"Of course, if you keep not your faith with me, the bond is nothing," said Dalhousie, as he affixed his signature to the paper, which Jaspar folded carefully, and put in his pocket.
"Here are directions which will enable you to find it without the necessity of my attending you;" and he handed him a slip of paper, upon which were written minute directions to the supposed locality of the treasure.
"But, suppose," said Dalhousie, after he had read the directions, "while I am digging, you should close the doors upon me?"
"Honor!" said Jaspar, laying his hand upon the place where the heart belonged, with an amusing contortion of the facial muscles.
"I have not the highest confidence in your honor."
"Perhaps not; but I can suggest a better protection. Have you any person at hand upon whose faith you can rely?"
"None but my wife," replied Dalhousie, carelessly, for the mortifying fact seemed laden with nothing of bitterness.
"So much the better. She will be true. Station her at the door, and, if she sees me approach, you can be sure to be on the outside when I close the door."
Jaspar's air of sincerity did as much to assure him as the fitness of the plan suggested, and the overseer determined to adopt it.
Briefly he narrated to his wife—though with some variations and concealments, for he knew she would not endorse all his operations—the history of the affair, and the good fortune that awaited him; and requested her attendance at the jail, to stand sentry over the gloomy den, while he dug up the treasure.