One of Mark's servants had entered with a telegraphic dispatch. It was addressed to Mr. Barker.
"Your man has brought it round from Piccadilly, sir. He thought it might be of moment."
"Let's see. Where's it from?--Wales? Ay. Another lode discovered, I'll be bound!"
Mr. Barker carried the paper across the room, and opened it under the lights of a girandole. He stared at it more than read it; stared at the words as if unable to understand them: and a curious expression of puzzled bewilderment, half wonder, half dismay, struggled to his face. Mark Cray had come to his side, all eagerness; and Oswald was watching them from the distance.
"Is it another lode, Barker?"
"Hush! There has been a slight irruption of water," whispered Barker, thrusting the paper into his pocket. "Good heavens! that would floor us at once."
Mark Cray's mouth dropped. He stared as helplessly at Mr. Barker as the latter had stared at the dispatch. The sight of his face awoke Mr. Barker's caution.
"For goodness' sake, Cray, don't look like that! They'll see you, and suspect something. This must be kept dark, if possible. I daresay it's nothing. I'll go back again tonight."
He turned away with a beaming face to the company, laughing merrily, talking gaily. They might have well deemed that two fresh lodes had been discovered instead of one. Mark, not quite so quick in recovering his equanimity, stayed where he was before the girandole, looking in it in an absent sort of manner, and pushing his hair back mechanically. Perhaps this was the first time that even the possibility of failure had come close to Mark, face to face.
Barker was the first of the guests to retire, and Mark left the room with him. As the latter was returning to it he met his brother, who was also departing.