"I really cannot come again!" exclaimed somebody, piteously, as Geoffrey
stood there half-paralysed by surprise.
"What nonsense!" said a man's voice. "You can if--"
Geoffrey heard no more, for he beat a rapid retreat back into the
sunshine, and hurried away, with a comical expression of vexation upon
his countenance.
"Lovers, by all that's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Hang 'em, they're
everywhere! Fancy finding them in this out-of-the-way, forsaken place
of all others in the world. Why, hang me! if I don't believe that's why
some women go up Mont Blanc--they go up to court."
He strode away, whistling a merry air, little thinking what an influence
all this would have upon his future life; and, thrusting his hands down
into his pockets, he went on, leaping from rock to rock, making for the
other side of the promontory, evidently intending to see as much of the
country as he could before returning to dinner.
"Why, hallo!" he suddenly exclaimed, stopping short. "Surely I've heard
one of those voices before? No: impossible!" he said, "I don't know any
ladies down here."
Going on again, he soon crossed a sort of heathery down, dotted with
masses of rock, which cropped up here and there; sent several couples of
agile sheep bounding away, and noted that they were linked together at
the neck; drew long, bracing breaths of the fresh, pure air; and, after
skirting along the edge on the far side of the promontory, he went on
inland, comparing the glorious sea to violet and gold, as it gleamed in
the sunshine and reflected the brighter tints of the cliffs.
He soon hit upon a foot-track, which evidently led towards Carnac if he
turned to the right, while on the left it led--
"Let's see where!" said Geoffrey.
Half an hour's walking showed that it led onward to a farther point on
the sea, and he hesitated as to whether he should go on. A glance at
his watch told him that he had ample time, and as there was another
ruined engine-house evidently by the track, he walked on, finding that
the path led direct to the side of another mining venture, but evidently
of much older date, and he quite started as he found how near the path
went by a yawning shaft.
It had probably once been protected by a wall of loosely piled-up
stones, but these lay scattered here and there, while the great
engine-house had half fallen, the chimney only being intact.
"How dangerous," thought Geoffrey, as he gazed down into the shaft, and
noted how the grass and heath had grown over the embankment of _debris_
which ran down in a slope landward, joining a precipitous descent from
the engine-house, which stood upon a ridge quite a hundred and fifty
feet above the sea, which ran in diamond sparkling cascades over the
rocks that fringed the shore nearly a quarter of a mile away.
"They seem to have always perched these places on a ridge," he mused, as
he looked into the ruined engine-house, and laughingly wondered whether
there would be any lovers there.
"Quite a wonder!" he exclaimed, as he glanced round the ruin, and,
finding nothing to excite his interest, he returned to the well-worn
edge of the shaft.
He could not look straight down, for the top had crumbled in, making a
sharp slope all round the edge; so, laughing at himself, he picked up
one of the great lichen-covered pieces of granite that had formed the
protecting wall, hurled it from him, and listened till with a roar came
up the sound of a tremendous plash.
"That's about a hundred and fifty feet down to the water," he said
aloud. "I believe it comes natural to a fellow to want to throw stones
down every hole he sees. I'll be bound to say that Cain and Abel used
to do just the same. Adam never was a boy."
He stood thinking for a few minutes, these old mine shafts attracting
him greatly.
"I wonder whether any one was ever thrown down that shaft?" he said
aloud. "She would never come out alive."
He found himself wondering again why his thoughts had taken such a turn,
and why he should have said "she."
"What nonsense!" he exclaimed. "I shall be writing a romance of a
ruined mine directly," and going on to the slope of _debris_ he began
kicking out and examining the old fragments that had been dug from the
bowels of the earth, taking out his pocket-lens, and minutely inspecting
each piece for traces of metallic ore, but finding little to reward his
pains.
"There was a lot of money wasted here, I'll be bound," he exclaimed, as
he turned off and once more began to follow the track.
