"There will be no more years for you," she said. "Hours will tell your tale." She nodded toward Anthony. "And short hours, too."
"It's a deep chest," said old Bulfinch. "As deep as a ship." Gradually a look of glee came into his face; his hands opened and shut covetously. "A fine ship," he said. "A tall ship; and with the old man's name painted on her. Such spaces she has for storing goods. Such wide, wonderful spaces! There is the room of a town in her. She went away grandly," he said. "Like a bride, all in white. And when she returns, what a dowry she'll bring! There will be magnificence! There will be splendor! Her cargo will be a jewel, and her oaken hull the casket." He gloated over this for a space; and then a trouble began to show. "If it were not Gorman, now," he said. "If it were not Gorman that is to step aboard her at Calcutta. We could trust Hollister. He is sound and tried. But he's done too much. Oh, yes, far too much to be safe; for there are sharp eyes watching; there are minds, too, that are like knife-blades, and they are thinking, always thinking."
Anthony's eyes met those of Mademoiselle Lafargue; but before either could speak there came the choking shriek:
"Water! One drop to cool my throat! Water, for God's love!"
"Hold your tongue!" said the old woman, lowering evilly at the sufferer. "It's always something with you. There's not enough water in the river to fill your gullet; so ease yourself back, and be still."
The French girl gave the sick man a cup of water; and while she was doing so old Bulfinch stirred uneasily.
"Nathaniel," he said, "are you there? Rehoboam, my son, where are you? I am not sick. The doctor is a fool. I am well and strong. It is true I have a pain in my head, and the hot sun has got into my blood. But I am not sick. The doctors are all frightened. Do not listen to them. They know nothing. By and by," and he laughed with a ghastly assumption of lightness, "this one will say I have the plague. It would be like him. Turn him away, Nathaniel; do not listen to him. And do not pay him money for his folly; it is waste, my sons, and money is hard to get. Take me to the garret; it will be quiet there, and I'll be up and strong in another day. Be careful, Nathaniel; lift me gently, and see to the stairs, Rehoboam; they are crooked and treacherous." There was a pause, and sudden panic seemed to seize him. His eyes stared, and his jaws fell open; he clawed about in the straw, and then, with sudden power, rose up. "No, no!" he raved. "Not here! Not this place of death! My curse on you, Nathaniel, if you leave me; my blood and death on you, Rehoboam, if you give me into the hands of these wretches!"
Shriek after shriek came from him; then he fell back with a foam about his lips and his eyes full of fear and loathing.
With the blood pounding in his head, Anthony took mademoiselle by the arm.
"Come, let us go," said he.