He hesitated for some few moments, glancing at her and then out of the window, but at last he seemed to have made up his mind. "Miss Pavey," he said, "you are a very old friend of my daughter." "Oh, yes, Mr Penwynn; you know I am!" she cried. "You take great interest in her welfare and happiness?" "More I may say than in my own, Mr Penwynn." "You are a great deal about in the town too, now?" "Yes, a great deal, Mr Penwynn." "In fact, you assist Mr Lee a good deal--in visiting--and the like." "A great deal, Mr Penwynn." "And therefore you are very likely to know the truth of matters that are going on in the place?" "Oh, yes, Mr Penwynn; but what do you mean?" "Simply this, Miss Pavey. I am a father, and you are a woman of the world--a middle-aged lady to whom I may speak plainly." "Mr Penwynn?" cried the lady, rising. "No, no, don't rise, Miss Pavey, pray. This is a matter almost of life and death. It is a question of Rhoda's happiness. I believe you love my child, and, therefore, at such a time, as I have no lady-friends to whom I could speak of such a thing, I speak to you, our old friend, and Rhoda's confidante." "But, Mr Penwynn!" cried the lady, with flaming cheeks. "This is no time, madam, for false sentiment. We are both middle-aged people, and I speak plainly." "Oh, Mr Penwynn!" cried the lady, indignantly. "Tell me," he said, sharply, "have you been making some communication to Rhoda?" "Yes," she said, in a whisper, and she turned away her face. "Is that communication true?" She looked at him for a few moments, and then said,-- "Yes." "That will do, ma'am," he said, drawing in his breath with a low hiss; and, rising and walking to the window, he took no further notice of his visitor, who gladly escaped from the room. A few minutes later he rang the bell. "Send down and see if Dr Rumsey is at home," he said. The servant glanced at him to see if he was ill, left the room, and in half an hour the doctor was closeted with the banker in his study. "I'm a little feverish, Rumsey," said Mr Penwynn, quietly; "write me out a prescription for a saline draught." Dr Rumsey asked him a question or two, and wrote out the prescription. The banker took it, and passed over a guinea, which the doctor hesitated to take. "Put it in your pocket, Rumsey," said his patient, dryly. "Never refuse money. That's right. Now I have a question or two to ask you." "About the mine, Mr Penwynn?" cried the doctor, piteously. "Yes, every shilling of my poor wife's money! Five hundred pounds. But I ought to have known better, and shall never forget it. Is there any hope?" "I don't know," said the banker, coldly. "But it was not that I wanted to ask you. It was about Geoffrey Trethick."