“News! What news?”
“That you own one of the richest mines in Cornwall, Mr Penwynn,” cried Geoffrey. “Look here.”
The banker looked at him to see if he was sane; then at the piece of ore that had been brought, which he inspected again and again through his glasses.
“Very, very rich stuff,” he said at last. “But is this from Wheal Carnac?”
“Yes, sir, as I had hoped. We have struck an enormously rich lode. The poor fellows must have been within inches of it years ago when they left off; and, yes, of course,” he said, as he recalled the noise of the water heard on the previous night, “they must have been afraid to go any farther on account of the sea.”
“And,” said Mr Penwynn, whose customary calmness was swept away by the news, “do you mean to tell me, Trethick, that Wheal Carnac is going to turn out a very valuable property?”
“I tell you, Mr Penwynn,” said Geoffrey, proudly, “that unless some strange, unforeseen accident occurs to spoil the project, Wheal Carnac has turned out an enormously valuable property.”
The banker glanced at the rich ore and then at Geoffrey, who had no hesitation in sitting down to breakfast, and drinking in with the mundane coffee the proud and joyous glances of his love.
Over the meal he told them of Pengelly’s researches, and of his announcement on the previous night; then of his visit and careful examination of the gallery.
“There’s nothing to fear,” he said, “but the water; and I dare say I can guard against that.”