The Vicar's People Part 39

"I--jealous?" cried Rhoda, frowning.

"Not the slightest cause, dearest," said Miss Pavey, simpering. "I would not confess such a thing to any one but you, dearest; but if Mr Trethick went down on his knees to me at this moment, much as I admire him, I should have to say _no_!"

"My dear Martha, what do you mean?" exclaimed Rhoda, half angrily.

"I can't help it, dearest," sighed Miss Pavey. "That scene has made me feel hysterical and low; and I cannot help confessing to you, dearest Rhoda, that I love him."

"Love Mr Trethick?" cried Rhoda, whose eyes contracted.

"No, no, dear! what a naughty, foolish girl you are, and how you do betray yourself."

"Betray myself?"

"Yes, dear, your head is always running on this Mr Trethick. I was talking about Mr Lee--he is so pure, and saint-like, and sweet."

"Oh, yes, I had almost forgotten," said Rhoda, dreamily; "I had almost forgotten that he lodges with you."

"Boards with me, dear; and I try to help him in his efforts with these dreadful people here. But tell me, dear, don't you think it was very imprudent of Mr Trethick to go and lodge at Mrs Mullion's?"

"No," said Rhoda; "why?"

"Because of Madge, dear."

"I do not see why it is more imprudent than for Mr Lee to go and lodge with a lady I know."

"Board, my dear," said Miss Pavey, with dignity. "But Mr Lee is a guest."

"But guests are men," said Rhoda.

Miss Pavey shook her head as if she did not agree; and as Rhoda had turned very silent since Mr Lee's name had been mentioned, Miss Pavey came to the conclusion that her companion's thoughts were of the young vicar, and felt a pang of pain.

"Ah! Rhoda," she said, with a sigh, "love is a strange thing, is it not?"

Rhoda uttered an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n that evidently meant disgust; but poor Miss Pavey did not understand it, and went prattling on by her companion's side till they reached the town, where they separated, Rhoda gladly seeking her own room, to be alone and think, telling herself that the scenes she had witnessed--the words she had heard, had unstrung her more than she cared to own.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

TOM JENNEN'S OPINION.

"Poor la.s.s!" said Geoffrey, as he walked in the direction of Pengelly's cottage. "They'd have half killed her. I wish I had hit those fellows harder. It will frighten the poor old woman to death."

He then went on thinking a little about Rhoda Penwynn.

"She must have seen me flourishing my fists," he said, laughing. "I must have looked gentlemanly. I like that girl somehow, but by George, she's as proud as a peac.o.c.k. Pea-hens are not proud. I wonder whether she will marry that Tregenna after all."

He was brought back from surmise to reality by the sight of the people cl.u.s.tering about the cottages on the cliff, as he entered the little town and noted that a variety of ominous scowls awaited him. There were plenty of women about, and they had stones and stale fish in their hands. The rough lads had increased in number, and a number of the fishermen, among whom was Tom Jennen, were standing by the rails as if to see some expected sight.

"Hang me if I don't think they are getting up a warm reception for this respectable individual. That's pleasant! A sort of running marine pillory. What shall I do? Go back?"

"Not this time!" he said, setting his teeth, and taking a very shabby old black meerschaum from a case; he closed the fastening with a loud snap, pulled out an india-rubber pouch, filled the pipe, deliberately walking slowly and calmly along gazing in the most unruffled way in the faces of the women, and not deigning to notice the rough lads, all of whom seemed to be only waiting for a signal to begin showering their missiles upon his head.

Suddenly the great stupid-looking fisher lad whom Geoffrey had knocked down, strode out in front of him, spread his legs apart, set his arms akimbo, and pretty well barred the narrow granite-paved way.

A low buzz of excitement arose, the lads grasped their missiles ready to throw, but the women dropped their arms to their sides or behind them, as they gazed at the fine, manly young fellow, who looked at them with a half-mocking smile upon his lip as he pa.s.sed.

Geoffrey did not flinch. On the contrary, a red spot appeared in each of his cheeks as he put the amber mouth-piece of his pipe between his lips, strode forward, laid one strong hand upon the fellow's shoulder, and, apparently without effort, swung him round.

"Stand aside, you cowardly hound!" he cried aloud; went on three or four yards, and stopped in front of Tom Jennen and the group of men who stood staring with all their might.

"Give us a light, fisherman!" said Geoffrey, bluffly.

"Light? Ay, my lad," was the reply, and the rough fellow brought out a bra.s.s box of matches, and handed it to Geoffrey, who coolly opened it, struck a match, and sheltered light and pipe between the hollow of his hands, drew vigorously, and puffed out clouds of smoke between his fingers, after which he returned the box with a bluff "Thanky!"

"Where does Amos Pengelly live?" he said then.

"Up yon turn, ninth house, with a green door," said Tom Jennen.

"There's a gashly old bit o' rock opposite."

As he spoke, he pointed to a narrow steep path which Geoffrey had pa.s.sed, and which necessitated his running the gauntlet again, as it were.

But he was equal to the task.

"I say, fisherman," he said, addressing Tom Jennen, but meaning it for the group, "If I were you I should use the rope's-end there, and try to make those cowardly young lubbers men!"

Then thrusting his hands into his pockets, he walked coolly back, looking woman after woman in the face, turned up the pa.s.sage, and was gone.

No sooner was his back turned, than the boys uttered a yell, and made as if to throw, but the women turned upon them fiercely, and Tom Jennen and his mates cleared the road by making a menacing charge.

"Well, of all the smart young chaps as ever I set eyes on," said one woman, "he's about the best. Put that there gashly old fish down, Jan Dwiod, or I'll give you a smack i' th' mouth."

"That's pluck, that is," said Tom Jennen, with his hands very far down in his pockets. "That's the sorter stuff as men's made on. That's pluck, that is," he continued, nodding at every one in turn, and then at intervals repeating the words--"that's pluck!" Geoffrey did not know it then, but his cool treatment of the party lying in wait for him, had made him, as it were, a king, and in place of menace on his next appearance in the streets there was a smile on every lip, and he might have had the help of all for the holding up of a hand.

Meanwhile he had reached Pengelly's cottage to knock and be told by a woman next door that the owner was gone out preaching, and wouldn't be back till night.

"Ask him to run up to Mrs Mullion's when he comes," said Geoffrey, and the woman promising to convey his message, he went back to his lodgings to dine and complete his plans.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

A NIGHT AT THE MINE.

As Geoffrey rattled the garden gate he heard a rustle at one of the windows, and, looking up, there was Madge ready to welcome him with a smile.

"Oh! you're there, are you, madam," he said to himself. "How are you?"