Jorian reassured him.
“The girl is honest and friendly,” said he. “She had nothing to do with taking them, I'll be sworn;” and he led him into the garden. “There, master, if a face is to be believed, here they lie; and see, the mould is loose.”
He ran for a spade which was stuck up in the ground at some distance, and soon went to work and uncovered a parchment. Ghysbrecht saw it, and thrust him aside and went down on his knees and tore it out of the hole. His hands trembled and his face shone. He threw out parchment after parchment, and Jorian dusted them and cleared them and shook them. Now, when Ghysbrecht had thrown out a great many, his face began to darken and lengthen, and when he came to the last, he put his hands to his temples and seemed to be all amazed.
“What mystery lies here?” he gasped. “Are fiends mocking me? Dig deeper! There must be another.”
Jorian drove the spade in and threw out quantities of hard mould. In vain. And even while he dug, his master's mood had changed.
“Treason! treachery!” he cried. “You knew of this.”
“Knew what, master, in Heaven's name?”
“Caitiff, you knew there was another one worth all these twice told.'
“'Tis false,” cried Jorian, made suspicious by the other's suspicion. “'Tis a trick to rob me of my hundred crowns. Oh! I know you, burgomaster.” And Jorian was ready to whimper.
A mellow voice fell on them both like oil upon the waves.