"What do you want, disinterested mortal, Friend of the People?"
"You know. Your daughter, and a third interest in the property."
After some demur, the Sergeant, who was turning over in his mind what he would do with the place, the palace in town he would build, &c., &c., if, by any chance, the coveted possession did fall to him, signed the agreement that Malduke dictated.
"A thing like that," Elms thought, "is not worth the paper it's written on. In any case the man must have a share, if fortune favours us."
"Now, give me your hand," said Malduke, rising, after depositing the agreement beside the tin in his jacket pocket. "Swear to me that, come what may, old Courtenay never returns to Mimosa Vale."
"I'll do nothing of the kind, you devil's son," doggedly replied the Sergeant with an oath, as he made the table creak again with a bang of his fist. "I'll not say what will happen, or what I'll do," and he turned to read the Will afresh, and to dream of the possibilities conceived for him in the womb of time.
"By God, you shall swear though!" A hand clutched his shoulder. Malduke spoke in a tone he had not before adopted with his friend. "You'll not trifle with me; I have a public duty to perform, John Elms. I have been trained to let no false sentiment come between me and such obligations. Listen to me! Make no mistake. If Courtenay sets foot on, that wharf, after tomorrow, I shall be compelled, mark you," the man spoke slowly, with emphasis; drawing near he hissed in Elms's ear, "to denounce you, to expose the man, his trusted servant, who stole and tore up, in my presence, the Will, that I can produce"—tapping the tin—"who,
