"It's no time to be up and doing now, sir," replied Pengelly solemnly. "Listen, sir; do you hear? Hark at the water, as if the fountains of the great deep were broken up. Mr Trethick, sir," he continued, incongruously, "we may stop the engine, for a dozen such could not master the water gathering there." "The wall was too thin to stand the pressure," groaned Geoffrey, "and yet it seemed so safe. Is it possible that any tricks can have been played with the mine? Yes; I see it now," he cried passionately. "That man you saw--those two fellows drunk--yes, of course. Look! the cage is down. Some one must have gone below to-night." Pengelly, roused by his companion's words, seemed now to grasp their meaning, and, gazing from Geoffrey to the space where the cage should have been, he ran into the engine-house, and, turning the bars, threw the wheels in gear, when, after what seemed to be an interminable space of time, the dripping cage came up empty to the mouth. "Some one has, been down," said Pengelly, hoarsely; "but whoever it was has not come up;" and without another word, the miner walked slowly back into the engine-house, sat down, and buried his face in his hands. For a time Geoffrey stood there, holding by the iron rail that protected the shaft, listening to the rushing water, for even yet he could hardly realise the appalling nature of the affair. A short time back it would have been a very serious loss! but now, just as prosperity in fullest tide had come upon them, sweeping away all doubts and fears, the calamity seemed greater than he could bear. And Rhoda? Mr Penwynn? What was he to say to them? Well, the former would pity and sympathise, and he must begin again. The latter would help him no more. It was horrible, and if he could only bring it home-- He shuddered, for he recalled Pengelly's words. Perhaps the cause of that mischief was below. Then, like an icy blast, came the recollection of that other trouble-- the suspicion that had been laid at his door; but he laughed that off with contempt, and turning at last, he followed Pengelly into the engine-house, where the fire burned ruddily, the two men slept, and, as if in mockery, the vast engine kept up its solemn, heavy thump, bent, apparently now, so Geoffrey thought, upon the task of pumping the Atlantic Ocean dry. "Blow off the steam, man; throw open the furnace bars," cried Geoffrey, suddenly, "and stop that cursed engine clank. The game's up for the present. I'm going home to bed." Even as he spoke the words he recalled that he had no home, and Pengelly laid his hand upon his arm. "I'll do your orders, master," he said sadly, "and then I'm going back to pray, for it's a judgment on us, master, a judgment for our sins." He was about to say _you_, for in his simple breast the poor fellow believed the tale that was the talk of the little place.