artificial. Neither could he go over to him coolly and tell his
good fortune; and, partly from this strange shyness, and partly
with a hope that another survey of the treasure might restore him
to natural expression, he walked back to his tunnel.

Yes; it was there! No mere "pocket" or "deposit," but a part of
the actual vein he had been so long seeking. It was there, sure
enough, lying beside the pick and the debris of the "face" of the
vein that he had exposed sufficiently, after the first shock of
discovery, to assure himself of the fact and the permanence of his
fortune. It was there, and with it the refutation of his enemies'
sneers, the corroboration of his friends' belief, the practical
demonstration of his own theories, the reward of his patient
labors. It was there, sure enough. But, somehow, he not only
failed to recall the first joy of discovery, but was conscious of a
vague sense of responsibility and unrest. It was, no doubt, an
enormous fortune to a man in his circumstances: perhaps it meant a
couple of hundred thousand dollars, or more, judging from the value
of the old Martin lead, which was not as rich as this, but it
required to be worked constantly and judiciously. It was with a
decided sense of uneasiness that he again sought the open sunlight
of the hillside. His neighbor was still visible on the adjacent
claim; but he had apparently stopped working, and was
contemplatively smoking a pipe under a large pine-tree. For an
instant he envied him his apparent contentment. He had a sudden
fierce and inexplicable desire to go over to him and exasperate his
easy poverty by a revelation of his own new-found treasure. But
even that sensation quickly passed, and left him staring blankly at
the landscape again.