For a moment a subterfuge was trembling upon her lips, but honesty conquered, and, looking more bravely in Rhoda's face, she said,--

"Yes, dear. Mr Lee wishes it!--I didn't like it at first; but he says it is a duty, and I will do it, whatever anybody else may say."

She said these last words almost pa.s.sionately, as she looked defiantly at Rhoda.

"And what are you going to do, Miss Pavey?"

"No, no, dear Rhoda, let it be Martha still," pleaded the little woman.

"Well then--Martha," said Rhoda, with a smile.

"I am going to see, and take a few comforts to poor Madge Mullion," said the little woman, with an apologetic look; and then, after another effort, "I have been twice before. Where have you been, dear?"

Rhoda looked at her half scornfully, and the change that had come over her weak little friend struck her as being almost absurd, as, in a defiant way, she said sharply,--

"I? Where have I been? Where you are going now. I have been to see Madge Mullion and that man's child."

She hurried away with her hand pressed upon her heart, as the words seemed to have leaped from her lips, while she felt that if she stayed there a moment longer she would burst out into a hysterical fit of laughter; and this feeling was still upon her as she pa.s.sed through the rugged streets of the little town and hastened home.

CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

OLD PRAWLE WISHES TO INVEST.

The rugged pile of rocks along by the ruins of the old mine was a favourite spot with Geoffrey in these troubled days. From hence, when he had clambered into a sheltered nook, where there was a little natural platform, he could see the track towards the town, and think of that evening when, glorified by the wonderful sunset, he had enjoyed that strange dream of love and hope. Every grey-lichened stone seemed to light up once more as he took his seat there, and reflected those wondrous tints that had for the moment coloured his life before all had turned grey and gloomy once again.

He could see, too, Wheal Carnac from where he used to sit with his back against the natural wall, looking as hard and grim as the rock itself.

There lay the unlucky mine and the stony promontory, with the surges breaking fiercely at its base, as if the tide resented its presence and was always striving to tear down a pile that had served to crush the young man's fortunes.

Time stole on, but his position remained the same; for though the vicar had urged him again and again to make some effort to clear himself, he had sternly refused.

"No," he said, "I shall wait; and if you value my acquaintance, or friendship, if you like to call it so, I beg that you will say nothing to a soul upon my behalf."

The vicar sighed, but he allowed himself to be swayed by Geoffrey, whom he feared to tell of his suspicions concerning the state of affairs at An Morlock, for he could not help seeing how rapidly John Tregenna was becoming Mr Penwynn's master, and how helplessly the banker was drifting to a bitter end.

Geoffrey's old blackened meerschaum used to be brought out, and as he leisurely smoked he used to think of all that had taken place since his first arrival in Carnac, and wonder whether he had been wanting in any way in his duties to those who had intrusted him with so important a task.

He was seated there one morning when, in the midst of the reverie in which he was indulging, he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and, looking up, he saw old Prawle approaching and beckoning to him in a mysterious fashion.

"What's the matter?" said Geoffrey, starting up.

"I want you," whispered the old man, though probably there was not a soul within half a mile.

"Well, what do you want?"

"Business--particular business. Come down to my place and talk."

"Why, can't you talk here?" said Geoffrey, gruffly.

"No, no. Come to my place."

Soured, disappointed, and out of humour, Geoffrey was on the point of declining; but the old man had manifested so kindly a disposition towards him of late that he followed him without another word along the cliff to the Cove, where they descended the rough stairs to the bit of a cave; where the old man, instead of producing brandy and tobacco as Geoffrey expected, took down an old ship's lantern, saw that it was well trimmed, placed some matches inside, and then placed it inside his rough jacket.

"Wait a bit," he said, "and I'll show you;" and he laughed audibly.

"Look here. You carry this compa.s.s," he continued, taking one from a shelf.

"But what do you want? What are you going to do?" said Geoffrey.

"I'll tell you soon," said the old man. "I've been talking it over with my Bessie, and she says I may trust you, and that I am to do it. I haven't lived to my time for nothing."

"I'm much obliged to Miss Bessie for her trust," said Geoffrey bitterly; "but what is it? Are you going to dig up some of your old h.o.a.rds of money?"

"No, no; no, no," chuckled the old fellow, grimly. "I don't bury my money. I know what I'm about. Come along."

Geoffrey followed him down the rest of the rough way to the rocky sh.o.r.e, where the old man's boat was lying, and between them they ran her out into the tiny harbour, formed by a few jutting pieces of rock, got in, and, after arranging some great boulders as ballast, old Prawle was about to take both sculls, when Geoffrey took one.

"Here, I'll pull as well," he said. "I want work."

"Pull then," said the old man. As soon as he had placed the lantern and compa.s.s in the stern of the boat, the oars fell with a splash, and, timing the effort exactly, they rode out on a gently-heaving wave, and then old Prawle kept the boat about fifty yards from where the waves beat on the time-worn rocks.

"Tide's just right," said the old man. "Easy. Pull steadily, my lad.

There's no hurry. Hear about old Master Penwynn?"

"No. What?" said Geoffrey, sharply.

"They say things are going very bad with him, and that he'll soon be as poor as you."

"No," said Geoffrey. "I did hear that he had losses some months ago.

But is this true?"

"P'r'aps not," said old Prawle, gruffly. "Tom Jennen and some of 'em were talking about it. Amos Pengelly heard it, too."

Geoffrey was silent, and his heart began to throb as he thought of Rhoda, and of how it must bitterly affect her. Only a few months ago, and it seemed as if he had secured for her the fortune of a princess; now she was to be as poor as he, and they were still estranged.

"You oughtn't to mind," said old Prawle, laughing. "Penwynn did not behave so well to you."

"Would you mind changing the conversation, Mr Prawle?" said Geoffrey, sharply, when the old man uttered a low chuckle and went on steadily rowing.

"Are we going to fish?" said Geoffrey, after they had been rowing along in the shadow of the rocks for some time.

"Yes: to fish for money, my lad," said the old fellow. "Pull steady."

Geoffrey obeyed, and after his long days of enforced idleness, during which his thoughts had seemed to eat into his mind like cankers, there was something quite refreshing in the rowing over the heaving sea, and joined to it there was a spice of excitement to know what the old man really meant.

They rowed on and on with the bright waters of the bay on one side, and the weed-hung, weather-worn granite on the other, where every wave that ran beneath them seemed to playfully dash at the rocks, to lift the long, tangled brown and olive-green weeds, toss them, and deck them with gems as if they were the tresses of some uncouth sea-monster, before dashing up the wall that checked their way, and falling back in spray.

After a time, as Geoffrey glanced over his shoulder, he caught sight of the towering chimney above Wheal Carnac, and as he s.n.a.t.c.hed his gaze, as it were, away, he found that old Prawle was watching him, and he uttered a low, chuckling laugh.