Upon the death of Sir Nicholas Malherb, his second son, Maurice, found himself in possession of fifteen thousand pounds and the famous Malherb amphora, an heirloom of the family. By arrangement with the elder brother, Maurice took the amphora instead of its equivalent in cash, and thus the succeeding baronet was richer by twenty thousand pounds, which more fully answered his purposes than the ancient treasure.

Concerning this gem a word must be spoken. While slightly inferior to the Portland vase in size, its workmanship equalled that of the more famous curio, and it was esteemed by connoisseurs as much superior to the Auldjo vase, or another marvellous example of similar cameo glass, still the acquisition of Naples. In Maurice Malherb\'s amphora, a bygone vitrarius had immortalised his art. The opaque bubble of white glass was coated with cerulean blue, and upon this surface another film of white had been spread. With the gem engraver\'s tools these strata were sculptured into a most exquisite design of little Loves playing hide and seek amid the foliage of the acanthus. Herein genius had accomplished a masterpiece, and all men capable of appreciating it wished Maurice Malherb joy of the treasure. To desire the amphora in place of its value was characteristic of his fine taste and spirit, and also symbolic of his wayward disposition, since money had been of far greater service to him in his agricultural pursuits. Then a catastrophe overtook Malherb, for within a week of his father\'s death, the amphora disappeared. The bubble of glass vanished like a bubble of water. Upon the morning of a certain day Maurice had moved it from its place in a locked cabinet, displayed it to relations and put it back again; but, returning to this receptacle within two hours, he found the amphora was no longer there. All that man could do men did to recover the treasure; but not one sign of the amphora nor one shadowy clue as to its situation rewarded expert search. Then that nine days\' wonder waned, and only the sufferer still smarted under his loss. He called upon his brother to make good this grave decrement of fortune, but the heir refused to do so, and a breach in the family widened from that hour.

Maurice Malherb alone of all those interested in this theft had suspected the old servant, Lovey Lee; yet knowledge of her character and peculiar propensities led him most stoutly to believe that she was the thief of the amphora. His father had trusted and honoured this gaunt creature. He had admired her remarkable physical courage, thrift, and common sense; and while Mrs. Lee always annoyed and disgusted the family, Sir Nicholas himself professed open respect for her, and found her secretly useful in ways not published to the world. Yet, upon his death, Lovey declared herself beyond measure shocked and disappointed at a legacy of one thousand pounds which the knight bequeathed to her. She fumed and fretted, spoke of unknown services, and loudly cried that the dead had inflicted upon her a cruel wrong.

Presently she vanished unregretted from the home of the Malherbs; and after her departure Maurice began to associate the old servant with his loss. The woman was traced and surprised. She posed as one deeply injured, and proved to demonstration that she knew nothing of the amphora. Yet its owner was not convinced, and within a year he himself sought out Lovey Lee in hope to make a bargain with her and recover his property by paying a generous sum and promising to take no step against her. She had, however, forfeited her life if guilty, for men and women hanged on light accusations a century ago. But Malherb never found the opportunity he desired, because Mrs. Lee had quite disappeared when he made search for her. During ten years he heard nothing of her fate; then chance threw him into the old woman\'s company again under this fury of a Dartmoor storm; and his first thought was the lost treasure.

In answer to the straight question, Lovey revealed both power of words and subtlety of mind. Her eyes glittered; each wrinkle in her face gathered itself together, as though to repulse an enemy; her sharp nose looked eager to stab him. She showed her teeth, and Malherb noted that they were white and strong.

"Still harping on that gimcrack; still babbling to the world that \'twas I stole it! What a fool must you be—an\' not the first Malherb as was that—to think I\'ve got your fortune. Look around you. Put your nose in that cupboard. You\'ll find barley bread an\' rancid grease—not the Malherb amphora. Do \'e see thicky wall? \'Tis piled o\' peat, an\' I live \'pon one side an\' my donkey an\' pony an\' cows \'pon t\'other. They save fuel in winter; they keep the air warm with their breath. I often go an\' sleep with \'em when \'tis too cold to bear my bones. But they say that your glass toy was worth twenty thousand pounds. Even a thief might have got rid of it for thousands. An\' should I be here—should I make a jackass my pillow, an\' live on berries and acorns like a bird, an\' stew snails to my broth, if I\'d gotten thousands? One dirty thousand I did have—may your faither roast for his mean trick—an\' this here slack-limbed great boy, Jack Lee, to keep with it. But——"

