“Strange, that a chamois-hunter should become a gold-hunter. How much more respectable the former occupation, and yet how many gold-hunters there are in the world! Gamblers are gold-hunters; and I was a gambler once! Aha! Mr Lewis, the cap once fitted you! Fitted, did I say? It fits still. Have I not been playing billiards every night nearly since I came here, despite Captain Wopper’s warnings and the lesson I got from poor Leven? Poor Leven indeed! it’s little gold that he has, and I robbed him. However, I paid him back, that’s one comfort, and my stakes now are mere trifles—just enough to give interest to the game. Yet, shame on you, Lewie; can’t you take interest in a game for its own sake? The smallest coin staked involves the spirit of gambling. You shouldn’t do it, my boy, you know that well enough, if you’d only let your conscience speak out. And Nita seems not to like it too—ah, Nita! She’s as good as gold—as good! ten million times better than the finest gold. I wonder why that queer careworn look comes over her angel face when she hears me say that I’ve been having a game of billiards? I might whisper some flattering things to myself in reference to this, were it not that she seems just as much put out when any one else talks about it. Ah, Nita!”
It is unnecessary to follow the youth’s thoughts further, for, having got upon Nita, they immediately ceased their wayward wandering practices and remained fixed on that theme.
Soon afterwards, the light being sufficient the mountaineers rose and continued their descent which was accomplished after much toil and trouble, and they proceeded at a quick pace over the glacier towards the place where the chamois had been left the previous day.
“Why are you so fond of gold, Le Croix?” said Lewis, abruptly, and in a half-jesting tone, as they walked along.
The hunter’s countenance flushed deeply, and he turned with a look of severity towards his companion.
“Who said that I was fond of it?”
“A very good friend of mine,” replied Lewis, with a light laugh.
“He can be no friend of mine,” returned the hunter, with contracted brows.
“I’m not so sure of that,” said the other; “at least if you count yourself a friend. You whispered so much about gold in your dreams this morning that I came to the conclusion you were rather fond of it.”
The expression of the hunter changed completely. There seemed to be a struggle between indignation and sorrow in his breast as he stopped, and, facing his companion, said, with vehemence—