The great shafts sank deeper and deeper, the galleries branched out far under the sea, and there was a constant call for more and more money, lest that already sunk should be lost.
Mr.Hamon, disappointed in his view of raising money on the farm by Tom's obstinacy, in the bitterness of his spirit and the urgent necessities of the mines, conceived a new idea which, if he was able to carry it out, would serve the double purpose of satisfying his own needs at the recalcitrant Tom's expense.
"I must have more money for the mines," he said to his wife one day in private.

"I'm thinking of selling the farm." "Selling the farm ?" gasped Mrs.Hamon, doubtful of her own hearing.

For selling the farm is the very last resource of the utterly unfortunate.
"Aye, selling the farm.

Why not?
It'll all come back twenty times over when we strike the pockets, and then we can live where we will, or we can go across to Guernsey, or to England if you like." But Mrs.Hamon was silent and full of thought.

She had no desire for wealth, and still less to live in Guernsey or in England, or anywhere in the world but Sark.
He had been a good husband to her on the whole, until this silver craze absorbed him.