"What does Carnac say now? Damn Carnac. I will go, and they may say
and think what they will."
He had worked himself up into such a fit of passion, that for fear he
should cool down, and let himself back out of what he looked upon as a
bit of revenge upon the scandal-loving place, he started off at once,
reached the cliff, and walked swiftly along to the Cove, where, as he
came to the rapid descent, he stopped short to gaze at the place below.
On a stone outside the door, which was open, and from which came forth a
soft flood of light, sat old Prawle, smoking away, with the bowl of his
short black pipe glowing in the twilight like a star, while leaning
against the door-post, with something in her arms, was Bessie Prawle,
rocking herself to and fro, and singing an old Cornish ditty in a sweet,
wild voice.
"By George!" said Geoffrey, softly, "I'd forgotten the bairn."
He stood there watching that scene and listening to Bessie's song for
some time, and it set him thinking of women and children, and of what
strength there is in their weakness to alter the journey of life. Then
he thought of the suffering girl inside, lying there helpless and
forsaken in her sorest time of need; and lastly he thought he would go
back and try and furnish up the office and make it habitable, but just
then a gruff voice hailed him with a rough--
"Hallo!"
"Hallo, Father Prawle!" he cried, and he went down, Bessie retiring into
the cottage as he came into sight, "What's the news about the mine?"
said the old man.
"Bad," was the reply. "Don't go away, Miss Bessie. How is your
patient?"
"Not well, Mr Trethick," she said, coming back and standing before him
with the baby in her arms, and gazing firmly and unshrinkingly in his
face.
"I'm sorry. Poor lass!" he said. "May I come in?"
Bessie drew back, and he stooped and entered the room, where poor
invalid Mrs Prawle was seated; and half an hour after the affair was so
far decided that he had been referred to old Prawle himself to settle
terms.
The old man had descended the rock-hewn steps to his bit of a cavern,
from which came up the loud crackling of wood, while a ruddy glow shone
out on the darkened rocks.
"Ahoy, there!" shouted Geoffrey.
"Ahoy!" echoed the old man. "Come down."
Geoffrey descended, to find a ruddy fire burning, and a quaint old
copper kettle singing in the hottest place.
"I thought you'd come down and have a pipe and a drop o' brandy before
you went back, my lad," said the old man, in his grim, gruff way. "Sit
down on yon tub. There's some good tobacco there."
"Ah, that looks sociable," said Geoffrey, who was at heart a very
gregarious animal. "I want to talk to you about terms."
"What, for the mine?" said the old man, sharply.
"No: for lodgings, if you'll have such a bad character in the house as
I."
"Been talking to them?" said the old fellow.
"Yes; and they are quite willing. Are you?"
"Oh, ay, I'm willing enough," said Prawle, roughly. "I like bad
characters," he chuckled. "We're all bad characters here--so they say."
"Then I shall be in the right place," said Geoffrey, cynically. "But
come, what shall I pay you?"
"Whatever the old woman thinks right, my lad," said the old man, who, in
spite of his grim ways, seemed to glance with favouring eyes at his
visitor. "Sattle it with that poor soul up yonder, and pay her the bit
of money regular. Let her think--hold that glass upright while I pour
in the hot water--now help yourself to the brandy. Never paid duty in
its life," he whispered, grinning.
Geoffrey poured in the spirit, and helped himself to the sugar. The old
man mixed for himself, tasted, nodded, and went on--
"Let her think, poor soul, that she's saving and helping to pay for her
keep, and it will make her happy. Better than selling sweets."
"That's settled then, Father Prawle?"
"Sattled," said the old man, holding out a great, gnarled hand, and
giving Geoffrey's a tremendous grip. "We don't want the brass, but it
pleases her."
"And I may come down here and smoke a pipe when I like?"
"Ay, ay, my lad, and welcome," said old Prawle. "You'll find the brandy
in the locker here, and the key's always up on that ledge of rock yonder
in the niche, and the matches are over t'other side there in that one.
There's always plenty of wreck-wood for a bit of fire, and I keep the
breaker there full of fresh water."
"Good," said Geoffrey, smiling. "Then I shall come to-morrow, Father
Prawle, and the world may say what it likes."
"That for the world!" cried the old man, contemptuously exhaling a great
puff of smoke. "The world's called me wrecker, smuggler, and thief.
The world has called my bonnie lass there witch. Let it. I'm a rough
old fellow, Master Trethick, and I'd ha' knocked you down at one time--
I'd ha' throwed you over the cliff at one time, 'fore I knowed you; but
you stood up like a man for my bonnie lass there, and you've said a many
kind word to my poor creetur up yonder, and there's my hand."
He held out the great gnarled fist again, and Geoffrey took it and had
his own tightly gripped.
"I don't care for what people say," growled the old fellow. "This place
is mine, and I could buy a dozen such if I liked. You're welcome, my
lad, as long as you like, and when you care to go I can give you as good
a bit o' fishing as a man could have, and as good a drop of brandy and
bit of tobacco. As to Mullion's lass, that's no affair o' mine, and I
sha'n't make it any affair o' mine; but it's as fine a little youngster
as I ever see."
Geoffrey's countenance, that had been glowing from the joint effects of
the warmth of the fire and old Prawle's hospitable words, grew dark once
more; but he sat chatting to the old man for another hour, and then
returned to the office by the mine.
The next day Carnac society had another shock right to the centre, and
Miss Pavey was outraged in her tenderest feelings by the news which she
heard, and which she hastened to take to An Morlock, namely, that that
wicked young man had now joined poor lost Madge Mullion at the Cove.
At night old Mr Paul heard the news as well, as he tottered through the
place by the help of his stick, and he went back home, and smoked the
first cheroot he had smoked for days, to tell Mrs Mullion; and the news
had somewhat the colour of hope in the poor, sad mother's eyes.