"She's better, Trethick, much better," said Uncle Paul. "Poor child! I
thought it was going to be a case of madness. But sit down, man, I've
just got a fresh batch of the old cheroots."
Geoffrey seated himself in the summer-house opposite to the old
gentleman, with the soft sea-breeze blowing in at the open window; and
for a time they smoked in silence.
"Mrs Mullion is going away, Trethick," said the old man at last.
"Going away?"
"Yes; it will be better for Madge. Let them go somewhere to a distance.
The poor girl wants change, and she'll never be happy here."
"No," said Geoffrey, "I suppose not. Then you go with them?"
"I? No, my lad, I seem to be so used to this house that I don't want to
make a change. I can't live much longer, Trethick, and I thought,
perhaps, you would come back to the old place. There'll be plenty of
room for both of us, and we can smoke and quarrel in the old style."
Geoffrey shook his head.
"I should like it," he said; "but it won't do, Uncle Paul. My career's
over here in Carnac, and I ought to have been off long enough ago,
instead of idling away my time, and growing rusty."
"Only you feel that you can't leave the place, eh?"
Geoffrey frowned, and half turned away his head.
"Well," said the old man, "Rhoda Penwynn is a fine girl, and full of
purpose and spirit. There, sit down, man, sit down," he cried, putting
his cane across the door to prevent Geoffrey's exit. "Can't you bear to
hear a few words of truth?"
Geoffrey looked at him angrily, but he resumed his place.
"I shouldn't have thought much of her if she hadn't thrown you over as
she did, my lad."
"Where was her faith?" cried Geoffrey.
"Ah, that's sentiment, my lad, and not plain common-sense. Every thing
looked black against you."
"Black? Yes; and whose lips ought to have whitened my character?"
"Ah! it was an unlucky affair, Geoffrey, my boy, and we all owe you an
apology. But look here: go and see her, and make it up."
"I? Go to see Miss Penwynn, and beg her to take me on again--to be her
lover, _vice_ that scoun--Tchah! how hot-brained I am. _De mortuis_!
Let him rest. But no, Uncle Paul. That's all over now."
"Don't see it, my boy. She never cared a snap of the fingers for
Tregenna."
"But she accepted, and would have married him."
"After she believed you to be a scoundrel, Trethick."
"What right had she to consider me a scoundrel?" cried Geoffrey, hotly.
"My character ought to have been her faith."
"Yes," said the old man, dryly; "but then she had the misfortune to be a
woman of sense and not of sentiment. I think she did quite right."
"Then I don't," said Geoffrey, hotly.
"Ah, that's better," said the old man; "it's quite a treat to have a bit
of a row, Trethick. It's like going back to old times. I like Rhoda
Penwynn better every day; and the way in which she helps the old man is
something to be admired, sir. But how he--a clever, sharp fellow--
allowed that Tregenna to involve him as he did, I don't know."
"I suppose he is very poor now," said Geoffrey, who could not conceal
his interest.
"Poor? I don't believe he has a penny. The girl's as good or as bad as
destitute."
Geoffrey did not speak, but sat with his eyes fixed upon a white-sailed
fishing-boat far out upon the blue waters of the bay.
"She would have sacrificed herself for the old man, and I dare say have
married Tregenna to save him, if she had not found out all that about
poor Madge. I say, Trethick, if you really care for the girl, I think I
should see her and make it up."
"But I don't care for her," cried Geoffrey, hotly. "I detest--I hate
her."
"Humph!" said Uncle Paul, taking a fresh cheroot, and passing over the
case to Geoffrey; "and this is the fellow who boasted that he had never
told a lie?"
Just then there was a step on the gravel path, and Geoffrey shrank back
in his place, the old man looking at him mockingly.
"There she is," he said.
"You knew she was coming," cried Geoffrey, in a low voice.
"Not I, boy. I knew that, like the good angel she is, she comes to see
poor Madge; and if you won't have her, I think I shall propose for her
myself."
As he spoke the old man got up and went to meet the visitor, taking her
hand, drawing it through his arm, and leading her into the summer-house,
where she stood, pale as ashes, on seeing it occupied by Geoffrey
Trethick.
"This is no doing of mine, Miss Penwynn," said Geoffrey, sternly, making
a movement towards the door.
"Stop a minute, Trethick," said the old man. "I must go in first and
find whether Madge can see Miss Penwynn."
