'Sae this, ye ken,' said Archie, when he had finished all his explanations, 'is the way ye get gold.'

'My faith,' said Vandeloup, carelessly, with a merry laugh, 'gold is as hard to get in its natural state as in its artificial.'

"An' harder," retorted Archie, "forbye there's nae sic wicked wark aboot it."

"Madame will be rich some day," remarked Vandeloup, as they left the office and walked up towards the house.

"Maybe she will," replied the other, cautiously. "Australia's a gran' place for the siller, ye ken. I'm no verra far wrang but what wi' industry and perseverance ye may mak a wee bit siller yersel', laddie."

"It won't be my fault if I don't," returned M. Vandeloup, gaily; "and Madame Midas," he added, mentally, "will be an excellent person to assist me in doing so."



CHAPTER VI

KITTY

Gaston Vandeloup having passed all his life in cities found that his existence on the Pactolus claim was likely to be very dreary. Day after day he arose in the morning, did his office work, ate his meals, and after a talk with Madame Midas in the evening went to bed at ten o'clock. Such Arcadian simplicity as this was not likely to suit the highly cultivated tastes he had acquired in his earlier life. As to the episode of New Caledonia M. Vandeloup dismissed it completely from his mind, for this young man never permitted his thoughts to dwell on disagreeable subjects.

His experiences as a convict had been novel but not pleasant, and he looked upon the time which had elapsed since he left France in the convict ship to the day he landed on the coast of Queensland in an open boat as a bad nightmare, and would willingly have tried to treat it as such, only the constant sight of his dumb companion, Pierre Lemaire, reminded him only too vividly of the reality of his trouble. Often and often did he wish that Pierre would break his neck, or that the mine would fall in and crush him to death; but nothing of the sort happened, and Pierre continued to vex his eyes and to follow him about with a dog-like fidelity which arose—not from any love of the young man, but—from the fact that he found himself a stranger in a strange land, and Vandeloup was the only person he knew. With such a millstone round his neck, the young Frenchman often despaired of being able to get on in Australia. Meanwhile he surrendered himself to the situation with a kind of cynical resignation, and looked hopefully forward to the time when a kind Providence would rid him of his unpleasant friend.

The feelings of Madame Midas towards Vandeloup were curious. She had been a very impressionable girl, and her ill-fated union with Villiers had not quite succeeded in deadening all her feelings, though it had doubtless gone a good way towards doing so. Being of an appreciative nature, she liked to hear Vandeloup talk of his brilliant life in Paris, Vienna, London, and other famous cities, which to her were merely names. For such a young man he had certainly seen a great deal of life, and, added to this, his skill as a talker was considerable, so that he frequently held Madame, Selina, and McIntosh spell-bound by his fairy-like descriptions and eloquent conversation. Of course, he only talked of the most general subjects to Mrs Villiers, and never by any chance let slip that he knew the seamy side of life—a side with which this versatile young gentleman was pretty well acquainted. As a worker, Gaston was decidedly a success. Being quick at figures and easily taught anything, he soon mastered all the details of the business connected with the Pactolus claim, and Madame found that she could leave everything to him with perfect safety, and could rely on all matters of business being well and promptly attended to. But she was too clever a woman to let him manage things himself, or even know how much she trusted him; and Vandeloup knew that whatever he did those calm dark eyes were on him, and that the least slip or neglect on his part would bring Madame Midas to his side with her quiet voice and inflexible will to put him right again.

Consequently the Frenchman was careful not to digress or to take too much upon himself, but did his work promptly and carefully, and soon became quite indispensable to the work of the mine. In addition to this he had made himself very popular with the men, and as the months rolled on was looked upon quite as a fixture in the Pactolus claim.

As for Pierre Lemaire, he did his work well, ate and slept, and kept his eye on his companion in case he should leave him in the lurch; but no one would have guessed that the two men, so different in appearance, were bound together by a guilty secret, or were, morally speaking, both on the same level as convicts from a French prison.

A whole month had elapsed since Madame had engaged M. Vandeloup and his friend, but as yet the Devil's Lead had not been found. Madame, however, was strong in her belief that it would soon be discovered, for her luck—the luck of Madame Midas—was getting quite a proverb in Ballarat.

One bright morning Vandeloup was in the office running up endless columns of figures, and Madame, dressed in her underground garments, was making ready to go below, just having stepped in to see Gaston.

'By the way, M. Vandeloup,' she said in English, for it was only in the evenings they spoke French, 'I am expecting a young lady this morning, so you can tell her I have gone down the mine, but will be back in an hour if she will wait for me.'

'Certainly, Madame,' said Vandeloup, looking up with his bright smile; 'and the young lady's name?'

'Kitty Marchurst,' replied Madame, pausing a moment at the door of the office; 'she is the daughter of the Rev. Mark Marchurst, a minister at Ballarat. I think you will like her, M. Vandeloup,' she went on, in a conversational tone; 'she is a charming girl—only seventeen, and extremely pretty.'

'Then I am sure to like her,' returned Gaston, gaily; 'I never could resist the charm of a pretty woman.'

'Mind,' said Madame, severely, holding up her finger, 'you must not turn my favourite's head with any of your idle compliments; she has been very strictly brought up, and the language of gallantry is Greek to her.'

Vandeloup tried to look penitent, and failed utterly.

'Madame,' he said, rising from his seat, and gravely bowing, 'I will speak of nothing to Mademoiselle Kitty but of the weather and the crops till you return.'

Madame laughed pleasantly.

'You are incorrigible, M. Vandeloup,' she said, as she turned to go. 'However, don't forget what I said, for I trust you.'

When Mrs Villiers had gone, closing the office door after her, Gaston was silent for a few minutes, and then burst out laughing.

'She trusts me,' he said, in a mocking tone. 'In heaven's name, why? I never did pretend to be a saint, and I'm certainly not going to be one because I'm put on my word of honour. Madame,' with an ironical bow in the direction of the closed door, 'since you trust me I will not speak of love to this bread-and-butter miss, unless she proves more than ordinarily pretty, in which case,' shrugging his shoulders, 'I'm afraid I must betray your trust, and follow my own judgment.'

He laughed again, and then, going back to his desk, began to add up his figures. At the second column, however, he paused, and commenced to sketch faces on the blotting paper.

'She's the daughter of a minister,' he said, musingly. 'I can guess, then, what like she is—prim and demure, like a caricature by Cham. In that case she will be safe from me, for I could never bear an ugly woman. By the way, I wonder if ugly women think themselves pretty; their mirrors must lie most obligingly if they do. There was Adele, she was decidedly plain, not to say ugly, and yet so brilliant in her talk. I was sorry she died; yes, even though she was the cause of my exile to New Caledonia. Bah! it is always a woman one has to thank for one's misfortunes—curse them; though why I should I don't know, for they have always been good friends to me. Ah, well, to return to business, Mademoiselle Kitty is coming, and I must behave like a bear in case she should think my intentions are wrong.'

He went to work on the figures again, when suddenly he heard a high clear voice singing outside. At first he thought it was a bird, but no bird could execute such trills and shakes, so by the time the voice arrived at the office door M. Vandeloup came to the conclusion that the owner of the voice was a woman, and that the woman was Miss Kitty Marchurst.

He leaned back in his chair and wondered idly if she would knock at the door or enter without ceremony. The latter course was the one adopted by Miss Marchurst, for she threw open the door and stood there blushing and pouting at the embarrassing situation in which she now found herself.

'I thought I would find Mrs Villiers here,' she said, in a low, sweet voice, the peculiar timbre of which sent a thrill through Gaston's young blood, as he arose to his feet. Then she looked up, and catching his dark eyes fixed on her with a good deal of admiration in them, she looked down and commenced drawing figures on the dusty floor with the tip of a very dainty shoe.

'Madame has gone down the mine,' said M. Vandeloup, politely, 'but she desired me to say that she would be back soon, and that you were to wait here, and I was to entertain you;' then, with a grave bow, he placed the only chair in the office at the disposal of his visitor, and leaned up against the mantelpiece in an attitude of unstudied grace. Miss Marchurst accepted his offer, and depositing her small person in the big cane chair, she took furtive glances at him, while Gaston, whose experience of women was by no means limited, looked at her coolly, in a manner which would have been rude but for the charming smile which quivered upon his lips.

Kitty Marchurst was a veritable fairy in size, and her hands and feet were exquisitely formed, while her figure had all the plumpness and roundness of a girl of seventeen—which age she was, though she really did not look more than fourteen. An innocent child-like face, two limpid blue eyes, a straight little nose, and a charming rose- lipped mouth were Kitty's principal attractions, and her hair was really wonderful, growing all over her head in crisp golden curls. Child-like enough her face looked in repose, but with the smile came the woman—such a smile, a laughing merry expression such as the Greeks gave to Hebe. Dressed in a rough white dress trimmed with pale blue ribbons, and her golden head surmounted by a sailor hat, with a scarf of the same azure hue tied around it, Kitty looked really charming, and Vandeloup could hardly restrain himself from taking her up in his arms and kissing her, so delightfully fresh and piquant she appeared. Kitty, on her side, had examined Gaston with a woman's quickness of taking in details, and she mentally decided he was the best-looking man she had ever seen, only she wished he would talk. Shyness was not a part of her nature, so after waiting a reasonable time for Vandeloup to commence, she determined to start herself.

'I'm waiting to be entertained,' she said, in a hurried voice, raising her eyes; then afraid of her own temerity, she looked down again.

Gaston smiled a little at Kitty's outspoken remark, but remembering Madame's injunction he rather mischievously determined to carry out her desires to the letter.

'It is a very nice day,' he said, gravely. Kitty looked up and laughed merrily.

'I don't think that's a very original remark,' she said coolly, producing an apple from her pocket. 'If that's all you've got to say, I hope Madame won't be long.'

Vandeloup laughed again at her petulance, and eyed her critically as she took a bit out of the red side of the apple with her white teeth.

'You like apples?' he asked, very much amused by her candour.

'Pretty well,' returned Miss Marchurst, eyeing the fruit in a disparaging manner; 'peaches are nicer; are Madame's peaches ripe?' looking anxiously at him.

'I think they are,' rejoined Gaston, gravely.

'Then we'll have some for tea,' decided Kitty, taking another bite out of her apple.

'I'm going to stay to tea, you know,' she went on in a conversational tone. 'I always stay to tea when I'm on a visit here, and then Brown—that's our man,' in an explanatory manner, 'comes and fetches me home.'

