Geoffrey’s New Lodgings.
Geoffrey Trethick had truly expressed his character when he said that he had Cornish blood in his veins, and could be as obstinate as any in the county. Whether he was descended from the same race as peopled the opposite coast of France, it is impossible to say, but he was as stubborn as any Breton ever born.
The days glided on, and he found that he was disbelieved and doubted; that Mr Penwynn had lost faith in him, and that Rhoda had set herself aloof; and one way and another he was so exasperated that he set his teeth firmly, and swore he would never say another word in his own defence.
“Let them think what they may, say what they like, I’ll never protest or deny again; and as for Rhoda, fickle, cold-hearted, cruel girl, I hate her with all my heart—and I am a liar for saying so,” he cried. “But that’s all over, and some day or another she shall beg my pardon—and I’ll tell her so.”
Acting on the impulse of the moment he sat down and hastily penned a note to her, without internal address or signature, placed it in his pocket, and kept it there ready for posting when he passed the office. It was very brief.
“I gave you my love in full trust and hope. I believed you gave me yours in return. Trouble came—accident—mishap—and appearances blackened me. You heard much, saw less, and you judged me from hearsay, giving me no opportunity for defence. In other words, you believed me to be as great a scoundrel as ever walked this earth. I accept your washes conveyed in your father’s note; but some day you will beg my pardon—ask my forgiveness. I shall wait till that day comes.”
Not a very gentle letter to send to a lady, but he sent it just at a time, to use his own words, when his soul was raw within him.
He had seen Mr Penwynn, who ridiculed the idea of the flooding being the work of an enemy, and bade him, imperiously, free the mine from water.
He was too proud to say much, but accepted at once the position of servant, and went his way to examine the mine once more, set the pumping-engine working at its highest pressure, and found at the end of twenty-four hours that he had not sunk the water the eighth of an inch.
Then he had found himself deliberately “cut” by the better-class people in the place, and that his efforts to obtain even the humblest lodgings were in vain. The hotel people excused themselves on the plea of want of room, and for several nights he slept in the office by the mine.