"It will be a job to keep him quiet, father," said Gwyn.

"I'm afraid so, my boy. Not, however, till the plaster sets; that cannot take very long, and we shall have to hold him down if it's necessary; but I don't think it will be. Poor fellow, he'll very likely go to sleep."

As he spoke, the Colonel was busily employed finishing the bandaging, and when this was done he stood thinking, while the dog lay quiet enough, blinking at those who had been operating upon him.

"We might secure his legs somehow," said the Colonel, thoughtfully; "for all our success depends upon the next hour."

But Grip solved the difficulty by stretching himself out on one side with his bandaged legs together, and, closing his eyes, went off fast asleep, with the boys watching him—the Colonel having gone into the house, for it had turned too dark for him to go on grape-thinning long before the canine surgery was at an end.



CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

A MAN'S PURSUITS.

The boys watched beside the dog till past ten o'clock, when the Colonel came in and examined the bandages.

"Set quite hard," he said, "and he's sleeping fast enough. Nature always seems kind to injured animals. They curl up and go to sleep till they're better."

"Then you think he'll get better, sir?" said Joe.

"Can't say, my boy; but you had better be off home to bed."

"Yes, sir," said Joe. "Coming part of the way with me, Gwyn?"

Gwyn glanced at his father before saying yes, for he expected to hear an objection.

But the Colonel's attention was fixed upon the dog.

"Let him sleep," he said; "he'll be all right here till morning."

"But if he stirs, he may fall off the cistern and hurt himself again, father."

"No fear, my boy. I don't suppose he will attempt to move all night. There, off with you, Gwyn, if you are going part of the way."

The boys followed the Colonel out of the vinery, the door was shut, and the ascending lane leading to the Major's house was soon reached, and then the rugged down.

"Precious dark," said Gwyn; but there was no answer. "Sleep, Jolly?" said Gwyn, after a few moments.

"Eh? No; I was thinking. I say, though, how precious dark it is;" for they could not see a dozen yards.

"Yes, but what were you thinking about?"

"The dog."

"Oh, yes, of course, so was I; but what about him?" said Gwyn, sharply.

"How he got hurt?"

"Chopped in the man-engine. You heard."

"Yes, but I don't believe it."

"Here's a miserable unbeliever," said Gwyn, mockingly. "How did he get hurt, then?"

"Someone did it."

"Oh, nonsense! It isn't likely. The machine did it, same as it would you or me if we weren't careful."

"But that wasn't how poor old Grip was hurt."

"How then?"

"I feel sure he was hurt with an iron bar."

"Why, who would hurt him in that brutal way?"

"Someone who hated him."

"Gammon!"

"Very well—gammon, then. But when did we see him last?"

"Last? Last? Oh, I know; when we went to the smelting-house to find Tom Dinass."

"Well, we left him behind there. The door must have swung-to and shut him in."

"Then you think Tom Dinass did it."

"Yes, I do."

"Then I say it's all prejudice. Tom's turning out a thoroughly good fellow. See how willing he was over the fishing, and how he helped us this evening. You're always picking holes in Tom Dinass's coat. What's that?"

A peculiar loud sneeze rang out suddenly from across the rough moorland to their right, where the blocks of granite lay thick.

"Tom Dinass," said Joe, in a whisper; and he stepped quickly behind a block of stone, Gwyn involuntarily following him. "That's his way of sneezing," whispered Joe. "What's he doing over here to-night?"

The boys stood there perfectly silent; and directly after there was a faint rustling, and the figure of a man was seen upon the higher ground against the skyline for a minute or so, as he passed them, crossing their track, and apparently making for the cliffs.

Their view was indistinct, but the man seemed to be carrying something over his shoulder. Then he was gone.

"Going congering," said Gwyn. "He's making for the way down the rocks, so as to get to the point."

"He wouldn't go congering to-night," said Joe. "We gave him as much fish as he'd want."

"Going for the sport of the thing."

"Down that dangerous way in the dark?"

"I daresay he knows it all right, and it saves him from going round by the fishermen's cottages—half-a-mile or more."

"'Tisn't that," said Joe.

"What an obstinate old mule you are, Jolly," cried Gwyn, impatiently; "you don't like Tom Dinass, and everything he does makes you suspicious."

"Well, do you like him?"

"No; but I don't always go pecking at him and accusing him of smashing dogs' legs with iron stoking-bars. It wouldn't be a man who would do that; he'd be a regular monster."

"Let's go and see what he's after," said Joe.

"What, late like this in the dark?"

"Yes; you're not afraid are you? I want to know what he's about. I'm sure he's doing something queer."

"I'm not afraid to go anywhere where you go," said Gwyn, stoutly; "but of all the suspicious old women that ever were, you're getting about the worst."

"Come along, then."

"All right," said Gwyn; "but if he finds us watching him throwing out a conger-line, he'll break our legs with an iron bar and pitch us off the cliff."

"Yes, you may laugh," said Joe, thoughtfully, "but I'm sure Tom Dinass is playing some game."

"Let's go and play with him, then. Only make haste, because I must get back."

Joe led the way cautiously off to their left, in and out among the stones and patches of furze and bramble, till they neared the edge of the cliff, when they went more and more cautiously, till a jagged piece of crag stood up, showing where the precipice began; and to the left of this was the rather perilous way by which an active man could get down to the mass of tumbled rocks at the cliff foot, and from there walk right out on the western point which sheltered the cove from the fierce wind and waves.

"All nonsense, Jolly," whispered Gwyn after they had stood for a few moments gazing down at where the waves broke softly with a phosphorescent light. "I won't go."

But as the boy spoke there was a loud clink from far below, as if an iron bar had struck against a stone, and the lad's heart began to beat hard with excitement.

Then all was silent again for nearly five minutes, and the darkness, the faint, pale, lambent light shed by the waves, and the silence, produced a strange shrinking sensation that was almost painful.

"Shall we go down?" said Joe, in a whisper.

"And break our necks? No, thank you. There, come back, he has only gone to set a line for conger."

"Hist!" whispered Joe, for at that moment, plainly heard, there came up to where they stood a peculiar thumping sound, as of a mason working with a tamping-iron upon stone.

"Now," whispered Joe. "What does he mean by that?"



CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

MINING MATTERS.

The boys stayed there some time listening to the clinking sound, and then, feeling obliged to go, they hurried away.

"Tell you what," said Gwyn, as they parted at last, "we'll wait till he has gone down the mine to-morrow morning, and then either go by the cliff or round by the cove head, and see what he has been about. I say it's a conger-line, and we may find one on."

"Perhaps so," said Joe, thoughtfully. "Ydoll, old chap, I don't like Tom Dinass."

"Nor I, neither. But what's the matter now?"

"I'm afraid he broke poor Grip's legs."

"What? Nonsense! He wouldn't be such a brute. No man would."

"Well, I hope not; but I can't help thinking sometimes that he did. You see, the smelting-house door might have swung-to and shut him in with Dinass and he might have flown at him, and Dinass might have struck at him with one of the stoking-irons and broken his legs, and then been afraid and thrown him down the mine."

"And pigs might fly, but they're very unlikely birds."

"Well, we shall see," said Joe; and he hurried home to find his father asleep, while Gwyn, before going in, went on tiptoe to the vinery and crept in, to hear the dog snoring. Satisfied with this, he walked round the house fully prepared to receive a scolding for being so long, and feeling disposed to take refuge in the excuse that he had been to see the dog; but no lights were visible, everyone having retired to rest, the leaving of doors unfastened not being considered a matter of much moment at that secluded place.

So Gwyn crept to bed unheard, and had no need to make a shuffling excuse, and slept late the next morning, to find at breakfast time his father had been out to the dog.

"How is he? Oh, better than I expected to find him? He is not disposed to eat, only to sleep—and the best thing for him. The bandages are as hard as stone. Storm coming, I think, my dear."

"We must not complain," said Mrs Pendarve. "We have had lovely weather."

"I don't complain, and should not unless the waves washed up into the mine, and gave us a week's pumping; but we should want monsters for that."

The Colonel was right, for there was nearly a month's bad weather, during which the waves came thundering in all along the coast, and no fishing-boats went out; and as no opportunity occurred for getting down to the point, which was a wild chaos of foam, the strange behaviour of Tom Dinass was forgotten.

There were busy days, too, in the mine, stolen from those passed in superintending the tremendous output of tin ore. The men worked below and above, and the Colonel and Major shook hands as they congratulated themselves upon their adventure, it being evident now that a year of such prosperity would nearly, if not quite, recoup them for their outlay in machinery, they having started without the terribly expensive task of sinking the mine through the rock. All that they had had to do was to pump out the first excavation, and then begin raising rich tin ore for crushing, washing, and smelting.

