"There," he said, handing over the money, "take it—seven good guineas— with my very hearty curse."
The robbers—they were masked to a man—pressed forward around the lantern to count the coins.
"Give us your word," said one, "that you've no more stowed about you."
"I won't," answered the old gentleman. "All the word you'll get from me is to see you hanged if I can. If you think it worth while, search me."
Just then they were summoned by a shout from the coach roof to help in lowering my treasure. My pistol was reloaded by this time, and I lifted myself to take aim and account for one of the scoundrels at least: but in the effort my broken bone played me false; my hand shook, then dropped, and I sank upon my face in a swoon of pain.
I came back to consciousness to find myself propped on the edge of the ditch against a milestone. The coach was gone. Driver, guard, highwaymen, even the corporal's body, had disappeared also. But just before me in the road, under the light of a newly-risen waning moon, stood the inside passenger, hopping first on one leg then on the other for warmth; and indeed the villains had despoiled him of three of his greatcoats.
I sat up, groaned, and tried to lift my hands to my face. My companion ceased hopping about and regarded me with interest.
"Lost money?" he inquired.
"Public money," I answered, and groaned again. "It means ruin for me," I added.
"Well," said he, "I've lost my own—every stiver about me." He began to hop about again, halted, and began to wag his forefinger at me slowly. "Come, come, what's the use? I'm sorry for you, but where's your heart?"