Solomon heard this noise, with which his ear was familiar, and his tone had some alarm in it as he cried out, “I say, no tricks, Mr. Balfour.”

There was no reply.  He hastened back to the spot he had just left, and from thence could dimly perceive his late companion sitting on the verge of the steep wall, peering down upon him.

“Come, come, a joke is a joke,” remonstrated Coe.  “What a fellow you are to be at such games when an important matter is at stake!  Why, here is the lode, man.”

“It is very valuable, I dare say, Mr. Coe, but it is worth more to one man than to two.”

“Great Heaven! what do you mean?” cried Solomon, while a sudden sweat bedewed his forehead.  “You would not murder a man to dissolve a partnership?”

“Certainly not.  I shall leave him to die, that’s all.  He and the rats will have to settle it together.  Six months hence, perhaps, we may have a picnic here, and explore the place.  Then we shall find, where you are now standing, some well-picked bones and the metal part of your lantern.  That will cause quite an excitement; and we shall search further, and in the northeast corner there will be found a copper lode.  I will take your word for that.”

“Mr. Balfour, I am sure you will not do this,” pleaded the wretched man.  “It is not in man’s nature to treat a fellow-creature with such barbarity.  You are trying to frighten me, I know, and I own you have succeeded.  I know what it is to be shut up in desolate, dark places alone, out of reach of succor; and even for eight-and-forty hours or so it is terrible.”

“What must it be, then, to suffer so for twenty years?”

It was a third voice that seemed to wake the echoes of that lonesome cavern.  Solomon looked up in terror, and beheld a third face, that of Robert Balfour, but transfigured.  He held the glowing brand above him, so that his deep-lined features could be distinctly seen, and they were all instinct with a deadly rage and malice.  There was a fire in his eyes that might well have been taken for that of madness, and Solomon’s heart sank within him as he looked.

“Mr. Balfour,” said he, in a coaxing voice, “come and look at your treasure.  It sparkles in the light of my lantern like gold, and you shall have it all if you please; I do not wish to share it with you.”

“So you take me for a madman, do you?  Look again; look fixedly upon me, Solomon Coe.  You do not recognize me even yet?  I do not wonder.  It is not you that are dull, but I that am so changed by wrong and misery.  My own mother does not know me, nor the woman of whom you robbed me nineteen years ago.  Yes, you know me now.  I am Richard Yorke!”

“Mercy, mercy!” gasped Solomon, dropping on his knees.