The stolen days were devoted to making explorations and mapping out the mine. There were no more goings astray, for gallery after gallery was marked in paint or whitewash with arrows, so that by degrees most of the intricacies, which formed a gigantic network, were followed and marked, and in these explorations abundant proof was given of the enormous wealth waiting to be quarried out.

There was no wonder felt now that those who had gone down first should have lost themselves.

"Wonder to me is, Mr Gwyn," said Hardock one day, "that we any on us come up again alive."

So they kept on exploring, and, well furnished with lights, the lads found the great hall with its pillars of quartz veined with tin, and strange passages going in different directions, far less horrible now. There was the gallery which dipped down too, one which they found their way to now from both ends. It looked gloomy and strange, with the whispering sounds of falling water and the reflections from the candles on the shining black surface; but knowledge had robbed it of its horrors.

"Go through it again?" said Gwyn, as they stood looking along it; "to be sure I would, only I don't want to get wet through for nothing. When we did wade through, Sam, one was always expecting to put one's foot in a shaft or in a well, and go down, never to come up again."

"Ay, that would make you feel squirmy, sir."

"It did," said Gwyn, laughing. "But, I say, wasn't Grip a splendid old fellow? and how he knew! Fancy his swimming right along here!"

"Ay, he is a dog," said Sam. "How is he, sir?"

"Oh, he'll soon be out again; but father wants to keep him chained up till his bones are properly grown together."

"He'll have to run dot and go one, I suppose, sir?"

"What, lame?" cried Gwyn. "Very little, I think. We can't tell yet, because his legs are stiff with so much bandaging. I say, Sam, you fall down the shaft and break your legs, and we'll put 'em in plaster for you."

"No thank ye, sir," said the man, grinning, as he stopped to snuff his candle with Nature's own snuffers. "I never had no taste for breaking bones. Now, then, we'll go round by a bit I come to one day, if you don't mind a long walk back. Take us another two hours, but the floor's even, and I want to have a look at it."

"What sort of a place is it?" said Gwyn; "anything worth seeing?"

"Not much to see, sir, only it's one of the spots where the old miners left off after going along to the west. Strikes me it's quite the end that way. And I want to make sure that we've found one end of the old pit."

"Does the place seem worn out?" said Joe, who had been listening in silence.

"That's it, sir. Lode seems to have grown a bit narrower, and run up edge-wise like."

"Why, we went there," said Joe, eagerly. "Don't you remember, Ydoll?"

"Yes, I remember now. I'd forgotten it, though. I say! Hark; you can hear quite a murmuring if you put your ear against the wall."

"Yes, sir, you can hear it plainly enough in several places."

"Don't you remember, Ydoll, how we heard it when we were wet?"

"Now you talk about it, I do, of course," said Gwyn; "but, somehow, being down here as we were, I seemed to be stunned, and it has always been hard work to recollect all we went through. I'd forgotten lots of these galleries and pools and roofs, just as one forgets a dream, while, going through them again, they all seem to come back fresh and I know them as well as can be. But what makes this faint rumbling, Sam? Is it one of the little trucks rumbling along in the distance?"

"No, sir," said Hardock, with a chuckle. "What do you say it is, Master Joe?"

The lad listened in silence for a few moments, and then said slowly,—

"Well, if I didn't know that it was impossible, I should say that we were listening to the waves breaking on the shore."

"It aren't impossible, sir, and that's what you're doing," said Hardock; and the boys started as if to make for the foot of the shaft.

"What's the matter," said Hardock, chuckling. "'Fraid of its bursting through?"

"I don't know—yes," said Gwyn. "What's to prevent it?"

"Solid rock overhead, sir. It's lasted long enough, so I don't see much to fear."

"But it sounds so horrible," cried Joe, who suddenly found that the gallery in which they were standing felt suffocatingly hot.

"Oh, it's nothing when you're used to it. There's other mines bein' worked right under the sea. There's no danger so long as we don't cut a hole through to let the water in; and we sha'n't do that."

"But how thick is the rock over our heads?"

"Can't say, sir, but thick enough."

"But is it just over our heads here?"

"Well, I should say it warn't, sir; but I can't quite tell, because it's so deceiving. I've tried over and over to make it out, but one time it sounds loudest along there, another time in one of the other galleries. It's just as it happens. Sound's a very curious thing, as I've often noticed down a mine, for I've listened to the men driving holes in the rock to load for a blast, and it's quite wonderful how you hear it sometimes in a gallery ever so far off, and how little when you're close to. Come along. No fear of the water coming in, or I'd soon say let's get to grass."

The boys did not feel much relieved, but they would not show their anxiety, and followed the mining captain with the pulsation of their hearts feeling a good deal heavier; and they went on for nearly an hour before they reached the spot familiar to them, one which recalled the difficulty they had had with Grip when he ran up the passage, and stood barking at the end, as if eager to show them that it was a cul-de-sac.

Hardock went right to the end, and spent some time examining the place before speaking.

Then he began to point out the marks made by picks, hammers, and chisels, some of which were so high up that he declared that the miners must have had short ladders or platforms.

"Ladders, I should say," he muttered; "and the mining must have been stopped for some reason, because the lode aren't broken off. There's plenty of ore up there if we wanted it, and maybe we shall some day, but not just yet. There's enough to be got to make your fathers rich men without going very far from the shaft foot; and all this shows me that it must have been very, very long ago, when people only got out the richest of the stuff, and left those who came after 'em to scrape all the rest. There, I think that will do for to-day."

The boys thought so, too, though they left this part rather reluctantly, for it was cooler, but the idea of going along through galleries which extended beneath the sea was anything but reassuring.

That evening the Major came over to the cottage with his son, and the long visit of the boys underground during the day formed one of the topics chatted over, the Major seeming quite concerned.

"I had no idea of this," he said. "Highly dangerous. You had not been told, Pendarve, of course."

"No," said the Colonel, smiling, "I had not been told; but I shrewdly suspected that this was the case, especially after hearing the faint murmuring sound in places."

"But we shall be having some catastrophe," cried the Major—"the water breaking in."

The Colonel smiled.

"I don't think we need fear that. The galleries are all arch-roofed and cut through the solid rock, and, as far as I have seen, there has not been a single place where the curves have failed. If they have not broken in from the pressure of the millions of tons of rock overhead, why should they from the pressure of the water?"

"Oh, but a leak might commence from filtration, and gradually increase in size," said the Major.

"Possibly, my dear boy," replied the Colonel; "but water works slowly through stone, and for the next hundred years I don't think any leakage could take place that we should not master with our pumping gear. Oh, absurd! There is no danger. Just try and think out how long this mine has been worked. I am quite ready to believe that it was left us by the ancient Britons who supplied the Phoenicians."

"May be, we cannot tell," said the Major, warmly; "but you cannot deny that we found the mine full of water."

"No, and I grant that if we leave it alone for a hundred years it will be full again."

"From the sea?"

"No; from filtration through the rock. The water we pumped out was fresh, not salt. There, my dear Jollivet, pray don't raise a bugbear that might scare the men and make them nervous. They are bad enough with what they fancy about goblins and evil spirits haunting the mine. Even Hardock can't quite divest himself of the idea that there is danger from gentry of that kind. Don't introduce water-sprites as well."

The subject dropped; but that night, impressed as they had been by what they had heard, and partly from partaking too liberally of a late supper, both Gwyn and Joe had dreams about the sea breaking into and flooding the mine, Gwyn dreaming in addition that he behaved in a very gallant way. For he seemed to find the hole through which the water passed in, and stopped it by thrusting in his arm, which stuck fast, and, try how he would, he could not extricate it, but stood there with the water gradually stifling him, and preventing him from calling aloud for help.

The heat and darkness at last rescued him from his perilous position— that is to say, he awoke to find himself lying upon his back with his face beneath the clothes; and these being thrown off, he saw that the morning sunshine was flooding the bedroom, and the memory of the troublous dream rapidly died away.



CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

AFTER A LAPSE.

"That makes the fourth," said Colonel Pendarve, tossing a letter across to his son in the office one morning when the mine was in full work; "four proposals from Mr Dix, and I have had three at intervals from that other legal luminary, Brownson. Seven applications to buy the mine in two years, Gwyn. Yes, it will be two years next week since we began mining, and in those two years you and Joe Jollivet have grown to be almost men—quite men in some respects, though you don't shave yet."

"Yes, I do, father," said Gwyn, smiling.