'Happy Brown!' murmured Vandeloup, who really meant what he said.

Kitty laughed, and blushed.

'I've heard all about you,' she said, coolly, nodding to him.

'Nothing to my disadvantage, I hope,' anxiously.

'Oh dear, no: rather the other way,' returned Miss Marchurst, gaily. 'They said you were good-looking—and so you are, very good- looking.'

Gaston bowed and laughed, rather amused at the way she spoke, for he was used to being flattered by women, though hardly in the outspoken way of this country maiden.

'She's been strictly brought up,' he muttered sarcastically, 'I can see that. Eve before the fall in all her innocence.'

'I don't like your eyes,' said Miss Kitty, suddenly.

'What's the matter with them?' with a quizzical glance.

'They look wicked.'

'Ah, then they belie the soul within,' returned Vandeloup, seriously. 'I assure you, I'm a very good young man.'

Then I'm sure not to like you,' said Kitty, gravely shaking her golden head. 'Pa's a minister, you know, and nothing but good young men come to our house; they're all so horrid,' viciously, 'I hate 'em.'

Vandeloup laughed so much at this that Kitty rose to her feet and looked offended.

'I don't know what you are laughing at,' she said, throwing her half-eaten apple out of the door; 'but I don't believe you're a good young man. You look awfully bad,' seriously. 'Really, I don't think I ever saw anyone look so bad.'

'Suppose you undertake my reformation?' suggested Vandeloup, eagerly.

'Oh! I couldn't; it wouldn't be right; but,' brightly, 'pa will.'

'I don't think I'll trouble him,' said Gaston, hastily, who by no means relished the idea. 'I'm too far gone to be any good.'

She was about to reply when Madame Midas entered, and Kitty flew to her with a cry of delight.

'Why, Kitty,' said Madame, highly pleased, 'I am so glad to see you, my dear; but keep off, or I'll be spoiling your dress.'

'Yes, so you will,' said Kitty, retreating to a safe distance; 'what a long time you have been.'

'Have I, dear?' said Madame, taking off her underground dress; 'I hope M. Vandeloup has proved a good substitute.'

'Madame,' answered Vandeloup, gaily, as he assisted Mrs Villiers to doff her muddy garments, 'we have been talking about the crops and the weather.'

'Oh, indeed,' replied Mrs Villiers, who saw the flush on Kitty's cheek, and by no means approved of it; 'it must have been very entertaining.'

'Very!' assented Gaston, going back to his desk.

'Come along, Kitty,' said Madame, with a keen glance at her clerk, and taking Kitty's arm within her own, 'let us go to the house, and see if we can find any peaches.'

'I hope we'll find some big ones,' said Kitty, gluttonously, as she danced along by the side of Mrs Villiers.

'Temptation has been placed in my path in a very attractive form,' said Vandeloup to himself, as he went back to those dreary columns of figures, 'and I'm afraid that I will not be able to resist.'

When he came home to tea he found Kitty was as joyous and full of life as ever, in spite of the long hot afternoon and the restless energy with which she had been running about. Even Madame Midas felt weary and worn out by the heat of the day, and was sitting tranquilly by the window; but Kitty, with bright eyes and restless feet, followed Selina all over the house, under the pretence of helping her, an infliction which that sage spinster bore with patient resignation.

After tea it was too hot to light the lamp, and even Selina let the fire go out, while all the windows and doors were open to let the cool night wind blow in. Vandeloup sat on the verandah with McIntosh smoking cigarettes and listening to Madame, who was playing Mendelssohn's 'In a Gondola', that dreamy melody full of the swing and rhythmic movement of the waves. Then to please old Archie she played 'Auld Lang Syne'—that tender caressing air which is one of the most pathetic and heart-stirring melodies in the world. Archie leaned forward with bowed head as the sad melody floated on the air, and his thoughts went back to the heather-clad Scottish hills. And what was this Madame was now playing, with its piercing sorrow and sad refrain? Surely 'Farewell to Lochaber', that bitter lament of the exile leaving bonny Scotland far behind. Vandeloup, who was not attending to the music, but thinking of Kitty, saw two big tears steal down McIntosh's severe face, and marvelled at such a sign of weakness.

'Sentiment from him?' he muttered, in a cynical tone; 'why, I should have as soon expected blood from a stone.'

Suddenly the sad air ceased, and after a few chords, Kitty commenced to sing to Madame's accompaniment. Gaston arose to his feet, and leaned up against the door, for she was singing Gounod's charming valse from 'Mirella', the bird-like melody of which suited her high clear voice to perfection. Vandeloup was rather astonished at hearing this innocent little maiden execute the difficult valse with such ease, and her shake was as rapid and true as if she had been trained in the best schools of Europe. He did not know that Kitty had naturally a very flexible voice, and that Madame had trained her for nearly a year. When the song was ended Gaston entered the room to express his thanks and astonishment, both of which Kitty received with bursts of laughter.

'You have a fortune in your throat, mademoiselle,' he said, with a bow, 'and I assure you I have heard all the great singers of to-day from Patti downwards.'

'I have only been able to teach her very little,' said Madame, looking affectionately at Miss Marchurst, who now stood by the table, blushing at Vandeloup's praises, 'but when we find the Devil's Lead I am going to send her home to Italy to study singing.'

'For the stage?' asked Vandeloup.

'That is as it may be,' replied Madame, enigmatically, 'but now, M. Vandeloup, you must sing us something.'

'Oh, does he sing?' said Kitty, joyously.

'Yes, and play too,' answered Madame, as she vacated her seat at the piano and put her arm round Kitty, 'sing us something from the "Grand Duchess", Monsieur.'

He shook his head.

'Too gay for such an hour,' he said, running his fingers lightly over the keys; 'I will give you something from "Faust".'

He had a pleasant tenor voice, not very strong, but singularly pure and penetrating, and he sang 'Salve Dinora', the exquisite melody of which touched the heart of Madame Midas with a vague longing for love and affection, while in Kitty's breast there was a feeling she had never felt before. Her joyousness departed, her eyes glanced at the singer in a half-frightened manner, and she clung closer to Madame Midas as if she were afraid, as indeed she was.

When Vandeloup finished the song he dashed into a riotous student song which he had heard many a time in midnight Paris, and finally ended with singing Alfred de Musset's merry little chanson, which he thought especially appropriate to Kitty:—

Bonjour, Suzon, ma fleur des bois, Es-tu toujours la plus jolie, Je reviens, tel que tu me vois,

D'un grand votage en Italie.

Altogether Kitty had enjoyed her evening immensely, and was quite sorry when Brown came to take her home. Madame wrapped her up well and put her in the buggy, but was rather startled to see her flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and the sudden glances she stole at Vandeloup, who stood handsome and debonair in the moonlight.

'I'm afraid I've made a mistake,' she said to herself as the buggy drove off.

She had, for Kitty had fallen in love with the Frenchman.

And Gaston?

He walked back to the house beside Madame, thinking of Kitty, and humming the gay refrain of the song he had been singing—

'Je passe devant ta maison Ouvre ta porte, Bonjour, Suzon.'

Decidedly it was a case of love at first sight on both sides.



CHAPTER VII

MR VILLIERS PAYS A VISIT

Slivers and his friend Villiers were by no means pleased with the existing state of things. In sending Vandeloup to the Pactolus claim, they had thought to compromise Madame Midas by placing her in the society of a young and handsome man, and counting on one of two things happening—either that Madame would fall in love with the attractive Frenchman, and seek for a divorce in order to marry him— which divorce Villiers would of course resist, unless she bribed him by giving him an interest in the Pactolus—or that Villiers could assume an injured tone and accuse Vandeloup of being his wife's lover, and threaten to divorce her unless she made him her partner in the claim. But they had both reckoned wrongly, for neither of these things happened, as Madame was not in love with Vandeloup, and acted with too much circumspection to give any opportunity for scandal. Consequently, Slivers and Co., not finding matters going to their satisfaction, met one day at the office of the senior partner for the purpose of discussing the affair, and seeing what could be done towards bringing Madame Midas to their way of thinking.

Villiers was lounging in one of the chairs, dressed in a white linen suit, and looked rather respectable, though his inflamed face and watery eyes showed what a drunkard he was. He was sipping a glass of whisky and water and smoking his pipe, while he watched Slivers stumping up and down the office, swinging his cork arm vehemently to and fro as was his custom when excited. Billy sat on the table and eyed his master with a steady stare, or else hopped about among the papers talking to himself.

'You thought you were going to do big things when you sent that jackadandy out to the Pactolus,' said Villiers, after a pause.

'At any rate, I did something,' snarled Slivers, in a rage, 'which is more than you did, you whisky barrel.'

'Look here, don't you call names,' growled Mr Villiers, in a sulky tone. 'I'm a gentleman, remember that.'

'You were a gentleman, you mean,' corrected the senior partner, with a malignant glance of his one eye. 'What are you now?'

'A stockbroker,' retorted the other, taking a sip of whisky.

'And a damned poor one at that,' replied the other, sitting on the edge of the table, which position caused his wooden leg to stick straight out, a result which he immediately utilized by pointing it threateningly in the direction of Villiers.

'Look here,' said that gentleman, suddenly sitting up in his chair in a defiant manner, 'drop these personalities and come to business; what's to be done? Vandeloup is firmly established there, but there's not the slightest chance of my wife falling in love with him.'

'Wait,' said Slivers, stolidly wagging his wooden leg up and down; 'wait, you blind fool, wait.'

'Wait for the waggon!' shrieked Billy, behind, and then supplemented his remarks by adding, 'Oh, my precious mother!' as he climbed up on Slivers' shoulder.

'You always say wait,' growled Villiers, not paying any attention to Billy's interruption; 'I tell you we can't wait much longer; they'll drop on the Devil's Lead shortly, and then we'll be up a tree.'

'Then, suppose you go out to the Pactolus and see your wife,' suggested Slivers.

'No go,' returned Villiers, gloomily, 'she'd break my head.'

'Bah! you ain't afraid of a woman, are you?' snarled Slivers, viciously.

'No, but I am of McIntosh and the rest of them,' retorted Villiers. 'What can one man do against twenty of these devils. Why, they'd kill me if I went out there; and that infernal wife of mine wouldn't raise her little finger to save me.'

'You're a devil!' observed Billy, eyeing Villiers from his perch on Slivers' shoulder. 'Oh, Lord! ha! ha! ha!' going into fits of laughter; then drawing himself suddenly up, he ejaculated 'Pickles!' and shut up.

