"Now, look here, Madge, you are going to cry, and tell me how sorry you
are for the pain you have caused me, and beg me to forgive you for what
you have done; and if ever you say such a thing to me again, I shall run
out of the house."
"No," she faltered, "I was not, Mr Trethick. I was going to say, why
should I grow well and strong again?"
"For that!" he said abruptly, and he pointed to the sleeping child.
She glided from the sofa to the side of the cradle, and laid her face
against the little cheek.
"And, look here," he said, "you are fretting yourself into the grave,
Madge!"
"Yes, Mr Trethick."
"You must be a woman, and get well. That little thing must be your
reason; so make a brave fight for it."
Madge shook her head, and looked at him piteously.
"No," she said, "I feel that I have not strength now, and as if the
greatest kindness I could do to you, Mr Trethick, is to die."
"Nonsense?" he said, kindly. "You have done me no harm--only brought me
to my senses, and saved me from an ugly fate."
"Ah! Mr Trethick," she cried, "what bitter words! You do not mean
them."
"Oh, but I do, Madge," he said, laughing cynically. "Look here, my
lass, I rather like you, and we are a pair of miserable unfortunates. I
shall have, to marry you, Madge, and force you to like and take care of
your little one. Then we shall be able to go back to the cottage, and
Mamma Mullion will bless us, and Uncle Paul will make us rich, and we
shall all live happily afterwards, like the good people in the
story-books."
"Ah! Mr Trethick," she said, softly, "do you think I cannot read your
heart better than that? My trouble seems to have made me wiser than I
was in my old silly, girlish days. Why do you say such foolish, bitter
things? They only give me pain, and I know you do not mean them."
"Oh," he said, laughing, "but I do."
"No, no, no," she said, sadly. "You love Rhoda Penwynn with all your
heart, and always will, and I have come upon your love like some cruel
blight."
"Curse Rhoda Penwynn!" he cried, savagely. "I love the woman who is to
be John Tregenna's wife?"
Madge started from her knees, and took two steps across the room to
catch him by the arm.
"What? What is that you said?"
"That there is no such thing as true and honest love upon the face of
this wretched earth," he cried. "It is a puzzle and a muddle. For a
wretched error I am thrown overhand--"
"Speak what you said before," she said, wildly; "tell me what you said."
"I said that Rhoda Penwynn is about to marry John Tregenna, or John
Tregenna is about to marry Rhoda Penwynn, which you like," he said,
almost brutally.
"Is--this true?" she said, hoarsely.
"Yes," he cried, with the veins standing out in his forehead, as, in
spite of the calm, cynical way in which he had schooled himself to bear
all this, the passion burning at his heart would have vent. "Honesty,
integrity, and virtue are to have their reward; long-suffering patience
is to win the day; so I say to you again, Madge, you and I had better
wed."
"Go--go and leave me," said Madge, hoarsely. "Mr Trethick--I want to
be alone."
Her looks brought Geoffrey back to his senses, and the ebullition of the
passion was over.
"No: you are ill. Sit down there. Here, let me get you water--spirit--
something, Madge. My poor girl, I have given you terrible pain by my
mad words."
"Mad words? Mr Trethick," she cried, "were not those words true?"
He did not answer.
"They were true. I know they were; and yet she dared to come here and
trample upon me in the midst of my wrongs."
"Who? Who came here?" cried Geoffrey.
"Rhoda Penwynn, and accused me cruelly. She to dare to speak to me as
she did," cried Madge, whose face seemed quite transformed. "Half
fainting as I was, I saw her take the child into her arms, and kiss and
fondle it because it was his; and now she would step into my place.
But, sooner than she shall be John Tregenna's wife, I'll stand between
them at the altar, and--oh, God help me! what am I saying?--and I swore
to him that I would die sooner than confess his shame."
She threw herself sobbing upon the floor.
"What have I said--what have I said?" she moaned.
"Only the simple truth that I was sure I knew," said Geoffrey, looking
at her sadly. "Only words that it might have been kinder if you had
spoken before."
"But I could not--I dared not. He made me swear. He said it would be
his ruin, Mr Trethick, and he promised that even if it was a year past,
if I would be silent and help him, as soon as he had arranged his money
matters I should be his wife; and I never said a word until now," sobbed
the wretched girl.
"And it was your ruin and mine instead, Madge," said Geoffrey, coldly.
"But there, my girl, I don't accuse you. I felt sure it was so, and I
have only waited for the truth to come."
"And you will never forgive me," she cried, piteously.
"Oh, yes, if my forgiveness will do you good, Madge, you have it freely.
But there, I must go. I shall stifle if I stay here longer;" and,
without another word, he went out and down amongst the rocks, seeming to
take delight in trying to exhaust himself by hurrying over the most
rugged parts to calm himself by physical exertion.
Over and over again he vowed that he would go and expose John Tregenna,
but he always ended by vowing that he hated Rhoda Penwynn now, and that
he would not stir a step even to meet her half-way.
It was past mid-day when he slowly climbed up once more to the cottage,
and encountered Bessie at the door nursing the child.
"Well, Bessie," he said, "you look startled. What's the news?"
"Miss Mullion, Mr Trethick!"
"Well, what of her? Not worse?"
"No, Mr Trethick; she has put on her things and gone out I think she
has gone up into the town."
"Madge Mullion? Gone up to the town!"
"Yes, sir, unless--unless--oh pray--pray, sir, go and see."