"Humph!" ejaculated the Colonel, "then it's an utter waste of time. There, answer that letter and say emphatically No."

The Colonel left the office, and Gwyn read the letter.

"Look here, Joe," he said; and Joe Jollivet, who had climbed up to six feet in the past two years, slowly rose from his table at the other side of the office, unfolding himself, as it were, like a carpenter's double-hinged rule, and crossed to where Gwyn was seated with his table covered with correspondence.

Joe read the letter, and threw it back.

"Well," he said, "it's a pity they don't sell it; but it's the old story: father says 'No,' as he has started mining and it pays, he shall go on, so that I may succeed him."

"And Colonel Pendarve, ex-officer of cavalry and now half-proprietor of Ydoll Mine, says precisely the same on behalf of his fine, noble, handsome son Gwyn. Look here, Joe, why don't you drop it, and swell out the other way?"

"Going to begin that poor stuff again?" said Joe, sourly.

"You make me. I declare I believe you've grown another inch in the night. What a jolly old cucumber you are! You'll have to go on your knees next time you go down the mine."

"You answer your letter, and then I want to talk to you."

"What about?"

"I'll tell you directly you've written your letter. Get one piece of business out of your way at a time."

"Dear me; how methodical we are," said Gwyn; but he began writing his answer, while, instead of going back to his table, Joe crossed to the hearthrug, where Grip was lying curled up asleep, and bending down slowly he patted the dog's head and rubbed his ears, receiving an intelligent look in return, while the curly feathery tail rapped the rug.

"There you are, Mr Lawyer Dix, Esquire," said Gwyn, after dashing off the reply; "now, don't bother us any more, for we are not going to sell—Hi! Grip, old man, rabbits!"

The dog sprang to his feet uttered a sharp bark, and ran to the door before realising that it meant nothing; and then, without the sign of a limp, walked slowly back and lay down growling.

"Ha, ha!" laughed Gwyn; "says 'You're not going to humbug me again like that,' as plain as a dog can speak."

"Well, it's too bad," said Joe. "Think of the boy who cried 'wolf.' Some day when you want him he won't come."

"Oh, yes, he will; Grip knows me. Come here, old man."

The dog sprang to him, rose on his hind-legs, and put his fore-paws on his master's hands.

"Only a game, was it, Grippy? You understand your master, don't you?"

The dog gave a joyous bark.

"There; says he does."

"Don't fool about, I want to talk to you," said Joe, sternly.

"All right, old lively. How was the governor this morning? You look as if you'd taken some of his physic by mistake. Now, Grip, how are your poor legs?"

"Ahow-w-ow!" howled the dog, throwing up his muzzle and making a most dismal sound.

"Feel the change in the weather?"

A bark.

"Do you, now? But they are quite strong again, aren't they?"

"How-how-ow-ow" yelped the dog.

"Here, what made you begin talking about that?"

"What? His broken legs?"

"Yes."

"Pride, I suppose, in our cure. Or nonsense, just to tease the dog. He always begins to howl when I talk about his legs. Don't you, Grip? Poor old cripple, then."

"Ahow!" yelped the dog.

"Why did you ask?"

"Because it seemed curious. I say, Gwyn, I believe I did that man an injustice."

"What man an injustice?" said Gwyn, who was pretending to tie the dog's long silky ears in a knot across his eyes.

"Tom Dinass."

The dog bounded from where he stood on his hind-legs resting on his master's knees, and burst into a furious fit of barking.

"Hark at him!" cried Gwyn. "Talk about dogs being intelligent animals? It's wonderful. He never liked the fellow. Hi! Tom Dinass there. Did he break your legs, Grip?"

The dog barked furiously, and ended with a savage growl.

"Just like we are," said Gwyn, "like some people, and hate others. I begin to think you were right, Joe, and he did do it."

"Oh, no—impossible!"

"Well, it doesn't matter. He's gone."

"No, he has not," said Joe, quietly. "He has been hanging about here ever since he left six months ago."

"What! I've never seen him."

"I have, and he has spoken to me over and over again."

"Why, you never told me."

"No, but I thought a good deal about it."

"What did he say to you?"

"That it was very hard for a man who had done his best for the mine to be turned away all of a sudden just because Sam Hardock and the fellows hated him."

"He wouldn't have been turned away for that. But as father said, when a man strikes his superior officer he must be punished, or there would be no discipline in a corps."

"I daresay Sam Hardock exasperated him first."

"Well, you often exasperate me, Jolly, but I don't take up a miner's hammer and knock you down."

"No," said Joe, thinking in a pensive way; "you're a good patient fellow. But he said it was very hard for a man to be thrown out of work for six months for getting in a bit of temper."

"Bit of temper, indeed! I should think it was! I tell you it was murderous! Why don't he go and get taken on at some other mine? There are plenty in Cornwall, and he's a good workman. Let him go where he isn't known, and not hang about here."

"He says he has tried, and he wants to come back."

"And you and me to put up a petition for him!"

"Yes, that's it."

"Then we just won't—will we, Grip? We don't want any Tom Dinass here, do we?"

The dog growled furiously.

"Don't set the dog against him, Ydoll. I did accuse him of having done that, but he looked at me in a horrified way, and said I couldn't know what I was saying, to charge him with such a thing. He said he'd sooner cut his hand off than injure a dog like that."

"And we don't believe him, do we, Grip? Why, you've quite changed your colours, Jolly. You used to be all against him, and now you're all for, and it's I who go against him."

"But you don't want to be unjust, Ydoll?"

"Not a bit of it. I'm going to be always as just as Justice. There, let's get to work again. I've a lot of letters to write."

"One minute, Ydoll. I want you to oblige me in something."

"If it's to borrow tuppence, I can't."

"Don't be stupid. I've spoken to father about Tom Dinass."

The dog growled furiously.

"There, you've set him off. Quiet, sir!" cried Gwyn.

"It's your doing. You worry the dog into barking like that. But look here; father said he did not like to see men idle, and that Dinass had been well punished, and he would consent if the Colonel agreed. So I want you to help me."

"I can't, Jolly, really."

"Yes you can, and you must," said Joe, glancing uneasily towards the door. "For I told him he might come and see the Colonel; and if we ask him, I'm sure he'll give way. Say you'll help me."

"I can't, old man."

"Yes, you can, and will. Let's be forgiving. I told him he might come and see you and talk to you as he did to me, and it's just his time. Yes; there he is."

For there was a step at the outside, and Joe went quickly to the door.

"Come in, Tom," said Joe.

The man, looking very much tattered and very humble, came in, hat in hand.

"Mornin', sir," he said softly. Then his eyes seemed to lash fire, and with a savage look he threw out his arms, for with one furious growl the dog leaped at him, and fastened upon the roll of cotton neckerchief which was wrapped about his throat.



CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

TOM DINASS SHOWS HIS TEETH.

Gwyn sprang from his seat, dashed at the dog, and caught him by the collar.

"Grip! Down!" he roared. "Let go—let—go!"

He dragged at the furious beast, while Dinass wrenched himself away. Then there was a struggle, and Gwyn roared out,—

"Open the door, Joe. Quick! I can't hold him."

The door was flung open, and, with the dog fighting desperately to get free, Gwyn hung on to the collar, passed quickly, and dragged the dog after him right out of the office; then swung him round and round, turning himself as on a pivot, let go, and the animal went flying, while, before he could regain his feet, Gwyn had darted inside and banged-to the door, standing against it panting.

"I don't think you need want to come back here, Master Tom Dinass," he cried.

Bang!

The dog had dashed himself at the door, and now stood barking furiously till his master ran to the window and opened it.

"Go home, sir!" he roared; but the dog barked and bayed at him, raised his feet to the sill, and would have sprung in, had not Gwyn nearly closed the sash. "Go home, sir!" he shouted again; and after a few more furiously given orders, the dog's anger burned less fiercely. He began to whine as if protesting, and finally, on receiving a blow from a walking cane thrust through the long slit between sash and window-sill, he uttered a piteous yelp, lowered his tail, and went off home.

"Don't seem to take to me somehow, Mr Gwyn, sir," said the man. "The chaps used to set him again' me."

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I aren't hurt, but I wonder he didn't get it. Puts a man's monkey up and makes him forget whose dorg it is."

"Look here, Tom Dinass," said Gwyn, quickly. "Did you ever forget whose dog he was, and ill-use him?"

"Me, Mr Gwyn, sir? Now is it likely?" protested the man.

"Yes; very likely; he flew at you. Did you hurt him that time when he was found down the man-engine?"