'It's no good beating about the bush,' said the wooden-legged man, getting down from the table. 'You go out near the claim, and see if you can catch her; then give it to her hot.'

'What am I to say?' asked Villiers, helplessly.

Slivers looked at him with fiery scorn in his one eye.

'Say!' he shrieked, waving his cork arm, 'talk about your darned honour! Say she's dragging your noble name through the mud, and say you'll divorce her if she don't give you half a share in the Pactolus; that will frighten her.'

'Pickles!' again ejaculated the parrot.

'Oh, no, it won't,' said Villiers; 'Brag's a good dog, but he don't bite. I've tried that game on before, and it was no go.'

'Then try it your own way,' grumbled Slivers, sulkily, going to his seat and pouring himself out some whisky. 'I don't care what you do, as long as I get into the Pactolus, and once I'm in the devil himself won't get me out.'

Villiers thought a moment, then turned to go.

'I'll try,' he said, as he went out of the door, 'but it's no go, I tell you, she's stone,' and with a dismal nod he slouched away.

'Stone, is she?' cried the old man, pounding furiously on the floor with his wooden leg, 'then I'd smash her; I'd crush her; I'd grind her into little bits, damn her,' and overcome by his rage, Slivers shook Billy off his shoulder and took a long drink.

Meanwhile Mr Villiers, dreading lest his courage should give way, went to the nearest hotel and drank pretty freely so that he might bring himself into an abnormal condition of bravery. Thus primed, he went to the railway station, took the train to the Pactolus claim, and on arriving at the end of his journey had one final glass of whisky to steady his nerves.

The last straw, however, breaks the camel's back, and this last drink reduced Mr Villiers to that mixed state which is known in colonial phrase as half-cocked. He lurched out of the hotel, and went in the direction of the Pactolus claim. His only difficulty was that, as a matter of fact, the solitary mound of white earth which marked the entrance to the mine, suddenly appeared before his eyes in a double condition, and he beheld two Pactolus claims, which curious optical delusion rather confused him, inasmuch as he was undecided to which he should go.

'Itsh the drinksh,' he said at length, stopping in the middle of the white dusty road, and looking preternaturally solemn; 'it maksh me see double: if I see my wife, I'll see two of her, then'—with a drunken giggle—'I'll be a bigamist.'

This idea so tickled him, that he commenced to laugh, and, finding it inconvenient to do so on his legs, he sat down to indulge his humour freely. A laughing jackass perched on the fence at the side of the road heard Mr Villiers' hilarity, and, being of a convivial turn of mind itself, went off into fits of laughter also. On hearing this echo Mr Villiers tried to get up, in order to punish the man who mocked him, but, though his intentions were good, his legs were unsteady, and after one or two ineffectual attempts to rise he gave it up as a bad job. Then rolling himself a little to one side of the dusty white road, he went sound asleep, with his head resting on a tuft of green grass. In his white linen suit he was hardly distinguishable in the fine white dust of the road, and though the sun blazed hotly down on him and the mosquitos stung him, yet he slept calmly on, and it was not till nearly four o'clock in the afternoon that he woke up. He was more sober, but still not quite steady, being in that disagreeable temper to which some men are subject when suffering a recovery. Rising to his feet, with a hearty curse, he picked up his hat and put it on; then, thrusting his hands into his pockets, he slouched slowly along, bent upon meeting his wife and picking a quarrel with her.

Unluckily for Madame Midas, she had that day been to Ballarat, and was just returning. She had gone by train, and was now leaving the station and walking home to the Pactolus along the road. Being absorbed in thought, she did not notice the dusty figure in front of her, otherwise she would have been sure to have recognised her husband, and would have given him a wide berth by crossing the fields instead of going by the road. Mr Villiers, therefore, tramped steadily on towards the Pactolus, and his wife tramped steadily after him, until at last, at the turn of the road where it entered her property, she overtook him.

A shudder of disgust passed through her frame as she raised her eyes and saw him, and she made a sudden gesture as though to fall behind and thus avoid him. It was, however, too late, for Mr Villiers, hearing footsteps, turned suddenly and saw the woman he had come to see standing in the middle of the road.

Husband and wife stood gazing at one another for a few moments in silence, she looking at him with an expression of intense loathing on her fine face, and he vainly trying to assume a dignified carriage—a task which his late fit of drunkenness rendered difficult.

At last, his wife, drawing her dress together as though his touch would have contaminated her, tried to pass, but on seeing this he sprang forward, before she could change her position, and caught her wrist.

'Not yet!' he hissed through his clenched teeth; 'first you must have a word with me.'

Madame Midas looked around for aid, but no one was in sight. They were some distance from the Pactolus, and the heat of the afternoon being intense, every one was inside. At last Madame saw some man moving towards them, down the long road which led to the station, and knowing that Vandeloup had been into town, she prayed in her heart that it might be he, and so prepared to parley with her husband till he should come up. Having taken this resolution, she suddenly threw off Villiers' grasp, and turned towards him with a superb gesture of scorn.

'What do you want?' she asked in a low, clear voice, but in a tone of concentrated passion.

'Money!' growled Villiers, insolently planting himself directly in front of her, 'and I'm going to have it.'

'Money!' she echoed, in a tone of bitter irony; 'have you not had enough yet? Have you not squandered every penny I had from my father in your profligacy and evil companions? What more do you want?'

'A share in the Pactolus,' he said, sullenly.

His wife laughed scornfully. 'A share in the Pactolus!' she echoed, with bitter sarcasm, 'A modest request truly. After squandering my fortune, dragging me through the mire, and treating me like a slave, this man expects to be rewarded. Listen to me, Randolph Villiers,' she said, fiercely, stepping up to him and seizing his hand, 'this land we now stand on is mine—the gold underneath is mine; and if you were to go on your knees to me and beg for a morsel of bread to save you from starving, I would not lift one finger to succour you.'

Villiers writhed like a snake under her bitter scorn.

'I understand,' he said, in a taunting tone; 'you want it for your lover.'

'My lover? What do you mean?'

'What I say,' he retorted boldly, 'all Ballarat knows the position that young Frenchman holds in the Pactolus claim.'

Mrs Villiers felt herself grow faint—the accusation was so horrible. This man, who had embittered her life from the time she married him, was still her evil genius, and was trying to ruin her in the eyes of the world. The man she had seen on the road was now nearly up to them, and with a revulsion of feeling she saw that it was Vandeloup. Recovering herself with an effort, she turned and faced him steadily.

'You lied when you spoke just now,' she said in a quiet voice. 'I will not lower myself to reply to your accusation; but, as there is a God above us, if you dare to cross my path again, I will kill you.'

She looked so terrible when she said this that Villiers involuntarily drew back, but recovering himself in a moment, he sprang forward and caught her arm.

'You devil! I'll make you pay for this,' and he twisted her arm till she thought it was broken. 'You'll kill me, will you?—you!—you!' he shrieked, still twisting her arm and causing her intense pain, 'you viper!'

Suddenly, when Madame was almost fainting with pain, she heard a shout, and knew that Vandeloup had come to the rescue. He had recognised Madame Midas down the road, and saw that her companion was threatening her; so he made all possible speed, and arrived just in time.

Madame turned round to see Vandeloup throw her husband into a ditch by the side of the road, and walk towards her. He was not at all excited, but seemed as cool and calm as if he had just been shaking hands with Mr Villiers instead of treating him violently.

'You had better go home, Madame,' he said, in his usual cool voice, 'and leave me to deal with this—gentleman; you are not hurt?'

'Only my arm,' replied Mrs Villiers, in a faint voice; 'he nearly broke it. But I can walk home alone.'

'If you can, do so,' said Vandeloup, with a doubtful look at her. 'I will send him away.'

'Don't let him hurt you.'

'I don't think there's much danger,' replied the young man, with a glance at his arms, 'I'm stronger than I look.'

'Thank you, Monsieur,' said Madame Midas, giving him her hand; 'you have rendered me a great service, and one I will not forget.'

He bent down and kissed her hand, which action was seen by Mr Villiers as he crawled out of the ditch. When Madame Midas was gone and Vandeloup could see her walking homeward, he turned to look for Mr Villiers, and found him seated on the edge of the ditch, all covered with mud and streaming with water—presenting a most pitiable appearance. He regarded M. Vandeloup in a most malignant manner, which, however, had no effect on that young gentleman, who produced a cigarette, and having lighted it proceeded to talk.

'I'm sorry I can't offer you one,' said Gaston, affably, 'but I hardly think you would enjoy it in your present damp condition. If I might be permitted to suggest anything,' with a polite smile, 'a bath and a change of clothes would be most suitable to you, and you will find both at Ballarat. I also think,' said Vandeloup, with an air of one who thinks deeply, 'that if you hurry you will catch the next train, which will save you a rather long walk.'

Mr Villiers glared at his tormentor in speechless anger, and tried to look dignified, but, covered as he was with mud, his effort was not successful.

'Do you know who I am?' he said at length, in a blustering manner.

'Under some circumstances,' said M. Vandeloup, in a smooth voice, 'I should have taken you for a mud bank, but as you both speak and smile I presume you are a man of the lowest type; as you English yourselves say—a blackguard.'

'I'll smash you!' growled Villiers, stepping forward.

'I wouldn't try if I were you,' retorted Vandeloup, with a disparaging glance. 'I am young and strong, almost a total abstainer; you, on the contrary, are old and flabby, with the shaking nerves of an incurable drunkard. No, it would be hardly fair for me to touch you.'

'You dare not lay a finger on me,' said Villiers, defiantly.

'Quite right,' replied Vandeloup, lighting another cigarette, 'you're rather too dirty for close companionship. I really think you'd better go; Monsieur Sleeves no doubt expects you.'

'And this is the man that I obtained work for,' said Mr Villiers, addressing the air.

'It's a very ungrateful world,' said Vandeloup, calmly, with a shrug of his shoulders; 'I never expect anything from it; I'm sorry if you do, for you are sure to be disappointed.'

Villiers, finding he could make nothing out of the imperturbable coolness of the young Frenchman, turned to go, but as he went, said spitefully—

'You can tell my wife I'll pay her for this.'

'Accounts are paid on Saturdays,' called out M. Vandeloup, gaily; 'if you call I will give you a receipt of the same kind as you had to-day.'

Villiers made no response, as he was already out of hearing, and went on his way to the station with mud on his clothes and rage in his heart.

