"No, father," she moaned. "Quick--the doctor. Mr Trethick. He threw me down the old pit-shaft." "Trethick did?" roared the old man. "No, John Tregenna; and he has killed his child." "As I will him," roared the old wrecker, raising his fists to heaven. "So help me God?" CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT. A STRONG MAN'S WEAKNESS. "Here, speak out," cried Geoffrey excitedly, as he hurried with old Prawle down towards the cliff. "What is it? What do you mean?" and as the old man hurriedly recited all he knew, Geoffrey felt his breath come thick and fast. As they reached the cliff they came upon Dr Rumsey, who had been summoned by old Prawle before he had gone up to Mrs Mullion's to find Geoffrey; and, after a distant salutation, the doctor began to question Geoffrey, but without avail. Then they went on in silence to find Bessie, with her wet dishevelled hair and clinging garments, still kneeling before the fire with Madge's baby in her arms. She looked up in a pitiful way towards Dr Rumsey as he entered, and rose stiffly and laid her little burthen upon the couch. "A candle, quick!" cried the doctor; and Geoffrey lit one and placed it in the eager hands, to look on afterwards, in company with old Prawle, who stood there, with his hands deep in his pockets, scowling heavily at the scene. Dr Rumsey's examination was short and decisive. "I can do nothing," he said quietly. "Poor little thing, it has been dead some time." Bessie burst into a low sobbing wail, and crouched, there upon the floor; but she raised her face again with a wild stare as she heard Geoffrey speak. "But try, doctor; for heaven's sake try," he cried. "I know my business, Mr Trethick," said the doctor coldly. "The child was not drowned. Place your hand here. Its head must have struck the rock. It was dead before it reached the water." Geoffrey Trethick--strong, stern, trouble-hardened man--bent down as he heard these words, and placed his firm white hand upon the dead child's head, realising fully the doctor's words. Then, raising the little corpse tenderly in his arms, he stood looking down in the white, placid face, the doctor and old Prawle watching him with curious eyes. "My poor little man," he said, in a hoarse whisper. "My poor little man! Oh, baby, baby, I couldn't have loved you better if you had been my own!" As he spoke he raised the little thing higher and higher, and kissed its little lips and then its cold, white forehead, and the two men heard a sob start from his breast, and saw the great tears rolling softly down. "Oh, Rumsey!" he groaned, "I'm afraid I'm a poor weak fool." He laid the little thing reverently upon the couch, and the doctor looked at him curiously, till he was recalled to himself by old Prawle's hand laid upon his shoulder. "See to her, doctor, she wants you badly;" and it was true, for Bessie had sunk back with her head against the couch. "Where is Miss Mullion?" said the doctor. "I want some help."