He shuddered, for he recalled Pengelly's words.
Perhaps the cause of that mischief was below.
Then, like an icy blast, came the recollection of that other trouble--
the suspicion that had been laid at his door; but he laughed that off
with contempt, and turning at last, he followed Pengelly into the
engine-house, where the fire burned ruddily, the two men slept, and, as
if in mockery, the vast engine kept up its solemn, heavy thump, bent,
apparently now, so Geoffrey thought, upon the task of pumping the
Atlantic Ocean dry.
"Blow off the steam, man; throw open the furnace bars," cried Geoffrey,
suddenly, "and stop that cursed engine clank. The game's up for the
present. I'm going home to bed."
Even as he spoke the words he recalled that he had no home, and Pengelly
laid his hand upon his arm.
"I'll do your orders, master," he said sadly, "and then I'm going back
to pray, for it's a judgment on us, master, a judgment for our sins."
He was about to say _you_, for in his simple breast the poor fellow
believed the tale that was the talk of the little place.
"But he's my master," he had said; "and I'll serve him true, for who
knows but what I may some day make him sorrow for his sin, and see the
light."
Geoffrey turned upon him angrily, but Pengelly's face disarmed him; and
as the miner obeyed his orders and the clank of the great pump ceased,
he threw himself upon the stone bench, and, staring in at the flaming
furnace-fire, asked himself how he was to face the coming day.