Vandeloup looked after him for a few minutes with a queer smile on his lips, then turned on his heel and walked home, humming a song.



CHAPTER VIII

MADAME MIDAS STRIKES 'ILE'

Aesop knew human nature very well when he wrote his fable of the old man and his ass, who tried to please everybody and ended up by pleasing nobody. Bearing this in mind, Madame Midas determined to please herself, and take no one's advice but her own with regard to Vandeloup. She knew if she dismissed him from the mine it would give colour to her husband's vile insinuations, so she thought the wisest plan would be to take no notice of her meeting with him, and let things remain as they were. It turned out to be the best thing she could have done, for though Villiers went about Ballarat accusing her of being the young Frenchman's mistress, everyone was too well aware of existing circumstances to believe what he said. They knew that he had squandered his wife's fortune, and that she had left him in disgust at his profligacy, so they declined to believe his accusations against a woman who had proved herself true steel in withstanding bad fortune. So Mr Villiers' endeavours to ruin his wife only recoiled on his own head, for the Ballarat folk argued, and rightly, that whatever she did it was not his place to cast the first stone at her, seeing that the unsatisfactory position she was now in was mainly his own work. Villiers, therefore, gained nothing by his attempt to blacken his wife's character except the contempt of everyone, and even the few friends he had gained turned their backs on him until no one would associate with him but Slivers, who did so in order to gain his own ends. The company had quarrelled over the unsuccessful result of Villiers' visit to the Pactolus, and Slivers, as senior partner, assisted by Billy, called Villiers all the names he could lay his tongue to, which abuse Villiers accepted in silence, not even having the spirit to resent it. But though he was outwardly sulky and quiet, yet within he cherished a deep hatred against his wife for the contempt with which he was treated, and inwardly vowed to pay her out on the first feasible opportunity.

It was now nearly six months since Vandeloup had become clerk at the Pactolus, and he was getting tired of it, only watching his opportunity to make a little money and go to Melbourne, where he had not much doubt as to his success. With a certain sum of money to work on, M. Vandeloup thought that with his talents and experience of human nature he would soon be able to make a fortune, particularly as he was quite unfettered by any scruples, and as long as he made money he did not care how he gained it. With such an adaptable nature he could hardly help doing well, but in order to give him the start he required a little capital, so stayed on at the Pactolus and saved every penny he earned in the hope of soon accumulating enough to leave. Another thing that kept him there was his love for Kitty—not a very pure or elevating love certainly, still it was love for all that, and Vandeloup could not tear himself away from the place where she resided.

He had called on Kitty's father, the Rev. Mark Marchurst, who lived at the top of Black Hill, near Ballarat, and did not like him. Mr Marchurst, a grave, quiet man, who was the pastor of a particular sect, calling themselves very modestly 'The Elect', was hardly the kind of individual to attract a brilliant young fellow like Vandeloup, and the wonder was that he ever had such a charming daughter.

Kitty had fallen deeply in love with Vandeloup, so as he told her he loved her in return, she thought that some day they would get married. But nothing was farther from M. Vandeloup's thoughts than marriage, even with Kitty, for he knew how foolish it would be for him to marry before making a position.

'I don't want a wife to drag me back,' he said to himself one day when Kitty had hinted at matrimony; 'when I am wealthy it will be time enough to think of marriage, but it will be long before I am rich, and can I wait for Bebe all that time? Alas! I do not think so.'

The fact was, the young man was very liberal in his ideas, and infinitely preferred a mistress to a wife. He had not any evil designs towards Kitty, but her bright manner and charming face pleased him, and he simply enjoyed the hours as they passed. She idolised him, and Gaston, who was accustomed to be petted and caressed by women, accepted all her affection as his due. Curiously enough, Madame Midas, lynx-eyed as she was, never suspected the true state of affairs. Vandeloup had told Kitty that no one was to know of their love for one another, and though Kitty was dying to tell Madame about it, yet she kept silent at his request, and acted so indifferently towards him when under Mrs Villiers' eye, that any doubts that lady had about the fascinations of her clerk soon vanished.

As to M. Vandeloup, the situation was an old one for him accustomed as he had been to carry on with guilty wives under the very noses of unsuspecting husbands, and on this occasion he acted admirably. He was very friendly with Kitty in public—evidently looking upon her as a mere child, although he made no difference in his manner. And this innocent intrigue gave a piquant flavour to his otherwise dull life.

Meanwhile, the Devil's Lead was still undiscovered, many people declaring it was a myth, and that such a lead had never existed. Three people, however, had a firm belief in its existence, and were certain it would be found some day—this trio being McIntosh, Madame Midas, and Slivers.

The Pactolus claim was a sort of Naboth's vineyard to Slivers, who, in company with Billy, used to sit in his dingy little office and grind his teeth as he thought of all the wealth lying beneath those green fields. He had once even gone so far as to offer to buy a share in the claim from Madame Midas, but had been promptly refused by that lady—a circumstance which by no means added to his love for her.

Still the Devil's Lead was not found, and people were beginning to disbelieve in its existence, when suddenly indications appeared which showed that it was near at hand. Nuggets, some large, some small, began to be constantly discovered, and every day news was brought into Ballarat about the turning-up of a thirty-ounce or a twenty-ounce nugget in the Pactolus, when, to crown all, the news came and ran like wildfire through the city that a three hundred ounce nugget had been unearthed.

There was great excitement over this, as such a large one had not been found for some time, and when Slivers heard of its discovery he cursed and swore most horribly; for with his long experience of gold mining, he knew that the long-looked for Devil's Lead was near at hand. Billy, becoming excited with his master, began to swear also; and these two companions cursed Madame Midas and all that belonged to her most heartily. If Slivers could only have seen the interior of Madame Midas's dining room, by some trick of necromancy, he would certainly not have been able to do the subject justice in the swearing line.

There were present Madame Midas, Selina, McIntosh, and Vandeloup, and they were all gathered round the table looking at the famous nugget. There it lay in the centre of the table, a virgin mass of gold, all water-worn and polished, hollowed out like a honeycomb, and dotted over with white pebbles like currants in a plum pudding.

'I think I'll send it to Melbourne for exhibition,' said Mrs Villiers, touching the nugget very lightly with her fingers.

''Deed, mum, and 'tis worth it,' replied McIntosh, whose severe face was relaxed in a grimly pleasant manner; 'but losh! 'tis naething tae what 'ull come oot o' the Deil's Lead.'

'Oh, come, now,' said Vandeloup, with a disbelieving smile, 'the Devil's Lead won't consist of nuggets like that.'

'Maybe no,' returned the old Scotchman, dryly; 'but every mickle makes a muckle, and ye ken the Lead wull hae mony sma' nuggets, which is mair paying, to my mind, than yin large ain.'

'What's the time?' asked Madame, rather irrelevantly, turning to Archie.

Mr McIntosh drew out the large silver watch, which was part and parcel of himself, and answered gravely that it was two o'clock.

'Then I'll tell you what,' said Mrs Villiers, rising; 'I'll take it in with me to Ballarat and show it to Mr Marchurst.'

McIntosh drew down the corners of his mouth, for, as a rigid Presbyterian, he by no means approved of Marchurst's heretical opinions, but of course said nothing as Madame wished it.

'Can I come with you, Madame?' said Vandeloup, eagerly, for he never lost an opportunity of seeing Kitty if he could help it.

'Certainly,' replied Madame, graciously; 'we will start at once.'

Vandeloup was going away to get ready, when McIntosh stopped him.

'That friend o' yours is gangin' awa' t' the toun the day,' he said, touching Vandeloup lightly on the shoulder.

'What for?' asked the Frenchman, carelessly.

''Tis to see the play actors, I'm thinkin',' returned Archie, dryly. 'He wants tae stap all nicht i' the toun, so I've let him gae, an' have tauld him to pit up at the Wattle Tree Hotel, the landlord o' which is a freend o' mine.'

'Very kind of you, I'm sure,' said Vandeloup, with a pleasant smile; 'but may I ask what play actors you refer to?'

'I dinna ken anythin' about sic folk,' retorted Mr McIntosh, piously, 'the deil's ain bairns, wha wull gang into the pit of Tophet.'

'Aren't you rather hard on them, Archie?' said Madame Midas, smiling quietly. 'I'm very fond of the theatre myself.'

'It's no for me to give ma opeenion about ma betters,' replied Archie, ungraciously, as he went out to see after the horse and trap; 'but I dinna care aboot sitting in the seat of the scornfu', or walking in the ways of the unrighteous,' and with this parting shot at Vandeloup he went away.

That young man shrugged his shoulders, and looked at Madame Midas in such a comical manner that she could not help smiling.

'You must forgive Archie,' she said, pausing at the door of her bedroom for a moment. 'He has been brought up severely, and it is hard to rid oneself of the traditions of youth.'

'Very traditional in this case, I'm afraid,' answered Gaston, referring to McIntosh's age.

'If you like,' said Madame, in a kindly tone, 'you can stay in to- night yourself, and go to the theatre.'

'Thank you, Madame,' replied Gaston, gravely. 'I will avail myself of your kind permission.'

'I'm afraid you will find an Australian provincial company rather a change after the Parisian theatres,' said Mrs Villiers, as she vanished into her room.

Vandeloup smiled, and turned to Selina, who was busy about her household work.

'Mademoiselle Selina,' he said, gaily, 'I am in want of a proverb to answer Madame; if I can't get the best I must be content with what I can get. Now what piece of wisdom applies?'

Selina, flattered at being applied to, thought a moment, then raised her head triumphantly—

'"Half a loaf is better than none,"' she announced, with a sour smile.

'Mademoiselle,' said Vandeloup, gravely regarding her as he stood at the door, 'your wisdom is only equalled by your charming appearance,' and with an ironical bow he went out.

Selina paused a moment in her occupation of polishing spoons, and looked after him, doubtful as to whether he was in jest or earnest. Being unable to decide, she resumed her work with a stifled chuckle, and consoled herself with a proverb.

'To be good is better than to be beautiful,' which saying, as everyone knows, is most consoling to plain-looking people.

The great nugget was carefully packed in a stout wooden box by Archie, and placed in the trap by him with such caution that Madame, who was already seated in it, asked him if he was afraid she would be robbed.

'It's always best to be on the richt side, mem,' said Archie, handing her the reins; 'we dinna ken what may happen.'

'Why, no one knows I am taking this to Ballarat to-day,' said Madame, drawing on her gloves.

