“Oh!” he ejaculated, grinding his teeth; “if I think about it, I shall go mad;” and he set off down to the rough shore, where, in a reckless way, he set about wrenching over great blocks of the granite, telling himself he was looking for curious sea-anemones and star-fish, when it was to weary himself out by his tremendous exertion, and dull the aching misery of his thoughts.
It was quite evening when he returned to the cottage, and sat and chatted with poor Mrs Prawle for a time, before following the old wrecker down to his den below the cliff, and stopping with him to smoke a pipe.
The old fellow was more sociable than usual, and chatted about the mine and the chance they had lost, but in quite a friendly spirit.
“It wur a bad job, my lad, but I’m not so sore now. I’ve got enough for me, I dare say, but I’d liked to have seen ye doing a bit better.”
“Oh, I dare say my time will come, Master Prawle,” said Geoffrey, lightly. “But I must go now.”
“Go? Where are you going? It’s a gashly dark night.”
“Only as far as old Mr Paul’s. Madge’s uncle wants to see me.”
“Oh, ay,” said the old fellow, nodding. “Well, my lad, I hope good will come of it. Don’t keep too stiff an upper lip.”
Geoffrey looked at him sharply, and was about to speak, but he checked himself and started off.
“Why, where are you going?” said the old man.