The occasion for which he looked was not long in coming.  His days of punishment concluded, he was once more marched out upon the moor, and again found himself in Balfour’s company.  Not a sign passed between them this time, but as they delved they talked.  “I fear you have been suffering for my sake,” said Richard.

“It is no matter.  My shoulders are broad enough for two,” returned the other, kindly.  “I am right glad to see your face again, though it is so changed.  You have been ill, have you not, lad?”

“I don’t know.  Something is wrong with me, and I may be worse—­that is why I want to speak to you.  Listen!”

“All right.  Don’t look this way, and sink your voice if either of these dogs comes to leeward.”

“If you get away from this place, and I don’t—­”

“Now, none of that, lad,” interrupted the old man, earnestly.  “That’s the worst thing you can get into your head at Lingmoor, if you ever want to leave it.  Never say die, nor even think it.  I am three times your age, and yet I mean to get out again and enjoy myself.  It is but fifteen years now, without counting remission—­though I’ve got into disgrace with my cursed watch-dog, and sha’n’t get much of that—­and you must keep a good heart.”

“I shall keep a firm one,” answered Richard, “never fear.  I wish to guard against contingencies, that’s all.  If I die—­”

“Damned if you shall,” said Balfour, sturdily, quite innocent of any plagiarism from Uncle Toby.

“Very good,” continued Richard, coolly.  “If you get out of this before me, let us merely say, I have something to tell you which may be of service to you.  There’s a man in Breakneckshire called Carew of Crompton—­”

“I know him:  the gentleman born as put on the gloves with Bendigo at Birmingham?”

“Very likely; at all events, every body knows him in the Midlands.  He will go to the dogs some day, and his estate will be sold.  You have saved money, you tell me; if the chance occurs, you can’t invest it better than in the lot called Wheal Danes, a mine in Cornwall.”

“I believe you every word,” said Balfour; “but a mine would be rather over my figure, wouldn’t it?  I have only got eight hundred pounds.”

“That would be plenty.  It’s a disused mine, and supposed to be worked out.  There’s only one man in England that knows it is not so, except myself.  He will come or send to the auction, expecting to get it cheap; but do you bid two hundred pounds beforehand, and get it by private contract.  Say you want the place—­it’s close to the sea—­for building purposes; they’ll laugh at you, and jump at your offer.  The fee-simple is not supposed to be worth five shillings an acre.  It will turn out a gold mine to whoever gets it.”