The old fellow hesitated as if he half meant to say something, but he did not say it, and went his way; while Geoffrey went on to the mine, busied himself a little about some fresh arrangements for stampers and improved crushing apparatus, and then descended the mine to seek out Pengelly.
He found him hard at work superintending a gang of wielders of the pick, eager to make a goodly show of ore to send up to grass, and Geoffrey stopped about till the men went off to their dinners, when he and Pengelly had a long conversation about the state of the mine at this place.
“I’ve been measuring and calculating, Pengelly, and I find that you are so near the water here that not an inch must be cut on the face of the drive, rich as it is. We must go down, and trust to finding the lode right away.”
“What, and leave this?” said Pengelly. “Why, it’s madness.”
“Madness or no, I shall not have it touched, Pengelly,” said Trethick, firmly. “Lay your ear against the rock. You can almost feel the beat of the water. I make it that we are right out four hundred feet under the sea at high water. We must run no risks.”
For answer Pengelly began to ply his pick vigorously on the floor of the gallery, marking out the portion to be sunk so as to be deeper down in the rock, and where there would be no risk of the sea breaking in.
Geoffrey had well made his plans by night, and was the last, as he thought, to leave the pit, and he then went straight to his rooms to refresh himself before writing to several engineers for various necessaries that would be required for the greatly increased output from the mine.