“When?”
“Not an hour ago.”
“You staid down then, Pengelly?”
“Yes. Iss, my son. I knew there was good stuff down there somewhere, and I’ve hit it now.”
“Have you been searching much, Pengelly?”
“Every night, master, since the mine was opened,” said Pengelly, proudly, “I felt that my character was at stake. I would find it. I prayed and wrastled that I might find it, master,” he cried, with flashing eyes, “and my prayer is heard.”
“Pengelly,” cried Trethick, “there’s thirty per cent of metal in that rock—thirty? Perhaps more,” he cried excitedly.
He caught up his hat, and together they hurried down to the mine, where, in spite of the lateness of the hour, the engine was going, and a stream of water pouring forth, for it needed some effort to keep the galleries dry.
Mining garments were soon donned, lamps taken, and, to the surprise of the man in charge of the engine, the manager announced his intention of descending; and, stepping into the cage, Pengelly and he were soon rushing down into the bowels of the earth, to step out at last six hundred feet from the surface, and then thread their way along the dark stone passages of the silent place.
For the mine was deserted now for the night, and there was nothing for company but their own shadows thrown grotesquely on the sparkling walls and floor.