“I ax pardon,” said Solomon, sulkily, withdrawing himself from the doorway.  “I did not know I was hindering custom.—­Who is this young spark, Harry?” added he, in a low tone, as the other entered the house.

“Well, he’s a young gentleman, Solomon, as you could see very well if you chose,” answered the girl, angrily.  “He don’t look much like a bagman, I think, any ways.  I am sure father would not like you to treat his customers in that fashion.”

“I am sure he wouldn’t like your escorting such customers over Turlock Down alone.”

“That’s father’s business, and not yours, at present, Solomon,” retorted the girl, tartly; “and perhaps it never may be yours.  You take as much upon yourself because of your new copper vein as if it was gold.”

“Nay, don’t say that, Harry,” replied the other, with an admiring look, from which every trace of ill feeling seemed to have departed.  “If it were gold, I should be more pleased upon your account than my own, you may depend upon it.  You think I am jealous, now, of yonder bit of a lad, but——­”

“I think nothing of the kind,” answered Harry, impetuously.

“Well, well,” returned Solomon, soothingly; “then we’ll say no more about it.  Trevethick wanted me to be away with him to pit, but I said:  ‘No; I’ll wait for Harry, and bring her with me to Dunloppel.’  It’s a great find, my girl, and may be the making of us all.”

“Nay, a walk to Turlock and back is enough for one day’s work, Solomon; and, besides, I’m wet through with the fog, and must change my things.—­Hannah!  Hannah!” and, raising her voice to landlady pitch, she addressed some one within doors, “didn’t you hear the parlor bell ringing?—­So never mind me, Solomon; I dare say I shall hear enough about the lode when you and father come back;” and with that, and a careless nod of her shapely head, the young girl pushed past her disappointed swain, and ran up stairs.

The Gethin Castle Inn was a much better house of entertainment than might have been looked for in a spot so secluded from the world, and far from the great arteries of travel.  A coast-road passed through the little village leading from Turlock to the now almost disused harbor at Polwheel, and that was the sole means of getting to Gethin save on foot or horseback.  There was no traffic—­to be called such—­in the district.  Dunloppel, always a productive mine, was, like its more famous brother, Botallack, situated on the sea-coast, so that neither road nor tramway had been created for its needs; the land about was barren, except in minerals; and not a tree was to be seen for miles.  Indeed, with the exception of the parson’s garden, there was scarcely a cultivated spot in the whole parish.  The graceful sprays of the sea-tamarisk, however, flourished every where, in lieu of foliage, and in places where certainly foliage is seldom seen.  Not only did it grow luxuriantly on banks and similar