'What do you want?' she asked in a low, clear voice, but in a tone
of concentrated passion.

'Money!' growled Villiers, insolently planting himself directly in
front of her, 'and I'm going to have it.'

'Money!' she echoed, in a tone of bitter irony; 'have you not had
enough yet? Have you not squandered every penny I had from my father
in your profligacy and evil companions? What more do you want?'

'A share in the Pactolus,' he said, sullenly.

His wife laughed scornfully. 'A share in the Pactolus!' she echoed,
with bitter sarcasm, 'A modest request truly. After squandering my
fortune, dragging me through the mire, and treating me like a slave,
this man expects to be rewarded. Listen to me, Randolph Villiers,'
she said, fiercely, stepping up to him and seizing his hand, 'this
land we now stand on is mine--the gold underneath is mine; and if
you were to go on your knees to me and beg for a morsel of bread to
save you from starving, I would not lift one finger to succour you.'

Villiers writhed like a snake under her bitter scorn.

'I understand,' he said, in a taunting tone; 'you want it for your
lover.'

'My lover? What do you mean?'

'What I say,' he retorted boldly, 'all Ballarat knows the position