
must accomplish my destiny.  I go now to Galicia, as is becoming a Swiss,
at the expense of the government, with coach and mule, I mean in the
_galera_.  I am to have all the help I require, so that I can dig down to
the earth’s centre if I think fit.  I—but I must not tell your worship,
for I am sworn on ‘the four _Evangelien_,’ not to tell.”

“Well, Benedict, I have nothing to say, save that I hope you will succeed
in your digging.”

“Thank you, _lieber Herr_, thank you; and now farewell.  Succeed!  I
shall succeed!”  Here he stopped short, started, and looking upon me with
an expression of countenance almost wild, he exclaimed, “_Heiliger Gott_!
I forgot one thing.  Suppose I should not find the treasure after all!”

“Very rationally said; pity, though, that you did not think of that
contingency till now.  I tell you, my friend, that you have engaged in a
most desperate undertaking.  It is true that you may find a treasure.
The chances are, however, a hundred to one that you do not, and in that
event what will be your situation?  You will be looked upon as an
impostor, and the consequences may be horrible to you.  Remember where
you are, and amongst whom you are.  The Spaniards are a credulous people,
but let them once suspect that they have been imposed upon, and above all
laughed at, and their thirst for vengeance knows no limit.  Think not
that your innocence will avail you.  That you are no impostor I feel
convinced; but they would never believe it.  It is not too late.  Return
your fine clothes and magic rattan to those from whom you had them.  Put
on your old garments, grasp your ragged staff, and come with me to the
Sagra, to assist in circulating the illustrious Gospel amongst the
rustics on the Tagus’ bank.”

Benedict mused for a moment, then, shaking his head, he cried, “No, no, I
must accomplish my destiny.  The _Schatz_ is not yet dug up.  So said the
voice in the _barranco_.  To-morrow to Compostella.  I shall find it—the
_Schatz_—it is still there—it _must_ be