in prolific abundance Nature's grand principle—
life. As the loadstone is rife with the magnetic
virtue, as amber contains the electric, so in
this substance, to which we yet want a name, is
found the bright life-giving fluid. In the old
gold mines of Asia and Europe the substance
exists; but can rarely be met with. The soil
for its nutriment may there be well-nigh
exhausted. It is here, where Nature herself is
all vital with youth, that the nutriment of youth
must be sought. Near this spot is gold— guide
me to it."

"You cannot come with me. The place which
I know as auriferous is some miles distant; the
way rugged. You cannot walk to it. It is true,
I have horses, but—— "

"Do you think I have come this distance,
and not foreseen and forestalled all that I want
for my object? Trouble yourself not with
conjectures how I can arrive at the place. I have
provided the means to arrive at, and leave it. My
litter and its bearers are in reach of my call.
Give me your arm to the rising ground, fifty
yards from your door."

I obeyed mechanically, stifling all surprise.
I had made my resolve, and admitted no thought
that could shake it.

When we reached the summit of the grassy
hillock, which sloped from the road that led to
the seaport, Margrave, after pausing to recover
breath, lifted up his voice in a key, not loud, but
shrill and slow and prolonged, half cry and half
chant, like the nighthawk's. Through that air,
so limpid and still, bringing near far objects,
far sounds the voice pierced its way, artfully
pausing, till wave after wave of the atmosphere
bore and transmitted it on.

In a few minutes the call seemed re-echoed,
so exactly, so cheerily, that for the moment I
thought that the note was the mimicry of the
shy mocking Lyre-Bird, which mimics so merrily
all that it hears in its coverts, from the whirr of
the locust to the howl of the wild dog.

"What king," said the mystical charmer— and
as he spoke he carelessly rested his hand on my
shoulder,— so that I trembled to feel that this
dread son of Nature, Godless and soulless, who
had been— and my heart whispered, who still
could be— my bane and mind-darkener, leant
upon me for support, as the spoilt younger-born
on his brother— " what king," said this cynical
mocker, with his beautiful boyish face,— "what
king in your civilised Europe has the sway
of a chief of the East? What link is so
strong between mortal and mortal, as that
between lord and slave? I transport yon
poor fools from the land of their birth— they
preserve here their old habits; obedience and
awe. They would wait till they starved in the
solitude— wait to hearken and answer my call.
And I, who thus rule them, or charm them I
use and despise them. They know that, and
yet serve me! Between you and me, my
philosopher, there is but one thing worth living
for— life for oneself."

Is it age, is it youth, that thus shocks all my
sense, in my solemn completeness of man?
Perhaps, in great capitals, young men of pleasure
will answer, " It is youth; and we think what
he says!" Young friends, I do not believe you.

CHAPTER LXXX.

ALONG the grass track I saw now, under the
moon, just risen, a strange procession— never
seen before in Australian pastures. It moved
on, noiselessly but quickly. We descended the
hillock, and met it on the way. A sable litter,
borne by four men, in unfamiliar Eastern
garments; two other swarthy servitors, more
bravely dressed, with yataghans and silver-hilted
pistols in their belts, preceding this sombre
equipage. Perhaps Margrave divined the
disdainful thought that passed through my mind,
vaguely and half consciously; for he said, with
the hollow, bitter laugh that had replaced the
lively peal of his once melodious mirth:

"A little leisure and a little gold, and your
raw colonist, too, will have the tastes of a
pacha."

I made no answer. I had ceased to care who
and what was my tempter. To me his whole
being was resolved into one problem: Had he
a secret by which Death could be turned from
Lilian?

But now, as the litter halted, from the long
dark shadow which it cast upon the turf, the
figure of a woman emerged, and stood before
us. The outlines of her shape were lost in the
loose folds of a black mantle, and the features
of her face were hidden by a black veil, except
only the dark-bright, solemn eyes. Her stature
was lofty, her bearing majestic, whether in
movement or repose.

Margrave accosted her in some language
unknown to me. She replied in what seemed to
my ear the same tongue. The tones of her
voice were sweet, but inexpressibly mournful.
The words that they uttered appeared intended
to warn, or deprecate, or dissuade, for they
called to Margrave's brow a lowering frown,
and drew from his lips a burst of unmistakable
anger. The woman rejoined, in the same
melancholy music of voice. And Margrave then,
leaning his arm upon her shoulder, as he had
leant it on mine, drew her away from the
group into a neighbouring copse of the flowering
eucalypti— mystic trees, never changing the
hues of their pale green leaves, ever shifting
the tints of their ash-grey, shedding, bark. For
some moments, I gazed on the two human
forms, dimly seen by the glinting moonlight
through the gaps in the foliage. Then, turning
away my eyes, I saw, standing close at my side,
a man whom I had not noticed before. His
footstep, as it stole to me, had fallen on the
sward without sound. His dress, though
Oriental, differed from that of his companions,
both in shape and colour; fitting close to the
breast, leaving the arms bare to the elbow, and
of an uniform ghastly white, as are the
cerements of the grave. His visage was even
darker than those of the Syrians or Arabs
behind him, and his features were those of a bird
of prey— the beak of the eagle, but the eye of