WORKING ON A PIVOT.
Never had Richard been in such high spirits as on the evening of that
day on which Harry had made confession to him of her love, and had
promised to be his wife should her father's consent be gained. It was
true that she had been far from sanguine upon the latter point; but
Richard had his reasons for being of a different opinion. It would be
better, every way, if he could obtain Trevethick's good-will; not that
he at all shared in the girl's dread of his anger, but because it really
seemed that if he married her from her father's roof he should be
fulfilling his mother's injunctions in making alliance with an heiress.
What with his two thousand pounds in gold, and his inn, and his lucky
mine, it was plain that the old man would have no despicable sum to
leave behind him; and yet, to do Richard justice, this only formed an
additional incentive to a project upon which, at all events, he had long
set his heart. He had resolved at all hazards to make the girl his wife.
His love for her was as deep as it was passionate; and now that he was
assured from her own lips of its being returned, his heart was filled
with joy, and spoke out of its abundance. It had been hitherto his habit
in that family circle round the bar-parlor fire to play the part of
listener rather than of talker. He had mainly confined himself to the
exhibition of an attentive interest in Solomon's stories, or in his
host's sagacious observations with respect to the investment of capital,
such as: "One couldn't be too cautious where one put one's money;" and,
"Where the interest was high the risk was great, and where it was low it
was not worth while to let it leave one's hand." Next to the subject of
local superstition, "investment" was the favorite subject of debate
between Trevethick and "Sol;" and Richard, whose ignorance insured his
impartiality, had been the judicious scale-holder between them. But
upon the present occasion it was the young artist who led the talk and
chose the matter. He told them of the splendors of Crompton and of the
marvelous prodigality of its owner, and they listened with greedy ears.
To vulgar natures, the topic of mere wealth is ever an attractive one,
and in the present instance there was an additional whet to appetite in
the connection of Carew with Gethin. He was naturally an object of
curiosity to his tenant Trevethick, and never before had the old man had
the opportunity of hearing at first hand of the eccentricities of the
Squire. In relating them Richard took good care to show by implication
on what intimate terms he stood with him, and hinted at the obligation
under which he had put him by throwing his park gate open so
opportunely. The impression which he left upon his audience, and desired
to leave, was, that Carew was indebted to him for having saved his life.
"Then it is likely the Squire would do any thing for you that you chose
to ask him?" observed Trevethick, with the thought of his own debt to
Solomon's father doubtless in his mind.
"Well, he certainly ought to do so," answered Richard, carelessly; "but,
on the other hand, it is not very probable that I shall put him to the
test."
"Just so," returned Trevethick, sucking at his pipe; "you're independent
of the likes of him."
"Altogether," was Richard's reply.
The old man spoke no more, but sat in a cloud of smoke and thought for
the rest of the evening. Even when "Sol" rose up to go--Harry having
retired long since, for they kept very early hours at the Gethin
Castle--the landlord did not, as usual, accompany him, but mixed himself
another glass of his favorite liquor. As for Richard, it was not his
custom to seek his bed until after midnight; so Trevethick and he were
left to one another's company. It was an opportunity to which the latter
had been looking forward for many a day, but which he had never desired
so keenly as at that moment.
"Are you likely to be at Crompton soon again?" inquired the landlord,
pursuing the subject of the evening's talk.
"I have no intention of going there at present," returned Richard. "The
fact is, Mr. Trevethick, between ourselves, I am but a poor man in
comparison with many of those I meet there, and their ways and habits
are too expensive for me."
"Ay! gambling and such like, I suppose?" observed the landlord,
cunningly. "It is 'Light come light go' with the money of that sort of
folk, I reckon."
"Just so; and though my money comes light enough--that is, I have not to
earn it, since my mother makes me an allowance--I don't choose to risk
it at the card-table."
"Quite right, quite right, young gentleman," answered the other,
approvingly. "But there are some prudent gentry even at Crompton, I
suppose. Parson Whymper, for instance, he don't gamble, do he?"
