‘He has taken a fever, I think,’ answered the girl, ’and I can hide him no longer.  I cannot help him now.’  She sank back upon a chair and followed her father’s movements with tearless, hopeless eyes.

‘Rogers is a liar!’ muttered Shine.  ‘A liar he is, an’ he’d rob me; but I’ll beat him.  It’s hid down here, down among the rocks.  The gold is mine, mine, mine!’ His voice rose to a thin scream and he beat fiercely upon the boards with his bony hand.

’He has been ill ever since Rogers was taken, but he only took this turn this evening.  Oh!  I tried hard to help him; I tried hard!  He is my father.  Oh, my poor father! my poor, poor father!

‘Hush, hush, dear,’ said Mrs. Hardy.  ’We must help him on to his bed.  Come!’

Each took an arm of the sick man and raised him to his feet.  He offered no resistance, but allowed them to lead him to the bunk in the other room and place him upon it, although he continued to utter wild threats against Joe Rogers and to chummer about the gold, and move his hands about, scratching amongst the bedclothes.

Mrs. Hardy brought the light from the kitchen, and busied herself over the delirious man, making him as comfortable as possible upon his narrow bed.  She gave directions to Chris and the girl obeyed them, bringing necessary things and making a fire in the kitchen.  She seemed inspired with a new hope, and presently she moved to Mrs. Hardy’s side again.

‘Do you think he will die?’ she asked.

‘I do not think so, dear.  It is brain fever, I believe.’

’How good you are—­you whom he has wronged so cruelly!

She ceased speaking and gripped her companion’s arm.  The latch of the back door clicked, a step sounded upon the kitchen floor, and the next moment Detective Downy appeared within the room.  He glanced from the women to the bunk, and then strode forward and laid a hand upon Ephraim Shine.

‘This man is my prisoner,’ he said.

Shine sat up again, moving his arms and muttering: 

’Yes, yes, down the old mine; that’s it!  Let me go.  It’s hid in the old mine—­my gold, my beautiful gold!’

‘You cannot take him in this state,’ said Mm.  Hardy; ’it would be brutal.’

The detective examined him closely, and, being satisfied that the man was really ill and unlikely to escape, went to the kitchen door and blew a shrill blast of his whistle in the direction of the quarries.  When he returned Chistina was on her knees by the bunk, as if praying, and Mrs. Hardy was bathing the patient’s temples.  After a few minutes Sergeant Monk rode up and joined them in the room.

‘Here is our man,’ said Downy quietly.  Send Donovan for the covered-in waggon at the hotel.  We will have to take him on a mattress.’

‘Shot?’ cried Monk.

’No; off his head.  Send a couple of your men in here.  I think I’ll get my hands on that gold presently.’