‘Extravagance, gambling, the habit of spending money without working for it,’ said her father. ‘Debt in one shape or other is one of the demons allotted to torment mortality in this period of the world’s history. The demoniac of the age is the man who has bills or liabilities coming due without the means to meet them. He may appear ordinarily clothed and in his right mind, but, after some torturing hour, it may be related of him, as of this unhappy wretch, the evil “spirit tare him,” and he “wallowed foaming.’”
‘It seems a wonderful thing that he didn’t apply to some of his friends, doesn’t it?’ queried Mr. Neuchamp. ‘He seemed to have plenty of them. Even if he had not been completely put right they could surely have given him enough to secure breathing time; but murder, robbery, pah! it is purely incredible to me, predicated of a man that we have all met more or less in habits of intimacy.’
‘Nothing so wonderful about that,’ said the Colonel; ‘deuced cool, clever adventurer, you know, without one morsel of feeling in favour of what some people call principle, humanity, or honesty. Seen the style before. Big loot of any kind is the thing to bring out such a man in real form. Known fellows in Indian service too, by gad, who would kill a prisoner in cold blood or burn half a village for the sake of a few diamonds or a hoard of gold mohurs.’
‘It’s positively awful, dreadful, miserable,’ said the youngest Miss Branksome. ‘I shall dream of nothing else for a month, I know. Papa, isn’t that the dinner bell? Now there’s a forfeit if anybody says a word about gold or murder or anything belonging to Turonia again this evening. We shall be quite demoralised with all this Fouché business. There’s Mr. Bright begins to look as if he was going to act upon “information received” every time I see him.’
The inmates of that pleasant home finished the evening without overt allusion to the awful tragedy which had overshadowed their neighbourhood, and brought dishonour and death, rare visitors ere this, even to the reckless, toiling, far-gathered goldfields community. But in every heart, from time to time, in the pause of the conversation, in the silence of the night hour, arose the dimly-outlined picture of the lonely flat where the sighing oaks whispered and faintly wailed over two motionless figures, dread and silent, among the thick, dry, waving grass. On the reverse shadow-tracery a well-known figure, with an evil light in the cold blue eyes, a hellish sneer on the short, curved lip, was pacing the gloomy flags of a felon’s cell!
Though Mr. Neuchamp on the morrow parted with great regret from his kind friends of Branksome Hall, he could not conceal from himself that Turonia, under the circumstances, would be the last place in which he should choose to linger. A shadow of gloom, a savour of blood, was with the whole place and surroundings in his eyes, and though the streets still trembled as before under the tread of an army of Britain’s best workers, and though at night there was store of pleasant society and excitement, all interest in the gold city had marvellously abated. Mr. Neuchamp was impatient until his moving contingent should be ready for the road, and to that end betook himself with grateful energy to the distraction of mustering the herd.
With the efficient aid of Mr. Cottonbush, the much-experienced overseer deputed by Mr. Levison to carry out this particular duty, the whole herd was mustered and drafted with an economy of time and completeness of result very astonishing to Ernest.
His part was confined to giving Mr. Cottonbush a receipt for nineteen hundred and seventy head of female cattle of all sorts, sizes, and ages, and having divided the said cows and heifers into two droves, an immediate departure was made for Rainbar. Mr. Banks was permitted to examine and explore the wonders of Turonia for the space of one day only; and after bidding farewell to his friends at the camp and at Branksome Hall, Mr. Neuchamp rejoined his party, manfully performing his share of road work until, after many a weary week’s travelling and monotonous daily drudgery, they struck the river within a day’s ride of Rainbar.
When Mr. Neuchamp once more alighted at the door of his cottage he felt the pleasurable glow which is rarely absent from the mind of any healthily constituted man returning after absence to his home.
‘Home, sweet home!’ hummed Mr. Neuchamp. ‘I don’t know whether the time-honoured words strictly apply to Rainbar, but I’m glad to see the old place again. The grass looks none too fresh, though, as if they had had little or no rain. It would have been inspiriting to have seen a little green after all the terrible dry weather we have had. I suppose these two thousand new cattle will be able to keep alive. As for paying for them, if I had not Levison’s advice and guarantee to depend upon, I should utterly despair of it.’