I had a curious feeling of unreality as I sat there and listened. The old man might be Roderick O'Byrne himself after the passage of a score or more of years; the cabin might be an enchanted spot, which would vanish away at touch of a wizard's wand; and these rude chairs and tables might be condemned by the same strange witchery to remain forever inanimate. I had to shake myself to get rid of this feeling which crept over me, and seemed to overpower the sober common-sense, the practical and prosaic wisdom, which seem to spring from the American soil.
CHAPTER XII. THE SCHOOLMASTER'S SECRET.
I had waited with breathless interest for what Niall might have to say; but he put his whole secret in the opening words of his narrative.
"I am," he began, "a gold-seeker—a hunter for treasure-trove."
"A gold-seeker?" I repeated, amazed and incredulous; though here was the explanation of many mysteries.
"Yes. Here, in these very mountains gold has been found time and time again. There were mines here scarce a hundred years ago; 'tis said that ten thousand pounds' worth of gold was dug up in two months. Ten thousand pounds! Think of it!"
Niall stopped, full of a suppressed emotion, which threatened, I thought, to shake his strong frame to pieces.
"The old minstrels sang of the gold—the yellow gold, the red gold; and, touching the strings of their harps, the bards told the kings of other days of treasure that had been buried—vases, ornaments, trinkets of all sorts—"