He turned his small, guileless eyes upon Renshaw with such child-like simplicity that it checked the hysterical laugh that was rising to the young man’s lips.

“But did any one know of this but yourself?”

“I reckon not.  I once suspicioned that old Cap’en Bowers, who was always foolin’ round the hold yer, must hev noticed the bulge in the casin’, but when he took to axin’ questions I axed others—­ye know my style, Rosey?  Come.”

He led the way grimly back to the cabin, the young people following; but turning suddenly at the companion way he observed Renshaw’s arm around the waist of his daughter.  He said nothing until they had reached the cabin, when he closed the door softly, and looking at them both gently, said with infinite cunning: 

“Ef it is n’t too late, Rosey, ye kin tell this young man ez how I forgive him for havin’ diskivered THE TREASURE of the Pontiac.”

* * * * *

It was nearly eighteen months afterwards that Mr. Nott one morning entered the room of his son-in-law at Mandrono Cottage.  Drawing him aside, he said with his old air of mystery, “Now ez Rosey’s ailin’ and don’t seem to be so eager to diskiver what’s become of Mr. Ferrers, I don’t mind tellin’ ye that over a year ago I heard he died suddenly in Sacramento.  Thar was suthin’ in the paper about his bein’ a lunatic and claimin’ to be a relation to somebody on the Pontiac; but likes ez not it’s only the way those newspaper fellows got hold of the story of his wantin’ to marry Rosey.”