“Again? humph!”

“Tom thinks he has got enemies in the camp.”

“Humph! the young man puts himself too forward not to have enemies.”

“Well,” said George, quickly, “if he makes bitter enemies he makes warm friends.”

George then explained that his nerve and Robinson’s were giving way under the repeated attacks.

“We have had a talk and we will sell the best part of our dust to you, sir.  Give him the best price you can afford for Susan’s sake.”

And away went George to look for his quartz river, leaving the ex-thief to make the bargain and receive the money.

In the transaction that followed Mr. Levi did not appear to great advantage.  He made a little advance on the three pounds per ounce on account of the quantity, but he would not give a penny above three guineas.  No! business was business; he could and would have given George a couple of hundred pounds in day of need, but in buying and selling the habits of a life could not be shaken off.  Wherefore Robinson kept back eight pounds of gold-dust and sold him the rest for notes of the Sydney Bank.

“Well, sir,” said Tom, cheerfully, “now my heart is light; what we have got we can carry round our waists now by night or day.  Well, friend, what do you want, poking your nose into the tent?”

Coming out suddenly he had run against a man who was in a suspicious attitude at the entrance.

“No offense,” muttered the man, “I wanted to sell a little gold-dust.”

Levi heard what Robinson said, and came quickly out.

He seated himself behind the scales.

“Where is your gold?”

The man fumbled and brought out about an ounce.  All the time he weighed it, the Jew’s keen eye kept glancing into his face he lowered his eyes and could not conceal a certain uneasiness.  When he was gone, Levi asked Robinson whether he knew that face.

“No,” said Robinson, “I don’t.”

Levi called Nathan out.

“Nathan, look at that man, follow him cautiously, and tell me where we have seen him; above all, know him again.  Surely that is the face of an enemy.”

Then the old man asked himself where he had seen such an eye and brow and shambling walk as that; and he fell into a brown study and groped among many years for the clew.

“What! is Erin-go-bragh up with the sun for once?” cried Robinson to Mary McDogherty, who passed him spade on shoulder.

“Sure if she warn’t she’d never keep up with Newgut,” was the instant rejoinder.

“Hem! how is your husband, Mary?”

“Och, captain, it is a true friend ye are for inquiring.  Then it’s tied in a knot he is.

“Mercy on us, tied in a knot?”

“Tied in a knot intirely—­wid the rheumatism—­and it’s tin days I’m working for him and the childhre, and my heart’s broke against gravel and stone intirely.  I wish it was pratees we are digging, I’d maybe dig up a dinner any way.”