But the night with its darkness passed away, and the sun came up over the white-gums on the ridge, with security and protection in his face. It was when his back was turned that the trouble would begin again, for when the street lamps of heaven were lit terrors crouched at every corner.
He would not pass another night in the tent: nothing would induce him! He would sleep in it all day, and work in the hole all night. There he would feel safe. He would pick out as many nuggets as he could, and flee to-morrow from this hateful spot.
He found a little stock of flour in the tent, with which he made a flat cake, then baked it in the ashes of his fire, fried a chop, and ate a hearty breakfast. His nerves, which had been unstrung, were screwed up again, and he felt as perky as the first fiddle in the orchestra.
He slept the sleep of the just, daylight standing surety for his safety.
When he awoke it was late in the afternoon. The sun was on the edge of the hill, and running down it like a coach wheel, without haste and without rest, and would soon be at the bottom.
As it would soon be dark he had to think in a hurry. It would not be safe to leave the tent for any marauder to enter and plunder under cover of night, while he was working at the mine. His plans were made quickly, and what he ought to do was flashed into his brain in a moment.
He went into the tent, took down the photograph of Mary, gazed into the eyes, and kissed the mouth. "All for you, Mary!" he said, then put the likeness in his pocket. He gave the poles on which the tent rested a kick, and the canvas collapsed about his shoulders. He dragged his late dwelling to the creek, loaded it with stones, and sank it in a deep pool, then hid a few utensils and useful things among the ferns.
When he could not have discerned a wild-cat's eye at ten paces, he crept to the mine and went down the ladder. He took a candle from the packet he had brought with him, and lit it. No glimmer of light could be seen from the upper regions, and no wayfarer would seek this lonely spot at night. He thought he would be safe here, but ghosts would come trooping down the ladder, in spite of all he could do.
The words of the ninety-first Psalm suddenly came into his mind, and illumined the mine: "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." He was down on his knees like a shot, asking guidance and protection; then rose in perfect peace, feeling safer than in chain armour, or with swords and guns by his side.
He worked steadily, breaking up the pliable stone, and taking out the gold as if he were picking plums from a pudding. When dawn showed over the top of the shaft he had obtained about fifty pounds weight, which he put in a bag. He was satisfied: he had enough. This loneliness and secrecy were too much for him. He could not bear the strain another night. Something would break.