"Why, that's what Mr Joe Jollivet said, sir, ever so long ago, and I telled him I'd sooner have cut off my right-hand. 'Taren't likely as I'd do such a thing to a good young master's dog."

"Now, no cant, sir, because I don't believe in it. Look here, you'd better go somewhere else and get work."

"Can't, sir," said the man, bluntly; "and as for the dog, if you'll let me come back and tell him it's friends he'll soon get used to me again. I seem to belong to this mine, and I couldn't be happy nowheres else. Don't say you won't speak for a poor fellow, Mr Gwyn, sir. You know I always did my work, and I was always ready to row or pull at the net or do anything you young gen'lemen wanted me to do. It's hard; sir—it is hard not to have a good word said for a poor man out o' work. I know I hit at Sam Hardock, but any man would after the way he come at me."

"We're not going to argue that," said Gwyn, firmly; "perhaps there were faults on both sides; but I must say that I think you had better get work somewhere else."

"No good to try, sir. Some o' the mines aren't paying, and some on 'em's not working at all. Ydoll's in full fettle, and you want more men. Ask the guv'nors to take me on again, sir."

"Yes, do, Gwyn," said Joe. "It must be very hard for a man to want work, and find that no one will give him a job."

"Hard, sir? That aren't the word for it. Makes a man feel as if he'd like to jump off the cliff, so as to be out of his misery. Do ask 'em, sir, and I'll never forget it. If I did wrong, I've paid dear for it. But no one can say I didn't work hard to do good to the mine."

"Well, I'll ask my father when he comes back to the office."

"Won't you ask him now, sir?"

"I don't know where he is. And as for you, I should advise you not to go near my dog; I don't want to hear that he has bitten you."

"Oh, he won't bite me, sir, if you tell him not. We shall soon make friends. Do ask soon, and let me stop about to hear, and get out of my misery."

"You will not have to stop long, Tom Dinass," said Gwyn, as a step outside was heard—the regular martial tread of the old soldier, who seemed to be so much out of place amongst all the mining business.

"Yes; here comes the Colonel," said Joe, quickly; and he went and opened the door to admit the stiff, upright, old officer.

"Thank you, Jollivet," he said. "Hallo! What does this man want?"

"He has come with his humble petition, father, backed up by Joe Jollivet and by me, for him to be taken on again at the mine."

"No," said the Colonel, frowning; "it's impossible, my boy."

"Beg pardon, sir, don't say that," said the man.

"I have said it, my man," said the Colonel, firmly.

"But you'll think better of it, sir. I'll work hard for you."

"No," said the Colonel; "you had a fair chance here for doing well, and you failed. The men would be ready to strike if I took you on again."

"Oh, but you've no call to listen to what a lot of men says."

"I am bound to in a certain way, my man. You made yourself universally unpopular among them, and all that culminated in your savage assault upon the captain. Why, my good fellow, many a man has gone into penal servitude for less than that."

"Yes, sir, I know I hit him; but they was all again' me."

"I cannot go into that," said the Colonel.

"Give him a trial, father," said Gwyn, in answer to Joe's appealing look.

"Do, sir. I've been out o' work a long time, and it's precious hard."

"Go right away, and try somewhere else, my lad."

"I have, sir," said Dinass, imploringly. "I served you well, sir, and I will again."

"I have no fault to find with your working, my man, but I cannot re-engage you."

"Do, sir; it's for your good. Do take me on, sir. I want to do what's right. It is for your good, sir, indeed."

The Colonel shook his head.

"No; I cannot alter my decision, my man," said the Colonel. "Do as I said: go right away and get work; but I know it is hard upon a man to be out of work and penniless. You are a good hand, and ought not to be without a job for long, so in remembrance of what you did—"

"You'll take me on, sir? I tell you it's for your good."

"No," said the Colonel, sternly. "Gwyn, give this man a sovereign for his present necessities, and for the next few weeks, while he is seeking work, he can apply here for help, and you can pay him a pound a week. That will do."

"Better do what I said, sir," said Dinass, with a grim look, "I warn you."

"I said that will do, sir," cried the Colonel, firmly. "Gwyn, my boy, pay him and let him go."

Joe's chin dropped upon his chest, and he rested his hand upon the back of the nearest chair.

Then he started and looked at the door wonderingly, for, scowling savagely, Tom Dinass stuck on his hat very much sidewise, and, without pausing to receive the money, strode out of the place and went right away.

"Specimen of sturdy British independence," said the Colonel, sternly. "I'm sorry, but he is not a man to have about the place. He is dangerous; and when it comes to covert threats of what he would do if not engaged, one feels that help is out of the question. Be the better for me if I engage him—means all the worse for me if I do not. There, it is not worth troubling about; but if he comes back for the money, when he has cooled down, let him have it."

"Yes, father," said Gwyn, and he went on with his letters, but somehow, from time to time the thought of the man's fierce manner came back to him, and he could not help thinking how unpleasant a man Dinass could be if he set himself up for an enemy.



CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

CRYSTAL, BUT NOT CLEAR.

Tom Dinass did not come back for the money Colonel Pendarve had ordered to be paid him, but he started off the very next day, as if he had shaken the Ydoll dust from off his feet, and made for the Plymouth road.

The news was brought to Sam Hardock at the mine by Harry Vores, and Sam chuckled and rubbed his hands as he went and told the two lads.

"Gone, and jolly go with him, Mr Gwyn, sir. We're well quit of him. I was going to warn you to keep Grip always with you, for I have heared say that he swore he'd have that dog's life; but perhaps it was all bounce. Anyhow he's gone, and I'm sure I for one shall feel a bit relieved to be without him."

Gwyn said very little, but he thought a great deal for a few minutes about how much better it would have been if Sam Hardock had treated Dinass with a little more amiability. He quite forgot all about the matter for three days, and then he had fresh news, for Sam Hardock came to him chuckling again.

"It's all right, sir," he said.

"What is—the pumping?"

"Tchah!—that's all right, of course, sir; I mean about Tom Dinass. Harry Vores' wife has just come back from staying at Plymouth, and she saw Tom Dinass there. He won't come back here. Do you know, sir, I've got a sort o' suspicion that he broke Grip's legs."

"Eh! Why do you think that?" said Gwyn, starting. "Did anybody suggest such a thing?"

"No, sir; but he always hated the dog, and he might have done it, you know."

"Oh, yes, and so might you," said Gwyn, testily.

"Me, sir?"

"Yes, or anybody else. Let it rest, Sam. Grip's legs are quite well again."

"That's what you may call snubbing a chap," said Hardock to himself as he went away. "Well, he needn't have been quite so chuff with a man; I only meant—Well, I am blessed!"

Sam Hardock said "blessed," but he looked and felt as if it were the very opposite; and he hurried back to the office where Gwyn had just been joined by Joe, who had been back home to see how his father was getting on, for he was suffering from another of his fits.

Hardock thrust his head in at the door, and without preface groaned out,—

"You'd better go and chain that there dog up, sir," and he nodded to where the animal he alluded to had made himself comfortable on the rug.

"Grip? Why?" said Gwyn.

"He's back again, sir."

"Who is?" said Gwyn, though he felt that he knew.

"Tom Dinass, sir. Talk about bad shillings coming back—why, he's worse than a bad sixpence."

"Then it was him I saw crossing the moor toward the Druid Stones," said Joe.

"Then why didn't you say so?" cried Gwyn, sourly.

"Because I wasn't sure."

"Never sure of anything, since you've grown so tall," grumbled Gwyn. "No, I sha'n't chain up Grip; and I tell him what it is—I'm not going to interfere if the dog goes at him again, for he must have done something bad, or Grip wouldn't be so fierce."

The dog pricked up his ears on hearing his name, and gave the rug a few taps with his tail.

"He never so much as growls at any of the other men. Pretty state of things if one can't have one's dog about because some man hates him. Pooh! I know, Joe."

"Know what?"

"He hasn't got a job yet, and he's coming for the money father said he was to have till he got an engagement."

"Did the guv'nor say that, sir?" cried Hardock.

"Yes."

"Then Tom Dinass won't never get no engagements, but set up for a gentleman, and I think I shall do the same, for work and me aren't the best of friends."

"Get out!" said Gwyn, laughing; "why, you're never happy unless you are at work—is he, Joe?"

"No, he's a regular nuisance. Always wanting to do something else, and stop late in the mine wasting the candles."

"What a shame, Mr Joe!" said Hardock, grinning.

"It's quite true, Sam," cried Gwyn. "Done all that painting up of arrows on the walls near the water gallery?"

