"Grace," he said at last, "come nearer, girl,—I have something to tell you."
Grace hesitated. Within the last few moments a shy, nervous dread of the man which she could not account for had taken possession of her. She looked toward her sleeping brother.
"He will not waken," said Devarges, following the direction of her eyes. "The anodyne still holds its effect. Bring me what you took from the fire."
Grace brought the stone—a dull bluish-grey slag. The old man took it, examined it, and then said to Grace—
"Rub it briskly on your blanket."
Grace did so. After a few moments it began to exhibit a faint white lustre on its polished surface.
"It looks like silver," said Grace, doubtfully.
"It is silver!" replied Devarges.
Grace put it down quickly and moved slightly away.
"Take it," said the old man,—"it is yours. A year ago I found it in a ledge of the mountain range far west of this. I know where it lies in bulk—a fortune, Grace, do you hear?—hidden in the bluish stone you put in the fire for me last night. I can tell you where and how to find it. I can give you the title to it—the right of discovery. Take it—it is yours."