“I’m not going to take any of it, either,” Elliott interrupted.
She was silent for nearly a minute, and then said, in a curious, almost harsh, voice, “Why not?”
“Because there are other things I value more—your good opinion, for instance,” said Elliott, with difficulty, feeling all the painful joys of renunciation. He wanted to say more; he struggled vainly for words, but after an ineffectual effort he fell back upon a practical question.
“What will you do, then?”
“I’ve been thinking of that,” she said. “I shall try to get something to do at the Cape. I can always make a living. I can do almost anything.”
“Oh, heavens! You mustn’t do that. You sha’n’t!” groaned Elliott.
“Why not?” she said, with a smile. “Do you know, it is almost a relief to have the weight of that terrible treasure taken away. It has been a sort of curse to every one, I think. But it seems a pity, doesn’t it, that we should get nothing at all for having worked so hard and travelled so far and risked so much. The government ought to refund our expenses, anyway.”
“Salvage! I should think so!” cried Elliott, smiting his hand on the rail. “Why didn’t I think of it before? Of course we have a claim for our trouble and expense, and we can collect it, too, if we turn in our share of the stuff to the Crown.”
“But I suppose they would allow us only a trifle, after all,” said Margaret.
“Not a bit of it. Twenty to fifty per cent. of the value is always paid for salvaging a cargo. Your share now is nearly three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and at least a hundred thousand of that will be honestly, lawfully yours. Any court will award it to you.”