’There, that’s him—­that’s Frank Tracy, the biggest swell in town—­lives in that handsome place I was telling you about.’

Strange that words like these from a man like old Peterkin should have inflated Frank’s pride; but he was weak in many points; and though he detested Peterkin, it gratified him to be pointed out to strangers as a swell who lived in a fine house, and with the puff of vanity came the reflection that, as Frank Tracy of some other place than Tracy Park, with all its appliances of wealth, he would not be a swell whom strangers cared to see, and Jerry’s chance was lost again.

‘Here is your mail, Mr. Tracy,’ the postmistress said; and stepping forward, Frank took his letters from her, just as Peterkin slapped him on the shoulder, and, with a familiarity which made Frank want to knock him down, called out: 

’Hallo, Tracy!  Just the feller I wanted to see.  Let me introduce you to Mr. Bijah Jones, from Pennsylvany; used to drive hosses for me in the days I ain’t ashamed of, by a long shot.  He’s bought him a place out from Philadelphy, and wants to lay it out a la—­a la—­dumbed if I know the word, but like them old chaps’ gardens in Europe, and I told him of Tracy Park, which beats everything holler in this part of the country.  Will you let us go over it and take a survey?’

‘Certainly; go where you like,’ Frank said, struggling to reach the door; but Peterkin button-holed him and held him fast, while he continued: 

‘I say, Tracy, heard anything from them diamonds?’

‘Nothing,’ was the reply.

‘Didn’t hunt in the right quarter,’ Peterkin continued, ’leastwise didn’t foller it up, or you’d a found ’em without so much advertisin’.’

‘What do you mean?’ Frank asked.

‘Oh, nothin’,’ Peterkin replied; ’only them diamonds never went off without hands, and them hands ain’t a thousand miles from the park.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Frank answered, mechanically, more intent upon getting away than upon what Peterkin was saying.

He longed to be in the open air, and as he mounted his horse, he said, as if speaking to some one near him: 

’Well, old fellow, I’ve done it again, and sunk myself still lower.  You are bound to get me now some day, unless I have a death-bed repentance and confess everything.  The thief was forgiven at the last hour, why not I?’

The black shadow which Frank felt sure was beside him, did not answer, though he could have sworn that he heard a chuckle as he rode on, fast and far, until his horse was tired and he was tired, too.  Then he began to retrace his steps, so slowly that it was dark when, he reached the village, and took the road which led by the gate through which the woman had passed to her death on the night of the storm.  It was the shortest route to the park, and he intended to take it.