"It's a grand coast-line," he thought, as he walked on past and under
the huge masses of grey granite, dotted with green fern and pink
stonecrop, till he found the path begin to descend rapidly into a
ravine, full of ferny nooks and spots made musical by the dripping water
of the springs. The place had very precipitous sides, with a bright
rushing stream foaming on towards the sea, where it spread its waters
over the pure sands of a tiny cove.
There were a couple of boats drawn up below a large straggling granite
cottage, built evidently a portion at a time upon a shelf of rock well
out of the reach of the waves; and upon a platform in front of the
unlovely place, hedged in with stones, was some attempt at a garden.
So steep was the track down as he approached the place, Geoffrey could
easily have leaped from this slope on to the cottage roof, which was as
rugged as the walls, and altogether the dwelling had a wild, uncouth
aspect, in no wise improved by some old ship wood and lumber lying
about.
But this was all redeemed by the beauty of the little cove, with the
breaking waves which seemed to sweep up the waters of the little stream
after its gurgling course, amidst lichenous stones from where it had
sprung high up the ravine out of a bower of many-tinted greens.
"Just the spot for a smuggler or a wrecker, or a fellow to build a house
to boat and fish, and live away from the world. I should like to lodge
here," he continued, as his eyes wandered over the scene. "Wish I could
paint, and--ah! you would come in capitally. Hallo! she's coming to me.
No, my lass," he said, as if speaking to her, though she was too
distant to hear, "it's labour in vain. I don't want a guide to any
caves or dripping wells, or to buy specimens of ore, spar, or the like.
By Jove, though, she's very handsome. Why, she must be a gypsy."
This was said as a young woman came into sight from the cottage below,
looked up, and on catching sight of the visitor seemed to speak to some
one within, and then hurried up to meet him.
As Geoffrey remarked, she was very handsome, but it was a wild, rugged,
half-savage kind of beauty. Dark-eyed, brown-skinned, with a ruddy
flush which showed how little she sheltered from the weather, while her
abundant black hair was carelessly twisted up, and hung down in a
massive knot between her shoulders. Her dress was of the commonest
cotton, and slovenly made, a short print gown being tied round her
waist, over a bright-coloured serge petticoat, while in one hand she
held a print hood. But, in spite of her ungraceful clothing, Geoffrey
could see that she was lithe, strong, and active, and there was no
little natural grace in the undulations of her unfettered form, as she
hurried up to meet him.
"Come here and buy some sweets," she said, in a voice as full of command
as entreaty, and as she looked him boldly yet curiously in the face, he
saw that her lips were red and full, over large but beautifully white
teeth.
"Sweets? Nonsense, my lass. I don't eat sweets. What cove is this?"
"Gwennas," said the girl. "Come down and buy some sweets. Here's the
money."
Geoffrey stared, as the girl held out a penny in her large, well-shaped
hand.
"Poor lass! A love case for a sovereign. She's crazy," said Geoffrey
to himself, and, changing his manner, he took the coin from the girl's
hand, receiving, at the same time, a smile for reward. "What's your
name, my lass?" he said aloud.
"Bessie--Elizabeth Prawle," said the girl, shortly. "You're a
stranger."
"Yes," he said, looking at her sidewise. "Do they sell sweets here?"
"Yes," said the girl, sharply.
"And you are very fond of them, eh?"
They were going side by side towards the cottage, when the girl faced
round, looked at him in a puzzled way for a moment, and then laughed
merrily.
"They are not for me," she said, sharply, as they reached the rough
rocky platform in front of the cottage. "Here, father, this gentleman
is going to buy some sweets."
"Is he? Oh!"
This was uttered in a low, hoarse growl, by a strongly-built, rugged
fisher-looking man, in a blue Jersey, and very thick flannel trousers,
braced up right over his chest. He wore no hat, but a shaggy crop of
grizzled hair shaded his weather-beaten, inflamed face, as he sat on a
block of granite, as rugged as himself, overhauling a long fishing-line,
whose hooks he was sticking in pieces of blackened cork.