"Hear me!" interrupted Malherb. "What you say would be true enough if it was not Lovey Lee who spoke. D\'you think I don\'t remember you and your ways—you that sold your good food and lived on orts; that bartered your clothes and hated wearing any raiment that was better than a scarecrow\'s? Possession of my vase would be the light of your life. Not because it is lovely; not because the genius of man never devised nor his hand fashioned a nobler thing in such sort; but because it is worth twenty thousand pounds, and because to be able to hug that wealth all at once to your evil heart would be paradise to you. That is why I believed you were the thief; and still believe it."

She snarled at him, then made a slow answer.

"Believe as you please. I\'ll be very happy to hang for it—when you find it. An\' ban\'t no joy to me to see you under my roof, for you hate me an\' think evil against me, though I served your parents so faithful as the humble can serve the great, an\' nursed your youngest brother at my own breast."

"\'Twas chance, not intention, led me," he answered. "A few years ago I longed to meet you, and make you an offer. Now the opportunity has come. I\'ll be reasonable, as I always am. You cannot take the amphora with you when you die. At least see that my son——"

"Go your ways an\' trouble me no more!" she cried, and Malherb flashed into a passion.

"As to that, if this hole is your home, I\'m like to trouble you not a little, you cross-grained hag. See there—where the heart of the storm is bursting now, at the other side of this great marsh—there you\'ll presently find a granite house lifting itself four-square to the winds. I also have chosen the Moor for a home. May that knowledge bring you to better wisdom."

The old woman was deeply interested by this intelligence.

"What! You be coming? Then you haven\'t flourished down country after all, but must climb up here an\' begin again. You\'re mad! An\' \'tis a wicked thing to steal the Moor acre by acre as you an\' the likes of you be doing now. An\' Duchy always ready with its cursed greedy paws stretched out to take your money."

"I shall be a Moor-man, too, and enjoy rights of Venville," he said, more to himself than to the woman.

"\'Tis a wicked thing and flat robbery," she repeated. "All the countryside be raw under it; but for what count the rights of the poor? All the best of the Moor—all the best strolls for grazing, where the grass be greenest—all the lew spots—all stolen away one after t\'other an\' barred against the lawful commoners; an\' not a hand lifted. That hill be where my cows do graze an\' roam. Now you\'ll drive \'em from their proper lairs, an\' they\'ll have to bide on the coarse grass, an\' I\'ll be stinted of milk, as is my poor livelihood."

"You\'ll still have enough to fill the amphora," said Maurice Malherb; then he turned to the boy.

"Bring you my horse, lad. The storm is past. I can get on to Tor Royal now."

"An\' tell Tyrwhitt what I tell you," said Lavey, "that him an\' the rest be no better\'n a pack of thieves an\' cadgers. \'Tis a hanging matter if us steals the goose from the common; but nobody says nought when the upper people steal the common from the goose. There\'ll come a day of reckoning for Duchy yet—an\' Tyrwhitt too!"

She stood and watched him mount, with her bent head thrust out of the door, like a gigantic fowl looking out of a pen.

Malherb made no answer, but turned to the boy.

"There\'s a crown for you, youngster, and I wish you a better grandmother."

He went his way and the old woman twitched her long nose and stared after him.

"Born fool—born fool—to waste what he\'ve got left on this here wilderness. An\' so awful nigh to my——" She broke off and turned to the boy, John.

"What did he give e\', Jack? Quick! Out with it!"

As a matter of custom the youth gave up his money.

"A crown! Just the same great silly gawk he always was. Never knowed anybody with such large notions touching money. But them notions breed thin purses."

"A very fine gentleman all the same, granny, an\' a rides butiful, an\' have a flashing eye, an\' a voice as makes you run to do his bidding. He\'m awful proud, but I like him."

"\'Like him!\' You ungrateful little toad, you ought to cuss him for speaking so wicked to your grandam."

"There was laughter in his eyes more\'n once."

"Go an\' pick snails; go an\' pick snails! They\'ll swarm after the rain. I see the ducks gulching \'em by the quart. My snail-barrel be running low."

She watched young John start to obey, then spoke to herself.

"\'Likes him!\' Maybe he does. Blood\'s thicker\'n water."