“I should say, sir, it was on the surface, and all cleared away hundreds upon hundreds of years ago.”
“But you would sink shafts to try if it had gone down?” said Wrigley, eyeing the engineer keenly.
“No, sir; if it were my case I would be content with the money I had got out of the mine.”
“General burst up, Jessop, my lad,” said Wrigley coolly. “The ‘White Virgin’s’ reputation is smirched, and she is not immaculate after all. Thank you, Mr Benson, I am quite satisfied with your judgment. There, you must have your cheque. There will not be many more for any one.”
Just about the same time, after a week’s trembling in the balance, Clive Reed had taken a turn which filled all at the cottage with hope. His senses returned upon that day a week earlier; but after some hours’ calm sleep, he woke in so enfeebled a state that it required all the efforts of nurse and doctor to keep him from sinking calmly away into the great sleep of all.
Now he was undoubtedly amending, and getting better hour after hour, though still so weak that he was unconscious of who it was who tended him night and day. Nothing seemed to trouble him. Nature had prescribed utter rest so that she might have time to rebuild the waste, and the Doctor’s chief efforts were directed towards keeping him free from the slightest trouble which might ripple the placid lake of his existence.
“There now,” he said, “let him sleep all he can. That is the best.”
He walked over to the mine, arriving there soon after the engineer had gone, and avoiding Jessop, went straight into the room occupied by Sturgess, who lay waiting for him eagerly.
“Better, arn’t I, Doctor?”
“Yes; getting stronger fast. The festering wound looks healthy now.”