"Not quite, sir; I'm going to have a good long day at it on Friday."

"Friday's an unlucky day," said Joe.

"Not it, sir, when you want to get a job done. And I say, Mr Gwyn, come down with me. There's a long drift you've never seen yet, where there's some cracks and hollows chock full of the finest crystals I ever see."

"Crystals?" cried Gwyn.

"In a new gallery?" said Joe, excitedly.

"Well, you may call it a new gallery if you like, sir," said Sam, with a chuckle; "I calls it the oldest drift I was ever in."

"I should like to see that," said Joe.

"Come down then, sir, but aren't it a bit strange that you've taken to like going down of late."

"No; I like going down now, for it's all strange and interesting in the unexplored parts, when one can go down comfortably and not feel afraid of being lost."

"Nay, but you might be still, sir," said the captain, wagging his head. "There's a sight of bits yet that would puzzle you, just as they would me. I have got a deal marked with directions, though, sir, and I sha'n't be quite at rest till I've done all. Then you gents'll come down on Friday?"

"Yes," said Gwyn, "and I'll bring a basket and hammer and chisel. Are they fine crystals?"

"Just the finest I've ever seen, sir; some of 'em's quite of a golden-black colour like peat water."

"But I don't want to come down all that way and find that someone has been and chipped them off."

"Chipped 'em off, sir, when I gave orders that they weren't to be touched!" said the captain, fiercely. "There aren't a man as would dare to do it 'cept Tom Dinass, and he's gone. Leastwise, he was gone, and has come back. They're all right, sir; and I tell you what, if I were you gen'lemen, I'd bring down a basket o' something to eat, for you'll be down most of the day, and it wouldn't be amiss if you brought some o' that rhubarb and magneshy wire to light up in the crystal bit, for the roof runs up wonderful high—it's natural and never been cut like. Regular cave."

"We'll come, Sam. This is going to be interesting, Joe. We won't forget the rhubarb wire neither."

"That's right, sir. What do you say to d'rectly after breakfast—say nine o'clock, if it's not too soon for you, Friday—day after to-morrow?"

"We'll be there, Sam. All right down below?"

"Never more regular, sir. She's dry as a bone, and the stuff they're getting's richer than ever. Only to think of it! What a job I had to get the Colonel to start! I say, Mr Gwyn, sir, when he's made his fortune, and you've made yours, I shall expect a pension like the guv'nor's giving Tom Dinass."

"All right, Sam. I'll see that you have it."

"Thankye, sir," said the mining captain, in all seriousness, and he left the office.

No sooner was he gone than Gwyn turned to his companion.

"I say, Joe," he said; "you'd better not come."

"Why not?"

"You've grown too much lately; you'll be taking all the skin off the top of your head, and grow bald before your time."

"Get out!" said Joe, good-humouredly; "didn't you hear him say that the roof was too high to see with a candle?"

"Oh, of course," cried Gwyn. "Then you'd better come. There must be about room enough in a place like that."

Joe laughed merrily; and then with a serious look,—

"I say, though," he cried, "I really would keep Grip tied up for a bit."

"I sha'n't, not for all the Tom Dinasses between here and Van Diemen's Land. I will keep him with me, though; I don't want my lord to be bitten. Wonder whether that fellow will come soon for his money. We'll shut Grip in the inner office, for we don't want another scene."



CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

A DOG'S OPINION.

But Tom Dinass did not go to the office for his promised money, neither was he seen by anyone; and Gwyn began to doubt the truth of the report till it was confirmed by Harry Vores, who stated that his "Missus" saw the man go into a lawyer's office, and that there was the name on the brass plate, "Dix."

This recalled the visit they had had from a man of that name.

"Perhaps he is dealing with mines, and can give people work," thought Gwyn; and then the matter passed out of his mind.

Friday morning came, and directly after breakfast the two young fellows met, Gwyn provided with a basket of provender, his hammer, chisel and some magnesium ribbon, while Joe had brought an extra-powerful oil lanthorn.

"Ready?"

"Yes; I've told father I shall be late," said Joe.

"So have I, and my mother, too. Seen anything of Tom Dinass? No?"

"But—oh, I say!"

"Well, say it," cried Gwyn.

"What about Grip?"

"Quite well, thank you for your kind inquiries, but he says he feels the cold a little in his legs."

"Don't fool," said Joe, testily. "You're not going to leave the dog?"

"Why not?"

"Tom Dinass."

Gwyn whistled.

"Soon put that right," he said. "We'll take him with us. He'll enjoy the run."

There was no doubt about that, for the dog was frantic with delight, and as soon as he was unchained he raced before them to the mouth of the pit, as readily as if he understood where they were going.

Sam Hardock was waiting, and he rubbed his nose on seeing the dog.

"I did advise you, sir, to keep him chained up while there's danger about," he grumbled.

"Won't be any danger down below, Sam," said Gwyn cheerily.

"What? Eh? You mean to take him with us? Oh, I see. But won't he get chopped going down?"

"Not if I carry him."

"Nay, sir," said the man, seriously, "you mustn't venture on that."

"Well, I'm going to take him down," said Gwyn.

"I know," said Joe, eagerly; "send him down in the skep."

"Ay, ye might do that, sir," said Hardock, nodding. "Would he stop, sir?"

"If I tell him," said Gwyn; and, an empty skep being hooked on just then, the engineer grinned as Gwyn went to it and bade the dog jump in.

Grip obeyed on the instant, and then, as his master did not follow, he whined, and made as if to leap out.

"Lie down, sir. Going down. Wait for us at the bottom."

The dog couched, and the engineer asked if he'd stay.

"Oh, yes, he'll stay," said Gwyn. Then, obeying a sudden impulse, he took his basket, and placed it beside the dog at the bottom of the iron skep. "Watch it, Grip!" he cried, and the dog growled. "He wouldn't leave that."

"Till every morsel's devoured," said Joe. Then click went the break, a bell rang, and the skep descended, while the little party stepped one by one on to the man-engine, and began to descend by jumps and steps off, lower and lower, till in due time the bottom was reached, where Grip sat watching the basket just inside the great archway, the skep he had descended in having been placed on wheels, and run off into the depths of the mine, while a full one had taken its place and gone up.

Then the party started off with their candles and the big lamp, first along by the tram line, after Sam Hardock had peered into a big, empty sumph, and then on and on, past where many men were busy chipping, hammering, and tamping the rock to force out masses of ore, while, before they had gone half-a-mile, there was a tremendous volley of echoes, which seemed as if they would never cease, and the party received what almost seemed a blow, so heavy was the concussion.

But neither Gwyn nor Joe started, and the dog, who had gone ahead, merely came trotting back to look at his master, and then bounded off again into the darkness, as if certain that there was a cat somewhere ahead which ought to be hunted out of the mine.

Familiarity had bred contempt; and fully aware that the noise was only the firing of a shot to dislodge some of the ore for shovelling into the iron skeps, they went on without a word.

They must have been a couple of miles from the shaft, every turn of the way being marked with a whitewash arrow, when Hardock stopped to trim his light, and his example was followed by his companions, the result of their halting being that Grip came trotting back out of the darkness to look up inquiringly, and then, satisfied with his examination, he bounded off again to find that imaginary cat. He soon came rushing back, though, on finding that he was not followed; for, after turning to give his companions a meaning nod, Hardock suddenly turned down a narrow opening which joined the gallery they were following at a sharp angle, and then went on, nearly doubling back over the ground they had traversed before. Then came a series of zigzags, and these were so confusing that at the end of a few hundred yards neither Gwyn nor Joe could have told the direction in which they were going.

"Never been here before, gen'lemen?" said Hardock, with a grin.

"No; this is quite fresh," said Gwyn, consulting a pocket compass. "Leads west then."

"Sometimes, sir; but it jiggers about all sorts of ways. Ah, there's a deal of the mine yet that we haven't seen."

"Rises a little, too," said Joe.

"Yes, sir; slopes up just a little—easy grajent, as the big engineers call it."

"But you said it was natural, and not cut out by following a vein," said Gwyn. "There are chisel-marks all along here."

"Hav'n't got to the place I mean yet, sir. Good half-mile on."

"And farther from the shaft?"

"Well, no, sir, because it bears away to the right, and I've found a road round to beyond that big centre place with the bits that support the roof."

"Well, go on then," said Gwyn; "one gets tired of always going along these passages."

"Oughtn't to, sir, with all these signs of branches of tin lode—I don't."

"But one can have too much tin, Sam," said Joe, laughing; and they went steadily on along the narrow passage, which grew more straight, till there was only just room for them to walk in single file.

