The bottom of the cavern was thickly incrusted with filth and damp earth at that place; but he dug with frantic energy, and soon the dim outline of a square flag-stone was visible. Breathless and panting, young Warlow pried at the stone, and as it slowly arose he closed his eyes, as if fearing to glance down into the cavity below.
"Ah, if this is the casket of gems, Mora will be the greatest heiress in all the land, and the gulf which the riches of the cattle-king made between myself and her will only be widened by this great wealth," Clifford thought; and he now, for the first time, regretted having come out on a search which might lead to his life-long misery.
For one moment the tempter whispered in his ear; but quickly the Warlow honor triumphed, and he looked down resolutely into the cavity.
Yes! there was the casket, and beside it a roll of papers.
Fate had been fickle and cold so long; but now, when her smile was worse than a frown, she could easily relent.
Catching up the papers and casket, he sprang across the room to the door with a hoarse cry of delight. Upon the decayed old parchment he could only discern one faint word, Monteluma; then the casket dropped from his nerveless grasp and fell to the stone floor with a crash.
An exclamation of delight escaped him as the gems which had fallen upon the floor, flashed back the sun-rays in scintillating splendor, and the low, dull room was lit by a glare like the lightning-riven storm-cloud.
It was a scene of bewildering beauty—of fascinating splendor—that met his gaze:—great diamonds, that shot broad flashes of rainbow light; strands of pale pearls, glinting in fitful splendor; burning rubies, that poured forth flames of crimson, which mingled with the rays shed by the amethysts of rose, purple, and lilac; while the lurid, baleful fire of opals and emeralds flickered and glimmered in the sunlight.
Stooping down, young Warlow gathered up the priceless gems, trembling meanwhile at the strange, unreal event, and after securely placing them again within the casket, and rearranging the room, he mounted his horse and galloped back over the swelling hills.
As the hoofs of his gray Norman tore through the thickets of rank grass, tangled and woven in a maze of golden, leafless tendrils by the slender love-vine, or bruised the mignonette until all the moist, sultry air was rich with its pungent fragrance, Clifford was revolving in his mind several plans for concealing the mighty treasure of which he had just become the guardian. He concluded that he must find a secure hiding-place at his dwelling, where the casket might remain until the proper moment should arrive when he could reveal the discovery, and restore the property to its rightful owner.