Miss Sarah Liverage had been three days at the Cliff House before the mystery of her coming appeared to promise a solution.  The landlord was sure she had come for something, for all her speech and all her actions indicated this.  She had not visited the shore for recreation, and was not idling away a vacation.  One day she commenced a conversation with Mr. Bennington, and the next with Leopold; and, though she evidently desired to make some important revelation, or ask some startling question, she always failed to carry out her purpose.  She was nervous and excitable; and on the second day of her stay at the hotel, the chambermaid discovered her in her room, on her knees before the fireplace, apparently investigating the course of the flue; but when the girl asked her what she was doing, she answered that she was looking for her shawl-pin, which she had dropped.

The weather was rather chilly, and the wind blew fresh and stormy on the bay, so that Leopold seldom went out in the new boat, but did a man’s work about the hotel; for as the season advanced the “help” was reduced.  Miss Liverage, for some reason, seemed to be very desirous of cultivating his acquaintance, and she talked with him much more than with his father.  On the second day of her stay she offered him a dollar, when he brought her a pitcher of water to drink in the parlor, which the young man was too proud to accept.  The guest talked to him for half an hour; and he noticed that she did not drink any of the water he had brought.  On the strength of this and other similar incidents, Leopold declared that she was a very strange woman.  She sent for him, or procured his attendance by less direct means, as though she had something to say; but she did not say it.  She asked a multitude of questions in regard to some of the localities in the vicinity, but she did not connect her business at Rockhaven with any of them.

On the third day of her residence at the Cliff House a violent north-east storm commenced, and the guest could not go out of the house as she had been accustomed to do in the forenoon for a short time.  From the cliff near the house Leopold had explained to her the geography of the vicinity; and when she inquired where the ledges were on which the Waldo had been lost, he indicated the direction in which they were situated, for the high land on the south shore of the river intercepted the view of them.  Miss Liverage appeared to become more desperate in her purpose, whatever it was as the day passed away; and the storm seemed to increase her excitement.  On the fourth day after her arrival, she vibrated between her chamber and the parlor all the forenoon, occasionally visiting the dining-room and the office.  The landlord said she was “as uneasy as a fish out of water;” and he carried books and newspapers to her, but these did not seem to occupy her attention.  She only glanced at them, and it was plain that her mind wandered when she attempted to read them.  After dinner, on this eventful day her desperation appeared to culminate in a resolve to do something; and for the twentieth time since her arrival she sent for Leopold.

When he entered the parlor, where she was nervously walking across the floor, she closed the door after him, and looked out at the windows which opened on the piazza, apparently to assure herself that no one was within hearing distance of her.  She labored under more than her usual excitement of manner, and the landlord’s son was impressed with a belief that something was about to happen.  Miss Liverage had evidently made up her mind to say something, and Leopold promptly made up his mind, also, to hear what it was.

“I didn’t come down here for nothing,” said she, and then paused to observe the effect of this startling revelation upon her auditor.

“I didn’t suppose you did,” replied Leopold, judging from the pause that he was expected to say something, though he was not very deeply impressed by the guest’s announcement.

“Leopold, Harvey Barth said you were a very nice young man,” she added.

“Then I suppose I am, for I think Mr. Barth was a man of good judgment,” laughed Leopold.

“He told me you owed some money for your new boat.”

“He told the truth at that time; but I don’t owe anything now.  I was very lucky with the mackerel, and I have had plenty of jobs for the boat, so that I have paid up all I owed.”

“Then you have paid your debt,” added Miss Liverage, apparently “headed off” by the young man’s reply.

“I don’t owe a cent to anybody.”

“I didn’t know but you might want to make some money.”

“I do; I am always ready to make a dollar, though I don’t owe anybody anything,” replied Leopold, willing to encourage the woman, while he did not desire to make anything out of her.

“Five hundred dollars is a good deal of money,” continued Miss Liverage, watching the countenance of the young man very closely.