"Certainly not; he is much too sagacious a man, even if he were rich
enough, to play; but for him, indeed, some say the Squire would have
come to the end of his tether before this. He manages every thing at
Crompton, as you know."
"And yet Carew don't want money?" said the landlord, musing.
"Well, I have been his guest," returned Richard, smiling; "and it is
scarcely fair of me to speak of his embarrassments. He does not
certainly want it so much but that he can still afford to indulge his
whims, Mr. Trevethick, if that's what you mean."
"That's just what I did mean," said the old man, frankly. "Six months
ago or so I made a certain proposition to the Squire, which would have
been exceedingly to his advantage to accept--"
"And not to yours?" interrupted Richard, slyly.
"Nay, I don't say that, Sir," answered the other. "But it was one that
he ought to have been glad to accept in any case, and which it was
downright madness in him to refuse, if he wanted cash. It was a chance,
too, I will venture to say, that will never offer itself from any other
quarter. Mr. Whymper acknowledged that himself."
"I know all about the matter, Mr. Trevethick: the Squire behaved like
the dog in the manger to you. He won't work the mine himself, nor yet
let you work it."
"For mercy's sake, be quiet!" cried the landlord, earnestly, and looking
cautiously about him. "If you know all about it, you need not let others
know. What mine are you talking about? Give it a name--but speak it
under your breath, man." The old man leaned forward with a white moist
face, and peered into Richard's eyes as though he would read his soul.
"Wheal Danes was the name of the place, if I remember right," said
Richard. "Carew has a notion that the Romans did not use it up, and that
it only wants capital to make it a paying concern. It is one of his mad
ideas, doubtless."
Mr. John Trevethick was not by nature a quick appreciator of sarcasm,
but he could not misunderstand the irony expressed in Richard's words.
"And is that what you came down to Gethin about?" inquired he, with a
sort of grim despair, which had nevertheless a comical effect.
Richard could only trust himself to nod his head assentingly.
"Well," cried the other, striking the table with his fist, "if I didn't
think you was as deep as the devil the very first day that I set eyes on
you! So you are Parson Whymper's man, are you?" And here, in default of
language to express his sense of the deception that, as he supposed, had
been practiced on him, Mr. Trevethick uttered an execration terrible
enough for a Cornish giant.
"I am not Mr. Whymper's man at all," observed Richard, coolly. "Mr.
Whymper is my man--or at least he will be one day or another."
"How so?" inquired the landlord, his eyes at their full stretch, his
mouth agape, and his neglected pipe in his right hand. "Who, in the
Fiend's name, are you?"
"I am the only son and heir of Carew of Crompton," answered the young
man, deliberately.
"You? Why, Carew never had a son," exclaimed Trevethick, incredulously;
"leastways, not a lawful one. He was married once to a wench of the name
of Hardcastle, 'tis true; but that was put aside."
"I tell you I am Carew's lawful son, nevertheless," persisted Richard.
"My mother was privately married to him. Ask Parson Whymper, and he
will tell you the same. It is true that my father has not acknowledged
me, but I shall have my rights some day--and Wheal Danes along with the
rest."
The news of the young man's paternity must have been sufficiently
startling to him who thus received it for the first time, and would,
under any other circumstances, have doubtless excited his phlegmatic
nature to the utmost; but what concerns ourselves in even a slight
degree is, with some of us, more absorbing than the most vital interests
of another; and thus it was with Trevethick. The ambitious pretensions
of his lodger sank into insignificance--notwithstanding that, for the
moment, he believed in them; for how, unless he was what he professed to
be, could he know so much?--before the disappointment which had befallen
himself in the overthrow of a long-cherished scheme.
"Why, Mr. Whymper wrote me with his own hand," growled he, "that in his
judgment the mine was worthless, and that he had done all he could to
persuade the Squire to sell. And yet you come down here to gauge and
spy."
