“Indeed!” said Gunson, coldly.
“Yes, for now there will be an end to this grasping, avaricious work, and our pleasant vales will return to the condition that is best.”
“The hope of my life is crushed, man, and I must begin my weary hunt again,” said Gunson, bitterly.
“No; your new and happier, more manly life is now about to commence. Look here, what gold have you got?”
“You know.”
“Not I. I know that I supplied you with a couple of sheep-skins, which you made into bags, and that those bags are in my strong box. What have you?”
“After I have fairly apportioned shares to Mayne, to Dean, and to my little Chinese friend, I shall have a thousand pounds’ worth for myself.”
“Ample, and double what you will require, man,” said Mr Raydon. “Think where you are, in a country—a virgin country—as beautiful, more beautiful than dear old England, a place where for almost nothing you may select land by one of our lovely streams, which, as the writer said, is waiting to be tickled with a hoe, that it may laugh with a harvest. Come: England is too narrow for such a man as you. Take up land, make a ranch if you like, or farm as they farm at home; sow your grains of gold in the shape of wheat, and they will come up a hundredfold. Build your house, and send for the mother and sister of whom you spoke to me when you were so weak.”
“I spoke!” said Gunson, wonderingly. “Yes; you were half delirious, but you spoke of a dear mother and sister in England; bring them to share your prosperity, for prosperity must come; and it is a life worth living, after all.”
As he spoke I felt my heart swell with hope; the gloomy feelings of disappointment passed away, and I found myself gazing with astonishment at Mr Gunson, whose morose, disfigured face seemed to brighten up and glow, while his eye flashed again, as when Mr Raydon finished speaking he leaned forward and grasped his hand.