Leopold did not dispute the remark, and with a nod he admitted the truth of it.

“I suppose you would not object to making five hundred dollars, Leopold.”

“I don’t believe I should, if I could make it honestly, fairly, and above-board; but I wouldn’t steal five hundred dollars for the sake of having it.”

“Of course not.  I wouldn’t, either,” protested Miss Liverage.  “I never did anything which was not honest, fair, and above-board, and I never mean to.  Now, Leopold, I can put you in the way of making five hundred dollars.”

“Can you?  I am sure I shall not object.  I suppose the money would do me as much good as it would anybody.”

“I have no doubt it would.  Now, can you keep a secret?” demanded the woman, more excited than ever; so much so that her manner began to be decidedly mélo-dramatic.

“That depends on circumstances,” answered Leopold, who was not yet quite clear in his own mind whether or not the woman was crazy.  “If it is to cheat anybody out of a cent, even, I wouldn’t keep a secret any more than I would the itch, if I could get rid of it.”

“Nonsense, Leopold!  I am not going to cheat or wrong anybody.  I wouldn’t do such a thing for all the money in the world.”

“I can keep a secret that won’t harm anybody,” added the young man.

“Will you promise me solemnly not to tell any one, not even your father, what I say to you?” asked Miss Liverage, in a low tone, and in a very impressive manner.

“If the matter don’t concern my father, I won’t tell him of it, or anybody else.  But I don’t want you to tell me anything that concerns any person ­that is, in a way to do any injury.”

“It don’t concern any living soul,” interposed Miss Liverage, impatiently.  “I know where there is some money.”

The last remark was whispered, after a glance at the door and all the windows of the parlor.

“Where is it?” asked Leopold, now for the first time manifesting a real interest in the conversation.

“In the ground.”

“Buried?”

“Yes.”

Miss Liverage was very much agitated for a few moments, for she had now actually entered upon the business which had brought her to Rockhaven.  Of course this important revelation was in some manner to involve Harvey Barth; but Leopold was not willing to believe that the sick man had buried any considerable sum of money, unless his speech and his life while at the hotel were both a lie.

“Will you promise to keep the secret?” demanded the woman, as soon as she had overcome in a measure her agitation.

“On the condition I said, I will,” replied Leopold.  “But after you have told me, if I find that anybody is to be wronged by my keeping still, I shall tell all I know.”

“I’m satisfied.  I hope you don’t think I came down here, all the way from New York, to cheat or wrong anybody.”

“I hope not.  If you did, I can’t do anything for you.”

“You shall judge for yourself.  It is just as Harvey Barth said:  you are a good young man, and you will be as honest by me as you mean to be by other folks.”

“Of course I will be.”

“Your share of the money will be five hundred dollars.  Shall you be satisfied with this?”

“I think I shall be,” laughed Leopold, to whom the amount seemed like a fortune.

“You agree to take this as your share?”

“Yes; I agree to it.”

“And to keep the secret?”

“On the conditions I named.”

“I am satisfied with the conditions.  If you and I don’t get this money, somebody else will, who has no more right to it than we have.”

“But who owns the money?” asked Leopold, whose views of an honest policy required him to settle this question first.

“Nobody.”

“Nobody!” exclaimed the young man.  “It must belong to somebody.”

“No it don’t.”

“How can that be?”

“The owner is dead and gone.”

“Then it belongs to his heirs.”

“He has no heirs.”

“Who is he, anyhow?”

“He isn’t anybody now.  Didn’t I say he was dead and gone?” demanded Miss Liverage, impatiently.

“Well, who was he, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s very strange,” mused Leopold.

“I know it’s strange.  I am the only person living who knows anything about this money.  If I don’t take it, somebody else will, or it will stay in the ground till the end of the world,” said the woman.  “It’s a plain case; and I think the money belongs to me as much as it does to anybody else.”

“Where is it buried?”

