CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT.

A STRONG MAN'S WEAKNESS.

"Here, speak out," cried Geoffrey excitedly, as he hurried with old Prawle down towards the cliff. "What is it? What do you mean?" and as the old man hurriedly recited all he knew, Geoffrey felt his breath come thick and fast.

As they reached the cliff they came upon Dr Rumsey, who had been summoned by old Prawle before he had gone up to Mrs Mullion's to find Geoffrey; and, after a distant salutation, the doctor began to question Geoffrey, but without avail. Then they went on in silence to find Bessie, with her wet dishevelled hair and clinging garments, still kneeling before the fire with Madge's baby in her arms.

She looked up in a pitiful way towards Dr Rumsey as he entered, and rose stiffly and laid her little burthen upon the couch.

"A candle, quick!" cried the doctor; and Geoffrey lit one and placed it in the eager hands, to look on afterwards, in company with old Prawle, who stood there, with his hands deep in his pockets, scowling heavily at the scene.

Dr Rumsey's examination was short and decisive.

"I can do nothing," he said quietly. "Poor little thing, it has been dead some time."

Bessie burst into a low sobbing wail, and crouched, there upon the floor; but she raised her face again with a wild stare as she heard Geoffrey speak.

"But try, doctor; for heaven's sake try," he cried.

"I know my business, Mr Trethick," said the doctor coldly. "The child was not drowned. Place your hand here. Its head must have struck the rock. It was dead before it reached the water."

Geoffrey Trethick--strong, stern, trouble-hardened man--bent down as he heard these words, and placed his firm white hand upon the dead child's head, realising fully the doctor's words. Then, raising the little corpse tenderly in his arms, he stood looking down in the white, placid face, the doctor and old Prawle watching him with curious eyes.

"My poor little man," he said, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "My poor little man! Oh, baby, baby, I couldn't have loved you better if you had been my own!"

As he spoke he raised the little thing higher and higher, and kissed its little lips and then its cold, white forehead, and the two men heard a sob start from his breast, and saw the great tears rolling softly down.

"Oh, Rumsey!" he groaned, "I'm afraid I'm a poor weak fool."

He laid the little thing reverently upon the couch, and the doctor looked at him curiously, till he was recalled to himself by old Prawle's hand laid upon his shoulder.

"See to her, doctor, she wants you badly;" and it was true, for Bessie had sunk back with her head against the couch.

"Where is Miss Mullion?" said the doctor. "I want some help."

"At home, doctor, as bad as your patient there. You must be nurse and doctor too."

Without a word old Prawle took a couple of strides across the room, and, lifting Bessie as if she had been a babe, he carried her into Madge's chamber and laid her upon the bed. The motion revived her, though, and, after a few words of advice, the doctor went off homeward, and Geoffrey and old Prawle walked up and down the cliff, the father going in at intervals to see that Bess was sleeping comfortably, and listening at her door.

"Not to-night," the old man muttered; "not to-night. I can't go and leave my poor la.s.s there, perhaps to die. It'll keep a bit--it'll keep a bit;" and he rejoined Geoffrey.

The next morning at daybreak they took a lantern and explored the adit, the old man pointing out the traces of Bessie's trailing garments, and here and there a spot or two of blood upon the rock.

They crossed the winze, and Geoffrey wondered how a woman could have attempted it in the dark; and at last they stood in a stooping position at the end, looking at the black surface of the water in the old shaft, upon which was floating Bessie's hat and the child's hood.

They could not reach them, so they returned, old Prawle saying, in a curiously harsh voice,--

"She didn't tell a lie, Master Trethick, eh?"

"A lie?" exclaimed Geoffrey. "It is too horrible almost to believe."

"Horrible? Yes. Now let's go and look at the pit mouth."

Geoffrey followed him, feeling as if it were all part of some terrible dream, and wondering what effect it would have upon Madge.

"Why, Prawle," he exclaimed, stopping short, "that villain must have thought he was throwing in mother and child."

"Ay, I dessay," said the old man. "No doubt, but it makes no difference to me. He threw down my Bess, and that's enough for me. Come on."

There was little to see on the turf by the old shaft after they had climbed the cliff; but, as Geoffrey went close to the mouth and looked down into the black void, he turned away with a shudder, wondering how any one could have been hurled down there in the darkness of the night, and yet have lived to see another day.

"Come away, Prawle," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "What have you got there?"

"b.u.t.ton off a man's coat," he said shortly. "Less than that's been enough to send any one to the gallows. But I don't want to send him."

"No," said Geoffrey; "the horror of what what he has done--the murder of his own child--will stay with him to his grave."

"If he ever has one," muttered Prawle.

Geoffrey looked at him searchingly, but the old man's face was as inscrutable as that of a sphinx; and, leading the way back, he went down into his favourite place by the boat below the face of the cliff, and as soon as Geoffrey had made a hasty breakfast, which he found Bessie had prepared, he went off to the cottage to see Mrs Mullion, and tell her of the events of the past night.

CHAPTER FIFTY NINE.

JONAH.

The threatening storm was giving abundant promise that it would soon visit Carnac; and warned by its harbingers, the various red-sailed luggers were making fast for the little port. Several had made the shelter behind the arm of masonry which curved out from the sh.o.r.e, and one of the last to run in was the boat owned by Tom Jennen and three more.

They had just lowered the last sail, and, empty and disappointed, they were about to make a line fast to one of the posts, when John Tregenna ran quickly down to where Tom Jennen stood upon the stone pier, rope in hand.

"Stop," he cried.

"What's the matter?" growled Jennen.

"I want you to take me across to--"

He whispered the rest.

"Storm coming. There'll be a gashly sea on directly, master. Pay out more o' that line, will you?" he bellowed. "Don't you see she's foul o'

the anchor?"

"Ten pounds if you'll put off directly, and take me," said Tregenna, glancing uneasily back.

"Wouldn't go for twenty," growled Jennen.

"Thirty, then, if you'll put off at once."

"Hear this, mates?" growled Jennen.