"All stratagems are fair in war and business," answered the young man,
smiling. "Come, Mr. Trevethick; whatever reasons may have brought me
here, I assure you, upon my honor, that they do not weigh with me now,
in comparison with the great regard I feel for you and yours. If you
will be frank with me, I will also be so with you; and let me say this
at the outset, that nothing which may drop from your lips shall be made
use of to prejudice your interests. I have gathered this much for
myself, that Wheal--"
"Hush, Sir! for any sake, hush!" implored the landlord, earnestly, and
holding up his huge hand for silence. "Do not give it a name again;
there is some one moving above stairs."
"It is only Solomon," observed Richard, quietly.
"I don't want Sol nor any other man alive to hear what we are talking
about, Mr. Yorke," answered Trevethick, hoarsely. "You have gathered for
yourself, you were about to say, that the mine is rich, and well worth
what I have offered for it."
"And a good deal more," interrupted Richard. "Perhaps a hundred times,
perhaps a thousand times as much. We don't make so close a secret of a
matter without our reasons. We don't see Dead Hands, with flames of fire
at the finger-tips, going up and down ladders that don't exist, without
the most excellent reasons, Mr. Trevethick. What we wish no eye to see,
nay, no ear to hear spoken of, is probably a subject of considerable
private importance to ourselves. Come, we are friends here together; I
say again, let us be frank."
Trevethick was silent for a little; he felt a lump rise in his throat,
as though nature itself forbade him to disclose the secret he had kept
so long and so jealously guarded. "I have known it for these fifty
years," he began, in a half-choking voice. "I found it out as a mere
lad, when I went down into the old mine one day for sport, with some
schoolmates. The vein lies in the lowest part of the old workings, at a
depth that we think nothing of nowadays, though it was too deep for the
old masters of the pit. I remember, as though it was yesterday, how my
heart leaped within me when my torch shone upon it, and how I fled away,
lest my school-fellows should see it also. I came back the next day
alone, to certify my great discovery. It is a good vein, if ever there
was one. The copper there may be worth tens of thousands, hundreds of
thousands, millions!" Never had the numeration table been invested with
such significance. Trevethick's giant frame shook with emotion; his eyes
literally glared with greed.
"You have been there since?" observed Richard, interrogatively.
"Often, often," answered the other, hoarsely; "I could not keep away.
But nobody else has been there. The place is dark and perilous; there
are rats, and bats, and eerie creatures all about it. And folks are
afraid, because of the Dead Hand and the Flame."
"Your hand and torch?"
"Yes. I did my best to keep the place my own; my thoughts were never
absent from it for a day. And when I had earned a little money I put it
by, and more to that, and more to that again, till I had got enough to
make a bid for the lease of the old mine. But Carew was under age; so
that fell through. I bided my time, and bid again; not much--not enough,
as I fondly thought, to excite suspicion--but still what would seem a
good price for a disused pit. Then I bid more and more; but Carew will
neither sell nor let; and my money grows and grows in vain. I tell you I
have laid by a fortune only to pour into his hand. It is ready for him
to-night; there would be no haggling, no asking for time--it would be
paid him in hard cash. How long, thought I, will this madman balk me
with his whim? He will die some day in his cups, or break his neck in
hunting, and I shall surely come in with my offer to his heir, and have
my way at last, and win my prize. But now, after all my patience and my
pains, I am overmatched by a Parson and a Boy." He spoke with uncommon
heat and passion--not complainingly. His face was dark, and his tone
violent, and even menacing. There was no mistake about his having
accepted his companion's invitation to be frank.
"Mr. Trevethick," said Richard, gravely, "your disappointment would be
natural enough, if your long-cherished plan had really failed; but you
have misunderstood me altogether. I am grateful to you for confiding to
me the whole of what I had already guessed in part; and you shall have
no reason to repent your confidence. Your secret is safer now than it
has ever been; for from my lips Mr. Whymper shall never have his
suspicions with respect to Wheal Danes confirmed. I have been too long
your guest, I feel myself too much the friend of you and yours, to act
in any way to your disadvantage."
