This was the pith of his confidences—­an appeal for money, and we all looked as men will when that crops up.

“Mad!” muttered the old man, looking at the sea.

“No,” said Zachary.  That one word was more eloquent than all the rest of his words put together.  This fellow is no visionary.  His scheme may be daring, and unprincipled, but—­he knows very well what he’s about.

“Well!” said old Pearse, “you shall have five ’undred of my money, if it’s only to learn what yu’re made of.  Wheel me in!” Zachary wheeled him into the house, but soon came back.

“The old man’s cheque for five hundred pounds!” he said, holding it up.  “Mr. Treffry, give me another, and you shall have a third of the profits.”

I expected Dan to give a point-blank refusal.  But he only asked: 

“Would that clear you for starting?”

“With that,” said Zachary, “I can get to sea in a fortnight.”

“Good!” Dan said slowly.  “Give me a written promise!  To sea in fourteen days and my fair share on the five hundred pounds—­no more—­no less.”

Again I thought Pearse would have jumped at this, but he leaned his chin on his hand, and looked at Dan, and Dan looked at him.  While they were staring at each other like this, Pasiance came up with a kitten.

“See!” she said, “isn’t it a darling?” The kitten crawled and clawed its way up behind her neck.  I saw both men’s eyes as they looked at Pasiance, and suddenly understood what they were at.  The kitten rubbed itself against Pasiance’s cheek, overbalanced, and fell, clawing, down her dress.  She caught it up and walked away.  Some one, I don’t know which of us, sighed, and Pearse cried “Done!”

The bargain had been driven.

“Good-bye, Mr. Pearse,” said Dan; “I guess that’s all I’m wanted for.  I’ll find my pony waiting in the village.  George, you’ll see Pasiance home?”

We heard the hoofs of his pony galloping down the road; Pearse suddenly excused himself, and disappeared.

This venture of his may sound romantic and absurd, but it’s matter-of-fact enough.  He’s after L. s. d.!  Shades of Drake, Raleigh, Hawkins, Oxenham!  The worm of suspicion gnaws at the rose of romance.  What if those fellows, too, were only after L. s. d....?

I strolled into the pine-wood.  The earth there was covered like a bee’s body with black and gold stripes; there was the blue sea below, and white, sleepy clouds, and bumble-bees booming above the heather; it was all softness, a summer’s day in Devon.  Suddenly I came on Pearse standing at the edge of the cliff with Pasiance sitting in a little hollow below, looking up at him.  I heard him say: 

“Pasiance—­Pasiance!” The sound of his voice, and the sight of her soft, wondering face made me furious.  What business has she with love, at her age?  What business have they with each other?

He told me presently that she had started off for home, and drove me to the ferry, behind an old grey pony.  On the way he came back to his offer of the other day.