By degrees, though, he grew calmer, as he felt there was very little chance of poor Madge's body ever being found, the old shaft being many hundred feet deep. Besides, there was nothing to make people think she had been thrown down there. Even if she were found, was it not far more probable that she had committed suicide, especially as she had attempted it once before? "I'll not go," he muttered. "Better to face it out. Bah! there is nothing to face." He stopped and lit a cigar, the necessity for concealment having gone. Geoffrey had spoiled that portion of his plan, namely, to reach the other side of the town unseen. On the contrary, he felt now disposed to court observation, and walked on smoking along the rugged shore to the slope by the harbour, up which he passed, exchanging greetings with Tom Jennen and one or two men who were leaning over the rail that protected the edge of the cliff. "It's gashly dark night, sir. Bad walking down there, bain't it?" "Well, yes, it is rough," said Tregenna, "but it does for a change." "Hah!" he ejaculated, taking a long breath, as he walked slowly up towards An Morlock; "it is hard work, but I dare say I can manage to keep cool." But he could not, for once more a sensation as of panic seized upon him, and something seemed to urge him to fly for his life before it was too late. For he recalled Madge's visit to him, and Chynoweth's knowledge of that visit, and what she had said. On all sides black threatening shadows of impending danger seemed to rise about him, and it was only by a savage wrench that he tore himself from the spot, and went on to his own house, where he washed, and carefully brushed his clothes, after taking a goodly glass of brandy. This last gave him the nerve he had lost, and, feeling calmer, he went out once more into the cool night air. Here he lit a fresh cigar, and at last, perfectly calm and unruffled, he went up the drive to the great house, gazing about him with a satisfied air, as if he claimed the place now as his own, and, nodding to the servant who admitted him, he took off hat and gloves, crossed the handsome hall, and stepped into the well-lit drawing-room. Rhoda was speaking angrily as the door closed behind him, and she did not hear his entry. It was evidently her final remark after much that had gone before, and John Tregenna stood there paralysed, as the words fell from her lips. "I'll not believe it," she cried. "Mr Trethick must have sent you here. What proof have you that Mr Tregenna is the wicked man you say?" "His own looks," said Madge, as she stood there with flashing eyes and ashy face, seeming to the wretched man like some avenging spirit pointing at him with white and quivering hand. "Ask him, if you will, though you can read the truth there. Now, Miss Penwynn, can you marry such a man as this?"