'Don't they?' thought M. Vandeloup, as he took his seat beside her. 'She doesn't know that I've told Pierre.'

And without a single thought for the woman whose confidence he was betraying, and of whose bread and salt he had partaken, Vandeloup shook the reins, and the horse started down the road in the direction of Ballarat, carrying Madame Midas and her nugget.

'You carry Caesar and his fortunes, M. Vandeloup,' she said, with a smile.

'I do better,' he answered, gaily, 'I carry Madame Midas and her luck.'



CHAPTER IX

LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM

Mr Mark Marchurst was a very peculiar man. Brought up in the Presbyterian religion, he had early displayed his peculiarity by differing from the elders of the church he belonged to regarding their doctrine of eternal punishment. They, holding fast to the teachings of Knox and Calvin, looked upon him in horror for daring to have an opinion of his own; and as he refused to repent and have blind belief in the teachings of those grim divines, he was turned out of the bosom of the church. Drifting to the opposite extreme, he became a convert to Catholicism; but, after a trial of that ancient faith, found it would not suit him, so once more took up a neutral position. Therefore, as he did not find either religion perfectly in accordance with his own views, he took the law into his own hands and constructed one which was a queer jumble of Presbyterianism, Catholicism, and Buddhism, of which last religion he was a great admirer. As anyone with strong views and a clever tongue will find followers, Mr Marchurst soon gathered a number of people around him who professed a blind belief in the extraordinary doctrines he promulgated. Having thus founded a sect he got sufficient money out of them to build a temple—for so he called the barn-like edifice he erected—and christened this new society which he had called into existence 'The Elect'. About one hundred people were members of his church, and with their subscriptions, and also having a little money of his own, he managed to live in a quiet manner in a cottage on the Black Hill near to his temple. Every Sunday he held forth morning and evening, expounding his views to his sparse congregation, and was looked upon by them as a kind of prophet. As a matter of fact, the man had that peculiar power of fascination which seems to be inseparable from the prophetic character, and it was his intense enthusiasm and eloquent tongue that cast a spell over the simple- minded people who believed in him. But his doctrines were too shallow and unsatisfactory ever to take root, and it could be easily seen that when Marchurst died 'The Elect' would die also,—that is, as a sect, for it was not pervaded by that intense religious fervour which is the life and soul of a new doctrine. The fundamental principles of his religion were extremely simple; he saved his friends and damned his enemies, for so he styled those who were not of the same mind as himself. If you were a member of 'The Elect', Mr Marchurst assured you that the Golden Gate was wide open for you, whereas if you belonged to any other denomination you were lost for ever; so according to this liberal belief, the hundred people who formed his congregation would all go straight to Heaven, and all the rest of mankind would go to the devil.

In spite of the selfishness of this theory, which condemned so many souls to perdition, Marchurst was a kindly natured man, and his religion was more of an hallucination than anything else. He was very clever at giving advice, and Madame Midas esteemed him highly on this account. Though Marchurst had often tried to convert her, she refused to believe in the shallow sophistries he set forth, and told him she had her own views on religion, which views she declined to impart to him, though frequently pressed to do so. The zealot regretted this obstinacy, as, according to his creed, she was a lost soul, but he liked her too well personally to quarrel with her on that account, consoling himself with the reflection that sooner or later, she would seek the fold. He was more successful with M. Vandeloup, who, having no religion whatever, allowed Marchurst to think he had converted him, in order to see as much as he could of Kitty. He used to attend the Sunday services regularly, and frequently came in during the week ostensibly to talk to Marchurst about the doctrines of 'The Elect', but in reality to see the old man's daughter.

On this bright afternoon, when everything was bathed in sunshine, Mr Marchurst, instead of being outside and enjoying the beauties of Nature, was mewed up in his dismal little study, with curtains closely drawn to exclude the light, a cup of strong tea, and the Bible open at 'The Lamentations of Jeremiah'. His room was lined with books, but they had not that friendly look books generally have, but, bound in dingy brown calf, looked as grim and uninviting as their contents, which were mostly sermons and cheerful anticipations of the bottomless pit. It was against Marchurst's principles to gratify his senses by having nice things around him, and his whole house was furnished in the same dismal manner.

So far did he carry this idea of mortifying the flesh through the eyes that he had tried to induce Kitty to wear sad-coloured dresses and poke bonnets; but in this attempt he failed lamentably, as Kitty flatly refused to make a guy of herself, and always wore dresses of the lightest and gayest description.

Marchurst groaned over this display of vanity, but as he could do nothing with the obdurate Kitty, he allowed her to have her own way, and made a virtue of necessity by calling her his 'thorn in the flesh'.

He was a tall thin man, of a bleached appearance, from staying so much in the dark, and so loosely put together that when he bowed he did not as much bend as tumble down from a height. In fact, he looked so carelessly fixed up that when he sat down he made the onlooker feel quite nervous lest he should subside into a ruin, and scatter his legs, arms, and head promiscuously all over the place. He had a sad, pale, eager-looking face, with dreamy eyes, which always seemed to be looking into the spiritual world. He wore his brown hair long, as he always maintained a man's hair was as much his glory as a woman's was hers, quoting Samson and Absalom in support of this opinion. His arms were long and thin, and when he gesticulated in the pulpit on Sundays flew about like a couple of flails, which gave him a most unhappy resemblance to a windmill. The 'Lamentations of Jeremiah' are not the most cheerful of reading, and Mr Marchurst, imbued with the sadness of the Jewish prophet, drinking strong tea and sitting in a darkened room, was rapidly sinking into a very dismal frame of mind, which an outsider would have termed a fit of the blues. He sat in his straight-backed chair taking notes of such parts of the 'Lamentations' as would tend to depress the spirits of the 'Elect' on Sunday, and teach them to regard life in a proper and thoroughly miserable manner.

He was roused from his dismal musings by the quick opening of the door of his study, when Kitty, joyous and gay in her white dress, burst like a sunbeam into the room.

"I wish, Katherine," said her father, in a severe voice, "I wish you would not enter so noisily and disturb my meditations."

"You'll have to put your meditations aside for a bit," said Kitty, disrespectfully, crossing to the window and pulling aside the curtains, "for Madame Midas and M. Vandeloup have come to see you."

A flood of golden light streamed into the dusky room, and Marchurst put his hand to his eyes for a moment, as they were dazzled by the sudden glare.

"They've got something to show you, papa," said Kitty, going back to the door: "a big nugget—such a size—as large as your head."

Her father put his hand mechanically to his head to judge of the size, and was about to answer when Madame Midas, calm, cool, and handsome, entered the room, followed by Vandeloup, carrying a wooden box containing the nugget. It was by no means light, and Vandeloup was quite thankful when he placed it on the table.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Mr Marchurst," said Madame, sitting down and casting a glance at the scattered papers, the cup of tea, and the open Bible, "but I couldn't help gratifying my vanity by bringing the new nugget for you to see."

"It's very kind of you, I'm sure," responded Mr Marchurst, politely, giving way suddenly in the middle as if he had a hinge in his back, which was his idea of a bow. "I hope this," laying his hand on the box, "may be the forerunner of many such."

"Oh, it will," said Vandeloup, cheerfully, "if we can only find the Devil's Lead."

"An unholy name," groaned Marchurst sadly, shaking his head. "Why did you not call it something else?"

"Simply because I didn't name it," replied Madame Midas, bluntly; "but if the lead is rich, the name doesn't matter much."

"Of course not," broke in Kitty, impatiently, being anxious to see the nugget. "Do open the box; I'm dying to see it."

"Katherine! Katherine!" said Marchurst, reprovingly, as Vandeloup opened the box, "how you do exaggerate—ah!" he broke off his exhortation suddenly, for the box was open, and the great mass of gold was glittering in its depths. 'Wonderful!'

'What a size!' cried Kitty, clapping her hands as Vandeloup lifted it out and placed it on the table; 'how much is it worth?'

'About twelve hundred pounds,' said Madame, quietly, though her heart throbbed with pride as she looked at her nugget; 'it weighs three hundred ounces.'

'Wonderful!' reiterated the old man, passing his thin hand lightly over the rough surface; 'verily the Lord hath hidden great treasure in the entrails of the earth, and the Pactolus would seem to be a land of Ophir when it yields such wealth as this.'

The nugget was duly admired by everyone, and then Brown and Jane, who formed the household of Marchurst, were called in to look at it. They both expressed such astonishment and wonder, that Marchurst felt himself compelled to admonish them against prizing the treasures of earth above those of heaven. Vandeloup, afraid that they were in for a sermon, beckoned quietly to Kitty, and they both stealthily left the room, while Marchurst, with Brown, Jane, and Madame for an audience, and the nugget for a text, delivered a short discourse.

Kitty put on a great straw hat, underneath which her piquant face blushed and grew pink beneath the fond gaze of her lover as they left the house together and strolled up to the Black Hill.

Black Hill no doubt at one time deserved its name, being then covered with dark trees and representing a black appearance at a distance; but at present, owing to the mines which have been worked there, the whole place is covered with dazzling white clay, or mulloch, which now renders the title singularly inappropriate. On the top of the hill there is a kind of irregular gully or pass, which extends from one side of the hill to the other, and was cut in the early days for mining purposes. Anything more extraordinary can hardly be imagined than this chasm, for the sides, which tower up on either side to the height of some fifty or sixty feet, are all pure white, and at the top break into all sorts of fantastic forms. The white surface of the rocks are all stained with colours which alternate in shades of dark brown, bright red and delicate pink. Great masses of rock have tumbled down on each side, often coming so close together as to almost block up the path. Here and there in the white walls can be seen the dark entrances of disused shafts; and one, at the lowest level of the gully, pierces through the hill and comes out on the other side. There is an old engine-house near the end of the gully, with its red brick chimney standing up gaunt and silent beside it, and the ugly tower of the winding gear adjacent. All the machinery in the engine-house, with the huge wheels and intricate mechanism, is silent now—for many years have elapsed since this old shaft was abandoned by the Black Hill Gold Mining Company.

At the lower end of the pass there is an engine-house in full working order, and a great plateau of slate-coloured mulloch runs out for some yards, and then there is a steep sloping bank formed by the falling earth. In the moonlight this wonderful white gully looks weird and bizarre; and even as Vandeloup and Kitty stood at the top looking down into its dusty depths in the bright sunshine, it looks fantastic and picturesque.

