The cessation of the shaking, and the appearance of the fist close to its snub nose had the desired effect. The storm passed, and sunshine burst forth over the little face, followed by a laugh and a futile effort to catch at the hand. "Poor little beggar?" cried Geoffrey, carefully taking up the helpless thing once more. "There, I don't care, do I, baby?" he cried, laughing and grinding his teeth together as the tiny fists grasped and held on to his beard, while the little eyes laughed in his. "Let her see me, and think what she likes. Come along, young 'un. I'm not cross with you. You couldn't help it. Here, hold your little wet button-hole still, and I'll give you a kiss. No, no--kiss: don't suck, stupid?" he said, laughing; and then the anger passed away, as a convulsion swept over the tiny face, and consequent upon a hair from Geoffrey's beard touching the apology for a nose, the baby sneezed three times. "Well done, young one," he cried. "Feel better? No? Give us another." He raised the little thing once more and kissed it, and as he lowered it again something prompted him to look back, and as he did he saw that Rhoda was in full view upon the cliff, that she had turned, and that she must have seen that kiss. Rage took possession of his soul again, and he nearly made the child shriek in his fierce grip. "Spying, eh?" he cried. "Well, if you will be a petty child, ma'am, so will I;" and, hugging the baby in his arms, he walked on, kissing it over and over again, till meeting Bessie Prawle, he cried out, "Here; catch!" and tossed the little thing into her arms. CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT. VISITORS AT GWENNAS. Rhoda Penwynn had no idea of going to Gwennas Cove one morning when she went off, in a dreamy, forgetful way, for a walk. She was low-spirited and wretched. Her father's troubles and heavy losses were an endless anxiety, and, to her sorrow, she saw that he had of late grown reckless. How he was situated, or what he had lost, she could not tell, but there was a grey, wrinkled look about his face that went to her very heart. One thing was very evident, and that was that the banker had become entangled in some venture--John Tregenna had hinted as much one evening when at their house, but he had merely hinted, and she could not ask him more. One thing was very evident, and that was that people had lost confidence in Penwynn, the banker. Other people might dabble in mines, lose, and begin again; but the man to whom the savings of others were intrusted, must be above reproach--above suspicion of speculation; and the Wheal Carnac affair had been a heavy blow in more ways than one. Mr Penwynn was not long in finding this out, for it resulted in a quarrel with the principals of the great Cornish bank, of which his was but a branch. Somehow--he never knew by what means--they had become prejudiced against him, and a rapid depreciation of his value in Carnac resulted when it was known that he was no longer over the bank.