He was as good as they, with money in his pocket; so he'd down to the Hall, and face the baronet himself, and blow his bailiff out o' water: that should be his business by noon.

Another odd idea, too, possessed him, and he could not sleep at night for thinking of it: it was a foolish fancy, but the dream might have put it in his head: what if one or other of those honey-jars, so flung here and there among the rushes, were in fact another sort of "Savings-bank"-- a crock of gold?
It was a thrilling thought--his very dream, too; and the lot of shillings, and the shawl--ay, and the inquest, and the rumours how that Mrs.Quarles had come to her end unfairly, and no hoards found--and--and the honey-pots missing.

Ha! at any rate he'd have a search to-morrow.

No bugbear now should hinder him; money's money; he'd ask no questions how it got there.

His own bit of garden lay the nearest to Pike Island, and who knows but Ben might have slung a crock this way?
It wouldn't do to ask him, though--for Burke might look himself, and get the crock--was Roger's last and selfish thought, before he fell asleep.
As to Mrs.Acton, she, poor woman, had her own thoughts, fearful ones, about that shawl, and Ben's mysterious adventure.