He looked up for a moment frowningly at the visitor, with a pair of dark
piercing eyes, drew a great gnarled hand across his mouth to wipe away
the tobacco-juice, lowered his eyes, got up, stooped, and displayed an
enormous patch upon his trousers, reseated himself, and went on with his
work.
"Come in," said the girl, quickly, and she led the way into a large low
room, roughly but well furnished, and scrupulously clean. It was a
compound of rustic farmhouse kitchen with a flavour of parlour and
ship's chandlery or boating store. For along the massive beams, and
wherever a great peg could be driven in, hung nets, lines, and other
fishing gear. A ship's lantern hung here; there was a binnacle there.
Odds and ends of cabin furniture were mingled with well-polished Windsor
chairs, and brass decorated chests of drawers. There was plenty of
ornamentation too. Shells, a sword-fish, dried marine animals, sponges
and seaweeds, masses of coral, fragments of bright spar, and some gay
pieces of china, lay upon chimney-piece and shelves; in addition to
which there was the model of a full-rigged ship in full sail, fitted up
in a great glass case.
"Quite an old curiosity shop," thought Geoffrey, as he saw all this at a
glance, and noted that the well-cleaned floor was sprinkled with sand,
save where a great home-made shred rug lay in front of the bright black
fireplace, on whose hob a great copper kettle shone from its dark corner
like a misted sun.
The light came through the open door, and formed quite a Rembrandtish
picture in the low, darkened room, falling as it did in mote-sparkling
rays, like a band of sunbeams, right across a bent figure in an old
well-washed chintz-covered armchair.
The first thing that struck Geoffrey was the figure's occupation. The
day was warm, but she was seated very close to the fire, airing a
garment carefully spread over her knees, and from which came a most
unmistakable odour of scorching, reminding the visitor very strongly of
his late visit to Mrs Mullion's on the cliff. A pair of very thin
white hands were busy adding mesh after mesh to a herring net, while as
they entered, the bent down head was eagerly raised, and Geoffrey saw a
face whose white hair and pallid, piteous look, told its own tale, as
the weary-looking eyes scanned his face.
"Another customer, mother," said the girl, quickly. "Oh, why don't you
be more careful? you'll burn yourself to death."
"It's cold, Bessie; it's cold, dear, but that's well--that's well," said
the invalid, whose hands began to tremble, so that she missed a stitch
or two in her net. "Be quick, dear, be quick."
"Yes, mother. Did you say a pen'orth, sir?"
"No, I want sixpen'orth, my lass," said Geoffrey.
The girl darted a grateful look at him as she took a covered glass jar
from the window-sill, and as she rattled the coloured sticks of candy
which were its contents, Geoffrey heard a sigh of satisfaction from the
invalid, a glance showing him that the head was once more bent down over
the net.
"Fine weather, Mrs Prawle," said Geoffrey, hazarding a shot, as the
girl busily rustled a paper bag.
"Yes, yes," said the invalid, looking up at him, "I suppose it is, sir.
I hope you will come again."
The girl darted a quick look at him.
"Oh, yes! of course," replied Geoffrey, whose eyes wandered over the
pitiable picture before him. "I shall come again."
"I'm so anxious to get up a connection, sir," continued the invalid,
"and Gwennas Cove is rather out of the way."
"I should think it is--rather!" said Geoffrey to himself, and he could
hardly refrain from smiling at the poor woman's idea of getting up a
connection in that wild spot.
"Yes, Bess, take the money. Thank you kindly, sir. Good-day, sir;
good-day;" and the invalid began to carefully turn the airing garment
upon her knees, though there was no more dampness in it than in one of
the red-hot pieces of wood over which she hung.
