wanted cash. It was a chance,
too, I will venture to say, that will never offer itself from any other
quarter. Mr. Whymper acknowledged that himself."

"I know all about the matter, Mr. Trevethick: the Squire behaved like
the dog in the manger to you. He won't work the mine himself, nor yet
let you work it."

"For mercy's sake, be quiet!" cried the landlord, earnestly, and looking
cautiously about him. "If you know all about it, you need not let others
know. What mine are you talking about? Give it a name--but speak it
under your breath, man." The old man leaned forward with a white moist
face, and peered into Richard's eyes as though he would read his soul.

"Wheal Danes was the name of the place, if I remember right," said
Richard. "Carew has a notion that the Romans did not use it up, and that
it only wants capital to make it a paying concern. It is one of his mad
ideas, doubtless."

Mr. John Trevethick was not by nature a quick appreciator of sarcasm,
but he could not misunderstand the irony expressed in Richard's words.

"And is that what you came down to Gethin about?" inquired he, with a
sort of grim despair, which had nevertheless a comical effect.

Richard could only trust himself to nod his head assentingly.

"Well," cried the other, striking the table with his fist, "if I didn't
think you was as deep as the devil the very first day that I set eyes on
you! So you are Parson Whymper's man, are you?" And here, in default of
language to express his sense of the deception that, as he supposed, had
been practiced on him, Mr. Trevethick uttered an execration terrible
enough for a Cornish giant.

"I am not Mr. Whymper's man at all," observed Richard, coolly. "Mr.
Whymper is my man--or at least he will be one day or another."

"How so?" inquired the landlord, his eyes at their full stretch, his
mouth agape, and his neglected pipe in his right hand. "Who, in the
Fiend's name, are you?"

"I am the only son and heir of Carew of Crompton," answered the young
man, deliberately.

"You? Why, Carew never had a son," exclaimed Trevethick, incredulously;
"leastways, not a lawful one. He was married once to a wench of the name
of Hardcastle, 'tis true; but that was put aside."

"I tell you I am Carew's lawful son, nevertheless," persisted Richard.
"My mother was privately married to him. Ask Parson Whymper, and he
will tell you the same. It is true that my father has not acknowledged
me, but I shall have my rights