George hurried back to the verandah. Was that the sound of horses madly galloping up the hill? Yes, yes, it was! Hurrah! He could see them now rising over the ridge and entering the yard. He rushed along the verandah, weak though he was, and shrieked—
"Make haste. Bring it in, bring it in. You'll be in time yet."
For he saw that the riders held the muddy, black and streaming bags of gold.
"'YOUR PRICE IS THERE!'" (p. 279.)
Inside the room Mr. Crosby had just risen from his chair; there was an evil look of triumph on his shiny, crimson face. He slipped his watch back into his pocket as he rose.
"Two minutes to twelve; nothing can help it now. Wandaroo is mine!"
As he spoke, whilst the very words were on his lips, the door burst open, and panting, breathless, sweating with the heat and labour, Alec and the other men dashed headlong into the room. His hat was off, his curly hair was tumbled, his eyes gleamed with happiness and intolerable excitement, and his voice rang high with a mad triumph.
"Hold hard! 'tis not, for your price is there!" As he spoke he and the other men threw down their burdens—the room shook with the ponderous weight—and many of the bags bursting open with the fall poured their treasure of gold in a stream at Crosby's feet.
For a moment there was a thrilling silence in the room. The feelings of all were too high-strung for words. The first to break it was Mr. Crosby; his face was grey and ghastly, his whole figure had become altered and stricken in that one minute. In a dry, shrill voice, he whined to Tuckle—