“Thank you, Jem.  Tom, will you be so kind as read it me while I work?”

“Yes, give it me.  Work?  Why, what are we going to work at in the bush?”

“I should think you might guess,” replied George quietly, while putting down his pickax and taking off his coat.  “Well, I am astonished at both of you.  You ought to know what I am going to do.  Humph!  Under this tree will be as good a place as any.”

“Jem, as I am a sinner, he is going to bury him.”

“Bury what?  The nugget?”

“No, Jem, the Christian."*

* In Berkshire, among a certain class, this word means “a human being.”

“A pretty Christian,” sneered Robinson.

“You know what I mean, Tom?”

“I know it is very kind of you to take all this trouble to bury my enemy,” said Robinson, hurt.

“Don’t ye say that,” replied George, hurt in his turn.  “He was as much my enemy as yours.”

“No such thing.  He was here after me, and has been tormenting me this twelve months.  You have no enemy, a great soft spoon like you.”

“Keep your temper, Tom,” answered George, in a mollifying tone.  “Let each man act according to his lights.  I couldn’t leave a corpse to the fowls of the air.

“Gibbet a murderer, I say—­don’t bury him; especially when he has just been hunting our very lives.”

“Tom,” replied George doggedly,” death settles all accounts.  I liked the man as little as you could; and it is not to say I am in love with a man because I sprinkle a little earth over his dead bones.  Ugh!  This is the unkindest soil to work.  It is full of roots, enough to break a fellow’s heart.”

While George was picking and grubbing out roots, and fighting with the difficult soil, Robinson opened Levi’s letter viciously and read out: 

“George Fielding, you have an enemy in the mine—­a secret, cowardly, unscrupulous enemy, who lies in wait for your return.  I have seen his face, and tremble for you.  Therefore listen to my words.  The old Jew, whom twice you have saved from harm and insult, is rich, his children are dead, the wife of his bosom is dead.  He loves no creature now but you and Susannah; therefore run no more risks for gold, since much gold awaits you without risk.  Come home.  Respect the words of age and experience—­come home.  Delay not an hour.  Oh, say not, ’I will sleep yet one more night in my tent, and then I will depart,’ but ride speedily after me on the very instant.  Two horses have I purchased for you and the young man your friend—­two swift horses with their saddles.  The voucher is inclosed.  Ride speedily after me this very hour, lest evil befall you and yet more sorrow fall upon Susannah and upon—­Isaac Levi.”

The reading of this letter was followed by a thoughtful silence broken only by the sound of George’s pickax and the bursting roots.

“This is a very extraordinary letter.  Mr. Levi knows more than he tells you, George.”