Seated on the highest point of the hill, under the shadow of a great rock, the two lovers had a wonderful view of Ballarat. Here and there they could see the galvanized iron roofs of the houses gleaming like silver in the sunlight from amid the thick foliage of the trees with which the city is studded. Indeed, Ballarat might well be called the City of Trees, for seen from the Black Hill it looks more like a huge park with a sprinkling of houses in it than anything else. The green foliage rolls over it like the waves of the ocean, and the houses rise up like isolated habitations. Now and then a red brick building, or the slender white spire of a church gave a touch of colour to the landscape, and contrasted pleasantly with the bluish-white roofs and green trees. Scattered all through the town were the huge mounds of earth marking the mining-shafts of various colours, from dark brown to pure white, and beside them, with the utmost regularity, were the skeleton towers of the poppet heads, the tall red chimneys, and the squat, low forms of the engine-houses. On the right, high up, could be seen the blue waters of Lake Wendouree flashing like a mirror in the sunlight. The city was completely encircled by the dark forests, which stretched far away, having a reddish tinge over their trees, ending in a sharply defined line against the clear sky; while, on the left arose Mount Warreneip like an undulating mound and, further along, Mount Bunniyong, with the same appearance.

All this wonderful panorama, however, was so familiar to Kitty and her lover that they did not trouble themselves to look much at it; but the girl sat down under the big rock, and Vandeloup flung himself lazily at her feet.

'Bebe,' said Vandeloup, who had given her this pet name, 'how long is this sort of life going to last?'

Kitty looked down at him with a vague feeling of terror at her heart. She had never known any life but the simple one she was now leading, and could not imagine it coming to an end.

'I'm getting tired of it,' said Vandeloup, lying back on the grass, and, putting his hands under his head, stared idly at the blue sky. 'Unfortunately, human life is so short nowadays that we cannot afford to waste a moment of it. I am not suited for a lotus-eating existence, and I think I shall go to Melbourne.'

'And leave me?' cried Kitty, in dismay, never having contemplated such a thing as likely to happen.

'That depends on yourself, Bebe,' said her lover, quickly rolling over and looking steadily at her, with his chin resting on his hands; 'will you come with me?'

'As your wife?' murmured Kitty, whose innocent mind never dreamt of any other form of companionship.

Vandeloup turned away his face to conceal the sneering smile that crept over it. His wife, indeed! as if he were going to encumber himself with marriage before he had made a fortune, and even then it was questionable as to whether he would surrender the freedom of bachelorhood for the ties of matrimony.

'Of course,' he said, in a reassuring tone, still keeping his face turned away, 'we will get married in Melbourne as soon as we arrive.'

'Why can't papa marry us,' pouted Kitty, in an aggrieved tone.

'My dear child,' said the Frenchman, getting on his knees and coming close to her, 'in the first place, your father would not consent to the match, as I am poor and unknown, and not by any means the man he would choose for you; and in the second place, being a Catholic,'— here M. Vandeloup looked duly religious—'I must be married by one of my own priests.'

'Then why not in Ballarat?' objected Kitty, still unconvinced.

'Because your father would never consent,' he whispered, putting his arm round her waist; 'we must run away quietly, and when we are married can ask his pardon and,' with a sardonic sneer, 'his blessing.'

A delicious thrill passed through Kitty when she heard this. A real elopement with a handsome lover—just like the heroines in the story books. It was delightfully romantic, and yet there seemed to be something wrong about it. She was like a timid bather, longing to plunge into the water, yet hesitating through a vague fear. With a quick catching of the breath she turned to Vandeloup, and saw him with his burning scintillating eyes fastened on her face.

'Don't look like that,' she said, with a touch of virginal fear, pushing him away, 'you frighten me.'

'Frighten you, Bebe?' he said, in a caressing tone; 'my heart's idol, you are cruel to speak like that; you must come with me, for I cannot and will not leave you behind.'

'When do you go?' asked Kitty, who was now trembling violently.

'Ah!' M. Vandeloup was puzzled what to say, as he had no very decided plan of action. He had not sufficient money saved to justify him in leaving the Pactolus—still there were always possibilities, and Fortune was fond of playing wild pranks. At the same time there was nothing tangible in view likely to make him rich, so, as these thoughts rapidly passed through his mind, he resolved to temporize.

'I can't tell you, Bebe,' he said, in a caressing tone, smoothing her curly hair. 'I want you to think over what I have said, and when I do go, perhaps in a month or so, you will be ready to come with me. No,' he said, as Kitty was about to answer, 'I don't want you to reply now, take time to consider, little one,' and with a smile on his lips he bent over and kissed her tenderly.

They sat silently together for some time, each intent on their own thoughts, and then Vandeloup suddenly looked up.

'Will Madame stay to dinner with you, Bebe?' he asked.

Kitty nodded.

'She always does,' she answered; 'you will come too.'

Vandeloup shook his head.

'I am going down to Ballarat to the Wattle Tree Hotel to see my friend Pierre,' he said, in a preoccupied manner, 'and will have something to eat there. Then I will come up again about eight o'clock, in time to see Madame off.'

'Aren't you going back with her?' asked Kitty, in surprise, as they rose to their feet.

'No,' he replied, dusting his knees with his hand, 'I stay all night in Ballarat, with Madame's kind permission, to see the theatre. Now, good-bye at present, Bebe,' kissing her, 'I will be back at eight o'clock, so you can excuse me to Madame till then.'

He ran gaily down the hill waving his hat, and Kitty stood looking after him with pride in her heart. He was a lover any girl might have been proud of, but Kitty would not have been so satisfied with him had she known what his real thoughts were.

'Marry!' he said to himself, with a laugh, as he walked gaily along; 'hardly! When we get to Melbourne, my sweet Bebe, I will find some way to keep you off that idea—and when we grow tired of one another, we can separate without the trouble or expense of a divorce.'

And this heartless, cynical man of the world was the keeper into whose hands innocent Kitty was about to commit the whole of her future life.

After all, the fabled Sirens have their equivalent in the male sex, and Homer's description symbolizes a cruel truth.



CHAPTER X

FRIENDS IN COUNCIL

The Wattle Tree Hotel, to which Mr McIntosh had directed Pierre, was a quiet little public-house in a quiet street. It was far away from the main thoroughfares of the city, and a stranger had to go up any number of quiet streets to get to it, and turn and twist round corners and down narrow lanes until it became a perfect miracle how he ever found the hotel at all.

To a casual spectator it would seem that a tavern so difficult of access would not be very good for business, but Simon Twexby, the landlord, knew better. It had its regular customers, who came there day after day, and sat in the little back parlour and talked and chatted over their drinks. The Wattle Tree was such a quiet haven of rest, and kept such good liquor, that once a man discovered it he always came back again; so Mr Twexby did a very comfortable trade.

Rumour said he had made a lot of money out of gold-mining, and that he kept the hotel more for amusement than anything else; but, however this might be, the trade of the Wattle Tree brought him in a very decent income, and Mr Twexby could afford to take things easy— which he certainly did.

Anyone going into the bar could see old Simon—a stolid, fat man, with a sleepy-looking face, always in his shirt sleeves, and wearing a white apron, sitting in a chair at the end, while his daughter, a sharp, red-nosed damsel, who was thirty-five years of age, and confessed to twenty-two, served out the drinks. Mrs Twexby had long ago departed this life, leaving behind her the sharp, red-nosed damsel to be her father's comfort. As a matter of fact, she was just the opposite, and Simon often wished that his daughter had departed to a better world in company with her mother. Thin, tight-laced, with a shrill voice and an acidulated temper, Miss Twexby was still a spinster, and not even the fact of her being an heiress could tempt any of the Ballarat youth to lead her to the altar. Consequently Miss Twexby's temper was not a golden one, and she ruled the hotel and its inmates—her father included—with a rod of iron.

Mr Villiers was a frequent customer at the Wattle Tree, and was in the back parlour drinking brandy and water and talking to old Twexby on the day that Pierre arrived. The dumb man came into the bar out of the dusty road, and, leaning over the counter, pushed a letter under Miss Twexby's nose.

'Bills?' queried that damsel, sharply.

Pierre, of course, did not answer, but touched his lips with his hand to indicate he was dumb. Miss Twexby, however, read the action another way.

'You want a drink,' she said, with a scornful toss of her head. 'Where's your money?'

Pierre pointed out the letter, and although it was directed to her father, Miss Twexby, who managed everything, opened it and found it was from McIntosh, saying that the bearer, Pierre Lemaire, was to have a bed for the night, meals, drinks, and whatever else he required, and that he—McIntosh—would be responsible for the money. He furthermore added that the bearer was dumb.

'Oh, so you're dumb, are you,' said Miss Twexby, folding up the letter and looking complacently at Pierre. 'I wish there were a few more men the same way; then, perhaps, we'd have less chat.'

This being undeniable, the fair Martha—for that was the name of the Twexby heiress—without waiting for any assent, walking into the back parlour, read the letter to her father, and waited instructions, for she always referred to Simon as the head of the house, though as a matter of fact she never did what she was told save when it tallied with her own wishes.

'It will be all right, Martha, I suppose,' said Simon sleepily.

Martha asserted with decision that it would be all right, or she would know the reason why; then marching out again to the bar, she drew a pot of beer for Pierre—without asking him what he would have—and ordered him to sit down and be quiet, which last remark was rather unnecessary, considering that the man was dumb. Then she sat down behind her bar and resumed her perusal of a novel called The Duke's Duchesses, or The Milliner's Mystery,' which contained a ducal hero with bigamistic proclivities, and a virtuous milliner whom the aforesaid duke persecuted. All of which was very entertaining and improbable, and gave Miss Twexby much pleasure, judging from the sympathetic sighs she was heaving.

Meanwhile, Villiers having heard the name of Pierre Lemaire, and knowing he was engaged in the Pactolus claim, came round to see him and try to find out all about the nugget. Pierre was sulky at first, and sat drinking his beer sullenly, with his old black hat drawn down so far over his eyes that only his bushy black beard was visible, but Mr Villiers' suavity, together with the present of half-a-crown, had a marked effect on him. As he was dumb, Mr Villiers was somewhat perplexed how to carry on a conversation with him, but he ultimately drew forth a piece of paper, and sketched a rough presentation of a nugget thereon, which he showed to Pierre. The Frenchman, however, did not comprehend until Villiers produced a sovereign from his pocket, and pointed first to the gold, and then to the drawing, upon which Pierre nodded his head several times in order to show that he understood. Villiers then drew a picture of the Pactolus claim, and asked Pierre in French if the nugget was still there, as he showed him the sketch. Pierre shook his head, and, taking the pencil in his hand, drew a rough representation of a horse and cart, and put a square box in the latter to show the nugget was on a journey.