"Been getting thin here, gen'lemen," said Hardock; "sign the ore was getting to an end. Look, there's where it branched off, and there, and there, going off to nothing like the roots of a tree. Now, just about a hundred yards farther, and you'll see a difference."

But it proved to be quite three hundred, and the way had grown painfully narrow and stiflingly hot; when all at once Grip began to bark loudly, and the noise, instead of sounding smothered and dull, echoed as if he were in a spacious place.

So it proved, for the narrow passage suddenly ceased and the party stepped out into a wide chasm, whose walls and roof were invisible, and the air felt comparatively cool and pleasant.

"There you are, Mr Gwyn, sir," said Hardock, as he stood holding up his light, but vainly, for it showed nothing beyond the halo which it shed. "I call this a bit o' nature, sir. You won't find any marks on the walls here."

"I can't even see the walls," said Joe. "Here, Grip, where are you?"

The dog barked in answer some distance away, and then came scampering back.

"Oh, here's one side, sir," said Hardock, taking a few steps to his left, and once more holding up his light against a rugged mass of granite veined with white quartz, and glistening as if studded with gems.

"How beautiful!" cried Joe.

"Let's throw a light on the subject," said Gwyn, merrily. "Open your lanthorn, Joe;" and as this was done he lit the end of a piece of magnesium ribbon, which burned with a brilliant white light and sent up a cloud of white fumes to rise slowly above their heads.

The light brightened the place for a minute, and in that brief interval the two friends feasted their eyes upon the crystal-hung roof and walls of the lovely grotto, whose sides rose to about forty feet above their heads, and then joined in a correct curve that was nearly as regular as if it had been the work of some human architect. A hundred feet away the roof sank till it was only two or three yards above the irregular floor, and the place narrowed in proportion, while where they stood the walls were some fifty feet apart.

Then the ribbon gave one flash, and was dropped on the floor, to be succeeded by a black darkness, out of which the lanthorns shed what seemed to be three dim sparks.

"What do you think of it, gen'lemen?" said Hardock, from out of the black darkness.

"Grand! Lovely! Beautiful! I never saw anything like it," cried Gwyn.

"Why, it must be the most valuable part of the mine," cried Joe.

Hardock chuckled.

"It's just the part, sir, as is worth nothing except for show," he said. "It's very pretty, but there isn't an ounce o' tin to a ton o' working here, sir, and—"

His words were checked by a faintly-heard muffled roar, which was followed by a puff of moist air and the customary whispering sound of echoes; but before they had died away Grip set up his ears, passed right away into the darkness, and barked with all his might.

"Quiet, sir!" cried Gwyn; but the dog barked the louder.

"Kick him, Ydoll; it's deafening," cried Joe.

"Didn't that shot sound rather rum to you?" said Hardock.

"Oh, I don't know," replied Gwyn, who was slow to take alarm. "Sounded like a shot and the echoes."

"Nay; that's what it didn't sound like," said Hardock, scratching his head. "It was sharper and shorter like, and we didn't ought to hear it like that all this distance away."

"Isn't the roof of the mine fallen in, is it?" said Gwyn, maliciously, as he watched the effect of his words on his companions. "You, Grip, if you don't be quiet, I'll rub your head against the rough wall."

"Nay, this roof'll never fall in, sir," said Hardock, thoughtfully. "More it's pushed the tighter it grows."

"Well, let's get some of the crystals," said Gwyn; "though it does seem a pity to break the walls of such a lovely place. But we must have some. Be quiet, Grip!"

"Let's have some lunch first," said Joe.

"Nay, gen'lemen," said Hardock, whose face looked clay-coloured in the feeble light. "I don't think we'll stop for no crystals, nor no lunch, to-day, for, I don't want to scare you, but I feel sure that there's something very wrong."

"Wrong! What can be wrong?" cried Gwyn, quickly.

"That's more than I can say, sir," replied the man; "but we've just heard something as we didn't ought to hear; and if you've any doubt about it, look at that dog."

"You're not alarmed at the barking of a dog?" cried Gwyn, contemptuously.

"No, no, not a bit; but dogs have a way of knowing things that beats us. He's barking at something he knows is wrong, and it's that which makes me feel scared though I don't know what it is."



CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

FOR LIFE.

"What nonsense!" cried Gwyn, laughing. "Don't you be scared by trifles, Joe. There's nothing wrong, is there, Grip?"

The dog threw up his head, gazed pleadingly at his master, and then made for the farther opening.

"No, no, not that way," cried Joe.

"Yes, sir, we'll try that way please; it works round by the wet drive, and the big pillared hall, as you called it."

"But look here, Sam, are you serious?" said Joe; "or are you making this fuss to frighten us?"

"You never knowed me try to do such a thing as that, sir," said the man, sternly. "P'raps I'm wrong, and I hope I am; but all the same I should be glad for us to get to the foot of the shaft again."

"Why not go to where the men are at work?" suggested Gwyn; "they'd know."

"We shall take them in our way, sir; and we won't lose any time please."

"I should like to light up the place once more before we go."

"No, no, sir. You can do that when you come again."

"Very well," said Gwyn, who did not feel in the least alarmed, but who could see the great drops standing on the mining captain's face. "Lead on, then. Where's Grip?"

The dog was gone.

"Here! Hi! Grip! Grip!" cried Gwyn.

There was a faint bark from a distance, and Gwyn called again, but there was no further response.

"He knows it's wrong, sir," said Hardock, solemnly, "so let's hurry after him."

"Go on, then," said Joe; and Gwyn reluctantly followed them through the grotto, and then along a natural crack in the rock, which was painful for walking, being all on a slope. But this soon came to an end, and they found themselves in another grotto, but with a low-arched roof and wanting in the crystallisations of the first.

"You have been all along here, Sam?" said Gwyn, suddenly.

For answer Hardock took a few steps forward, and held up his lanthorn to display a roughly-brushed white arrow on the wall pointing forward.

"You can always tell where we've been now, sir," said the man. "This bends in and out for nearly a quarter of a mile; now it's caverns, now it's cracks, and then we come again upon old workings which lead off by what I call one of the mine endings. After that we get to the big hall, and that low wet gallery; I know my way right through now."

"But it's all a scare," said Gwyn, banteringly.

"I hope so, sir, but I feel unked like, and as if something's very wrong."

"Think of old Grip playing the sneak," said Joe, as they finally cleared the grotto-like cracks, and came upon flooring better for walking.

"Nay, sir, he's no sneak. He's only gone to see what's the matter."

"Without a light?" cried Gwyn.

"He wants no light, sir. His eyes are not like ours. Would you mind walking a little faster?"

"No; lead on, and we'll keep up. But how long will it take us to get to the foot of the shaft?"

"Two hours, sir."

"So long as that?"

"Every minute of it, sir—if we get there at all," said the man to himself. And now they walked on at a good steady rate, only pausing once to trim their lights, and at last came to a turn familiar to both the lads, for it was the beginning of the passage where they had had the scare from having to pass through water, but at the end farthest from that which they had come by in the early part of the day.

"Won't go through here, Sam?" said Gwyn.

"Much the nighest, sir; but we don't want to be soaked. Would you mind going a little way down here?"

"Not I," said Gwyn; and the man led on, Joe following without a word.

"Don't look like that, Jolly," whispered Gwyn. "I suppose everyone gets scared at some time in a place like this. It's Sam's turn now. Hallo!"

"Can't go any farther, sir," said Hardock, huskily. "The water's right up to here, and farther on it must reach the roof."

Gwyn needed no telling, for the reflection of their lights was glancing from the floor, and he knew perfectly well that no water ought to be there.

A chill ran through him—a sensation such as he would have experienced had he suddenly plunged neck deep in the icy water, and he turned a look full of agony at Joe, who caught at his arm.

"The sea has broken in—the sea has broken in!" he cried; and quick as lightning Gwyn bent down, scooped up some of the black-looking water, and held it to his lips.

It was unmistakably brackish.

"It can't have broke in, my lads—it can't," cried Hardock. "Come on, and let's go round by the pillar place and get to the men as quick as we can. There must be some spring burst out; but they'll set the pumps at work as soon as they know, and soon pull it down again. Come on."

With their hearts beating heavily from excitement, the two lads followed the captain as he hurried back along the gallery to the spot where they had turned down; and then, as fast as they could go, they made for the pillared hall, expecting to find some of the men close by; but when they reached it, there being no sign of water, there was not a soul visible. There was proof, though, that it was not long since there were men there, for the ends of two candles were still burning where they had been stuck against the wall; tools were lying here and there, and a couple of half-filled skeps were standing on the low four-wheeled trucks waiting to be run along the little tramway to the shaft.

