BRITISH MYSTERIES - Fergus Hume Collection: 21 Thriller Novels in One Volume. Fergus Hume

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