He stood there watching that scene and listening to Bessie's song for some time, and it set him thinking of women and children, and of what strength there is in their weakness to alter the journey of life. Then he thought of the suffering girl inside, lying there helpless and forsaken in her sorest time of need; and lastly he thought he would go back and try and furnish up the office and make it habitable, but just then a gruff voice hailed him with a rough-- "Hallo!" "Hallo, Father Prawle!" he cried, and he went down, Bessie retiring into the cottage as he came into sight, "What's the news about the mine?" said the old man. "Bad," was the reply. "Don't go away, Miss Bessie. How is your patient?" "Not well, Mr Trethick," she said, coming back and standing before him with the baby in her arms, and gazing firmly and unshrinkingly in his face. "I'm sorry. Poor lass!" he said. "May I come in?" Bessie drew back, and he stooped and entered the room, where poor invalid Mrs Prawle was seated; and half an hour after the affair was so far decided that he had been referred to old Prawle himself to settle terms. The old man had descended the rock-hewn steps to his bit of a cavern, from which came up the loud crackling of wood, while a ruddy glow shone out on the darkened rocks. "Ahoy, there!" shouted Geoffrey. "Ahoy!" echoed the old man. "Come down." Geoffrey descended, to find a ruddy fire burning, and a quaint old copper kettle singing in the hottest place. "I thought you'd come down and have a pipe and a drop o' brandy before you went back, my lad," said the old man, in his grim, gruff way. "Sit down on yon tub. There's some good tobacco there." "Ah, that looks sociable," said Geoffrey, who was at heart a very gregarious animal. "I want to talk to you about terms." "What, for the mine?" said the old man, sharply. "No: for lodgings, if you'll have such a bad character in the house as I." "Been talking to them?" said the old fellow. "Yes; and they are quite willing. Are you?" "Oh, ay, I'm willing enough," said Prawle, roughly. "I like bad characters," he chuckled. "We're all bad characters here--so they say." "Then I shall be in the right place," said Geoffrey, cynically. "But come, what shall I pay you?" "Whatever the old woman thinks right, my lad," said the old man, who, in spite of his grim ways, seemed to glance with favouring eyes at his visitor. "Sattle it with that poor soul up yonder, and pay her the bit of money regular. Let her think--hold that glass upright while I pour in the hot water--now help yourself to the brandy. Never paid duty in its life," he whispered, grinning. Geoffrey poured in the spirit, and helped himself to the sugar. The old man mixed for himself, tasted, nodded, and went on-- "Let her think, poor soul, that she's saving and helping to pay for her keep, and it will make her happy. Better than selling sweets." "That's settled then, Father Prawle?"