A Strange Story — Volume 07Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
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A Strange Story — Volume 07
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
I stepped forth into the open air and gazed, first instinctively on the
heavens, next, with more heedful eye, upon the earth. The nature of the
soil bore the evidence of volcanic fires long since extinguished. Just
before my feet, the rays fell full upon a bright yellow streak in the
block of quartz half imbedded in the soft moist soil. In the midst of all
the solemn thoughts and the intense sorrows which weighed upon heart and
mind, that yellow gleam startled the mind into a direction remote from
philosophy, quickened the heart to a beat that chimed with no household
affections. Involuntarily I stooped; impulsively I struck the block with
the hatchet, or tomahawk, I carried habitually about me, for the purpose
of marking the trees that I wished to clear from the waste of my broad
domain. The quartz was shattered by the stroke, and left disburied its
glittering treasure. My first glance had not deceived me. I, vain seeker
after knowledge, had, at least, discovered gold. I took up the bright
metal--gold! I paused; I looked round; the land that just before had
seemed to me so worthless took the value of Ophir. Its features had
before been as unknown to me as the Mountains of the Moon, and now my
memory became wonderfully quickened. I recalled the rough map of my
possessions, the first careless ride round their boundaries. Yes, the
land on which I stood--for miles, to the spur of those farther
mountains--the land was mine, and, beneath its surface, there was gold! I
closed my eyes; for some moments visions of boundless wealth, and of the
royal power which such wealth could command, swept athwart my brain. But
my heart rapidly settled back to its real treasure. "What matters," I
sighed, "all this dross? Could Ophir itself buy back to my Lilian's smile
one ray of the light which gave 'glory to the grass and splendour to the
flower'?"
So muttering, I flung the gold into the torrent that raged below, and went
on through the moonlight, sorrowing silently,--only thankful for the
discovery that had quickened my reminiscence of the landmarks by which to
steer my way through the wilderness.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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