But no: that would not do; his shadow was thrown right across the hole, and he had to change the position of the lantern.

That would do well, and there was no danger; but still he hesitated, and he drew his arm across his wet forehead.

Of course--yes--he must not forget that. He must not leave his jacket behind; and, laying down the cartridge once more, he leisurely put on his frock and cap, hesitated a few minutes longer, and then, with the thoughts of the yellow gold blinding his eyes, he seemed to nerve himself to desperation, picking up the cartridge, and trying to fit it into the hole he had bored.

It went in easily enough for a part of the distance; but the action of the tool had made the hole slightly funnel-shaped, and the cartridge would not go in so far as he wished.

True, he might have fired it where it was, but then he would not have been sure of the result. The wall of rock was comparatively thin, he knew, but unless the cartridge was well in, a sufficiency might not be brought down, and his wish was to make so terrible a gap that no pump ever made, or likely to be made, could keep down the water in the deluged mine.

How it would rush in, carrying all before it, as soon as the shot was fired. He had seen dozens of such blastings, and he knew what great chasms were blown out of the solid rock. Here, where the wall was thin, the whole side would be blown back into the sea, and then where would rich Wheal Carnac be?

John Tregenna would say, at all events, that he had well done his work, he thought; but how was this cartridge to be forced farther in?

He laid it down for a moment, and took up the iron, thinking to enlarge the hole, but he knew it would be an hour's work, and now he was strung up he wanted it done.

He tried the cartridge again. It nearly fitted; a good drive with the back of the tamping-iron would force it in. So, twisting it round and round, he screwed the paper-covered roll in for so goodly a distance that it was well placed in the wall, and needed, he thought, but a slight thrust or two to send it home.

He was ignorant, and blinded by his desire to finish the task he had undertaken; desperate, too, with the fear that was beginning to master him; and catching up the iron once more, he hesitated for a moment as he turned it round, and then, placing the b.u.t.t end in the hole, he gave the cartridge a sharp blow.

In the act of striking he moderated the blow, so as not to strike fire from the rock; but no fire was needed there, the percussion was sufficient to explode the mighty imprisoned force, and, as that blow fell, there was one deafening crash, a pause, and then an awful rush of water that swept off the shattered fragments of the dead miner from the floor, and wall, and ceiling, and churned them up and bore them along through the galleries of the ruined mine.

For Lannoe's blast had been a success. He had blown out so great a ma.s.s of the thin wall that the pump had not been invented that could master such a rush of water as that which poured in to flood the mine.

The explosion was sharp, and it roared through the galleries, but the rush of water seemed to drown it, so that the noise which reached dead Lannoe's mate did not startle his drink-confused brain. He only wondered why Lannoe was so long; and at last, when quite wearied out, he saw Geoffrey Trethick and Pengelly come, he thought it was a good excuse for going, and he ran away.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

AN UNKINDLY STROKE.

Rhoda Penwynn felt suspicious of Miss Pavey as she entered her room, blowing her nose very loudly, and then holding her handkerchief to her face, where one of her teeth was supposed to ache.

There was a great change in Miss Pavey's personal appearance, and her bright colours had given place to quite a sister-of-mercy style of garb, including a black c.r.a.pe veil, through which, on entering, she had given Rhoda quite a funereal kiss, as if to prepare her for her adverse news-- news which she dreaded to communicate, for she felt afraid of how Rhoda might compose herself under such a trial.

"Why, Martha," said Rhoda, smiling, "surely there is nothing wrong--you are not in mourning?"

"Oh dear, no, love. It is the festival of Saint Minima, virgin and martyr."

Here Miss Pavey sighed.

"Oh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Rhoda, quietly. "How is Mr Lee?" she added, after an awkward pause.

"Not well, dear--not well. He works too hard, and troubles himself too much about the wicked people here. Poor fellow! how saintly are his efforts for their good. But what do you think, Rhoda, dear?"

