“There is some gold and silver put away. You might better take it. Thieves may come again. Carry me to the chimney.”
He was a heavy burden. Gaspard put him down on some blankets.
“See! Count the stones. The third stone.” The eyes were wild in their eagerness.
“This!” pointing. “Take it out.”
Gaspard worked with both strength and energy. It was fitted in very securely, but it gave way at length.
“The next one.”
When that came out a small iron box was visible, and Gaspard worked it loose.
“Take it with you. It will be hers when I die. There is no one else. But not until—I have the key—and—but I am not going to die!” with fierce energy.
“No, no,” soothingly. “Take a little of this cordial.”
But the signs of death were there and Gaspard read them truly. Could he warn? That was for the priest.