red in the mine, as Richard,
on his bed of pain, recalled it step by step, and strove to shape it to
his ends.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

MAKING PEACE.

Whether Richard's own injuries proved fatal or not was with him a matter
of secondary importance. His anxiety was to prove that they were
received by misadventure; upon the whole, matters promised favorably for
this, and were in other respects as satisfactory as could reasonably be
expected. The blood of Solomon Coe was upon his own head. Richard had no
need even to reproach himself with having struck in self-defense the
blow that killed his enemy; and he did not reflect that he was still to
blame for having, in the first instance, placed him in the mine. He had
at least done his best to extricate him, and his conscience was (perhaps
naturally) not very tender respecting the man who had repaid his attempt
at atonement with such implacable animosity. At all events, Richard's
mind was too much engaged in calculating the consequences of what had
happened to entertain remorse. The question that now monopolized it was,
what conclusion was likely to be arrived at by the coroner's inquest
that would, of course, be held upon the body. The verdict was of the
most paramount importance to him, not because upon it depended his own
safety (for he valued his life but lightly, and, besides, his inward
pain convinced him that it was already forfeited), but all that now made
life worth having--the good regards of Harry and her son. He had no
longer any scruple on his own part with respect to accepting or
returning their affection. His fear was, lest, having been compelled to
take so active a part in the rescue of the unhappy Solomon, something
should arise to implicate him in his incarceration.

Fortunately he was far too ill to be summoned as a witness. His
deposition alone could be taken, and that he framed with the utmost
caution, and as briefly as was possible. His wounded lung defended him
from protracted inquiries. Solomon himself had proposed the idea of a
partnership in Wheal Danes, and his interest in the mine, the knowledge
of which had suggested to Richard the place of his concealment, had
evidently proved fatal to him. That he should have broken his neck just
as Richard had broken his ribs on such a quest was by no means
extraordinary; but how he ever reached the spot where he was found at
all, without the aid of a ladder, was inexplicable. The line of evidence
was smoot