“Why?” he said, abruptly.
“Why?” exclaimed the young vicar, flushing. “Mr Penwynn, can you ask me that?”
“Mr Lee,” said the banker, “I’d give a thousand pounds down to believe as you do. I have been waiting here all the morning for Mr Trethick to come to me—to bring me, as he should, the bad news of the flooding of the mine, and, if it is necessary, to defend himself against this charge that is brought against him; and he does not come. What am I to think?”
“Think him innocent, Mr Penwynn. I for one cannot believe such a charge to be true. But here is Mr Trethick,” he cried, as a hasty step was heard upon the gravel, and, without waiting to be announced, Geoffrey walked straight in.
The vicar started at his appearance, for he was haggard and his eyes red. He had evidently not been to bed all night, and his clothes were dusty and covered with red earth. There was a curious excited look, too, about his face, as he stared from one to the other, and then said, hoarsely,—
“Ruin, Mr Penwynn; the mine is drowned.”
“So I heard, Mr Trethick, before I was up,” said the banker, coldly.
“I sat by the furnace-fire all night,” said Geoffrey, in the same low, hoarse voice, “trying to think it out, for I know—I’ll swear this is the work of some scoundrel; and if I can prove it—”
He did not finish, but stood with his fists clenched looking from one to the other.
“I’ve been asleep,” he said, “and I’m not half awake yet. I felt half-mad this morning. I drank some brandy to try and calm me, but it has made me worse.”