"To Cornwall."
"Whereabouts in Cornwall?"
"Down by Penzance way."
"You want to start off on the tramp again at once?"
"Yes."
"All right, you must do as you like, I suppose,"—and Miss Tranter sniffed whole volumes of meaning in one sniff—"But Farmer Joltram told me to say that if you wanted a light job up on his place,—that's about a mile from here,—- he wouldn't mind giving you a chance. You'd get good victuals there, for he feeds his men well. And I don't mind trusting you with a bit of gardening—you could make a shilling a day easy—so don't say you can't get work. That's the usual whine—but if you say it——"
"I shall be a liar!" said Helmsley, his sunken eyes lighting up with a twinkle of merriment—"And don't you fear, Miss Tranter,—I won't say it! I'm grateful to Mr. Joltram—but I've only one object left to me in life, and that is—to get on, and find the person I'm looking for—if I can!"
"Oh, you're looking for a person, are you?" queried Miss Tranter, more amicably—"Some long-lost relative?"
"No,—not a relative, only—a friend."
"I see!" Miss Tranter smoothed down her neatly fitting plain cotton gown with both hands reflectively—"And you'll be all right if you find this friend?"