Anthony denied that he crossed his arms closely.

Rhoda pointed to his arms in evidence; and he snarled out:  “There, now; ’cause I’m supposed to have saved a trifle, I ain’t to sit as I like.  It’s downright too bad!  It’s shocking!”

But, seeing that he did not uncross his arms, and remained bunched up defiantly, Rhoda silently observed him.  She felt that money was in the room.

“Don’t let it be a curse to you,” she said.  And her voice was hoarse with agitation.

“What?” Anthony asked.  “What’s a curse?”

“That.”

Did she know?  Had she guessed?  Her finger was laid in a line at the bags.  Had she smelt the gold?

“It will be a curse to you, uncle.  Death is coming.  What’s money then?  Uncle, uncross your arms.  You are afraid; you dare not.  You carry it about; you have no confidence anywhere.  It eats your heart.  Look at me.  I have nothing to conceal.  Can you imitate me, and throw your hands out —­so?  Why, uncle, will you let me be ashamed of you?  You have the money there.

“You cannot deny it.  Me crying to you for help!  What have we talked together?—­that we would sit in a country house, and I was to look to the flower-beds, and always have dishes of green peas for you-plenty, in June; and you were to let the village boys know what a tongue you have, if they made a clatter of their sticks along the garden-rails; and you were to drink your tea, looking on a green and the sunset.  Uncle!  Poor old, good old soul!  You mean kindly.  You must be kind.  A day will make it too late.  You have the money there.  You get older and older every minute with trying to refuse me.  You know that I can make you happy.  I have the power, and I have the will.  Help me, I say, in my great trouble.  That money is a burden.  You are forced to carry it about, for fear.  You look guilty as you go running in the streets, because you fear everybody.  Do good with it.  Let it be money with a blessing on it!  It will save us from horrid misery! from death! from torture and death!  Think, uncle! look, uncle!  You with the money—­me wanting it.  I pray to heaven, and I meet you, and you have it.  Will you say that you refuse to give it, when I see—­when I show you, you are led to meet me and help me?  Open;—­put down that arm.”

Against this storm of mingled supplication and shadowy menace, Anthony held out with all outward firmness until, when bidding him to put down his arm, she touched the arm commandingly, and it fell paralyzed.

Rhoda’s eyes were not beautiful as they fixed on the object of her quest.  In this they were of the character of her mission.  She was dealing with an evil thing, and had chosen to act according to her light, and by the counsel of her combative and forceful temper.  At each step new difficulties had to be encountered by fresh contrivances; and money now—­ money alone had become the specific for present use.  There was a limitation of her spiritual vision to aught save to money; and the money being bared to her eyes, a frightful gleam of eagerness shot from them.  Her hands met Anthony’s in a common grasp of the money-bags.