“Parson’s like the rest!” said Geoffrey to himself, as he turned off to the cottage. “He’s touched. I wonder whether she knew that he was coming to meet her, for that he went on purpose, I’ll swear. I wonder whether any thing could be made of Wheal Carnac? What a nice sister she would make! Hallo! Pengelly, you here again? No, no; stand off, my lad: I’ve no more brace buttons to spare. One of your hugs is enough for a day. What?”
“I beg your pardon, Master Trethick,” said the miner, humbly; and he stood with his hat off in the track, “I beg your pardon humbly, sir; I do indeed.”
“Oh, tut—tut, man, that’s all past,” said Geoffrey, heartily.
“No, sir, it arn’t,” said Amos. “I feel that shamed o’ myself that I haven’t got words to speak it. Only please say that you forgive me, and won’t think of it any more.”
“Forgive you! Yes, Pengelly, of course; but next time you suspect one of any thing wrong, just bark out aloud before you bite, will you?—it will give a fellow a chance to get out of your way.”
“Ah, sir, you don’t know how foolish I feel.”
“Do you? Then don’t feel so any more. And now look here, my lad, I want to have a few words with you again about Wheal Carnac.”
“Yes, sir—when?”
“Oh, soon—say to-morrow morning. I’ll meet you there at your own time.”
“Say six, sir. I’m not on at the mine till nine,” said Amos, with his face lighting up; and they parted, for Geoffrey to become aware, as he entered the gate, that Madge Mullion was at the window ready to smile at him as he went in, and a shrewd suspicion smote him that she had been watching for his return.