man held on by the shelf of the cupboard, and gradually came to himself.  He did not even then comprehend the whole gravity of the position; the sense of his great loss—­not only of so much wealth, but of that which he had secured with such toil, and laid by unproductively so long for the accomplishment of his darling purpose—­monopolized his mind.  Who could have been the thief? was the one question with which he concerned himself, and the answer was not long delayed.  It was the coincidence of amount in the sum stolen with that which Richard had gone to Plymouth to realize, that turned his suspicions upon the young artist.  Why, the scoundrel had fixed upon that very sum as the test of his possessing an independence for a reason that was now clear enough:  it was the exact limit of what he knew he could lay his hand upon.  But how did he know?—­or, rather (for the old man’s thoughts were still fixed upon the mechanical mystery of his loss), how did he open the padlock?  Then there flashed upon his mind that incident of his having dropped the memorandum out of his watch-case in the bar parlor in Richard’s presence, and the whole affair seemed as clear as day.  It was Richard’s intention to change the notes at Plymouth for the paper of the Miners’ Bank, or for gold, and then to exhibit it to him in its new form as his own property.  He did not believe that the young artist intended to steal it; but he was by no means less furious with him upon that account—­quite otherwise.  He piqued himself upon his caution and long-headedness, and resented every deception practiced upon him even more than an injury.  Moreover, he felt that but for Solomon’s unexpected request for the loan the plan would have succeeded.  In all probability, he would not have discovered his loss until it had been too late—­he would not have known how to refuse the young man leave to become his daughter’s suitor; and once his son-in-law, he could scarcely have prosecuted him for replacing two thousand pounds’ worth of bank-notes in his strong-box by notes of another kind.  Exasperated beyond all measure as Trevethick was, it did credit to his sagacity that even at such a moment he did not conceive of Richard Yorke as being a common thief.  But he concluded him to be much worse, and deserving of far heavier punishment, as a man that would have obtained his daughter under false pretenses.  He went down stairs, taking the box with him, to seek his friend.  Solomon had just returned from the cottage over the way, where he had been giving orders to one of the best miners to still hold himself engaged at Dunloppel, and had bidden him tell others the same.  He was in high spirits, and was twirling about in his large hands Mr. Stratum’s diagnosis of the mine.

“You may put that away and have done with it,” said Trevethick, hoarsely; “I have no money to lend you for that, nor nothing else.  This box held two thousand pounds of mine, but it’s all gone now.”