Mr Chynoweth was seated at his desk, with the heavy flap resting upon
his head. The cards were dealt out in four packs, turned up so as to be
beneath his eye, and it seemed as if some very particular hand was being
played out; but Mr Chynoweth's thoughts were wandering, and for quite
half-an-hour he did not move a card.
"Curse him!" he said; and then there was another long pause, during
which Mr Chynoweth's thoughts still went on wandering.
"Hah!" he ejaculated at last; "he seems to hold all the trumps, and
beats us at every game. I don't know that I like the governor, but he
has always been just to me, and paid me like a man, and trusted me.
Yes, he has always trusted me, and I'm growing old in his service, and I
can't bear to see things going to the dogs. Yes, he holds all the
trumps somehow, and he'll win the rubber."
There was another pause, during which Mr Chynoweth impatiently packed
the cards, put them away, and shut down the heavy flap of his desk
before taking up his slate, and sadly rubbing it with the piece of
sponge attached by a string.
"Win the rubber, that's what he'll do. He's got the governor into a
regular hole, and under his thumb, and it seems that he'll marry Miss
Rhoda after all. Curse the mines! I wish he'd never touched them. An
old fool! Hadn't he had experience enough of what comes to those who
dabble in mines? It's wonderful! I shall be throwing my own poor
savings down next like poor Rumsey, and--talk of the--Morning, Rumsey."
"Ah, Chynoweth!" said Dr Rumsey, entering the office with his
fishing-rod in his hand, and his creel hanging from his shoulder. "Nice
morning."
"Beautiful. How many trout?"
"Not a brace," said the doctor, drawing the basket round, and peering in
at the hole disconsolately. "One miserable little fellow, that's all.
Chynoweth, I'm regularly out of luck."
"Ah, yes," said Chynoweth; "you always do seem to hold bad hands."
"Wretched," said the doctor, with a grim smile; "and the money comes in
horribly."
"Always does when you want it."
"Always," asserted the doctor, and there was another pause.
"By the way, Chynoweth," he said at last, as the clerk went on polishing
his slate, "I hear that Wheal Carnac was sold in London the other day."
"Yes."
"Who bought it?"
"Don't know. We haven't heard. Deposit's paid, and all that sort of
thing. That's all we know at present."
"Do you--do you think that I could get fifty pounds lent me on those
shares now?" said the doctor, hesitatingly.
Chynoweth shook his head.
"But I paid down five hundred for them--my wife's money."
"My dear Rumsey," said Chynoweth, "you couldn't raise fifty shillings
upon them."
The doctor raised the lid of his basket now, and gazed in at the
unfortunate trout.
"It's very hard," he said, as if addressing the fish. "My expenses are
so large."
"Ten times mine," said Chynoweth, "I dessay."
"Do you--do you think Mr Penwynn would make me an advance, Chynoweth?
I'll deposit the shares with him."
"Spades and aces, no!" cried Chynoweth. "The very name of Wheal Carnac
would send him into a passion. I'll ask him to make you an advance,
Rumsey--that I will," he continued, busily writing away upon his slate.
"Yes, do please."
"No," said Chynoweth, rubbing it all off again with the sponge. "It's
of no use. He hasn't the money."
"Hasn't the money?"
"No; it's hard times with us now, Rumsey, I can tell you, and where it's
all gone I can't tell."
"But I'm really in distress," said the doctor. "There are several bills
I must pay. I can't put them off."
Chynoweth looked at him, then at the slate, hesitated, thought, wrote "I
O U fifty pounds" upon it, and rubbed it out, and ended by laying it
down.
"Are you very hard up, Rumsey?" he said.
"I never was so pushed before," said the doctor, dolefully. "Hang it,
Chynoweth, I feel sometimes as if it is of no use to keep struggling on.
It was bad enough before that scoundrel Trethick deluded me into buying
those shares."
"I don't think Trethick is a scoundrel," said Chynoweth, quietly.
"You don't?"
"No; I believe he is as honest as the day."
