“He is not in,” she repeated.

“Thank you,” said Mr. Tredgold, patiently.  “Good afternoon.”

He was so humble that the girl began to feel uncomfortable.  His gratitude for nothing reminded her of a disappointed tramp; moreover, the draught from the door was abominable.

“I can give you a cup of tea, if you wish,” she said, shivering.  “But please make haste and shut that door.”

Mr. Tredgold stepped inside and closed it with alacrity, his back being turned just long enough to permit a congratulatory wink at the unconscious oak.  He took a chair the other side of the fire, and, extending his numbed fingers to the blaze, thanked her warmly.

“It is very kind of you,” he said, as he took his cup from her.  “I was half frozen.”

“I should have thought that a brisk walk home would have been better for you,” said the girl, coldly.

Mr. Tredgold shook his head dolefully.  “I should probably only have had lukewarm tea when I got there,” he replied.  “Nobody looks after me properly.”

He passed his cup up and began to talk of skating and other seasonable topics.  As he got warmer and his features regained their normal colouring and his face its usual expression of cheerfulness, Miss Drewitt’s pity began to evaporate.

“Are you feeling better?” she inquired, pointedly.

“A little,” was the cautious reply.  His face took on an expression of anxiety and he spoke of a twinge, lightly tapping his left lung by way of emphasis.

“I hope that I shall not be taken ill here,” he said, gravely.

Miss Drewitt sat up with a start.  “I should hope not,” she said, sharply.

“So inconvenient,” he murmured.

“Quite impossible,” said Miss Drewitt, whose experience led her to believe him capable of anything.

“I should never forgive myself,” he said, gently.

Miss Drewitt regarded him in alarm, and of her own accord gave him a third cup of tea and told him that he might smoke.  She felt safer when she saw him light a cigarette, and, for fear that a worse thing might befall her, entered amiably into conversation.  She even found herself, somewhat to her surprise, discussing the voyage and sympathising with Mr. Tredgold in his anxiety concerning his father’s safety.

“Mrs. Chalk and Mrs. Stobell are very anxious, too,” he said.  “It is a long way for a small craft like that.”

“And then to find no treasure at the end of it,” said Miss Drewitt, with feminine sweetness.

Mr. Tredgold stole a look at her.  “I did not mean to say that the captain had no treasure,” he said, quietly.

“You believe in it now?” said the girl, triumphantly.

“I believe that the captain has a treasure,” admitted the other, “certainly.”

“Worth half a million?” persisted Miss Drewitt.

“Worth more than that,” said Mr. Tredgold, gazing steadily into the fire.