"If so, sir, you cannot but be
aware that the lady's choice is free, and that your aspect and attitude
towards me are unworthy of a gentleman."

A wonderful influence for weal or woe oft-times results from the
selection of a phrase or a word. Had Clearemout charged Oliver with
insolence or presumption, he would certainly have struck him to the
ground; but the words "unworthy of a gentleman" created a revulsion in
his feelings. Thought is swifter than light. He saw himself in the
position of a disappointed man scowling on a successful rival who had
done him no injury.

"Thank you, Clearemout. Your rebuke is merited," he said bitterly; and,
turning on his heel, he bounded over the low stone wall of the garden,
and hastened away.

Whither he went he knew not. A fierce fire seemed to rage in his breast
and burn in his brain. At first he walked at full speed, but as he
cleared the town he ran--ran as he had never run before. For the time
being he was absolutely mad. Over marsh and moor he sped, clearing all
obstacles with a bound, and making straight for the Land's End, with no
definite purpose in view, for, after a time, he appeared to change his
intention, if he had any. He turned sharp to the left, and ran straight
to Penzance, never pausing in his mad career until he neared the town.
The few labourers he chanced to pass on the way gazed after him in
surprise, but he heeded not. At the cottage on the moor where he had
bandaged the shoulder of the little boy a woman's voice called loudly,
anxiously after him, but he paid no attention. At last he came to a
full stop, and, pressing both hands tightly over his forehead, made a
terrible effort to collect his thoughts. He was partially successful,
and, with somewhat of his wonted composure, walked rapidly into the
town.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

DESCRIBES A MARRED PLOT, AND TELLS OF RETRIBUTIVE JUSTICE.

Meanwhile the gossiping woman of the cottage on the moor, whose grateful
heart had never forgotten the little kindness done to her boy by the
young doctor, and who knew that the doctor loved Rose Ellis, more
surely, perhaps, than Rose did herself, went off in a state of deep
anxiety to St. Just, and, by dint of diligent inquiries and piecing of
things together, coupled with her knowledge of Clearemout's intentions,
came to a pretty correct conclusion as to the state of affairs.

She then went to the abode of young Charles Tregarthen, whom she knew to
be Oli