“On reflection we will refer William Jones to his friends the ‘coastguard chaps.’ I think he will be punished enough by the distribution of his little property in the cave. Eh, Mr. Jones?”
Jones only wrung his hands and wailed, thinking of his precious treasure.
“And so, Matt,” continued Brinkley, “there will be no wedding after all. I’m afraid you’re awfully disappointed.”
Matt replied by taking his hand again, lifting it to her lips and kissing it fondly. The young man turned his head away, for his eyes had suddenly grown full of grateful tears.
CONCLUSION.
My tale is told. The adventure of the caravan has ended. Little more remains to be said.
Monk of Monkshurst was not brought to trial for his iniquities, but he was sorely enough punished by the loss of his ill-gotten estates. Before the claim of the foundling was fully proved he left England, never to return. Whether he is alive or dead I cannot tell.
William Jones, too, escaped legal punishment. A severer retribution came upon him in the seizure and dispersal of the hoards in the great cave. So sorely did he take his loss to heart that he crept to his bed and had an attack of brain fever. When he reappeared on the scene of his old plunderings his intellect was weakened, and he showed curious evidences of imbecility. But the ruling passion remained strong within him. I saw him only last summer, rambling on the sea-shore, talking incoherently to himself, and watching the sea in search of wreckage, as of old.