“As for Annie—she must have given me up for dead long ere now,” he said to himself. “Why, it is two years and nine months since I left home. Yes, something tells me that Annie is married, and married to—to—my old rival the Laird. Do I love Ilda? I dare not ask myself the question. Bar Annie herself, with sweet, baby, innocent face, I have never known a girl that so endeared herself to me as Ilda has done. And—well, yes, why deny it?—I long to see her.”
One day the rain ceased, and the sun shone out bright and clear once more. The torrents from the mountains were dried up, and the river rapidly went down. This was an island of surprises, and when, three days after this, Reginald, accompanied by Hall and Dickson, went over the mountains, they marvelled to find that the incessant downpour of rain had entirely washed the ashes from the valley, and that it was once more smiling green with bud and bourgeon. In a week’s time the flowers would burst forth in all their glory.
The ford was now easily negotiable, and soon they were at the Queen’s palace. Need I say that they received a hearty welcome from her Majesty and Ilda? Nor did it take Matty a minute to ensconce herself on Reginald’s knee.
“Oh,” she whispered, “I’se so glad you’s come back again! Me and Ilda cried ourselves to sleep every, every night, ’cause we think the bad black men kill you.”
Ilda crying for him! Probably praying for him! The thought gave him joy. Then, indeed, she loved him. No wonder that he once again asked himself how it would all end.
The weather now grew charming. Even the hills grew green again, for the ashes and débris from the fire-hill, as the natives called it, had fertilised the ground. And now, accompanied by Ilda and Matty, who would not be left behind, an expedition started for the valley of gold. The road would be rough, and so a hammock had been sent for from the camp, and two sturdy natives attached it to a long bamboo pole. Matty, laughing with delight, was thus borne along, and she averred that it was just like flying.
Alas! the earthquake had been very destructive in Golden Gulch. Our heroes hardly knew it. Indeed, it was a glen no longer, but filled entirely up with fallen rocks, lava, and scoria.
They sighed, and commenced the return journey. But first a visit must be paid to Lone Tree Mountain. For Reginald’s heart lay there.
“From that elevation,” said Reginald, “we shall be able to see the beautiful ocean far and near.”
The tree at last! It was with joy indeed they beheld it. Though damaged by the falling scoria, it was once more green; but the grave in which the gold and pearls lay was covered three feet deep in lava and small stones. The treasure, then, was safe!