The sea-birds have risen from the cove and gone wheeling off in
troops to their nests on the cliffs. Somehow a curious dislike,
almost fear, of this wild, sea-girt, solitary place has come over
me. I long for the sound of human voices, the touch of human
hands. I think of the dead man lying there at the door of the
cave, its silent guardian for so long. I suppose he brooded once
on the thought of the gold as I do--perhaps he has been brooding so
these ninety years! I wonder if he is pleased that I, a stranger,
have come into possession of his secret hoard at last?
Oh, Helen, turn your heavenly face on me--be my refuge from these
shuddering unwholesome thoughts! The gold is for you--for you!
Surely that must cleanse it of its stains, must loose the clutch of
the dead hands that strive to hold it!
February 11. This morning I was early at the cave. Yes, there it
was, the same wonder-chest that I had dreamed of all night long.
It was absurd how the tightness in my breast relaxed.
I began at once the work of removing the bags from the chest and
stacking them in the corner of the cave. It was a fatiguing job, I
had to stoop so. At the bottom of the chest I found a small
portfolio of very fine leather containing documents in Spanish.
They bear an official seal. Although I should be interested to
know their meaning, I think I shall destroy them.
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