vested in the Deep Sea Cockle Mine, or in debentures of the Railway in
the Air. Let me see but two thousand pounds, Mr. Richard Yorke, and
then--and not before--may you open your lips to me again respecting my
daughter Harry." He turned upon his heel with a bitter laugh; while
Richard, as white as the sketch-book he still held in his hand, remained
speechless. A perilous thought had taken possession of his mind--a
thought that it would have been better for him to have dropped down
there dead than to have entertained, but it grew and grew apace within
him like a foul weed. Had his life of selfish pleasure angered the
long-suffering gods, and, having resolved upon his ruin, were they
already making him mad? He ran after the old man, who did not so much as
turn to look behind him, though he could not but have heard his rapid
steps. "Mr. Trevethick, I will do it," he gasped out.

"Do what?" said the other, contemptuously, striding on. "Go hang
yourself, or jump off Gethin rock into the sea?"

"I will get you the money that you speak of--the two thousand pounds.
You shall have it in your hand, and keep it for that matter, if you
please."

"What?" Unutterable astonishment stared out from the landlord's face.
For the first time since the receipt of Carew's letter he began to
discredit its contents. If this young fellow had really the immediate
command of so large a sum, there was probably much more "behind him." He
must either have a fortune in his own right, or if Carew had settled
such a sum of money on him, he must have had a reason for it--the very
reason Richard had assigned. And if so, Wheal Danes might be his to
dispose of even yet. But Trevethick was not the man to hint a doubt of
his foregone conclusions. "You have not got this money in your pocket,
have you?" said he, with a short dry laugh.

"No, Sir; but I can get a check for it from my mother, in course of
post."

"A check!" cried the other, contemptuously, all his suspicions returning
with tenfold force. "I would not give one penny for such a check."

"I will get it changed myself, Mr. Trevethick, at Plymouth. The post has
gone, but I will write to-morrow, and within the week--"

"You shall not stay here a week, nor another twenty-four hours," roared
Trevethick. "I have been made a fool of long enough. I will not listen
to another word."

But he did listen, nevertheless. No longer hampered by vague fears and
difficulties, with which he knew not how to gr