“There is no doubt about that. We will talk about the mine some other time, Mr Trethick,” said the banker. “Will you leave my house now? You are not in a fit state to discuss matters.”
“Fit state?” said Geoffrey. “Yes, I am in a fit state; but the accident has been almost maddening. No; it was no accident. I’ll swear it has been done.”
“Perhaps so,” said the banker, calmly; “but will you return to your apartments now. I will send for you to-morrow.”
“My apartments?” exclaimed Geoffrey, with a harsh laugh. “Where are they? I have none now. Mr Lee, will you give me your arm; my head swims. Take me down to Rumsey’s place. I’m going wrong I think—or something—there was—little brandy in the—in the—what was I saying—the men—bottle—furnace-house—I was—faint—Pengelly gave me—I—I—can’t see—is—is it night? Fetch—Rhoda. I—”
He sank heavily upon the floor, for it was as he said. He had remained watching by the dying furnace-fire the whole night, and then, heart-sick and faint, he had taken the little cup of brandy and water Pengelly handed to him, the remains of the bottle from which the two watchers had been drugged, and, little as he had taken, it had been enough to send him into a deep sleep, from which he had at last risen to hurry up to An Morlock—drunk, so the servants said.
“Disgracefully intoxicated!” Mr Penwynn declared.
The Reverend Edward Lee said nothing, but sighed deeply and went his way, and Rhoda Penwynn was fetched down by her father, who took her to the drawing-room door, and pointed to where Geoffrey lay upon the carpet.
“Your idol is broken, Rhoda,” he said, in a low, stern voice. “We were both deceived.”
“Oh, papa! is he ill?” cried Rhoda; and with all a woman’s sympathy for one in distress, she forgot the report she had heard, and was about to make for Geoffrey’s side.
“Ill as men are who make brute beasts of themselves, my child. Come away, my girl, and let him sleep it off. Rhoda, you can be brave, I know: so show your courage now.”