Before she would answer this question, Miss Liverage satisfied herself that Leopold understood the bargain they had made, and was ready to abide by all its conditions.  With the proviso he had before insisted upon, the young man agreed to the arrangement.

“I don’t know exactly where the money was buried,” continued the owner of the great secret.

“O, you don’t!” exclaimed Leopold, rising from his chair, and bursting into a laugh.  “Then this is a ‘wild goose chase.’”

“No, it isn’t.  But now you have agreed to the terms, I will tell you all about it.  Sit down; for I don’t want to scream out what I have to say.  Will any one hear us?”

“No; I think not.”

“Won’t your father?”

“No, he has gone up to Squire Wormbury’s.”

Miss Liverage drew her chair up to the cheerful wood fire that blazed in the Franklin stove, and Leopold seated himself in the corner nearly opposite her, with his curiosity intensely excited by what he had already heard.

“In the first place do you know whatever became of Harvey Barth’s diary?” Miss Liverage began.

“I haven’t the least idea; but he said it was stolen from him, and he was going to get it when he went to New York,” replied Leopold, deeply interested even in this matter.

“But he never found it, and I don’t believe anybody stole it.  I think it is in this house now.  Our first business is to find it.”

“We couldn’t find it in the time of it, and I don’t believe we can now.”

“We must find it, for that diary will tell us just where the money is buried.”

“You never will find the diary or the money.”

“Don’t be too fast.  Harvey told me where the money was buried.  It was under the cliffs at High Rock,” added Miss Liverage.

“The cliffs are about a mile long.”

“The money was buried in the sand.”

“The beach under High Rock is half a mile long, and it would be a winter’s job to dig it all over.  But who hid the money there?”

“A man who was wrecked in the brig.”

“Was it Harvey Barth?”

“No; the man was a passenger and called himself Wallbridge; but Harvey thought this was not his real name.”

“That was the name of the passenger as it was printed in the newspaper.”

“Harvey wrote down all he knew about him in his diary.  He buried his money ­twelve hundred dollars in gold ­on the beach; and in the diary the place is described.  Harvey inquired about the passenger in Rockland; but no one knew anything about him.”

“Twelve hundred in gold,” said Leopold, musingly.

“Yes; and I have agreed to give you nearly half of it.”

“If we find it,” added the young man, who considered the information rather too indefinite for entire success.

“I think we can find it.”

“Did Harvey Barth tell you just where the money was buried?”

“He said it was buried on the beach.  He talked a great deal about it the day before he died, and said, if he ever got well enough, he should go and get it; and then he would pay me handsomely for all I had done for him.  I was a nurse in the hospital, you see, and was his only companion.  He felt very bad about the loss of his diary, and told me all about it.  He said he put it in the flue of the fireplace, because there was no closet in the room.  Now, if nobody stole it, the diary must be there yet.  I have looked into the flue, but I couldn’t see anything of it; and I have made up my mind that it dropped down somewhere.”

“The room is directly over this parlor, and if it dropped into the chimney, it must have come down into this fireplace,” replied Leopold.  “I am sure nothing was ever seen of it.”

They examined the flue of the Franklin stove, and Miss Liverage was satisfied with the young man’s statement in regard to its construction.

“Some one may have picked it up and put it away,” suggested the nurse.

“There was a summer piece fastened into the front of this stove, which was not taken down till I removed it to make the fire when you came.  If the diary had been there, I should have found it.  But I will search the whole house for it, though I am of Harvey Barth’s opinion, that some one stole the book.  If any person saw him put it into the flue, as Harvey thought the drummer did, he might have supposed it was something very valuable.  Why should he take so much pains to hide it, if it was not?  If the drummer did not take it himself, he may have told somebody else, who did steal it.  If he had left the diary on the table, nobody would have touched it, I know.  It was all because he hid it, that he lost it.”

