“Found?” cried Grace, in so high a key, that Tom entreated her to calm herself, and not make the matter public.—­“Found? yes; and shall be found, if there be justice in heaven.  Shame that west-country folk should turn robbers and wreckers!  Mariners, too, and manners’ wives, who should be praying for those who are wandering far away, each man with his life in his hand!  Ah, what a world!  When will it end? soon, too soon, when west-country folk rob shipwrecked men!  But you will find your belt; yes, sir, you will find it.  Wait till you have learnt to do without it.  Man does not live by bread alone.  Do you think he lives by gold?  Only be patient; and when you are worthy of it, you shall find it again, in the Lord’s good time.”

To the doctor this seemed a mere burst of jargon, invented for the purpose of hiding guilt; and his faith in womankind was not heightened when he heard Grace’s mother say, sotto voce to Willis, that—­“In wrecks, and fires, and such like, a many people complained of having lost more than ever they had.”

“Oh ho! my old lady, is that the way the fox is gone?” quoth Tom to that trusty counsellor, himself; and began carefully scrutinising Mrs. Harvey’s face.  It had been very handsome:  it was still very clever:  but the eyebrows, crushed together downwards above her nose, and rising high at the outer corners, indicated, as surely as the restless down-dropt eye, a character self-conscious, furtive, capable of great inconsistencies, possibly of great deceits.

“You don’t look me in the face, old lady!” quoth Tom to himself.  “Very well! between you two it lies; unless that old gentleman implicates himself also, in his approaching confession.”

He took his part at once.  “Well, well, you will oblige me by saying nothing more about it.  After all, as this good lady says, the loss of a little money is not worth complaining over, when one has escaped with life.  Good morning; and many thanks for all your kindness!”

And Tom made another grand bow, and went off to the Lieutenant.

Grace looked after him awhile, as one stunned; and then turned to her mother.

“Let us go home.”

“Go home?  Why there, dear?”

“Let me go home; you need not come.  I am sick of this world.  Is it not enough to have misery and death (and she pointed to the row of corpses), but we must have sin, too, wherever we turn!  Meanness and theft:—­and ingratitude too!” she added, in a lower tone.

She went homeward; her mother, in spite of her entreaties, accompanied her; and, for some reason or other, did not lose sight of her all that day, or for several days after.

Meanwhile, Willis had beckoned the Doctor aside.  His face was serious and sad, and his lips were trembling.

“This is a very shocking business, sir.  Of course, you’ve told the Lieutenant.”

“Not yet, my good sir.”

“But—­excuse my boldness; what plainer way of getting it back from the rascal, whoever he is?”