"No, sir," said Geoffrey, sternly. "I am somewhat of a man of the world. I tell you that my declaration to Miss Penwynn took me by surprise; but there are times when we cannot command ourselves. All I ask now is your indulgence towards me, knowing what I do, and time. I shall come very rarely to your house, and our business relations I hope will continue the same. I mean to succeed, sir," he cried, striding up and down the banker's room--"here if you will let me stay, elsewhere if you say to me go." "If I say to you go?" said the banker, thoughtfully. "Yes, I give you my word of honour, Mr Penwynn, that I will not attempt to see Miss Penwynn again, and I will leave every thing at the mine so that my successor can carry on without a hitch." "And if I say stay," said the banker, coldly, "what then?" "I am your manager, Mr Penwynn, and I shall remember that I am your servant until you bid me come to your house as a friend. You may trust me, sir," he said, gazing frankly in the banker's eyes. "I had ambition to spur me on before; I have a far greater incentive now." Mr Penwynn sat thinking for a few minutes, and then said quietly,-- "Mr Trethick, I ask you, _as my manager_, to stay." "And if I succeed, sir, what then?" "Succeed first, and then we'll talk." There was considerable emphasis upon a portion of the banker's speech, and Geoffrey rose, and, without another word, left the room. "I am to stay," he thought exultingly, and his first idea was that he should go and tell Rhoda; but he recollected that he must henceforth look at her from a distance. It was only reasonable, he felt. What right had he, a penniless adventurer, to aspire to Rhoda's hand? It was madness, he owned; but time was before him, and he had her love. He had the indorsement of her love when he returned from the mine that evening, for Madge Mullion brought him a note that he saw at a glance was in Rhoda's handwriting, and a throb of joy ran through him as he caught the envelope. Then, looking up, he saw the bearer's eyes gazing wistfully at him, and he noted, more and more, how pale and wan she looked. "Why, Madge," he said, "are you unwell?" She shook her head, and hurried away. "Poor girl," he muttered, "I cannot have made her look like this. She must be ill, and fretting about some one else." He was opening the letter as he spoke, and his eyes flashed as they ran over the few simple lines the note contained. They were very short. They only told of the interview between father and daughter, and bade Geoffrey remember that though they would seldom meet now, the future was before them, and Rhoda added, "My daily prayer will be for your success." "For my success," said Geoffrey, firmly, as he placed the letter in one particular fold of his pocket-book. "Then now I am going to work."