between the beam and the wall. The key that is enclosed herewith will open it. I used to hide baccy there in my smugglin' days, but since I left off that I've never used it. There you will find a bag of gold. How much is in it I know not. It was placed there by an old mate of mine more than forty years ago. He was a great man for the guinea trade that was carried on with France in the time of Boney's wars. I never rightly myself understood that business. I'm told that Boney tried to get all the gold out o' this country, by payin' three shillings more than each guinea was worth for it, but that seems unreasonable to me.

Hows'ever, although I never could rightly understand it, there is no doubt that some of our lads were consarned in smugglin' guineas across the channel, and two or three of 'em made a good thing of it. My mate was one o' the lucky ones. One night he came home with a bag o' gold and tumbled it out on the table before me. I had my suspicions that he had not come honestly by it, so would have nothin' to do with it.

When I told him so, he put it back into the bag, tied it up, and replaced it in the hide, and went away in a rage. He never came back.

There was a storm from the east'ard that night. Two or three boats were capsized, and my mate and one or two more lads were drowned. The guineas have lain in the hide ever since. I've often thought o' usin'

them; but somehow or other never could make up my mind. You may call this foolish, mayhap it was; anyhow I now leave the gold to you;--to Tommy, if you never come back, or to Guy if he don't turn up.

Bluenose don't want it: it would only bother him if I put it in his way.

"This is all I've got to say: The old house ain't worth much, but such as it is, it's yours, or it may go the same way as the guineas.

"Now, Bax, may G.o.d bless you, and make you one of His own children, through Jesus Christ. My heart warms to you for your own sake, and for the sake of her whose name you bear. Farewell.--Your old friend and mate, JEPH."

Bax stooped over the bed, and pressed his lips to the dead man's forehead, when he had finished reading this letter. For some time the two friends sat talking of old Jeph's sayings and doings in former days, forgetful of the treasure of which the epistle spoke. At last Bax rose and drew a table to the corner mentioned in the letter. Getting upon this, he found an old board nailed against the wall.

"Hand me that axe, Guy; it must be behind this."

The board was soon wrenched off, and a small door revealed in the wall.

The key opened it at once, and inside a bag was found. Untying this, Bax emptied the glittering contents on the table. It was a large heap, amounting to five hundred guineas!

"I congratulate you, Bax," said Guy; "this removes a great difficulty out of your way. Five hundred guineas will give you a fair start."

"Do you suppose that I will appropriate this to myself?" said Bax. "You and Tommy are mentioned in the letter as well as me."

"You may do as you please in regard to Tommy," said Guy, "but as for me, I have a good salary, and won't touch a guinea of it."

"Well, well," said Bax, with a sad smile, "this is neither the time nor place to talk of such matters. It is time to give notice of the old man's death."

Saying this, he returned the gold to its former place, locked the hide, and replaced the board. As he was doing this, a peculiar cut in the beam over his head caught his eye.

"I do believe here is another hide," said he. "Hand the axe again."

A piece of wood was soon forced out of the side of the beam next the wall, and it was discovered that the beam itself was hollow. Nothing was found in it, however, except a crumpled piece of paper.

"See here, there is writing on this," said Guy, picking up the paper which Bax flung down. "It is a crabbed hand, but I think I can make it out:--`Dear Bogue, you will find the tubs down Pegwell Bay, with the sinkers on 'em; the rest of the swag in Fiddler's Cave.'"

"Humph! an old smuggler's letter," said Bax. "Mayhap the tubs and swag are there yet!"

We may remark here, that, long after the events now related, Bax and Guy remembered this note and visited the spots mentioned out of curiosity, but neither "tubs" nor "swag" were found!

Quitting the room with heavy hearts, the two friends locked the door, and went in search of those who are wont to perform the last offices to the dead.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THE CONCLUSION.

There came a day at last when the rats in Redwharf Lane obtained an entire holiday, doubtless to their own amazement, and revelled in almost unmolested felicity from morning till night. The office of Denham, Crumps, and Company was shut; the reason being that the head of the firm was dead.

Mr Denham had died without a will.

At the time when Guy offended his uncle by expressing his opinion too freely, Denham vowed in his heart that his nephew should not inherit his business or fortune. He resolved to leave both to another nephew, the son of a younger brother, at that time in the East India Company's service. But as death was a contingency inconceivably remote from himself, at least in his own opinion, he did not think it necessary to make his will at that time. He died, therefore, as we have said, without making it.

He died, also, without carrying out any of his good intentions!

It is a common mistake to suppose that a man has only to repent of his evil deeds, and that thenceforth all will be plain sailing. The habits of a lifetime are not to be overcome without a hard struggle, even in the most sincere of Christians.

Denham, after being saved by the Ramsgate lifeboat, had made up his mind to turn his wealth to good account, and, in his philanthropic plans, had resolved to look with special favour on the Lifeboat Inst.i.tution. But he delayed to carry out these plans. He did not strike when the iron was hot, and so the iron began slowly to cool. He had also determined to reinstate Bax in his employment, and to take Guy into partnership, but he delayed in these matters also. The love of gold and the memory of fancied insults began to tell on him, as of old. He even went so far as to meditate carrying out his former intention of making his will in favour of the nephew in India!