Lastly came to him the information that Geoffrey Trethick had gone to lodge with the Prawles; and John Tregenna laughed aloud as he thought once more of Rhoda, and of the time when he could renew his pretensions, and this time, perhaps, with better success. The days wore on, and finding that nothing could be done in the way of pumping out the mine, Geoffrey and Pengelly spent their time in the top galleries, to which the water had not reached, searching in vain for something in the way of reward. The former found his bad character seemed to have but little effect upon the poorer people of Carnac, even though Miss Pavey in her visiting said that he was a terrible wretch, and ought to be excommunicated by the church. His worst failing in the eyes of the people was his going to lodge at Prawle's, and unwittingly in this he had done poor Madge an ill turn, for the news reached the cottage just at a time when old Paul had settled that Mrs Mullion should fetch her daughter home. When this news came he bade her wait. So time went on, and from the poorer folk there was always a shake or a nod as Geoffrey passed, and now and then an offering of fish from Tom Jennen or some other rough fellow with whom he had spent a night out in the bay. He was passing along the road one day, in a very morose humour, when he came full upon the Reverend Edward Lee, and was about to pass him with a short nod, but the vicar stopped. "How are you?" said Geoffrey, shortly. "Not well, Trethick," said the vicar, holding out his hand, to the other's great surprise. "Sorry for it," said Geoffrey, grimly, shaking hands. "What is it-- bile?" The vicar looked at him with a pained expression of countenance. "No," he said, "I am sick at heart. We don't see one another often, Trethick. May I walk with you?" "Oh, if you like," said Geoffrey, as the vicar turned and walked by his side. "I was going over the hill yonder by Horton mine, to let the wind blow some of my bad temper out of me." "I should like to go with you, Trethick," said the vicar, eagerly. "Look here, Lee," exclaimed Geoffrey, "I'm a man of the world, and rough usage has made me rough. If you want to talk pious platitudes to me by rote, please don't, for we should be sure to quarrel. I am horribly unholy this morning." "But I do not," exclaimed the vicar, earnestly. "I want to talk to you as a man of the world." "Come on, then," said Geoffrey; "it's a treat to talk to a civilised being now." He thrust his arm through that of the young vicar, and hurried him on and on up-hill till the latter was breathless. Then he stopped. "Now then!" said Geoffrey, "here we are, right out on the top, with heaven above and the free air around; now talk to me like a man of the world." The vicar followed Geoffrey's example, and threw himself on the short, crisp turf, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, and gazing at his companion with a curiously troubled air.