"Indeed?" said the doctor, in what was meant as a sarcastic tone. "Nice
honesty. Let alone my case, look at Madge Mullion."
"Ah, poor lass, he hasn't behaved very well to her. That's what I
think. But look here, Rumsey, I've won a few pounds of you in my time."
"Have you? Well yes, I suppose you have, Chynoweth. You always seemed
to make more of a study of whist than I did."
"Eh? Yes. Think so?" said Chynoweth, glancing at his desk-lid to see
that it was close. "But look here, Rumsey, it's of no use to ask the
governor for money now."
"But I must. What am I to do?"
"Well, look here, I'll lend you fifty pounds."
"You--you, Chynoweth?"
"Yes," said the little man, quietly; and, without noticing the excited,
overcome look of his visitor, he methodically wrote put an I O U, and
placed it before him to sign.
"This--this is more than I expected of you, Chynoweth," said the doctor,
huskily.
"Well, do you know, Rumsey, it's more than I expected of myself. But
there you are," he continued, taking notes to the amount from his
pocket-book, "and pay me back a little at a time."
"If I live I will," said the doctor; and, hastily catching up the money,
he hurried away to conceal his emotion.
"Poor old Rumsey!" muttered Chynoweth. "He's a good fellow, and some of
these days, I dessay, I shall have to be in his hands. Oh, you're here
again, are you?"
"Mr Penwynn in his room, Chynoweth?" said Tregenna, entering
unceremoniously, and going towards the door of the banker's sanctum.
"No, sir; not come yet," said the clerk, rising.
"All right, I'll wait. I want to write a letter or two."
He walked in and shut the door, while Chynoweth resumed his place.
"Nice state of affairs," he muttered. "Who's master here now?"
John Tregenna evidently, for he made no scruple about taking Mr
Penwynn's seat at his table, and writing letter after letter, ringing
twice for Chynoweth to answer some question, and then going on with his
work, over which he had been very intent for quite an hour, when there
was a tap at the door.
"Come in. Well, Chynoweth, Mr Penwynn arrived?"
"No, sir. Here's a lady, sir, wants to see you. She says she has been
up to your house, and they said you were here."
"A lady? Is it Miss Penwynn?"
"No," said a voice which made Tregenna sink back in his chair; "it is
not Miss Penwynn;" and Madge Mullion, closely veiled, and looking tall
in the thick cloak she wore, walked straight into the room.
Chynoweth hesitated for a moment, and then softly withdrew, nodding his
head.
"So the devil is going to get his due, eh?" he said to himself. "I'd
give something if I could go down to listening at key-holes, but I can't
do it--I can't do it--I can't do it!" and he went back to his desk.
"You here, Miss Mullion?" exclaimed Tregenna, making an effort to
recover his composure.
"Yes, I am here," she said, very sternly; and Tregenna noticed that it
seemed to be no longer the weak, vain, flattery-loving girl who was
speaking, but a woman made worldly and strong by trouble.
"And what can I do for you, Miss Mullion?" he said, coolly. "Will you
take a seat?"
She stood gazing at him without speaking--without moving, while his
dark, handsome face grew calmer and more composed.
"I came--to ask you--a question," she said at last, in measured tones;
and, as she spoke, she pressed one hand upon her breast, as if to aid
her in speaking coolly.
"Certainly," he said politely; "but this is not my office, Miss Mullion,
and I have no right to transact legal business here."
As he spoke he took a sheet of foolscap paper, and a fresh dip of ink,
as if to make notes of her business.
"I came to ask you, John Tregenna," she said at last, in answer to his
inquiring look, "whether the report that I have heard is true."
"Report? True?" he said. "Really, Miss Mullion--"
"I have heard," she continued, speaking in a slow, painful way, every
word sounding harsh and metallic, while her face was fixed and stony in
its immobility--"I have heard a report that you are--to be married--to
Rhoda Penwynn."
"Well, really, Miss Mullion," he said, smiling, "this is a strange
question;" and he looked at her with an amused, perfectly unruffled
expression.