Geoffrey felt disposed to stay, but his time was short, and, after a
cheery "good-day," he strode out, followed by the girl, to find that the
rugged-looking old man was gone, patch and all; but the girl hurried on
before him for a few yards, as if to be out of hearing at the cottage,
and then held out her hand.
"What? Good-by!" said Geoffrey, smiling, and he held out his own.
"No, no, nonsense," said the girl, flushing. "Give me the sweeties, and
take your money back."
"Then you carry that on to please the old lady, eh?" said Geoffrey.
"Yes, of course," replied the girl, sharply. "Didn't you know?"
"Not I; but I guessed as much."
"Mother's been ill these twenty years, and has to be carried to her bed.
She thinks she's a burthen, so we do it to humour her."
"I thought as much."
"Then why don't you take your money?" said a hoarse, rough voice, that
chased away all the sentiment of the affair, and Geoffrey started round
to see that the fierce-looking old man was leaning over a block of
granite, his arms crossed, and his chin resting upon them. "Take your
money and go."
"No," said Geoffrey, in his off-hand way. "No: thanks. I want the
sweets for the children."
"Yours?" said the old fellow, roughly.
"Mine? Hang it, man; no."
Geoffrey turned to the girl, and looked at her, laughing merrily; but
this seemed to irritate the old man, who came fiercely from behind the
granite block, thrusting his hands far down into his pockets, and
scowling angrily.
"Look here, young man," he said, hoarsely, "you're a stranger here, and
don't know us."
"Not yet," said Geoffrey, "but I dare say I soon shall."
"Take your money, and don't come again," said the old man, hoarsely.
"You are a nice, pleasant-spoken old gentleman," said Geoffrey,
nonchalantly, as he coolly opened the paper bag, and took out one of the
sticks of candy. "Have a sweet?"
The man uttered a fierce growl that sounded like an oath, and took a
step forward in a menacing way, but the girl sprang forward, and threw
her arm across his chest.
"D'yer want me to hurl you off the rocks?" he said savagely.
"Be quiet, father," cried the girl. "The gentleman means no harm."
"Go in, Bess," he shouted, and, shaking her off, he went close up to
Geoffrey, who did not give way an inch, but looked full in the fierce,
repulsive face thrust close to his, till the old man lowered his eyes,
and stepped on one side, muttering angrily.
"Do you always treat strangers like this, Master Prawle?" said Geoffrey,
smiling.
"Go away, I tell ye," said the old man, fiercely. "We want no dealings
with the people."
"Don't anger father, sir," said the girl, who, however, seemed to be in
no wise put out by the old man's savage resentment.
"Not I, my girl," replied Geoffrey; "but what is the matter with your
mother?"
"She fell off the cliff one night," said the girl, quickly.
"Tell him to go, Bess," growled her father. "We don't want him here."
"I asked the gentleman to come, father," said the girl. Then, turning
to Geoffrey, "Thank you kindly, sir. It pleases mother."
"Don't name it, my lass," replied Geoffrey, smiling, and the girl looked
at him very fixedly, as she watched every turn in his frank, open face.
"Good-day," he continued. "Good-day, Master Prawle."
The old man scowled at him by way of reply, and then stood watching him
till he had climbed back to the edge of the ravine, where, turning to
glance down, Geoffrey saw father and daughter below, the latter
returning his salute, as he waved his hand before passing out of their
sight.
"Old boy thought I was a hawk after his pigeon," said Geoffrey, lightly.
"What an ill-conditioned old ogre! But there must be some good under
his rough bark. Prawle, eh? Elizabeth, otherwise Bess. And the old
woman! What a piteous face! Twenty years an invalid! Ah, well! I
don't think Mr Prawle, of the hoarse voice and fierce tone, need be
afraid; but I'd rather not offend him, say about the fair Elizabeth, and
then meet him--angry--say beside the shaft of one of those old mines."
He glanced then at his watch, and hastened his steps, for the time of
his engagement at An Morlock was drawing near.