‘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.’