'Hullo!' said Villiers to himself, 'it's not at her own house, and she's driving somewhere with it, I wonder where to?'

Pierre—who not being able to write, was in the habit of drawing pictures to express his thoughts—nudged his elbow and showed him a sketch of a man in a box waving his arms.

'Auctioneer?' hazarded Mr Villiers, looking at this keenly. Pierre stared at him blankly; his comprehension of English was none of the best, so he did not know what auctioneer meant. However, he saw that Villiers did not understand, so he rapidly sketched an altar with a priest standing before it blessing the people.

'Oh, a priest, eh?—a minister?' said Villiers, nodding his head to show he understood. 'She's taken the nugget to show it to a minister! Wonder who it is?'

This was speedily answered by Pierre, who, throwing down the pencil and paper, dragged him outside on to the road, and pointed to the white top of the Black Hill. Mr Villiers instantly comprehended.

'Marchurst, by God!' he said in English, smiting his leg with his open hand. 'Is Madame there now?' he added in French, turning to Pierre.

The dumb man nodded and slouched slowly back into the hotel. Villiers stood out in the blazing sunshine, thinking.

'She's got the nugget with her in the trap,' he said to himself; 'and she's taken it to show Marchurst. Well, she's sure to stop there to tea, and won't start for home till about nine o'clock: it will be pretty dark by then. She'll be by herself, and if I—' here he stopped and looked round cautiously, and then, without another word, set off down the street at a run.

The fact was, Mr Villiers had come to the conclusion that as his wife would not give him money willingly, the best thing to be done would be to take it by force, and accordingly he had made up his mind to rob her of the nugget that night if possible. Of course there was a risk, for he knew his wife was a determined woman; still, while she was driving in the darkness down the hill, if he took her by surprise he would be able to stun her with a blow and get possession of the nugget. Then he could hide it in one of the old shafts of the Black Hill Company until he required it. As to the possibility of his wife knowing him, there would be no chance of that in the darkness, so he could escape any unpleasant inquiries, then take the nugget to Melbourne and get it melted down secretly. He would be able to make nearly twelve hundred pounds out of it, so the game would certainly be worth the candle. Full of this brilliant idea of making a good sum at one stroke, Mr Villiers went home, had something to eat, and taking with him a good stout stick, the nob of which was loaded with lead, he started for the Black Hill with the intent of watching Marchurst's house until his wife left there, and then following her down the hill and possessing himself of the nugget.

The afternoon wore drowsily along, and the great heat made everybody inclined to sleep. Pierre had demanded by signs to be shown his bedroom, and having been conducted thereto by a crushed-looking waiter, who drifted aimlessly before him, threw himself on the bed and went fast asleep.

Old Simon, in the dimly-lit back parlour, was already snoring, and only Miss Twexby, amid the glitter of the glasses in the bar and the glare of the sunshine through the open door, was wide awake. Customers came in for foaming tankards of beer, and sometimes a little girl, with a jug hidden under her apron, would appear, with a request that it might be filled for 'mother', who was ironing. Indeed, the number of women who were ironing that afternoon, and wanted to quench their thirst, was something wonderful; but Miss Twexby seemed to know all about it as she put a frothy head on each jug, and received the silver in exchange. At last, however, even Martha the wide-awake was yielding to the somniferous heat of the day when a young man entered the bar and made her sit up with great alacrity, beaming all over her hard wooden face.

This was none other than M. Vandeloup, who had come down to see Pierre. Dressed in flannels, with a blue scarf tied carelessly round his waist, a blue necktie knotted loosely round his throat under the collar of his shirt, and wearing a straw hat on his fair head, he looked wonderfully cool and handsome, and as he leaned over the counter composedly smoking a cigarette, Miss Twexby thought that the hero of her novel must have stepped bodily out of the book. Gaston stared complacently at her while he pulled at his fair moustache, and thought how horribly plain-looking she was, and what a contrast to his charming Bebe.

'I'll take something cool to drink,' he said, with a yawn, 'and also a chair, if you have no objection,' suiting the action to the word; 'whew! how warm it is.'

'What would you like to drink, sir?' asked the fair Martha, putting on her brightest smile, which seemed rather out of place on her features; 'brandy and soda?'

'Thank you, I'll have a lemon squash if you will kindly make me one,' he said, carelessly, and as Martha flew to obey his order, he added, 'you might put a little curacoa in it.'

'It's very hot, ain't it,' observed Miss Twexby, affably, as she cut up the lemon; 'par's gone to sleep in the other room,' jerking her head in the direction of the parlour, 'but Mr Villiers went out in all the heat, and it ain't no wonder if he gets a sunstroke.'

'Oh, was Mr Villiers here?' asked Gaston, idly, not that he cared much about that gentleman's movements, but merely for something to say.

'Lor, yes, sir,' giggled Martha, 'he's one of our regulars, sir.'

'I can understand that, Mademoiselle,' said Vandeloup, bowing as he took the drink from her hand.

Miss Twexby giggled again, and her nose grew a shade redder at the pleasure of being bantered by this handsome young man.

'You're a furriner,' she said, shortly; 'I knew you were,' she went on triumphantly as he nodded, 'you talk well enough, but there's something wrong about the way you pronounces your words.'

Vandeloup hardly thought Miss Twexby a mistress of Queen's English, but he did not attempt to contradict her.

'I must get you to give me a few lessons,' he replied, gallantly, setting down the empty glass; 'and what has Mr Villiers gone out into the heat for?'

'It's more nor I can tell,' said Martha, emphatically, nodding her head till the short curls dangling over her ears vibrated as if they were made of wire. 'He spoke to the dumb man and drew pictures for him, and then off he goes.'

The dumb man! Gaston pricked up his ears at this, and, wondering what Villiers wanted to talk to Pierre about, he determined to find out.

'That dumb man is one of our miners from the Pactolus,' he said, lighting another cigarette; 'I wish to speak to him—has he gone out also?'

'No, he ain't,' returned Miss Twexby, decisively; 'he's gone to lie down; d'ye want to see him; I'll send for him—' with her hand on the bell-rope.

'No, thank you,' said Vandeloup, stopping her, 'I'll go up to his room if you will show me the way.'

'Oh, I don't mind,' said Martha, preparing to leave the bar, but first ringing the bell so that the crushed-looking waiter might come and attend to possible customers; 'he's on the ground floor, and there ain't no stairs to climb—now what are you looking at, sir?' with another gratified giggle, as she caught Vandeloup staring at her.

But he was not looking at her somewhat mature charms, but at a bunch of pale blue flowers, among which were some white blossoms she wore in the front of her dress.

'What are these?' he asked, touching the white blossoms lightly with his finger.

'I do declare it's that nasty hemlock!' said Martha, in surprise, pulling the white flowers out of the bunch; 'and I never knew it was there. Pah!' and she threw the blossom down with a gesture of disgust. 'How they smell!'

Gaston picked up one of the flowers, and crushed it between his fingers, upon which it gave out a peculiar mousy odour eminently disagreeable. It was hemlock sure enough, and he wondered how such a plant had come into Australia.

'Does it grow in your garden?' he asked Martha.

That damsel intimated it did, and offered to show him the plant, so that he could believe his own eyes.

Vandeloup assented eagerly, and they were soon in the flower garden at the back of the house, which was blazing with vivid colours, in the hot glare of the sunshine.

There you are,' said Miss Twexby, pointing to a corner of the garden near the fence where the plant was growing; 'par brought a lot of seeds from home, and that beastly thing got mixed up with them. Par keeps it growing, though, 'cause no one else has got it. It's quite a curiosity.'

Vandeloup bent down and examined the plant, with its large, round, smooth, purple-spotted stem—its smooth, shining green leaves, and the tiny white flowers with their disagreeable odour.

'Yes, it is hemlock,' he said, half to himself; 'I did not know it could be grown here. Some day, Mademoiselle,' he said, turning to Miss Twexby and walking back to the house with her, 'I will ask you to let me have some of the roots of that plant to make an experiment with.'

'As much as you like,' said the fair Martha, amiably; 'it's a nasty smelling thing. What are you going to make out of it?'

'Nothing particular,' returned Vandeloup, with a yawn, as they entered the house and stopped at the door of Pierre's room. 'I'm a bit of a chemist, and amuse myself with these things.'

'You are clever,' observed Martha, admiringly; 'but here's that man's room—we didn't give him the best'—apologetically—'as miners are so rough.'

'Mademoiselle,' said Vandeloup, eagerly, as she turned to go, 'I see there are a few blossoms of hemlock left in your flower there,' touching it with his finger; 'will you give them to me?'

Martha Twexby stared; surely this was the long-expected come at last—she had secured a lover; and such a lover—handsome, young, and gallant,—the very hero of her dreams. She almost fainted in delighted surprise, and unfastening the flowers with trembling fingers, gave them to Gaston. He placed them in a button-hole of his flannel coat, then before she could scream, or even draw back in time, this audacious young man put his arm round her and kissed her virginal lips. Miss Twexby was so taken by surprise, that she could offer no resistance, and by the time she had recovered herself, Gaston had disappeared into Pierre's room and closed the door after him.

'Well,' she said to herself, as she returned to the bar, 'if that isn't a case of love at first sight, my name ain't Martha Twexby,' and she sat down in the bar with her nerves all of a flutter, as she afterwards told a female friend who dropped in sometimes for a friendly cup of tea.

Gaston closed the door after him, and found himself in a moderately large room, with one window looking on to the garden, and having a dressing-table with a mirror in front of it. There were two beds, one on each side, and on the farthest of these Pierre was sleeping heavily, not even Gaston's entrance having roused him. Going over to him, Vandeloup touched him slightly, and with a spring the dumb man sat up in bed as if he expected to be arrested, and was all on the alert to escape.

'It's only I, my friend,' said Gaston, in French, crossing over to the other bed and sitting on it. 'Come here; I wish to speak to you.'

Pierre rose from his sleeping place, and, stumbling across the room, stood before Gaston with downcast eyes, his shaggy hair all tossed and tumbled by the contact with the pillow. Gaston himself coolly relit his cigarette, which had gone out, threw his straw hat on the bed, and then, curling one leg inside the other, looked long and keenly at Pierre.