"Is it true?" she said, in a louder voice, which Tregenna knew must
reach the outer office.
"Well, really--it is somewhat strange that you should come and ask me
such a question, Miss Mullion; but, since you have asked it--yes, I am."
Madge raised her veil as he made this avowal, but it seemed to give her
no shock; there was no trace of emotion in her face, as she gazed
straight in his eyes.
"And what of me?" she said at last.
"I beg your pardon?"
"What of your child?" she said, in the same harsh ringing voice.
"Really, Miss Mullion, my poor girl," he said, rising, "I fear you are
ill."
"Ill!" she said sharply; "very ill, but not so ill but that I can come
to you now and ask for reparation for my wrongs."
"Ask me, Miss Mullion? Poor soul!" he muttered; "she takes me for
Trethick."
Madge heard his words, and if any spark of love or passion remained for
him in her breast, those words crushed it out. The weak girl had indeed
become a woman now--a woman and a mother; and if John Tregenna, in a fit
of remorse, had asked her then to be his wife, she would have refused,
and gone on bearing the burthen of her shame.
"You pitiful, contemptible snake!" she said, speaking now in a low voice
that thrilled him through and through. "I am mad, am I, John Tregenna?
No, not now. I was mad to listen to and trust you--mad to believe that
you would keep your word--mad, if you will, to take upon my poor weak
shoulders the sin that was yours more than mine."
"Miss Mullion!" exclaimed Tregenna, rising. "I must put an end to this
painful interview;" and he laid his hand upon the bell.
"Do you wish Mr Chynoweth to hear what I am saying to you--what I
intend to say to Rhoda Penwynn to-night when she returns from Truro--
what I should have said to her to-day, after I had left you, had she
been at home? If so, ring."
Tregenna showed the first sign of weakness; his hand dropped from the
bell, and he started as he heard poor Madge's bitter laugh, realising
more fully now than ever that the enemy in his path, instead of being a
weak, helpless girl, had grown into a dangerous woman.
He had made a false step in his defence; but it was too late to retreat,
and he kept boldly on.
"My poor girl," he said kindly, "it would be affectation to pretend that
I did not know your troubles, but pray be calm. Let me send some one
with you home."
"You pitiful coward!" she said again, and there was an intensity of
scorn in her words that thrilled him through; "do you think if I had
known you as I know you now that I would have kept your wretched
secret?"
"Miss Mullion--"
"Have let insult, misery, and injury fall upon others' heads, till I
have been heart-broken over their sorrows, and yet in faith to you I
would not speak. But it is over now. Mr Trethick knows the truth.
To-night Rhoda Penwynn will know the truth. I came to you now more in
sorrow than anger, believing that when you saw me, even if the report
was true, that the sight of my poor thin face, and what you could read
there of my sufferings, would move you to some show of pity for your
miserable victim; but instead--Oh, God of heaven!" she exclaimed
passionately, "how could I ever love this man?"
"Is any thing the matter, sir?" said Mr Chynoweth, opening the door.
"Did you call?"
"No. Yes, Mr Chynoweth," exclaimed Tregenna, excitedly. "This poor
girl. She ought not to be away from home alone. I don't think,"--(he
touched his forehead).
"That I am in my senses, Mr Chynoweth," said Madge sharply, as she drew
down her veil; "but I am. John Tregenna, I shall keep my word."
She went slowly out of the inner room and across the office, Chynoweth
hastening after her to open the door, John Tregenna coming close behind,
as if to see that Madge did not speak again; but she went away without a
word.
"Poor creature!" exclaimed Tregenna. "I suppose I must not heed a word
she said. Of course you did not hear, Mr Chynoweth?"
"No, sir, not a word hardly; only when she spoke very loud."
"Ah, poor thing, her brain is touched, no doubt," he said, as he
returned to the inner room, where his countenance seemed to change in a
way that, had she seen it, would have made Madge Mullion shrink from him
in dread, and, perhaps, hesitate in her intention to go up and see Rhoda
Penwynn some time that night.