"I don't know."

"He has taken to calling me Sister Martha!"

"Well," said Rhoda, smiling, "as you are working so hard with him now in the parish, it is very kindly and nice, even if it does sound formal or ceremonial--Sister Martha."

"I must confess," said Miss Pavey, "that I don't like it. Of course we work together--like brother and sister. But I don't think it was necessary."

"Neither do I," said Rhoda, smiling.

"I do not agree with Mr Lee, of course, in all things," continued Miss Pavey, "but he is very good."

"Most energetic," a.s.sented Rhoda.

"You know, I suppose, that we are to have a new harmonium?"

"I did not know it," said Rhoda, looking curiously at her visitor, who kept down her veil, and whose conscious manner indicated that she had something particular to say--something unpleasant, Rhoda was sure.

"Oh, yes; a new and expensive one; and I am to play it," continued Miss Pavey. "We disputed rather as to where it should stand. Mr Lee wished it to be in the north-east end, but I told him that it would be so much out of sight there that I was sure it would not be heard, so it is to be on the south side of the little chancel."

"Yes," said Rhoda, who was waiting for the object of Miss Pavey's visit; "that seems to be a good place."

"Yes, dear, he willingly gave way; but he would not about the babies."

"About the babies?" exclaimed Rhoda.

"Yes, dear. It was only this morning. We were discussing baptism and infant-baptism, and I don't know what possessed me, but it was in the heat of argument. Babies are so soft and nice, Rhoda, dear. I'm not ashamed to say so to you, because we are alone--but they really are--and I do like them; and it horrifies me, dear, to think of what the Church says about them if they've not been baptised. Poor little things! And really, I'm afraid I spoke very plainly. But, oh, Rhoda! my love, how shocking this is about Madge Mullion."

"About Madge Mullion?" cried Rhoda, excitedly, for she knew now from her visitor's manner that her disagreeable communication had come. "What do you mean?"

"It's too shocking to talk about, dear--about her and Mr Trethick, and--"

Here she got up, raised her veil above her lips, and whispered for some moments in Rhoda's ear.

"I'll not believe it," cried Rhoda, starting up with flaming face and flashing eyes. "How dare you utter such a cruel calumny, Miss Pavey?"

"My dearest Rhoda," cried her visitor, whose red eyes and pale face as she raised her veil, bore out the truth of her a.s.sertion, "I have been crying half the night about it for your sake, for I knew it would nearly break your heart."

"Break my heart!" cried Rhoda, scornfully. "I tell you it is impossible. For shame, Martha Pavey. I know you to be fond of a little gossip and news, but how dare you come and insult me with such a tale as this?"

"My dearest Rhoda, my darling Rhoda," cried the poor woman, throwing herself at her friend's feet, and sobbing violently, "you don't know how I love you--how much I think of your happiness. It is because I would not have you deceived and ill-treated by a wicked man that I come to you and risk your anger."

"You should treat all such scandal with scorn," cried Rhoda. "Whoever has put it about deserves--deserves--oh, I don't know what to say bad enough! You know it is impossible."

"I--I wish I could think it was," sobbed Miss Pavey. "That Madge was always a wicked girl, and I'm afraid she tempted him to evil."

Rhoda's eyes flashed upon her again; and, without another word, she left her visitor, and went straight to her own room.

Martha Pavey stood with clasped hands for a few moments gazing after her, and then, with a weary sigh, she lowered her veil and was about to leave the house, when she encountered Mr Penwynn.

"Have the goodness to step back into the drawing-room, Miss Pavey," said the banker, whose face wore a very troubled look; and, in obedience to his wish, she went back trembling, and took the seat he pointed out, while he placed one on the other side of the table, and began tapping it with his fingers, according to his custom.

Miss Pavey looked at him timidly, and her breath came fast, for she was exceedingly nervous, and she dreaded that which she felt the banker was about to say.