“But what do you want of my gold?”
“No matter!”
“You will not take much; enough to redeem the crucifix—no more than that?”
“Speak, or I will find it without your help.”
It seemed as if the struggle between habitual parsimony and the sharp demands of hunger would never cease to rend that poor skeleton form. The old woman writhed upon her bed, in absolute torture, yet her mercenary soul clung to its gold against the very pangs of hunger. At last she shrieked out,—
“Give me food. Give me life, but do not take all!”
“Where is the box?” persisted Jane, steady to her point.
“There, there!” cried her victim, “remove the coop. Under it is a loose board—beneath that you will find the box.” As she ceased, the old woman fell to weeping and moaning over her losses.
Jane removed the coop, thrust aside a loose board, and found the box between the floor and ceiling.
“All right. Give up the key, old lady!”