'You saw Madame's husband to-day?' he said sharply, still eyeing the slouching figure before him, that seemed so restless under his steady gaze.

Pierre nodded and shuffled his large feet.

'Did he want to know about his wife?'

Another nod.

'I thought so; and about the new nugget also, I presume?'

Still another nod.

'Humph,' thoughtfully. 'He'd like to get a share of it, I've no doubt.'

The dumb man nodded violently; then, crossing over to his own bed, he placed the pillow in the centre of it, and falling on his knees, imitated the action of miners in working at the wash. Then he arose to his feet and pointed to the pillow.

'I see,' said M. Vandeloup, who had been watching this pantomime with considerable interest; 'that pillow is the nugget of which our friend wants a share.'

Pierre assented; then, snatching up the pillow, he ran with it to the end of the room.

'Oh,' said Gaston, after a moment's thought, 'so he's going to run away with it. A very good idea; but how does he propose to get it?'

Pierre dropped his pillow and pointed in the direction of the Black Hill.

'Does he know it's up there?' asked Vandeloup; 'you told him, I suppose?' As Pierre nodded, 'Humph! I think I can see what Mr Villiers intends to do—rob his wife as she goes home tonight.'

Pierre nodded in a half doubtful manner.

'You're not quite sure,' interrupted M. Vandeloup, 'but I am. He won't stop at anything to get money. You stay all night in town?'

The dumb man assented.

'So do I,' replied Vandeloup; 'it's a happy coincidence, because I see a chance of our getting that nugget.' Pierre's dull eyes brightened, and he rubbed his hands together in a pleased manner.

'Sit down,' said Vandeloup, in a peremptory tone, pointing to the floor. 'I wish to tell you what I think.'

Pierre obediently dropped on to the floor, where he squatted like a huge misshapen toad, while Vandeloup, after going to the door to see that it was closed, returned to the bed, sat down again, and, having lighted another cigarette, began to speak. All this precaution was somewhat needless, as he was talking rapidly in French, but then M. Vandeloup knew that walls have ears and possibly might understand foreign languages.

'I need hardly remind you,' said Vandeloup, in a pleasant voice, 'that when we landed in Australia I told you that there was war between ourselves and society, and that, at any cost, we must try to make money; so far, we have only been able to earn an honest livelihood—a way of getting rich which you must admit is remarkably slow. Here, however, is a chance of making, if not a fortune, at least a good sum of money at one stroke. This M. Villiers is going to rob his wife, and his plan will no doubt be this: he will lie in wait for her, and when she drives slowly down the hill, he will spring on to the trap and perhaps attempt to kill her; at all events, he will seize the box containing the nugget, and try to make off with it. How he intends to manage it I cannot tell you—it must be left to the chapter of accidents; but,' in a lower voice, bending forward, 'when he does get the nugget we must obtain it from him.'

Pierre looked up and drew his hand across his throat.

'Not necessarily,' returned Vandeloup, coolly; 'I know your adage, "dead men tell no tales," but it is a mistake—they do, and to kill him is dangerous. No, if we stun him we can go off with the nugget, and then make our way to Melbourne, where we can get rid of it quietly. As to Madame Midas, if her husband allows her to live— which I think is unlikely—I will make our excuses to her for leaving the mine. Now, I'm going up to M. Marchurst's house, so you can meet me at the top of the hill, at eight o'clock tonight. Madame will probably start at half-past eight or nine, so that will give us plenty of time to see what M. Villiers is going to do.'

They both rose to their feet. Then Vandeloup put on his hat, and, going to the glass, arranged his tie in as cool and nonchalant a manner as if he had been merely planning the details for a picnic instead of a possible crime. While admiring himself in the glass he caught sight of the bunch of flowers given to him by Miss Twexby, and, taking them from his coat, he turned round to Pierre, who stood watching him in his usual sullen manner.

'Do you see these?' he asked, touching the white blossoms with the cigarette he held between his fingers.

Pierre intimated that he did.

'From the plant of these, my friend,' said Vandeloup, looking at them critically, 'I can prepare a vegetable poison as deadly as any of Caesar Borgia's. It is a powerful narcotic, and leaves hardly any trace. Having been a medical student, you know,' he went on, conversationally, 'I made quite a study of toxicology, and the juice of this plant,' touching the white flower, 'has done me good service, although it was the cause of my exile to New Caledonia. Well,' with a shrug of the shoulders as he put the flowers back in his coat, 'it is always something to have in reserve; I did not know that I could get this plant here, my friend. But now that I have I will prepare a little of this poison,—it will always be useful in emergencies.'

Pierre looked steadily at the young man, and then slipping his hand behind his back he drew forth from the waistband of his trousers a long, sharp, cruel-looking knife, which for safety had a leather sheath. Drawing this off, the dumb man ran his thumb along the keen edge, and held the knife out towards Vandeloup, who refused it with a cynical smile.

'You don't believe in this, I can see,' he said, touching the dainty bunch of flowers as Pierre put the knife in its sheath again and returned it to its hiding-place. 'I'm afraid your ideas are still crude—you believe in the good old-fashioned style of blood-letting. Quite a mistake, I assure you; poison is much more artistic and neat in its work, and to my mind involves less risk. You see, my Pierre,' he continued, lazily watching the blue wreaths of smoke from his cigarette curl round his head, 'crime must improve with civilization; and since the Cain and Abel epoch we have refined the art of murder in a most wonderful manner—decidedly we are becoming more civilized; and now, my friend,' in a kind tone, laying his slender white hand on the shoulder of the dumb man, 'you must really take a little rest, for I have no doubt but what you will need all your strength tonight should M. Villiers prove obstinate. Of course,' with a shrug, 'if he does not succeed in getting the nugget, our time will be simply wasted, and then,' with a gay smile, touching the flowers, 'I will see what I can do in the artistic line.'

Pierre lay down again on the bed, and turning his face to the wall fell fast asleep, while M. Vandeloup, humming a merry tune, walked gaily out of the room to the bar, and asked Miss Twexby for another drink.

'Brandy and soda this time, please,' he said, lazily lighting another cigarette; 'this heat is so enervating, and I'm going to walk up to Black Hill. By the way, Mademoiselle,' he went on, as she opened the soda water, 'as I see there are two beds in my friend's room I will stay here all night.'

'You shall have the best room,' said Martha, decisively, as she handed him the brandy and soda.

'You are too kind,' replied M. Vandeloup, coolly, as he took the drink from her, 'but I prefer to stay with my silent friend. He was one of the sailors in the ship when I was wrecked, as you have no doubt heard, and looks upon me as a sort of fetish.'

Miss Twexby knew all about the wreck, and thought it was beautiful that he should condescend to be so friendly with a common sailor. Vandeloup received all her speeches with a polite smile, then set down his empty glass and prepared to leave.

'Mademoiselle,' he said, touching the flowers, 'you see I still have them—they will remind me of you,' and raising his hat he strolled idly out of the hotel, and went off in the direction of the Black Hill.

Miss Twexby ran to the door, and shading her eyes with her hands from the blinding glare of the sun, she watched him lounging along the street, tall, slender, and handsome.

'He's just lovely,' she said to herself, as she returned to the bar 'but his eyes are so wicked; I don't think he's a good young man.'

What would she have said if she had heard the conversation in the bedroom?



CHAPTER XI

THEODORE WOPPLES, ACTOR

Mr Villiers walked in a leisurely manner along the lower part of the town, with the intent of going up to his destination through the old mining gully. He took this route for two reasons—first, because the afternoon was hot, and it was easier climbing up that way than going by the ordinary road; and, second, on his journey through the chasm he would be able to mark some place where he could hide the nugget. With his stick under his arm, Mr Villiers trudged merrily along in a happy humour, as if he was bent on pleasure instead of robbery. And after all, as he said to himself, it could not be called a genuine robbery, as everything belonging to his wife was his by right of the marriage service, and he was only going to have his own again. With this comfortable thought he climbed slowly up the broken tortuous path which led to the Black Hill, and every now and then would pause to rest, and admire the view.

It was now nearly six o'clock, and the sun was sinking amid a blaze of splendour. The whole of the western sky was a sea of shimmering gold, and this, intensified near the horizon to almost blinding brightness, faded off towards the zenith of the sky into a delicate green, and thence melted imperceptibly into a cold blue.

Villiers, however, being of the earth, earthy, could not be troubled looking very long at such a common-place sight as a sunset; the same thing occurred every evening, and he had more important things to do than to waste his time gratifying his artistic eye. Arriving on the plateau of earth just in front of the gully, he was soon entering the narrow gorge, and tramped steadily along in deep thought, with bent head and wrinkled brows. The way being narrow, and Villiers being preoccupied, it was not surprising that as a man was coming down in the opposite direction, also preoccupied, they should run against one another. When this took place it gave Mr Villiers rather a start, as it suggested a possible witness to the deed he contemplated, a thing for which he was by no means anxious.

'Really, sir,' said the stranger, in a rich, rolling voice, and in a dignified tone, 'I think you might look where you are going. From what I saw of you, your eyes were not fixed on the stars, and thus to cause your unwatched feet to stumble; in fact,' said the speaker, looking up to the sky, 'I see no stars whereon you could fix your gaze.'

This somewhat strange mode of remonstrance was delivered in a solemn manner, with appropriate gestures, and tickled Mr Villiers so much that he leaned up against a great rock abutting on the path, and laughed long and loudly.

'That is right, sir,' said the stranger, approvingly; 'laughter is to the soul what food is to the body. I think, sir,' in a Johnsonian manner, 'the thought is a happy one.'

Villiers assented with a nod, and examined the speaker attentively. He was a man of medium height, rather portly than otherwise, with a clean-shaved face, clearly-cut features, and two merry grey eyes, which twinkled like stars as they rested on Villiers. His hair was greyish, and inclined to curl, but could not follow its natural inclination owing to the unsparing use of the barber's shears. He wore a coat and trousers of white flannel, but no waistcoat; canvas shoes were on his feet, and a juvenile straw hat was perched on his iron-grey hair, the rim of which encircled his head like a halo of glory. He had small, well-shaped hands, one of which grasped a light cane, and the other a white silk pocket handkerchief, with which he frequently wiped his brow. He seemed very hot, and, leaning on the opposite side of the path against a rock, fanned himself first with his handkerchief and then with his hat, all the time looking at Mr Villiers with a beaming smile. At last he took a silver-mounted flask from his pocket and offered it to Villiers, with a pleasant bow.