“Very true,” said Uncle Jenico. “I’ve long had an idea for extracting gold from sea-water.”
“You see?” cried Mr. Sant, greatly pleased. “It’s a clear interposition of Providence. This coast is, I am sure, peculiarly adapted, from the accessibility of its waters, to gold-seeking.”
I could not restrain my excitement.
“Please,” I said, “did-d-d the smugglers hide it there?”
Mr. Sant glanced at me sharply.
“Who told you about smugglers?” he demanded.
“Mr. Rampick,” I whispered, hanging my head.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, and turned to my uncle. “Old Joel Rampick, was it? One of the most cherished of my converts, sir; a deeply religious man at bottom, though circumstances long obscured the light in him. Old Rampick, now! And talked about smuggling, did he? He’ll have drawn the moral of it from his own experience, I don’t doubt. Dunberry, there’s no use concealing, has been a long thorn in the side of the Revenue, though happily the earthquake has changed all that.”
“Ah, to be sure!” said my uncle; “the earthquake.”
“It was without question a Divine visitation,” said Mr. Sant, resolutely.