Trevethick looked at him inquiringly, suspicion and disfavor glowing in
his dusky face. "But if your story is true, young gentleman, this mine
will be your own some day?"
"It may, or it may not be, Mr. Trevethick. My father's intentions are
not to be counted upon, as you must be well aware, for twenty-four
hours. But if ever Wheal Danes is mine--" Richard hesitated a moment,
while the landlord devoured him with his eyes.
"Well," cried he, impatiently, "what then?"
"I am willing to make over to you, as soon as I come of age, by deed,
all interest that I may have in it--on one condition."
"Make over Wheal Danes to me by deed! What! at my own price?"
"For nothing; you shall have it for a free gift."
"But the condition? What is it that you want of me that is not money?"
"I want permission from you, Mr. Trevethick, to wed, that is--for I
would not speak of love without your leave--to woo your daughter."
"To wed my daughter!" cried Trevethick, starting from his seat; "my
Harry!"
"I say provided that my suit is not displeasing to her," answered
Richard, not without a tremor in his voice, for the old man's face was
terrible to look upon. Hatred and Wrath were struggling there with
Avarice, and had the upper hand.
He rocked himself to and fro, then answered, in a stifled voice, "My
daughter's hand is already promised, young man."
"It may be so, Mr. Trevethick, but not by her, I think; and that her
heart has not been given to the man you have designed for her is
certain. You may see that for yourself."
"I tell you I have passed my word to Solomon Coe that she shall be his
wife," returned the other, gloomily, "and I am not one to go back from a
bargain."
"One can only promise what is in one's power," urged Richard; "your
daughter's heart is not yours to give. In backing this man's suit you
have already redeemed your word to him. If he has failed to win her
affections--and I think he has--let me try my chance. I am a fitter
match for her in years; I am a gentleman, and therefore fitter for her,
for she is a true lady. I love her a thousand times as much as he. As
for Wheal Danes, I would give you twenty such, if I had them, for the
leave I ask for, and the end I hope for."
It was curious to mark how the mere mention of the mine by name affected
the old man; his wrath, which seemed on the very point of explosion, was
checked and smoothed at once, like raging waves by oil; his brow,
indeed, was still dark and frowning, but he resumed his seat, and
listened, or seemed to listen, to Richard's impassioned pleading. His
genuine feeling made the young fellow eloquent, and gave a tender charm
to his always handsome face and winning tones.
Perhaps even the unsympathetic Trevethick was really somewhat touched;
at all events, he did not interrupt him, but when he had quite finished
took out his watch, and said, in a softened tone: "The hour is late, Mr.
Yorke, and you have given me much to think about, to which I can not
reply just now. Your communication has taken me altogether by surprise.
I will answer neither 'Yes' nor 'No' at present. Good-night, Sir." He
nodded, which was his usual salute at parting; but upon the young man's
eagerly stretching out his hand, he took it readily enough, and gave it
such a squeeze with his giant fingers as made Richard wince. Then,
smiling grimly, he retired.
As his heavy step toiled up stairs Richard perceived a slip of paper on
the floor, which had apparently fluttered out of the old man's
watch-case. Upon it were written the three letters, B, N, Z. As he held
it in his hand he heard the landlord's tread returning with unusual
haste, and had only just time to replace the paper, face downward, on
the sanded floor, before the other reappeared.
"I have dropped a memorandum, somewhere," said he. "It is of no great
consequence, but--Oh, here it is!" He picked it up, and replaced it in
the hollow of his great silver watch.
Richard, who was sitting where he had left him, looked up with a glance
of careless inquiry. "Good-night again, Mr. Trevethick."
"Good-night, Sir." And again the landlord smiled in his grim fashion.