They were civil enough to him at the hotel, but Geoffrey could not help
noticing that there was a peculiar something in his reception.
Of course it was strange his going there, and it led to talking about
him; of this he could not help feeling sure.
"Let them talk," he muttered, "if it pleases them;" and, after a late
dinner, and spending an hour or two in writing, he made up his mind to
go to bed and have a good night's rest, to make up for the losses of the
previous night.
He felt that he would like to know how old Mr Paul was, but he could
not send or ask with any degree of comfort, so he went to bed at ten.
But it was not to rest. His nerves had been so unduly excited by the
events of the past twenty-four hours that, try how he would, he could
not get to sleep.
As a rule, strong, healthy, and hearty, no sooner was his head upon his
pillow than he dropped off into a deep slumber. But this night his mind
was in a continuous whirl. He tossed, he turned, got up and bathed his
beating temples and burning forehead, scrubbed himself with a towel, and
lay down again, but there was no sleep.
Now he was following poor Madge along the cliff, and plunging into the
sea to save her. Then he was facing Bessie Prawle, whose eyes looked
reproachfully at him. Again, he would be back at the cottage going
through that pitiful scene with poor old Mr Paul; and when at last he
succeeded in dismissing that from his mind, he was haunted by the face
of Rhoda gazing at him with such a look of scorn and contempt that he
was obliged to sit up in bed to make sure it was not real.
"Upsets a man's nerves, no matter how strong he may be," argued
Geoffrey; and he once more threw himself down, wishing that he was back
at the cottage, for, as it was comparatively early, there were noises in
the hotel that helped to keep him awake.
At last, about midnight, he seemed to have successfully laid the whole
of the unrestful spirits that had been haunting him, and, feeling
calmer, he uttered a sigh of satisfaction, and felt that he was going
now to enjoy his well-earned rest, when a fresh thought leaped to his
brain, and that was about Wheal Carnac.
He had been down the mine that evening, and every thing was progressing
admirably. The machinery was in perfect order, the men settling down
more and more to their work, and they were in a high state of delight at
the success that had attended Pengelly's investigations. Why then
should he trouble himself about Wheal Carnac?
He argued with himself that it was imagination, due to the excited state
of his nerves and the worries of the day. He felt that it was that;
but, in spite of his reasoning, he could not rest. Sleep seemed to be
out of the question, and yet he would be terribly unfit for the next
day's work.
At last he could bear it no longer, and, feeling that rest would not
come unless he could satisfy himself that the place was safe, he got up
and dressed.
"I'm growing a wise man," he said, mockingly. "I wonder whether any one
has run away with the mine? Perhaps there is a burglary on, and they
are breaking into the boiler."
At the same time he felt that a walk in the cool night air would calm
his nerves, and he prepared to descend, when a new difficulty assailed
him.
It was past midnight now, every one in the place had retired, and no
doubt he would have some difficulty in getting out.
"I say the people here are mad," he thought; "they will think me mad.
Well, let them."
He went down as cautiously as he could, and found that his difficulty
about getting out was only imaginary, for the door was easily opened,
and, as he closed it behind him, and felt the cool night air upon his
forehead, he uttered a sigh of relief.
His plans were soon made; he would go first to Pengelly, and knock him
up and hear his report: for the manager was going to stay there a couple
or three hours after his superior had left the mine.
He felt some compunction in this; but he knew Pengelly's interest in the
works, and how willing he would be to answer questions; so he walked on,
thinking over two or three plans which he had been revolving in his mind
to propose to Mr Penwynn for Pengelly's benefit, and as a reward for
his discovery.
Every thing was very still under the brilliant starlit sky, and as
Geoffrey reached the narrow lane where Pengelly lived, he again felt
some little compunction at arousing him; but, as he had gone so far, he
determined to proceed.
The slight tap he gave on the door was quite sufficient to waken the
miner, and Geoffrey plainly heard him leap out of bed. The next moment
the casement just above his head was opened.
"What's the matter?" he said quickly.
"Nothing, I hope, Pengelly."
"Oh, it's you, sir!"
"Yes, it is I, Pengelly. Tell me, did you leave all right?"
"Yes, sir; quite right."
"At what time?"
"I was there till nine, sir. Have you been since?"
"No, Pengelly; but I have got an uneasy feeling upon me that something
might be wrong. I couldn't sleep, so I came on to you."
"Guilty conscience," thought Pengelly.
"I think," continued Geoffrey, "I'll walk on down there to see if every
thing is right. Good-night."
"No, sir, stop a minute, and I'll come too."
