Her satisfaction diminished as she heard of the wonderful doings on the new claim. Yet, after all, he had only been there a fortnight when Ralph left, and so immediate a success would in itself account for much. It must absorb every energy and every hour. "Hand over fist!" said Ralph, laughing genially. "That's how the fellow was taking out the gold when I came away; at least, so I heard." "Then you didn't see much of him yourself?" "No, not much." He might have added "naturally"; but the word was implied in his tone, which itself was as natural as could be. Nan noted and admired it. She was becoming more and more impressed with the general improvement in her companion. But it was another thought that kept her silent as they strolled to and fro upon the twilit sward. "I suppose it is all in gold-dust," she speculated. "I know it is not in nuggets." "Oh, isn't it?" he said quickly. "Then you have heard?" Nan bit her lip. "No, I have not heard, and you know I haven't!" she exclaimed with more tartness than discretion. "My dear Nan, how could I know?" he asked, and with the utmost readiness, though her father had lost no time in informing him of the fact. "I thought you must know," she said with a sigh that touched him and yet rankled. "I beg your pardon, Ralph. As for the nuggets, he promised to send me the first one he found, for luck; and he never broke a promise in his life." "Perhaps it was too big to send," said Ralph, with his new and kindly laugh. "Or perhaps," he added, stopping in his walk, "perhaps this is it!" A parlour-maid was approaching with a small salver. Nan raised her downcast eyes, and at a glance stood rooted to the spot. There was no letter on the salver, but there was a very small brown-paper parcel, which Nan seized and held in the half-light to her dancing eyes. And then for one unconscious instant she pressed it with both hands to her bosom. "Oh, Ralph!" she cried in a voice like the song of a lark. "Did you ever hear of such a coincidence in your life? It isn't one--it's a miracle! Look: his writing, the Melbourne postmark: the nugget he promised me, come as we were speaking about it, from the other end of the world!" Ralph set his teeth grimly; he had brought these confidences on himself, and Heaven alone knew how much more. He had not tampered with the parcel which Jewson had given him before he left the diggings; here it was as he had posted it in Melbourne, as it had lain in its mail-bag between the same wooden walls which had been his own prison for the last three months. He had no idea what the parcel contained; from Jewson's face and manner, as he remembered them at the last, Ralph did not think it was the nugget. But with a villain like that you never knew: he might have gone straight over to the other side, the richer side even then.