Deep Down | Page 4

the old boy is not
such a bad fellow after all."
"Humph!" ejaculated the other. "Then you have never seen him, I
suppose?"
"No, never; although I am a Cornishman I have seen little of my native
county, having left it when a little boy--before my uncle came to live in
this part of the country."
"H'm--well, young man, I would advise you to beware of that same
uncle of yours."
"How!" exclaimed the youth in surprise; "did you not tell me just now
that he is a very good fellow?"
"No, sir, I did not. I told you that some people say he is a very good

fellow, but for myself I think him an uncommonly bad man, a man who
has done me great injury in his day--"
"It grieves me to hear you say so," interrupted Oliver, whose ire was
again roused by the tone and manner of his companion.
"A decidedly bad man," continued the old gentleman, not noticing the
interruption, "a thorough rascal, a smuggler, and a drunkard, and--"
"Hold, sir!" cried the youth sternly, as he stopped and faced the old
gentleman, "remember that you speak of my relative. Had you been a
younger man, sir--"
Again the youth paused abruptly.
"Go on, sir," said the old gentleman ironically, "you would have
pommelled me to a jelly with your cudgel, I suppose; is that it?--acting
somewhat in the spirit of your kinsman, that same smuggling and
tippling old scoundrel, who--"
"Enough, sir," interrupted the young man angrily; "we part company
here."
So saying, he vaulted over the wall that separated the road from the
moor, and hurried away.
"Take the first turn to the left, and keep straight on, else you'll lose
yourself aga-a-a-in," roared the old gentleman, "and my compliments to
the rascally old smugg-le-e-r-r!"
"The old scoundrel!" muttered the youth as he hurried away.
"The young puppy!" growled the old gentleman as he jogged along.
"Given to smuggling and the bottle indeed--humph! the excitable
jackanapes! But I've given him a turn in the wrong direction that will
cool his blood somewhat, and give me leisure to cool mine too, before
we meet again."
Here the old gentleman's red countenance relaxed into a broad grin, and

he chuckled a good deal, in the midst of a running commentary on the
conduct and appearance of his late companion, from the disjointed
sentences of which it might have been gathered that although his
introduction to the young doctor had been unfortunate, and the
succeeding intercourse stormy, his opinion of him was not altogether
unfavourable.
CHAPTER TWO.
SHOWS WHAT ASTONISHING RESULTS MAY FOLLOW FROM
TAKING THE WRONG ROAD.
Before Oliver Trembath had advanced half a mile on his path, he had
cooled sufficiently to experience some regret at having been so quick to
take offence at one who, being evidently an eccentric character, should
not, he thought, have been broken with so summarily. Regrets, however,
had come too late, so he endeavoured to shake off the disagreeable
feelings that depressed him, and, the more effectually to accomplish
this, burst forth into a bravura song with so much emphasis as utterly to
drown, and no doubt to confound, two larks, which, up to that time, had
been pouring their melodious souls out of their little bodies in the
bright blue sky above.
Presently he came to a part of the moor where two roads diverged--one
to the right and the other to the left. Recalling the shout of advice
which the old gentleman had given him in parting, he took that which
led to the left, and was gratified, on gaining an eminence a short
distance in advance, to see in the far distance a square turret, which he
concluded was that of the church of St. Just.
Keeping this turret in view, the youth stepped out so vigorously that he
soon reached the small town that clustered round the church, and going
up to the first man he met, said, "This is the town of St. Just, I suppose,
is it not?"
"No, et is'n; thee's come the wrang road, sur," replied the rustic. "This
es Sennen church-town. St. Just es up over th' hill theere."

Oliver Trembath's first feeling was one of surprise; this was followed
by annoyance, which quickly degenerated into anger as it flashed into
his mind that the old gentleman might possibly have led him wrong on
purpose.
"How far is it to St. Just?" he inquired.
"'Bout six miles, sur."
"Then I suppose I am not far from the Land's End?" said Oliver after a
pause.
"No, not fur," replied the man. "Et do lie straight before 'ee."
Thanking the man, Oliver started off at a smart pace, resolving, before
proceeding to St. Just, to visit this extreme western point of England-- a
visit