No one said so, but each saw for certain that there must have been a sudden alarm, and the men had fled.

"Come on," said Hardock, hoarsely; but his heart was sinking, and Gwyn knew that there was a gradual descent toward the bottom of the shaft. But they walked rapidly on for fully half-an-hour before they came to the first trace of water, and it was startling when they did.

The gallery they were in entered the next—a lower one—at right-angles; and as they reached that end dry-footed, their lights gleamed from the face of running water which was gliding rapidly by in a regular stream of a few inches deep.

It was Joe who stooped quickly down now to scoop up some of the water and taste it, which he did in silence.

"Salt?" cried Gwyn, sharply.

There was no reply, and the lad followed his companion's example and tasted the water.

"Salt, sir?" said Hardock.

"As the sea," said Gwyn, with a groan. "Hah! good dog then. Here, here, here! Grip, Grip, Grip!"

For there had been a faint barking in the distance, but the noise ceased.

"Can we go round any way?" said Gwyn.

"No, sir; we must face it," said Hardock; "and as quick as we can, for it gets lower and lower, and the water sets this way fast, so it must be rising. Ready, sir?"

"Yes."

"Then come on."

Hardock stepped down into the rapid stream, which was ankle-deep, the others followed, and they splashed rapidly along, to hear the barking again directly; and soon after Grip, who must have been swimming, came bounding and splashing along, barking joyously to meet them again, and barking more loudly as he found that his master was making for the way from which he had come.

"Can't help it, old fellow. When it gets too bad for you, I must carry you," muttered Gwyn, as they hurried along; their progress gradually becoming more painful, for the water soon became knee-deep, and the stream harder to stem.

But they toiled on till it was up to their waists, and so swift that it began to threaten to sweep them away; so, after a few minutes' progression in this way, with the water growing yet deeper, Hardock stopped at a corner round which the water came with a rush.

"It's downhill here, gen'lemen, all the way to the shaft, and even if we could face it, the water must be five-foot deep in another ten minutes, and round the next turn it'll be six, and beyond that the passage must be full."

"Then we must swim to the foot of the shaft," said Gwyn, excitedly.

"A shoal of seals couldn't do it, sir," said the man, gruffly. "Come back, sir!" he roared, for, as if to prove his words, the dog made a sudden dash, freed himself from Gwyn's grasp, and plunged forward to swim, but was swept back directly, and would have been borne right away if Gwyn had not snatched at his thick coat as he passed, and held him.

"But we must make for the shaft," cried Joe, passionately.

"We can't sir! It's suicide! We couldn't swim, and just a bit farther on, I tell you, the place must be full to the roof. Why, there must be eight or ten foot o' water in the shaft."

"Then are we lost?" cried Joe.

"A fellow's never lost as long as he can make a fight for it," said Gwyn, sharply. "Now, then, Sam, what's to be done—go back?"

"Yes, sir, fast as we can, and make for the highest part of the mine."

"Where is that?"

"The water will show us," said Hardock. "I pray it may only be a bit of an underground pool burst to flood us; and they'll pump and master it before it does us any harm."

"No, no," groaned Joe; "we've heard it beating overhead before, and the sea has burst in. We're lost—we're lost!"

"Then if the sea has bursted in," cried Hardock, fiercely, "it's that fellow Tom Dinass's doing. He's a spite against us all, and it's to flood and ruin the mine."

"Don't be unreasonable, Sam," began Gwyn, but he stopped short, for, like a flash, came the recollection of their seeing the man go down towards the point at low-water, where they had heard him hammering in the dark. Did that mean anything? Was it a preparation for blowing in the rock over one of the passages that ran beneath the sea?

It seemed to be impossible as he thought it, but there was the fact of the flood rising and driving them onward, the waters pressing behind them as they waded on, but getting shallower very slowly, till, by degrees, they were wading knee-deep and after a time Grip could be set down. But that the waters were rising fast they had ample proof, for whenever they stopped, the stream was rushing by them onward, as if hastening to fill up every gallery in the mine.

"The water will show us the highest part," Hardock had said; and they went on and on deeper and farther into the recesses of the place, but with the swift stream seeming to chase them, refusing to be left behind, but ever writhing about and leaping at their legs as if to drag them down.

Grip splashed along beside or in front, whenever they were in a shallow enough part, and swam when he could not find bottom; but at last he began to show signs of weariness by getting close up to his master, and whining.

"Catch hold of my lanthorn, Joe," cried Gwyn.

"What are you going to do?"

"What I should do for you if you felt that you could go no farther; what you would do for me. We've brought him down here to be safe from Tom Dinass, and thrown him into the danger we wanted to avoid. Here, come on, Grip, old chap."

To the surprise of his companions, Gwyn knelt down in the water, turning his back to the dog and bending as low as he could, when the intelligent beast, perhaps from memories of old games they had had together, swam close up and began to scramble up on his master's shoulders.

Then Gwyn caught at the dog's fore-legs, dragged them over, and rose to his feet, carrying the dog pick-a-pack fashion, Grip settling down quietly enough and straining his muzzle over as far as he could reach.

Hardock said nothing, but tramped on again, taking the lead with one lanthorn, Joe bringing up the rear with the others, having one in each hand, while the light was reflected brightly from the surface of the water.

At first the mining captain seemed to be working with a purpose in view; but, after being compelled to turn back times out of number through finding the water deepening in the different passages he followed, he grew bewildered, and at last came to a standstill knee-deep in a part that was wider than ordinary.

"I think this part will do," he said, looking helplessly from one to the other.

"Not for long, Sam."

"Yes, sir," said the captain, feebly; "the water isn't rising here."

"It must be pouring into the mine like a cataract. Look how it's rushing along here, and I can feel it creeping slowly up my legs."

"Yes, sir, I'm afraid you are right. I've been thinking for some time that we couldn't do any more."

"Whereabouts are we now?"

"I'm not quite sure, sir; but if we go on a bit farther you'll find one of my arrows on the wall."

"Come on, then," cried Gwyn, "you lead again with the light. No, Grip, old chap, I can carry you,"—for the dog had made a bit of a struggle to get down. He subsided, though, directly, nestling his muzzle close to his master's cheek, and they went on, splash, splash, through the water till they reached one of the turnings.

"Don't seem to be any arrow here, sir," said Hardock, holding up his light. "Can't have been washed out, because the water hasn't been high enough."

"But you said you had put an arrow at every turn," cried Gwyn.

"Every turning I come to, sir; but I'm sure now; I was in a bit of a doubt before—I haven't been along here. It's all fresh."

"Turn back then," said Gwyn.

"But the water's running this way, sir, and it must be shallower farther on."

"How do we know that?" cried Gwyn; "this stream may be rushing on to fill deeper places." And as if to prove the truth of his theory, the water ran gurgling, swirling, and eddying about their legs, but evidently rising.

"Yes, sir, how do we know that?" said the man, who was rapidly growing more dazed and helpless. "I don't kinder feel to know what's best to be done with the water coming on like that. No pumping would ever get the better of this, and—and—"

He said no more, but leaned his arm against the side and rested his head upon it.

"Oh, come, that won't do, Sam," cried Gwyn; "we must help one another."

"Yes, sir, of course; but wouldn't one of you two young gents like to take the lead? You, Mr Joe Jollivet—you haven't had a turn, and you've got two lights."

"What's the use of me trying to lead?" said Joe, bitterly, "I feel as helpless as you do—just as if I could sit down and cry like a great girl."

"Needn't do that, Jolly," said Gwyn, bitterly; "there's salt water enough here. I'm sure it's three inches deeper than it was. Hark!"

They stood fast, listening to the strange murmuring noise that came whispering along.

"It's the water running," said Joe, in awestricken tones.

"Yes, it's the water dripping, and running along by the walls. Why, there must be hundreds of streams."

"And you're standing talking like that," cried Joe, angrily. "We know all about the streams. Do something."

Gwyn stood frowning for a few moments.

"You lead on now," he said, "and try again. I'll come close behind you."

"But it gets deeper this way."

"Perhaps only for a short distance, and then it may rise. Go on."

Joe started at once, for he felt, as if he must obey, but before they had gone a hundred yards the water had risen to Gwyn's waist.

"Back again," he said; "it gets deeper and deeper."

"Then it's all over with us, gen'lemen," said Hardock. "Tom Dinass has got his revenge against us, and it's time to begin saying our prayers."

