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.
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.
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.’