“Where have you been, master?”
“Been? Down to Gwennas Cove.”
“There, you own it,” cried Amos, with his passion rising again.
“Look here, master, there are things that make me mad. I’ve fought like men with beasts at Ephesus, as holy Paul says, and my beasts are the beasts of passion that rise up in me. I’ve fought and I’ve prayed, and I’ve mastered them again and again, but there’s one thing lets them loose, and I can’t keep them down.”
“Look here, Pengelly,” said Geoffrey, quietly, “I had hoped when the day came that I could get a good engagement to have you as one of my best men; but, hang me! if I can trust a fellow who has always got a volcano in him ready to burst out.”
“Then why do you cross me like this?”
“Cross you, my good fellow?” said Geoffrey, as he fixed the miner with his eye. “I’m not going to cross you. There, come along back to Carnac, and let’s talk about yonder mine.”
“I want no dealings with such a treacherous man,” cried Amos, fiercely. “But, look here, I warn ye. You’re well-shaped and good to look upon, while I’m only a cripple; but I can’t—there’s that in me that won’t let me—stand by and see another man take up with her as flouts me for what I am.”
“Flouts? Take up with her?” said Geoffrey, wonderingly, while the miner’s breast heaved as he seemed to be battling hard to contain himself.
Then a light burst upon Geoffrey, and he was ready to burst into a fit of laughter; but he saw that the subject was too serious for mirth, and he exclaimed, in a tone of vexation once more,—