Poor Widow Brand had indeed fallen back in her chair in a state bordering on insensibility.  Minnie was able to restrain her feelings so as to attend to her.  She and the captain raised her gently, and led her into her own room, from whence the captain returned, and shut the door behind him.

“Now, Spink,” said he, “tell me all about it, an’ be partic’lar.”

Davy at once complied, and related all that the reader already knows, in a deep, serious tone of voice, for he felt that in the captain he had a sympathetic listener.

When he had concluded, Captain Ogilvy heaved a sigh so deep that it might have been almost considered a groan, then he sat down on his armchair, and, pointing to the chair from which the widow had recently risen, said, “Sit down, lad.”

As he advanced to comply, Spink’s eyes for the first time fell on the case of jewels.  He started, paused, and looked with a troubled air at the captain.

“Ha!” exclaimed the latter with a grin; “you seem to know these things; old acquaintances, eh!”

“It wasna’ me that stole them,” said Spink hastily.

“I did not say that anyone stole them.”

“Weel, I mean that—­that——­”

He stopped abruptly, for he felt that in whatever way he might attempt to clear himself, he would unavoidably criminate, by implication, his absent mate.

“I know what you mean, my lad; sit down.”

Spink sat down on the edge of the chair, and looked at the other uneasily.

“Have a cup of tea?” said the captain abruptly, seizing the small pot and pouring out a cupful.

“Thank ‘ee—­I—­I niver tak’ tea.”

“Take it to-night, then.  It will do you good.”

Spink put the cup to his lips, and a look of deep surprise overspread his rugged countenance as he sipped the contents.  The captain nodded.  Spink’s look of surprise changed into a confidential smile; he also nodded, winked, and drained the cup to the bottom.

“Yes,” resumed the captain; “you mean that you did not take the case of jewels from old Brand’s pocket on that day when you found his body on the Bell Rock, though you were present, and saw your comrade pocket the booty.  You see I know all about it, Davy, an’ your only fault lay in concealing the matter, and in keepin’ company with that scoundrel.”

The gaze of surprise with which Spink listened to the first part of this speech changed to a look of sadness towards the end of it.

“Captain Ogilvy,” said he, in a tone of solemnity that was a strong contrast to his usual easy, careless manner of speaking, “you ca’d me an honest man, an’ ye think I’m clear o’ guilt in this matter, but ye’re mista’en.  Hoo ye cam’ to find oot a’ this I canna divine, but I can tell ye somethin’ mair than ye ken.  D’ye see that bag?”

He pulled a small leather purse out of his coat pocket, and laid it with a little bang on the table.