Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/298

 that it should be, either, he considered. Perhaps there was something wrong with a conduct of life, a method of thought, that could be summed up in a sentence. Life—he capitalized it—was bigger than that. They would see.

Jessica broke into his thoughts. “I’m all excited, all atingle,” she confessed, turning to him. He was recalled to mundane things with a start—he had forgotten where he was, where he was going, in the last minute. He came back to life to find himself sitting next to the most adorable creature in all this world—in fact, in all—possible worlds, he decided, taking in rather a great deal of territory.

“In a few minutes we’ll know whether it’s true or not,” she said. “Whether there really is any money⸺”

“Certainly there is, Jessica,” answered Morley. “D’you see that spot of coast?” He pointed far off to the sea line. “That’s the exact point where a Spanish galleon, loaded with gold, was sunk in the sixteenth century. The ship sank, but they managed to get the gold off. From ancient manuscripts, I have learned that the doubloons, the gold ornaments, the rubies and diamonds, hundreds of pounds of fine ivory, spices from Araby and scents from Cathay—all, all are buried on Mount Monroe. Your father had some queer idea that it was his own money he was burying, but he was mistaken. He was burying Spanish gold, romance, adventure, love—everything!”

She broke in with a gay laugh, fully restored to herself now.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re right,—Val,” she tinkled. Val felt happy, supremely happy. The sound of his name