“There may be more of it beyond here, sir,” said the guide, “if we could break through.”
“There is more than enough here, Melchior,” cried Dale. “I am satisfied if we can get these away.”
“Yes, herr,” said the guide, holding up the lanthorn, and making its light play in all directions, its rays flashing off the various facets in a way that displayed in some the beauty of their forms, and in others the limpid transparency of the stone,—“yes, herr: there are many mules’ burdens here. What will you do first?”
“Try to get off that one,” cried Saxe, pointing. “It is the best here.”
“They all seem best, Saxe,” said Dale. “Yes, we will have that one, if it can be broken off without injury.”
“There is a fine one here, herr,” said the guide. “It must have fallen from the roof.”
As he spoke he turned over a huge piece, after setting down the lanthorn, the light from which shot beneath it, and showed a rich purply-black stain, as the guide set the great hexagon up on end.
“Why, that is the finest I have seen,” said Dale, growing quite excited over his discovery. “This and two or three more will be a load for the mule.”
“Yes, herr, as many as we can get over the rocks with; but we can make many journeys backwards and forwards now we have found the place. But the herr will not take all away without sending word to Lucerne or Geneva?”
“You may trust me,” said Dale. “I shall behave quite honourably to the Government, who will, I have no doubt, consent to my keeping some of them. Now, then: we shall have a long, slow journey back, with such a load. Try and strike off that small white piece.”