"Mr Trethick, I ask you, _as my manager_, to stay."
"And if I succeed, sir, what then?"
"Succeed first, and then we'll talk."
There was considerable emphasis upon a portion of the banker's speech,
and Geoffrey rose, and, without another word, left the room.
"I am to stay," he thought exultingly, and his first idea was that he
should go and tell Rhoda; but he recollected that he must henceforth
look at her from a distance. It was only reasonable, he felt. What
right had he, a penniless adventurer, to aspire to Rhoda's hand? It was
madness, he owned; but time was before him, and he had her love.
He had the indorsement of her love when he returned from the mine that
evening, for Madge Mullion brought him a note that he saw at a glance
was in Rhoda's handwriting, and a throb of joy ran through him as he
caught the envelope.
Then, looking up, he saw the bearer's eyes gazing wistfully at him, and
he noted, more and more, how pale and wan she looked.
"Why, Madge," he said, "are you unwell?"
She shook her head, and hurried away.
"Poor girl," he muttered, "I cannot have made her look like this. She
must be ill, and fretting about some one else."
He was opening the letter as he spoke, and his eyes flashed as they ran
over the few simple lines the note contained.
They were very short. They only told of the interview between father
and daughter, and bade Geoffrey remember that though they would seldom
meet now, the future was before them, and Rhoda added, "My daily prayer
will be for your success."
"For my success," said Geoffrey, firmly, as he placed the letter in one
particular fold of his pocket-book. "Then now I am going to work."
Rather a curious declaration for one whose labours had for months been
almost herculean, but it did not seem to occur to Geoffrey that it was
strange; and, after partaking of his tea, he was about to go in and see
Uncle Paul, when there was a step outside, and directly after the girl
came in to say that Amos Pengelly wanted to see him.
"Show him in, girl," said Geoffrey; and directly after there was a heavy
limping step; the miner entered, and, without a word, banged down a
great lump of granite quartz upon the table.
"There," he cried excitedly, "that's not salt."
Geoffrey looked at him wonderingly, took up the piece of granite, which
sparkled with black grains in a band of ruddy mineral running through
the piece, and turned it over and over by the light.
"That didn't come from nowhere else, master," said Pengelly.
Still Geoffrey did not reply, but continued to examine the piece of
rock, the miner's excitement being so great that he could hardly contain
himself.
"Where did you get this?" said Geoffrey, at last.
"In the four-east drive."
"Under the sea?" said Geoffrey, sharply.
"Yes, sir."
"When?"
"Not an hour ago."
"You staid down then, Pengelly?"
"Yes. Iss, my son. I knew there was good stuff down there somewhere,
and I've hit it now."
"Have you been searching much, Pengelly?"
"Every night, master, since the mine was opened," said Pengelly,
proudly, "I felt that my character was at stake. I would find it. I
prayed and wrastled that I might find it, master," he cried, with
flashing eyes, "and my prayer is heard."
"Pengelly," cried Trethick, "there's thirty per cent of metal in that
rock--thirty? Perhaps more," he cried excitedly.
He caught up his hat, and together they hurried down to the mine, where,
in spite of the lateness of the hour, the engine was going, and a stream
of water pouring forth, for it needed some effort to keep the galleries
dry.
Mining garments were soon donned, lamps taken, and, to the surprise of
the man in charge of the engine, the manager announced his intention of
descending; and, stepping into the cage, Pengelly and he were soon
rushing down into the bowels of the earth, to step out at last six
hundred feet from the surface, and then thread their way along the dark
stone passages of the silent place.
For the mine was deserted now for the night, and there was nothing for
company but their own shadows thrown grotesquely on the sparkling walls
and floor.
Pengelly led the way with no little agility, making light of lumps of
refuse remaining from the old working of the mine, and even yet not
removed, for Geoffrey's venture had been in quite another direction.
As they went on, Pengelly pointed here and there to freshly chipped
places where he had been, pursuing his investigations without success,
and at last he stopped short at the end of the gallery, facing the rock.
"They had got to success," said the miner, hoarsely. "Only another
foot, and they would have reached the lode. Look here, master."
"Give me the pick," cried Geoffrey, excitedly; and, snatching the tool,
as Pengelly held the lamp, he made the gallery echo and send long, loud
reverberations along its course. The rock spat forth a shower of
sparks, while Geoffrey proceeded to cut out a goodly-sized fragment of
the stone from the bottom of the new fracture where Pengelly had been at
work.
It was a strange scene, and the shadow of the young man, as it was cast
here and there upon the rock, looked like some hideous spirit of the
mine waving its arms, and menacing him with a monstrous pick. There was
something awful too, in the harsh, clanging noises repeated from the
stony walls; and every stroke of the implement he wielded seemed to draw
forth threatening flashes of light, as the toiler smote on at the hard
rock that had lain there virgin from far back in those distant ages
whose dim vistas are so full of awe to the inquiring mind.
But neither Pengelly nor Trethick thought of aught but the value of the
ore that the latter was hewing, till he had detached a far larger lump
than that brought to him by his follower.
"Take hold, Pengelly," said Geoffrey, excitedly, as he picked up the
dislodged fragment, and, thrusting it into the miner's hands, he took
the lamp, which made the dew upon his forehead glisten; and then, with
trembling hands, he held the light close to the wall, examining it
carefully here and there, right in where the pieces had been cut and at
the side. Then, not satisfied, he took the pick, and cut here and there
at the dripping, slimy sides that had been coated with a curious growth
while under water for years, and against which the newly-cut portions
flashed out bright and clean.
A cut here, a few chips there, ceiling, floor a few yards back, in all
directions, and the result was the same, namely, that the quartz rock
was similar to that where the grand rich vein of tin was running; and,
after full five hours' hard toil, patiently lighted the while by
Pengelly, it was literally forced upon Geoffrey that trickery had no
existence here; that the rock had never been tampered with by
speculators, but was virgin and pure as it had been from the beginning
of time, and he knew that the old proprietory had ceased their efforts
in this direction when riches were within their grasp.
Then, and then only, did Geoffrey draw out a pocket-lens for his final
look, close it, throw down the piece of ore, and catching Pengelly's
hands in his, shake them with a hearty grip.
"Right!" he cried, "there is no salt here, Pengelly. Wheal Carnac is a
great success."
He stopped short, listening to a sound that had at first been but a
faint murmur, but had increased by slow degrees to a heavy roar, and he
realised that which he had for the time forgotten--that they were
beneath the sea, and that the crust of rock between them and the mighty
waters must be very thin.