“I should be very, very sorry, my dear uncle, to have Roswell enrich himself in this way.”

“You talk like a silly young woman, and one that doesn’t know her own rights.  We had no hand in robbing the folks of their gold.  They lost it years ago, and may be dead—­probably are, or they would make some stir about it—­or have forgotten it, and couldn’t for their lives tell a single one of the coins they once had in their possession; and don’t know whether what they lost was thrown into the sea, or buried in the sand on a key—­Mary, child; you must never mention anything I tell you on this subject!”

“You need fear nothing, sir, from me.  But I do most earnestly hope Roswell will have nothing to do with any such ill-gotten wealth.  He is too noble-hearted and generous to get rich in this way.”

“Well, well, say no more about it, child; you’re romantic and notional.  Just pour out my drops; for all this talking makes me breathe thick.  I’m not what I was, Mary, and cannot last long; but was it the last breath I drew, I would stand to it, that treasure desarted and found in this way belongs to the last holder.  I go by the law, however; let Gar’ner only find it—­well, well, I’ll say no more about it now; for it distresses you, and that I don’t like to see.  Go and hunt up the Spectator, child, and look for the whaling news—­perhaps there may be suthin’ about the sealers too.”

Mary did not require to be told twice to do as her uncle requested.  The paper was soon found, and the column that contained the marine intelligence consulted.  The niece read a long account of whalers spoken, with so many hundred or so many thousand barrels of oil on board, but could discover no allusion to any sealer.  At length she turned her eyes into the body of the journal, which being semi-weekly, or tri-weekly, was crowded with matter, and started at seeing a paragraph to the following effect:—­

“By the arrival of the Twin Sisters at Stonington, we learn that the ice has been found farther north in the southern hemisphere this season, than it has been known to be for many years.  The sealers have had a great deal of difficulty in making their way through it; and even vessels bound round the Cape of Good Hope have been much embarrassed by its presence.”

“That’s it!—­Yes, Mary, that’s just it!” exclaimed the deacon.  “It’s that awful ice.  If ‘twasn’t for the ice, sealin’ would be as pleasant a calling as preachin’ the gospel!  It is possible that this ice has turned Gar’ner back, when he has been on his way home, and that he has been waiting for a better time to come north.  There’s one good p’int in this news—­they tell me that when the ice is seen drifting about in low latitudes, it’s a sign there’s less of it in the higher.”

“The Cape of Good Hope is certainly, in one sense, in a low latitude, uncle; if I remember right, it is not as far south as we are north; and, as you say, it is a good sign if the ice has come anywhere near it.”