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The light shining steadily through a front window of the cottage flickered and shifted. The young man in the rain and storm outside danced with impatience. Suddenly the door opened, and Plancine's father stood there, candle in hand. "What is it, my George?" "The hill, sir the hill! It's fallen! You were right. You must stand by your word. Black Venn has slipped his apron!" "My God, no!"
"No, no! now! My God! I demand it. Others may forestall us if we delay. See, my friend, I wish but my own; and what proof of right have I if another should snatch the treasure?" "The treasure?" "It is our fortune that lies there yours, and mine, and the little Plancine's. Do I know what I say? Hurry, hurry, hurry! while my heart does not burst." He forced the lanthorn into the young man's hands.
"Come!" he said; and, supporting her across the room, whispered madly in her ear: "Pretend! For God's sake, pretend!" Plancine's swimming eyes looked down, looked upon a litter of perished rags of paper, and, lying in the midst of the rubbish, an ancient stained and cockled miniature of a powdered Louis Seize coquette. This was all.
Plancine's village, a lofty appanage or suburb of this little seaboard town at the hill-foot, seemed rather the parent stock from which the other had emancipated itself. For all down the steep slope that fled from Upper to King's Cobb was flung a débris of houses that, like the ice-fall of a glacier, would appear to have broken from the main body and gone careering into the valley below.
Could I ever achieve that? Already I cry out on poverty; because I want an unencumbered field for work, and yes, one other trifle." "One other trifle, George?" He took Plancine's face between his hands and looked very lovingly into her eyes. "I think I did the old man too much honour," he said. "You nestling of eighteen what credit to scout misfortune with such a bird at one's side!"
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