Trevethick was silent for a little; he felt a lump rise in his throat, as though nature itself forbade him to disclose the secret he had kept so long and so jealously guarded.  “I have known it for these fifty years,” he began, in a half-choking voice.  “I found it out as a mere lad, when I went down into the old mine one day for sport, with some schoolmates.  The vein lies in the lowest part of the old workings, at a depth that we think nothing of nowadays, though it was too deep for the old masters of the pit.  I remember, as though it was yesterday, how my heart leaped within me when my torch shone upon it, and how I fled away, lest my school-fellows should see it also.  I came back the next day alone, to certify my great discovery.  It is a good vein, if ever there was one.  The copper there may be worth tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions!” Never had the numeration table been invested with such significance.  Trevethick’s giant frame shook with emotion; his eyes literally glared with greed.

“You have been there since?” observed Richard, interrogatively.

“Often, often,” answered the other, hoarsely; “I could not keep away.  But nobody else has been there.  The place is dark and perilous; there are rats, and bats, and eerie creatures all about it.  And folks are afraid, because of the Dead Hand and the Flame.”

“Your hand and torch?”

“Yes.  I did my best to keep the place my own; my thoughts were never absent from it for a day.  And when I had earned a little money I put it by, and more to that, and more to that again, till I had got enough to make a bid for the lease of the old mine.  But Carew was under age; so that fell through.  I bided my time, and bid again; not much—­not enough, as I fondly thought, to excite suspicion—­but still what would seem a good price for a disused pit.  Then I bid more and more; but Carew will neither sell nor let; and my money grows and grows in vain.  I tell you I have laid by a fortune only to pour into his hand.  It is ready for him to-night; there would be no haggling, no asking for time—­it would be paid him in hard cash.  How long, thought I, will this madman balk me with his whim?  He will die some day in his cups, or break his neck in hunting, and I shall surely come in with my offer to his heir, and have my way at last, and win my prize.  But now, after all my patience and my pains, I am overmatched by a Parson and a Boy.”  He spoke with uncommon heat and passion—­not complainingly.  His face was dark, and his tone violent, and even menacing.  There was no mistake about his having accepted his companion’s invitation to be frank.

“Mr. Trevethick,” said Richard, gravely, “your disappointment would be natural enough, if your long-cherished plan had really failed; but you have misunderstood me altogether.  I am grateful to you for confiding to me the whole of what I had already guessed in part; and you shall have no reason to repent your confidence.  Your secret is safer now than it has ever been; for from my lips Mr. Whymper shall never have his suspicions with respect to Wheal Danes confirmed.  I have been too long your guest, I feel myself too much the friend of you and yours, to act in any way to your disadvantage.”