The rough miner's face was very white and drawn, and he uttered a low moaning sigh as he satisfied himself that the man whom he was watching had gone straight to the Cove, and then he limped back some little distance, and, with a heavy frown settling on his massive face, he seated himself on a rock waiting for Geoffrey's return, his fingers crooking and clenching into fists, and the ruined mine shaft not far behind. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. AT GWENNAS COVE. Bess Prawle was leaning against the rough granite door-post, very handsome, picturesque, and defiant, as she knitted away at a coarse blue worsted jersey which she was making; looking up from time to time to watch her father, who, pipe in mouth, was weeding the little patch of garden, of which he seemed to be very proud, while every now and then he paused to speak. Just then the old man raised his nose and sniffed. "There's your mother burning again, Bess. Go and see," he growled. The girl ran in to find poor old Mrs Prawle evidently greatly exercised in her mind lest a jersey of her husband's should be put on damp, and hence she was scorching it against the fire. "Oh, mother!" cried Bess impatiently, "how you frighten me. Pray do take more care." "Yes, yes, Bess," cried the poor woman querulously, as she turned and re-spread the article of clothing on her knees, "but some one must see to the things being aired;" and Bessie returned to where the old man was at work, when he stood up and drew his hand across his mouth. "I don't care, lass; I arn't lived to sixty without finding that when a young fellow keeps coming to a cottage like this, it isn't only to see an old woman who's sick." "Stuff, father! you're always thinking young men come to see me." "Am I?" grumbled the old man. "Well, I know what I know, and I know this--that if that London chap keeps coming here to see you, I'll break his gashly head, or shove him over the cliff as I would have done to Jack Lannoe if Amos Pengelly hadn't thrashed him instead." "Then I'll tell him what you say, father--no, I won't," cried Bess, sharply, "I'll tell mother what you promise to do." She made a movement as if to go in, when her father caught her by the skirt of her gown, and drew her back. "I'll never forgive you, Bess," he said, in a hoarse whisper; "I'll never forgive you if you do." "I will tell her," cried the girl, looking angry and flushed, "unless you promise never to touch Mr Trethick." The old man held on to her and drew her farther away, so as to make sure that no words of their altercation should be heard inside the cottage. "Look here, Bess," he said hoarsely, "doesn't he come to see you?" "To see me?" said the girl, scornfully. "Isn't he a gentleman, and arn't I a witch, as the people say, and arn't you the worst character in these parts?" "So they say," said the old man, grimly. "The fools!" "Is it likely that a gentleman like him would come after me?" "That Tregenna did," said the old man, suspiciously.