There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. Only how had they missed him? Were they imbecile? Or perhaps the mists had concealed him from them. Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. . " That satisfied something of her undefined hunger. The individual twist was always there, even in the cleverest forgeries. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness.
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