Geoffrey protested, but as he protested Pengelly jumped into his flannel
trousers and frock, and in the time that a modern gentleman would have
taken to unbutton his eyelids and think about his bath, the miner was
dressed and coming down.
"It's a shame to rouse you up, Pengelly, about such a fancy as mine,"
said Geoffrey. "I was restless, and that made me fidget about the
mine."
"Well, sir, she's worth fidgetting about," said Pengelly. "Let's go
down. It won't do any harm. There's the two engine-men on, and it will
show them that we may we expected at any time, and teach them their
duty."
Geoffrey longed to say something in his own defence to the miner, as
they went along under the starlit sky, but his pride kept him silent;
and, gradually growing calmer and at his ease as the fresh breeze from
the sea blew upon his face, they went on and on till they began climbing
the rugged path to where the engine-house stood up dim and gaunt against
the sky, with its lit-up windows and door having a grotesque resemblance
to the face of some fiery monster, who was uttering a low, panting roar.
They found the engine steadily working, raising and lowering the
enormous rod of the series of pumps, and a steady, rushing noise told
that the water was running fast.
"They're both fast asleep," said Pengelly. "Hallo! who's that?"
"Where?" said Geoffrey. "I don't see any one."
"I'd be sworn I saw some one go away," exclaimed Pengelly, leaping
forward, but only to return to where Geoffrey stood.
"I expect it was fancy, sir; but let's go and rouse them up. They've no
business to be asleep."
He led the way into the engine-house, where, by the glow from the
stoke-hole fire, the two men on duty could be seen lying back on the
stone bench that formed their seat, fast asleep; and, though Pengelly
shook them again and again, he could only evoke a deep stertorous snore
from each in turn.
"I don't like this, sir," said Pengelly. "Let's take a look round."
Geoffrey took a lantern from a rough shelf, and together they visited
office, stables, and the various buildings, ending by going towards the
shaft, when Pengelly suddenly uttered a cry.
"What's wrong?" cried Geoffrey, excitedly, though the knowledge had come
to him at the same moment as to his man.
"She's burst in, sir. Oh, listen! She's burst in!"
And as Geoffrey bent over the shaft, the fearful sound of the rushing
water flooding the mine rose from the echoing depths upon his ear.
Stunned by the nature of the catastrophe, Geoffrey Trethick stood
clutching the framework of the shaft, and leaned over listening to the
surging roar of the water as it seemed to him to come bursting up
through the winzes in fountains and rushing in triumph through each
gallery and drive.
As for Pengelly, he had thrown himself upon the ground, and for a time
neither spoke.
"Is this treachery or accident, Pengelly?" cried Trethick at last in a
hoarse, changed voice.
"Call it judgment, sir--call it judgment," groaned the miner. "If we
sin, the punishment must find us out."
"Pengelly?" cried Geoffrey, as he turned upon him in his rage. "There,
I cannot argue with you now. What can we do?"
"Do!" cried Pengelly, piteously. "Do nothing. What can we do but pray
and ask for mercy and help, sir, from above."
"Help!" cried Geoffrey. "God helps those who help themselves. Let us
be up and doing, man alive."
"It's no time to be up and doing now, sir," replied Pengelly solemnly.
"Listen, sir; do you hear? Hark at the water, as if the fountains of
the great deep were broken up. Mr Trethick, sir," he continued,
incongruously, "we may stop the engine, for a dozen such could not
master the water gathering there."
"The wall was too thin to stand the pressure," groaned Geoffrey, "and
yet it seemed so safe. Is it possible that any tricks can have been
played with the mine? Yes; I see it now," he cried passionately. "That
man you saw--those two fellows drunk--yes, of course. Look! the cage is
down. Some one must have gone below to-night."
Pengelly, roused by his companion's words, seemed now to grasp their
meaning, and, gazing from Geoffrey to the space where the cage should
have been, he ran into the engine-house, and, turning the bars, threw
the wheels in gear, when, after what seemed to be an interminable space
of time, the dripping cage came up empty to the mouth.
"Some one has, been down," said Pengelly, hoarsely; "but whoever it was
has not come up;" and without another word, the miner walked slowly back
into the engine-house, sat down, and buried his face in his hands.
For a time Geoffrey stood there, holding by the iron rail that protected
the shaft, listening to the rushing water, for even yet he could hardly
realise the appalling nature of the affair. A short time back it would
have been a very serious loss! but now, just as prosperity in fullest
tide had come upon them, sweeping away all doubts and fears, the
calamity seemed greater than he could bear.
And Rhoda? Mr Penwynn? What was he to say to them?
Well, the former would pity and sympathise, and he must begin again.
The latter would help him no more.