Afterwards, Sally learned the whole story, but not knowing it then, all she could say was:
"Take half of the treasure. You at least gave me the clue."
"You would have guessed it anyway. You were not far from the spot—and remember the conditions and the warning. To me it would have perhaps brought evil."
So for some Quixotic reason which had ruled and, the practical world would say, had ruined his life, some outworn code of Noblesse Oblige, perhaps the heritage of his race, he resolutely refused. In the end he did compromise, but not for himself. It was when he glanced at Linda, standing with downcast eyes and gazing mournfully out at sea, that he consented that twice the share which fell to the sailors should go to her, and a few gold pieces each to the helpless mute and the boatman Pierre.
At this concession Sally wondered, for it showed how little he believed the old tradition. In fact, in the brightened mood of the moment, she snapped her own fingers at the old mummery.
The division was arranged to take place in the morning, so they parted, with Larone's last warning, given in an undertone to the Captain.
"Pardon my advice, but I would plan to sail now, Captain Brent. Pierre will start with Linda in the morning. The Sleeping Giant up there is beginning to wake. He does every fifty years."
"How about yourself, my friend?" the Captain answered. He was a good judge of men, almost always.
