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At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. "I should be sorry to persuade him to do anything his calmer judgment might disapprove. ‘I don’t want no gold! Not for serving my mistress. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel. I——” The door was thrown open.
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