"Been madness to have gone," he said. "Why, even in broad daylight the way across the mountain needs care. My poor darling there had that nasty slip some little time ago, and she has not been the same since. You noticed, perhaps, that she looks pale and quite hysterical?" "I had noticed--I did on my first visit too--that Miss Gurdon looked very pale and ill." "Exactly! She gives me a great deal of concern about her health. I shall be obliged to take her up to town for good advice. But come, sit down; I will not trouble you about my cares." "It is very late, sir." "It is. But only a few minutes, Mr Reed. I wish to say something to you." Reed seated himself. "Only a few words, sir, and I shall begin by asking you to pardon a much older man for his frankness." "Pray speak, sir." "Well, Mr Reed, I like you, and therefore I say, as a man whose life and hopes were blasted when he was young, and who would see with pain another suffer a defeat, be careful." "Over what, sir?" said Clive sadly. "That mine. Don't think me impertinent; but I would say to you, as a young man to whom the income you receive as engineer or manager may be of importance, don't put too much faith in that `venture.'" "May I ask why, sir?" "Because mining is very treacherous, and you might be bitterly disappointed. I have seen so many failures. There, my dear sir, that is all. To put it in plain English, don't put all your hopes or eggs into one basket. I don't believe in that `White Virgin' at all. There! forgive me:--good-night." "I forgive you, sir," said Clive warmly, as he clasped the hand extended to him, "and thank you, too. Good-night." Half-an-hour later Clive Reed was lying in the pretty little bedroom, thinking again how restful and calm it all was, and that instead of lying mentally feverish, and tossing restlessly in turn, a pleasant drowsiness was coming over him. Then he was wide awake and attent, for, from somewhere close at hand, he could hear the sound of a woman sobbing gently, evidently in her despair, and after a time it came to him that the wall on one side of his room was merely a papered over partition, and the sobs that came so faintly to his ears must be those of Dinah Gurdon, suffering from some terrible mental burden of which her father was possibly not aware. The sobbing ceased, but in spite of the peacefulness of the place, Clive Reed did not drop off to sleep, but lay thinking of the mine. Then came thoughts of Janet and of his brother--his father's wishes--of the Doctor, and then, by a natural sequence, of the Major and his child.