Miss Liverage was sure the diary was still in the house, and during that and the next day, while the storm lasted, Leopold searched the hotel from cellar to garret.  He did not find the key to the hidden treasure of High Rock.  The nurse searched for herself, so far as she could do so without exciting the suspicions of the hotel people; but she was no more successful than her confidant in the secret.  If the diary was in the house, it could not be found.  The structure of the chimney, in which the flue of the fireplace was built, was carefully examined; and Leopold’s conclusion seemed to be fully verified.  Miss Liverage was reluctantly compelled to abandon all hope of finding the coveted volume.

The storm ended, and the sun shone again.  The wind came fresh and cold from the north-west.  The nurse looked from the windows of the hotel upon the waters of the river, which, sheltered from the force of the blast, were as smooth as an inland pond though the waves rolled up white and angry beyond the point.  The guest at the Cliff House, though she had given up all expectation of finding the diary, had not abandoned the hope of obtaining the hidden treasure.

“Now, Leopold, we must go to the beach under High Rock,” said she, after the storm was over.

“What is the use of going there, if you don’t know where the money is hidden?” demanded the boatman.

“I think I can find the place,” replied Miss Liverage.  “Harvey told me where it was; but I can’t think of the names he used in telling me.  I was pretty sure I should find the diary, when I left New York.”

“If you want to go to High Rock, I will take you down there in the boat,” added Leopold.

“I’m afraid of boats.  Can’t we go by land?”

“Not very well.  My boat is as stiff as a man-of-war, and you can go a great deal easier in her than you can climb over the rocks on the other side of the river.”

Miss Liverage considered the matter, and after dinner she decided to undertake the hazardous trip, as she regarded it.  She had an engagement the next week in New York, and she could not remain in Rockhaven more than a day or two longer.  What she did must be done at once.  Mr. Bennington was astonished when he saw his son taking her out to sail on such a chilly, blustering day; but he always allowed his guests to suit themselves, and offered no objection to the expedition.  Leopold seated his timid passenger in the standing-room, and shoved off the boat.  In the river she made smooth sailing of it; but the instant she passed the range of the high bluff on the north shore, the No-Name plunged into a heavy sea, burying her bow deep in a foam-crested billow, whose dense spray drenched the water-proof of Miss Liverage, and it seemed to her as if the end of all things had come.

“Mercy on us!” screamed she, trying to rise from her seat, as the bow of the boat was lifted far up by the wave.

“Sit down, Miss Liverage,” said Leopold, pushing her back into her seat.

“We shall be drowned!” cried the terrified passenger.

“This is nothing; the boat is doing first rate,” answered Leopold.

“I shall be wet to the skin,” she added, as another cloud of spray was dashed over her.  The skipper went to the cuddy, forward, and brought from it an old oil-cloth coat, which he spread over his passenger.  Though this garment protected her from the spray, the angry waves were still a vivid terror to her, and the skipper vainly assured her there was no danger.  Letting off the main sheet, he put the boat before the wind, and then she rolled, pitched, and floundered, till Miss Liverage declared she was frightened out of her life.

“Don’t be alarmed.  There! you can see the ledges now where the Waldo went to pieces,” added Leopold, pointing to the black rocks, now in sight, upon which the white foam broke at every surge of the sea.

“I can’t see anything, Leopold,” gasped Miss Liverage, holding on to the washboard with both hands.  “Do go back as fast as you can.”

“But you can’t find the money if you don’t go and look for it.”

“I don’t care for the money.  I wouldn’t stay out here another minute for the whole of it,” protested the passenger.

She pleaded so earnestly that Leopold finally came about, and beat his way back to the river, and soon landed her in front of the hotel.  She declared she would not get into a boat again for all the treasure hidden in the bowels of the earth.

Miss Liverage was satisfied that Leopold was both honest and zealous, and she finally concluded to commit to him the search for the buried money.  The next day she started for home, disappointed and disheartened at the result of her visit to Rockhaven, though she had some hope that her confidant might yet discover the treasure.