"I'm afraid I want no teaching, Mr Paul," said Geoffrey, gravely. "I say, by the way, whose cottage is that down in the cove about a couple of miles along the cliff?" "Oh! you've been there, have you," said the old man, chuckling. "You are making some nice acquaintances, boy! Did you see pretty Bess?" "I saw a fine, handsome-looking lass." "That's she. Did she ill-wish you?" "Not that I know of. Does she do that sort of thing?" said Geoffrey, smiling. "Oh, yes!" sneered the old gentleman. "They say she's a witch, and her father's as scoundrelly an old wrecker and smuggler as ever breathed. He's one of your kidney, too. Been a miner." "A nice character to give a neighbour," said Geoffrey. "Confound him! He's no neighbour of mine, sir. You'd better get your new friend to go down Horton mine with you." "What--Tregenna?" "No, no; Smuggler Prawle. He knows more about the mines than any one here." "Does he?" said Geoffrey, eagerly. "Well, perhaps I may ask him some day." They were standing just in front of the cottage, and as he spoke Geoffrey glanced upward, to see that Madge Mullion was at the upper window, standing back, but evidently gazing intently down upon him, ready to dart back, though, the moment he raised his eyes; and he went away thinking of his little adventure at Wheal Carnac the previous day, and of how strangely he had become possessed of a secret that might, if it were known, raise him up one, two, if not three, bitter enemies during his stay. It was a great nuisance, he thought, this bit of knowledge, for his conscience pricked him, and he asked himself whether he ought not to make some communication to Uncle Paul or Mrs Mullion. "And be called a meddlesome fool for my pains!" he exclaimed angrily. "No; I will not interfere with other people's business. I have my hands full enough as it is." His way out of the little town was over a rough granite-strewn hill, where the wind blew briskly, and the grass and heather seemed to be kept cut down close by the sharp Atlantic gales. His goal was a gaunt-looking building, perched on the highest point of the eminence, and of the customary Cornish mining type--a square, granite engine-house, with tall chimney, and a great beam projecting from the side, rising and falling at slow intervals as it pumped the water from the depths below, to send it flowing in a dirty stream towards the sea. Geoffrey went swinging along as if he had all the work in the world upon his shoulders, till he became aware of a figure coming in his direction by another track--one which evidently joined his a little on ahead--and he noted that the figure carried a fly-rod over his shoulder. "Why, it's the doctor off fishing!" said Geoffrey to himself, as he recognised the fresh-coloured face surmounting the light tweeds. "What a horribly healthy place this must be. Morning, doctor!"