“My good sir, I have accounts to square with you after a very different fashion.  As part-adventurer in the Rose, I have to deliver to you your share of the treasure which I have brought home.”

“My share, sir?  If I understood you, my ship was lost off the coast of the Caracas three years agone, and this treasure was all won since?”

“True; but you, as an adventurer in the expedition, have a just claim for your share, and will receive it.”

“Captain Leigh, you are, I see, as your father was before you, a just and upright Christian man:  but, sir, this money is none of mine, for it was won in no ship of mine.—­Hear me, sir!  And if it had been, and that ship”—­(he could not speak her name)—­“lay safe and sound now by Bideford quay, do you think, sir, that William Salterne is the man to make money out of his daughter’s sin and sorrow, and to handle the price of blood?  No, sir!  You went like a gentleman to seek her, and like a gentleman, as all the world knows, you have done your best, and I thank you:  but our account ends there.  The treasure is yours, sir; I have enough, and more than enough, and none, God help me, to leave it to, but greedy and needy kin, who will be rather the worse than the better for it.  And if I have a claim in law for aught—­which I know not, neither shall ever ask—­why, if you are not too proud, accept that claim as a plain burgher’s thank-offering to you, sir, for a great and a noble love which you and your brother have shown to one who, though I say it, to my shame, was not worthy thereof.”

“She was worthy of that and more, sir.  For if she sinned like a woman, she died like a saint.”

“Yes, sir!” answered the old man, with a proud smile; “she had the right English blood in her, I doubt not; and showed it at the last.  But now, sir, no more of this.  When you need a ship, mine is at your service; till then, sir, farewell, and God be with you.”

And the old man rose, and with an unmoved countenance, bowed Amyas to the door.  Amyas went back and told Cary, bidding him take half of Salterne’s gift:  but Cary swore a great oath that he would have none of it.

“Heir of Clovelly, Amyas, and want to rob you?  I who have lost nothing,—­you who have lost a brother!  God forbid that I should ever touch a farthing beyond my original share!”

That evening a messenger from Bideford came running breathless up to Burrough Court.  The authorities wanted Amyas’s immediate attendance, for he was one of the last, it seemed, who had seen Mr. Salterne alive.

Salterne had gone over, as soon as Amyas departed, to an old acquaintance; signed and sealed his will in their presence with a firm and cheerful countenance, refusing all condolence; and then gone home, and locked himself into Rose’s room.  Supper-time came, and he did not appear.  The apprentices could not make him answer, and at last called in the neighbors, and forced the door.  Salterne was kneeling by his daughter’s bed; his head was upon the coverlet; his Prayer-book was open before him at the Burial Service; his hands were clasped in supplication; but he was dead and cold.