himself, it was rarely, indeed, that he failed to inspire it in others.  For the second time, the landlord of the Gethin Castle found himself in doubt; he was staggered by the positiveness of the young man’s assertions, and by the force and flow of his glowing words.  In spite of himself, he began once more to think that he might have been mistaken in condemning him as an impostor, after all; as Richard had said, Carew was scarcely sane, and when excited by wrath, a downright madman.  His resolves, too, were as untrustworthy and fickle as the winds.  Trevethick felt tolerably convinced that the money would, at all events, be forthcoming; and the sum—­large in itself—­seemed the earnest of much more.  Last, but not least, there were the possibilities in connection with the mine.  If he broke altogether with Richard, and turned him out of his house outright, might not his first act be to reveal to Parson Whymper, in revenge, all that he knew about Wheal Danes!

“Well, well, you shall stay at Gethin, then, till your check comes, young gentleman,” said he, in a tone that was meant to be conciliatory.  “I don’t wish to be uncivil to any man, and certainly not to one who has been my guest so long.  But you will keep yourself to yourself, if you please, in the mean time.  The bar parlor will no longer be open to you, until you have proved your right to be there.  And I don’t mean to promise any thing certain by that, neither; but what with your fast talking and fine speaking I’m all in a buzz.”

Honest John Trevethick did not, indeed, know What to think, what to believe, or what to propose to himself for the future.  His brain, unaccustomed to much reflection, and dulled by pretty frequent potations, was fairly muddled.  Most heartily did he wish that this young landscape-painter had never set foot in Gethin; but yet he could not make up his mind to summarily eject him.  Upon the whole, he was almost as glad to temporize in the matter as Richard was himself.

In point of fact, Richard Yorke had won the battle, and was for the present master of the field; but what a struggle it had been, and at what a loss he had obtained the victory, you might have read in his white face and haggard eyes.  As to whether it would be possible to hold the advantage he had gained was a problem he had yet to solve.  He had committed himself to a policy which might—­nay, very probably would—­succeed; but if it should fail, there would be no escape from utter ruin.  He had burned his boats, and broken down the bridge behind him.

CHAPTER XX.

ON THE BRINK.