Trevethick looked at him inquiringly, suspicion and disfavor glowing in his dusky face.  “But if your story is true, young gentleman, this mine will be your own some day?”

“It may, or it may not be, Mr. Trevethick.  My father’s intentions are not to be counted upon, as you must be well aware, for twenty-four hours.  But if ever Wheal Danes is mine—­” Richard hesitated a moment, while the landlord devoured him with his eyes.

“Well,” cried he, impatiently, “what then?”

“I am willing to make over to you, as soon as I come of age, by deed, all interest that I may have in it—­on one condition.”

“Make over Wheal Danes to me by deed!  What! at my own price?”

“For nothing; you shall have it for a free gift.”

“But the condition?  What is it that you want of me that is not money?”

“I want permission from you, Mr. Trevethick, to wed, that is—­for I would not speak of love without your leave—­to woo your daughter.”

“To wed my daughter!” cried Trevethick, starting from his seat; “my Harry!”

“I say provided that my suit is not displeasing to her,” answered Richard, not without a tremor in his voice, for the old man’s face was terrible to look upon.  Hatred and Wrath were struggling there with Avarice, and had the upper hand.

He rocked himself to and fro, then answered, in a stifled voice, “My daughter’s hand is already promised, young man.”

“It may be so, Mr. Trevethick, but not by her, I think; and that her heart has not been given to the man you have designed for her is certain.  You may see that for yourself.”

“I tell you I have passed my word to Solomon Coe that she shall be his wife,” returned the other, gloomily, “and I am not one to go back from a bargain.”

“One can only promise what is in one’s power,” urged Richard; “your daughter’s heart is not yours to give.  In backing this man’s suit you have already redeemed your word to him.  If he has failed to win her affections—­and I think he has—­let me try my chance.  I am a fitter match for her in years; I am a gentleman, and therefore fitter for her, for she is a true lady.  I love her a thousand times as much as he.  As for Wheal Danes, I would give you twenty such, if I had them, for the leave I ask for, and the end I hope for.”

It was curious to mark how the mere mention of the mine by name affected the old man; his wrath, which seemed on the very point of explosion, was checked and smoothed at once, like raging waves by oil; his brow, indeed, was still dark and frowning, but he resumed his seat, and listened, or seemed to listen, to Richard’s impassioned pleading.  His genuine feeling made the young fellow eloquent, and gave a tender charm to his always handsome face and winning tones.