They heard his step upon the gravel, and the stones flying; as he
stamped down his cane, and then they stood in silence looking in each
other's eyes.
Geoffrey was the first to speak, and it was in a bitter, angry voice
that he exclaimed,--
"I never thought to have stood face to face with you again; but as we
have met, Rhoda Penwynn, ask my pardon."
Rhoda's eyes flashed angrily, but the look was subdued on the instant by
one that was full of emotion, and, with half-closed eyes, she joined her
hands together, and was about to sink upon her knees, but Geoffrey
caught her arms and stopped her.
"No," he said, sharply; "I do not ask you to degrade yourself. Ask my
pardon."
"Forgive me, Geoffrey; my love for you had made me mad."
Anger, bitterness, determination, promises never to speak, all were gone
like a flash of light as Geoffrey Trethick heard those words; and Rhoda
Penwynn was clasped tightly to his breast.
The next moment--minute--hour--it might have been either for aught the
occupants of the little look-out knew--they became aware of the presence
of Mr Paul, who stood in the open doorway, leaning upon his cane.
"Well, Trethick," he said, mockingly, "when are you going away?"
"Heaven knows," cried Geoffrey. "When I have turned Cornwall upside
down, I think."
"Hah!" ejaculated the old man, quietly, as he looked from one to the
other. "It's a wonderful thing this love. It's all right, then, now?"
As he spoke he took Rhoda's hand, and patted it. "I'm very glad, my
dear," he said, tenderly, "very glad, for he's a good, true fellow,
though he has got a devil of a temper of his own. Now go in and see
poor Madge, and I wish you could put some of the happiness I can read in
those eyes into her poor dark breast."
He kissed her hand as he led her to the house with all the courtly
delicacy of a gentleman of the old school; while, unable to believe in
the change, Geoffrey walked up and down the little summer-house like a
wild beast in a cage:
He was interrupted by the return of Uncle Paul, who took his seat and
looked at the young man in a half-smiling, half-contemptuous fashion.
"Laugh away," cried Geoffrey. "I don't mind it a bit."
"I'm not laughing at you, boy. But there, light your cigar again, or
take a fresh one. I want to talk to you."
Geoffrey obeyed. He would have done any thing the old man told him
then, and they sat smoking in silence, Geoffrey's ears being strained to
catch the murmurs of a voice he knew, as it came from an open window,
for Rhoda was reading by the invalid's couch.
"There, never mind her now," said the old man. "Look here, do you know
that she won't have a penny?"
"I sincerely hope not," said Geoffrey.
"And you've got none," said the old man. "How are you going to manage?"
"Set to work again now that I have something to work for," cried
Geoffrey, jumping up and again beginning to pace the summer-house.
"Sit down, stupid, and do husband some of that vitality of yours.
You'll drive me mad if you go on in that wild-beast way."
Geoffrey laughed.
"Ah, that's better," said the old man. "I haven't seen that grin upon
your face for months. But now look here, boy, what are you thinking of
doing?"
"I don't know," said Geoffrey. "A hundred things. First of all I shall
try once more to hunt out the people who bought Wheal Carnac, and see if
they will take me on."
"What, to lose their money?"
"No, sir, but to make money for them."
"Then you don't know who bought it?"
"No; I tried the agents in town, but they were close as could be."
"Of course," said the old man. "They were told to be. He did not want
it known."
"How do you know?" said Geoffrey.
"Because I told them."
"Then you know who bought the mine?"
"Well, yes, of course. It was I."
Geoffrey's cigar dropped from his hand, and he sank back, staring.
"Do you know what you have done?" he cried.
"Yes, made a fool of myself, I suppose; but I thought I'd have it, and
you shall realise all you can for me out of the place. I got it very
cheaply. Perhaps I shall build a house there--if I live."
"Build! House!" cried Geoffrey. "Why, if old Prawle is right, the mine
is rich in copper to a wonderful extent."
"And the water?"
"Can easily be led away."
"Then take it, my boy, and do with it the best you can," said the old
man. "I bought it for the merest song, and money has ceased to have any
charms for me."
"Mr Paul!"
"Geoffrey, my dear boy, I've never forgotten those words of yours. You
said you were sure that I had a soft spot in my hearty and--God bless
you, my lad!"--cried the old man fervently, "you were about the only
one, with your frank, bluff way, who could touch it. I'd have given you
something, Geoffrey, if you could have married Madge; but there, that's
over, and I'm only an old fool after all."