They stopped and looked at each other curiously, and as Miss Pavey raised her veil there was a red spot burning in each of her cheeks. "Have you been for a walk, dear?" she faltered. "Yes," said Rhoda, abruptly. "And you--are you going for a walk?" Miss Pavey trembled, and it was evident that she was having a battle with her feelings. She was afraid to speak, and she looked supplicatingly in Rhoda's eyes, which were fixed upon her in the most uncompromising way. For a moment a subterfuge was trembling upon her lips, but honesty conquered, and, looking more bravely in Rhoda's face, she said,-- "Yes, dear. Mr Lee wishes it!--I didn't like it at first; but he says it is a duty, and I will do it, whatever anybody else may say." She said these last words almost passionately, as she looked defiantly at Rhoda. "And what are you going to do, Miss Pavey?" "No, no, dear Rhoda, let it be Martha still," pleaded the little woman. "Well then--Martha," said Rhoda, with a smile. "I am going to see, and take a few comforts to poor Madge Mullion," said the little woman, with an apologetic look; and then, after another effort, "I have been twice before. Where have you been, dear?" Rhoda looked at her half scornfully, and the change that had come over her weak little friend struck her as being almost absurd, as, in a defiant way, she said sharply,-- "I? Where have I been? Where you are going now. I have been to see Madge Mullion and that man's child." She hurried away with her hand pressed upon her heart, as the words seemed to have leaped from her lips, while she felt that if she stayed there a moment longer she would burst out into a hysterical fit of laughter; and this feeling was still upon her as she passed through the rugged streets of the little town and hastened home. CHAPTER FORTY NINE. OLD PRAWLE WISHES TO INVEST. The rugged pile of rocks along by the ruins of the old mine was a favourite spot with Geoffrey in these troubled days. From hence, when he had clambered into a sheltered nook, where there was a little natural platform, he could see the track towards the town, and think of that evening when, glorified by the wonderful sunset, he had enjoyed that strange dream of love and hope. Every grey-lichened stone seemed to light up once more as he took his seat there, and reflected those wondrous tints that had for the moment coloured his life before all had turned grey and gloomy once again. He could see, too, Wheal Carnac from where he used to sit with his back against the natural wall, looking as hard and grim as the rock itself. There lay the unlucky mine and the stony promontory, with the surges breaking fiercely at its base, as if the tide resented its presence and was always striving to tear down a pile that had served to crush the young man's fortunes. Time stole on, but his position remained the same; for though the vicar had urged him again and again to make some effort to clear himself, he had sternly refused.