"They had got to success," said the miner, hoarsely. "Only another foot, and they would have reached the lode. Look here, master." "Give me the pick," cried Geoffrey, excitedly; and, snatching the tool, as Pengelly held the lamp, he made the gallery echo and send long, loud reverberations along its course. The rock spat forth a shower of sparks, while Geoffrey proceeded to cut out a goodly-sized fragment of the stone from the bottom of the new fracture where Pengelly had been at work. It was a strange scene, and the shadow of the young man, as it was cast here and there upon the rock, looked like some hideous spirit of the mine waving its arms, and menacing him with a monstrous pick. There was something awful too, in the harsh, clanging noises repeated from the stony walls; and every stroke of the implement he wielded seemed to draw forth threatening flashes of light, as the toiler smote on at the hard rock that had lain there virgin from far back in those distant ages whose dim vistas are so full of awe to the inquiring mind. But neither Pengelly nor Trethick thought of aught but the value of the ore that the latter was hewing, till he had detached a far larger lump than that brought to him by his follower. "Take hold, Pengelly," said Geoffrey, excitedly, as he picked up the dislodged fragment, and, thrusting it into the miner's hands, he took the lamp, which made the dew upon his forehead glisten; and then, with trembling hands, he held the light close to the wall, examining it carefully here and there, right in where the pieces had been cut and at the side. Then, not satisfied, he took the pick, and cut here and there at the dripping, slimy sides that had been coated with a curious growth while under water for years, and against which the newly-cut portions flashed out bright and clean. A cut here, a few chips there, ceiling, floor a few yards back, in all directions, and the result was the same, namely, that the quartz rock was similar to that where the grand rich vein of tin was running; and, after full five hours' hard toil, patiently lighted the while by Pengelly, it was literally forced upon Geoffrey that trickery had no existence here; that the rock had never been tampered with by speculators, but was virgin and pure as it had been from the beginning of time, and he knew that the old proprietory had ceased their efforts in this direction when riches were within their grasp. Then, and then only, did Geoffrey draw out a pocket-lens for his final look, close it, throw down the piece of ore, and catching Pengelly's hands in his, shake them with a hearty grip. "Right!" he cried, "there is no salt here, Pengelly. Wheal Carnac is a great success."