The Vicar's People Part 83

He would have said "your pardon," but the words froze upon his lips, and he went by feeling half stunned; for the couple he had pa.s.sed were Rhoda Penwynn and Tregenna, the former looking deadly pale as his eyes encountered hers for a moment, the latter calm, self-possessed, and supercilious.

Geoffrey could not trust himself to look back, but tore along the cliff path at a tremendous rate, feeling ready at any moment to break into a run, but refraining by an effort.

His journey was for the time being forgotten, and he saw nothing but the finale of a life-drama, whose last scene was a wedding, with Rhoda the wife of the man she had formerly rejected, and his heart beat heavily and fast.

He was moved more than he thought it possible under the circ.u.mstances; and in the hot rage that took possession of him he could find no palliation of Rhoda's conduct. It was evident, he said to himself, that she was engaged to John Tregenna now, and that the last faint hope that, like some tiny spark, he had kept alive was now extinct.

"Ah, Trethick! Where are you going?"

"Eh? Oh, Lee, is that you?"

"Yes; I'm glad to see you. Why don't you come down to me?"

"What, for Miss Pavey to look horrors, and want to fumigate the house, after the advent of such a social leper?" he said laughingly.

"My dear Trethick, why will you talk like this--and to me?" said the vicar, smiling. "But I am stopping you. Were you going somewhere?"

"I? No. Not I. Yes I was, though," he exclaimed. "I am going up to London. I forgot."

The vicar looked at him wonderingly, his manner was so strange.

"Oh, I'm not going out of my mind, man. It's all right," exclaimed Geoffrey, laughing. The next moment his face became ashy white, and his eyes seemed to dilate as, in the distance, he caught sight of Rhoda and Tregenna coming back into the town.

The vicar saw the direction of his gaze, followed it, and sighed, for he had seen the couple together half an hour before.

Geoffrey coloured as he saw that the vicar was evidently reading his thoughts, and he said lightly,--

"Yes, I'm off to town for a day or two, but you need not say I'm going.

Good-by."

He did not pause to shake hands, but strode hastily away, secured his seat upon the coach, and that night was well on his way to Plymouth.

Try how he would, he could not shake off the recollection of his meeting with Rhoda.

It was nothing to him, he kept on a.s.suring himself, but there was her pale face ever confronting him; and the more he strove to call her heartless, cold, and cruel, the more the recollection of their short, happy engagement came back.

He was bound now on a fresh expedition, whose aim was to secure the mine and to make money, and, with a half-laugh, he exclaimed, "What for?"

He frowned heavily the next moment, as he saw that his quick utterance had drawn the attention of a couple of his fellow-pa.s.sengers; and, determining to master what he called his childish emotion, he thought of Rhoda all the more.

This went on for hours, till he felt so exasperated with what he called his weakness that he would gladly have got out of the carriage at the next station, and walked a few miles to calm himself; but this was, of course, impossible, and he sat there listening to the rattle of the train, as it seemed to make up words and sentences, which kept on repeating themselves with a most irritating effect.

Station after station was pa.s.sed, and the time glided on till he found it was now half-past ten.

They were due at Bristol half an hour past midnight, and a train left there soon after, reaching London about half-past four in the morning, when, after a few hours' rest, he would be in ample time for the sale.

At the best of times a railway journey by night is trying to the nerves of the strongest; to a man in Geoffrey Trethick's state of excitement it was irritating in the extreme. He tried every position he could scheme to make himself comfortable, and have a few hours' rest, but in vain.

Every att.i.tude was wearisome and produced irksomeness, till, in utter despair, he let down the window to gaze at the murky night they were rus.h.i.+ng through.

This produced a remonstrance from a fellow-pa.s.senger, and he drew the window up again, and tried once more to think only of the mine and of old Prawle's venture; but, as a matter of course, the thoughts of the old wrecker brought up others of his daughter and his invalid wife, when, naturally enough, the other invalid--poor Madge--followed; and then came the whole history of his connection with her family and his dismissal by Rhoda, and then--_crash_!

It was instantaneous--one moment they were going along at a rapid rate, the next there was a sharp, deafening crash; the gla.s.s flew in s.h.i.+vers, the strong carriage seemed to collapse like a bandbox, and they were at a standstill.

There were four pa.s.sengers in the same compartment, and as soon as Geoffrey recovered from the stunning violence with which he was hurled against his opposite neighbour he roused himself to afford help.

Fortunately, however, beyond a shaking, they had all escaped, and, after a struggle, they managed to get out through one of the windows on to the line.

Here all was confusion--lights were flas.h.i.+ng, steam was hissing, and the shouts of the guards and engine-drivers were mingled with the cries and shrieks of the pa.s.sengers, many of whom were imprisoned in the broken carriages, and some time elapsed before they could be set free.

It was the old story--a luggage train was being shunted and not sufficient time allowed, with the result that the fast night train had dashed at full speed into the goods trucks, and they and the brake-van formed a pile upon which the engine of the fast train seemed to have made an effort to climb; and then, defeated, the monster had fallen right over upon its side, setting fire to the trucks upon which it had dashed.

Fortunately the speed at which they had been going seemed to have saved the pa.s.sengers. There were bruises and cuts without number, but no serious injury to person. The train, though, was in a state of chaos; both lines were badly blocked, and when Geoffrey could get an answer to a question, the reply was not encouraging, for he was told that at least six hours must elapse before he could go on.

The six expanded themselves into eight, and the consequence was that all Geoffrey's plans were overset. The probability now was that he would not reach town until the sale was over, and, by a strange reversal, what he had looked upon as worthless the day before, now grew into a thing of such value that he was ready to make any sacrifice to carry out his commission in its entirety.

He was in a peculiar position, for he could not telegraph to the auctioneer to appoint an agent to bid for him, for he was not able to say to what price he would go. Old Prawle had left it to him, but even then he could not say "Bid so much." Every thing must depend on what took place, and, under the circ.u.mstances, he felt that there was nothing for it but to make the best of his way there on the chance of being in time; London at last, and, without waiting a moment, he jumped into a cab, and bade the man drive to the city.

It is a long drive from Paddington to the Mart, and when he reached the place and had seen in which room the sale was to take place, he ran up to find another sale going on. Wheal Carnac had been up nearly an hour before.

After a little searching he found the auctioneer.

"Wheal Carnac was bought in, I suppose?" said Geoffrey, carelessly.

"No, sir, not this time," said the auctioneer. "That mine's an old friend here, but it has found a purchaser once more."

"Did it make much?" said Geoffrey, hoa.r.s.ely.

"Went for a song. Not half the value of the machinery."

Geoffrey bit his lip.

"Who bought it?"

"Can't say, sir. Or, stop a moment. Yes, of course," he said, referring to his books. "It is a firm of solicitors. Agents for the real purchaser, I suppose."

Geoffrey obtained the name of the firm of solicitors, found it was in Serjeant's Inn, and went straight there, asked for the princ.i.p.al, and was shown in.

"Wheal Carnac? Oh, yes," said a little, sharp-looking grey man. "We-- that is--an agent from this house purchased it;" and he looked curiously at Geoffrey.

"For a client of yours, I presume?" said Geoffrey.

"Certainly you may presume so if you like, sir," said the little lawyer.

"And possibly he would be ready to part with his purchase for a small profit over what he gave?"

"Possibly he might, my dear sir," said the lawyer; "but I don't think it is very probable."

"May I ask why?" said Geoffrey.

"No, sir," said the solicitor, smiling. "Well, there, I will admit that. Because our client--another admission you see, sir--I say because our client is a gentleman, who would not be tempted by a small profit.