He had not begun the letter “My dear Wife,” as he had done before.  It was not necessary now that his letters should be used as proof that she was his widow!  He had plunged instantly into the subject-matter, and had signed it after the most friendly fashion.  He was not even coming to her!  There was so much to do which must be done immediately, and could not be done without him.  He had telegraphed to his bankers, and one of the firm and several clerks were already with him.  There were great difficulties yet before him, in which he needed the aid of financial counsellors and those who had influence with the authorities.  His vessel, the Arato, had no papers, and he believed no cargo of such value had ever entered a port of France as that contained in the little green-hulled schooner which he had sailed into the harbor of Marseilles.  This cargo must be landed openly.  It must be shipped to various financial centres, and what was to be done required so much prudence, knowledge, and discretion that without the aid of the house of Wraxton, Fuguet & Co., he believed his difficulties would have been greater than when he stood behind the wall of gold on the shore of the Patagonian island.

He did not even ask her to come to him.  In a day or so, he wrote, it might be necessary for him to go to Berlin, and whether or not he would travel to London from the German capital, he could not say, and for this reason he could not invite any of them to come down to him.

“Any of us!” exclaimed Edna.

For more than an hour Mrs. Cliff lay in the state of palpitation which pervaded her whole organization, waiting for Edna to call her.  And at last she could wait no longer, and rushed into the salon where Edna sat alone, the letter in her hand.

“What does he say?” she cried, “Is he well?  Where is he?  Did he get the gold?”

Edna looked at her for a moment without answering.  “Yes,” she said presently, “he is well.  He is in Marseilles.  The gold—­” And for a moment she did not remember whether or not the captain had it.

“Oh, do say something!” almost screamed Mrs. Cliff.  “What is it?  Shall I read the letter?  What does he say?”

This recalled Edna to herself.  “No,” said she, “I will read it to you.”  And she read it aloud, from beginning to end, carefully omitting those passages which Mrs. Cliff would have been sure to think should have been written in a manner in which they were not written.

“Well!” exclaimed Mrs. Cliff, who, in alternate horror, pity, and rapture, had listened, pale and open-mouthed, to the letter.  “Captain Horn is consistent to the end!  Whatever happens, he keeps away from us!  But that will not be for long, and—­oh, Edna!”—­and, as she spoke, she sprang from her chair and threw her arms around the neck of her companion, “he’s got the gold!” And, with this, the poor lady sank insensible upon the floor.

“The gold!” exclaimed Edna, before she even stooped toward her fainting friend.  “Of what importance is that wretched gold!”