"Time to begin saying our prayers!" cried Gwyn, angrily. "I've been saying mine ever since we knew the worst. It's time we began to work, and try our best to save our lives. Now, Joe, on again the other way, and take the first turning off to the left."

Joe obeyed, and they struggled back amidst the whispering and gurgling sounds which came from out of the darkness, before and behind; while now, to fully prove what was wrong, they noticed the peculiar odour of the sea-water when impregnated with seaweed in a state of decay, and directly after Gwyn had called attention to the fact Joe uttered a cry.

"What is it?" said Gwyn anxiously. "Don't drown the lights."

"Something—an eel, I think—clinging round my leg."

"Eel wouldn't cling round your leg; he'd hold on by his teeth. See what it is."

"Long strands of bladder-wrack," said Joe, after cautiously raising one leg from the water.

"No mistake about the sea bursting in," said Gwyn. "Why, of course, it has done so before. Don't you remember finding sand and sea-shells in some of the passages?"

No one spoke; and finding that the efforts he had, at no little cost to himself, made to divert his companions' attention from their terrible danger were vain, he too remained nearly always silent, listening shudderingly to the wash, wash of the water as they tramped through it, and he thought of the time coming when it would rise higher and higher still.

Gwyn could think no more in that way, for the horror that attacked him at the thought that it meant they must all soon die. Once the idea came to him that he was watching his companions struggling vainly in the black water; but, making a desperate effort, he forced himself to think only of the task they had in hand, and just then he shouted to Joe to turn off to the left, for another opening appeared, and the lad was going past it with his head bent down.

Joe turned off mechanically, his long, lank figure looking strange in the extreme; and as he swung the lanthorns in each hand, grotesque shadows of his tall body were thrown on the wall on either side, and sometimes over the gleaming water which rushed by them, swift in places as a mill-race.

And still the water grew deeper, and no more arrows pointed faintly from the wall. The water was more than waist-deep now, and the chill feeling of despair was growing rapidly upon all. The lads did not speak, though they felt their position keenly enough, but Hardock uttered a groan from time to time, and at last stopped short.

"Don't do that," cried Gwyn, flashing into anger for a moment; but the man's piteous reply disarmed him, and he felt as despairing.

"Must, sir—I must," groaned the man; "I can't do any more. You've been very kind to me, Master Gwyn, and I'd like to shake hands with you first, and say good-bye. There—there's nothing for it but to give up, and let the water carry you away, as it keeps trying to do. We've done all that man can do; there's no hope of getting out of the mine, so let's get out of our misery at once."



CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

IN DIRE PERIL.

For a few moments, in his misery and despair, Gwyn felt disposed to succumb, and he looked piteously at Joe, who stood drooping and bent, with the bottoms of the lanthorns touching the water. Then the natural spirit that was in him came to the front, and with an angry shout he cried,—

"Here, you, sir, keep those lights up out of the water. Don't want us to be in the dark, do you?"

There is so much influence in one person's vitality, and the way in which an order is given, that Joe started as if he had had an electric current passed through him. He stood as straight up as he could for the roof, and looked sharply at Gwyn, as if for orders.

At the same time the dog began to bark, and struggled to get free.

"Oh, very well," said Gwyn, letting go of the dog's legs; "but you'll soon want to get back."

Down went Grip with a tremendous splash, and disappeared; but he rose again directly, and began to swim away with the stream and was soon out of sight.

"Oh, Joe, Joe, what have I done!" cried Gwyn. "He'll be drowned—he'll be drowned!"

"Ay, sir, and so shall we before an hour's gone by," said Hardock, gloomily.

"I can't help it—I must save him," cried Gwyn; and snatching one of the lanthorns from Joe, he waded off after the swimming dog.

"We can't stop here by ourselves, Sam," cried Joe. "Come along."

Hardock uttered a groan.

"I don't want to die, Master Joe Jollivet—I don't want to die," he said pitifully.

"Well, who does?" cried Joe, angrily. "What's my father going to do without me when he's ill. Come on. They'll be finding the way out, and leaving us here."

"Nay, Master Gwyn wouldn't do that," groaned Hardock. "He'd come back for us."

Gwyn's pursuit of the dog had done one thing; it had started his companions into action, and they, too, waded with the stream pressing them along, till away in the distance they caught sight of the light Gwyn bore, shining like a faint spark in the darkness or reflected in a pale shimmering ray from the hurrying water.

For how long they neither of them knew, they followed on till Gwyn's light became stationary; and just then Hardock raised his, and uttered an exclamation.

"I know where we are now," he cried, as he raised his lanthorn and pointed to one of his white arrows. "It looks different with the place half full of water, but we're close to that dead end that runs up."

Just then they heard the barking of the dog.

"And that's where he has got to," continued Hardock. "How did he come to think of going there?"

"Ahoy—oy—oy—oy!" came halloaing from Gwyn, who had long been aware from their lights that his companions were following him.

They answered, and dragged their weary way along, for the water still deepened, and in his impatience Gwyn came back to meet them.

"Come along quickly," he cried; "the dog has gone into that short gallery which rises up. Did you hear him barking?"

"Yes."

"Just as if he had found a rabbit. He leaped up on the dry part at once, and if we follow there is plenty of room for us as well."

"Beyond the water?" panted Joe.

"Yes. At the far end."

Trembling with eagerness, they splashed through the now familiar way, conscious of the fact that a current of air was setting in the same direction—a foul hot wind, evidently caused by the water filling up the lower portions of the mine, and driving out the air; but no one mentioned it then.

The entrance of the place they sought was reached, and they were waist-deep, the water sweeping and swirling by with such force that, as Gwyn entered, lanthorn in hand, and Joe was about to follow, a little wave like an imitation of the bore which rushes up some rivers, came sweeping along and nearly took him off his feet, while Hardock, with a cry to his companions to look out, clung to the corner.

Gwyn turned in time to see Joe tottering, and caught at his arm, giving him a sharp snatch which dragged him in through the low archway where the water, though deep, was eddying round like a whirlpool. Then together they extended their hands to Hardock and he was dragged in.

"Runs along there now like a mill-race," panted the man. "How did you manage, Mr Gwyn?"

"It was only going steadily when I followed Grip, and he swam in easy enough."

"Must be coming in faster," groaned Hardock. "Oh, my lads, my lads, say your prayers now, and put in a word for me; for I haven't been the man I ought to have been, and I know it now we're shut up in this gashly place."

"Don't, don't talk like that," cried Gwyn, wildly.

"I must, my lad, for the water's rising faster, and in a few minutes we shall be drowned."

"Then come on with the stream and let's find a higher place," cried Joe.

"Nay, we aren't got strength enough to go on. Better stay where we are."

"Hi! Grip! Grip! Grip!" cried Gwyn, holding up the lanthorn and wading farther in, but there was no answering bark.

"Come along, Sam," said Joe, hoarsely, as he opened his lanthorn door to let the water he had got in, drain out. "Here, look, it's shallower where he is."

"Ay, it do rise, you see," groaned Hardock, who was now completely unmanned.

"Come on!" shouted Gwyn; "it isn't up to my knees here."

They followed till, toward the dead end where the old miners had ceased working in the far back past, the lode had narrowed and run up into a flattened crevice, up which Gwyn began to clamber.

"Follow me," he said; "I'm quite clear of the water. It's a natural crack. There has been no picking here, and it comes up at a steep slope."

He climbed on, the others following him; and he called to the dog again, but there was still no reply.

"Are you clear of the water?" he cried.

"Yes, sir, four foot above it," said Hardock, who came last, "but it's rising fast."

"I say," cried Gwyn, wildly, "is there a way out here?"

"Nay, sir, this is only a blind lead. What is it up where you are?"

"Like a flattened-out hole with the rock all covered with tiny crystals. There must be a way up to the surface here; don't you feel how the wind comes by us?"

"Yes; my light flickers, but it burns dull," said Joe.

"Ay, and it will come sharper yet," said Hardock; "the water's driving it all before it. Don't you feel how hot it is?"

"Yes."

"Maybe it'll suffocate us before the water comes."

"Grip! Grip! Grip!" shouted Gwyn; and then, after waiting, he made his companions' hearts beat by crying back to them loudly, "I don't care, there is a way out here."

"Can't be, sir."

"But Grip has gone through."

"Nay, sir, he's wedged himself up, and he's dead, as we shall soon be."

"Oh, Joe, Joe!" roared Gwyn, passionately; "kick out behind at that miserable, croaking old woman. There is a way out, for I can feel the hot air rushing up by me."

"Ah!" groaned Hardock, "it's very well for you young gents up there; but I'm at the bottom, and the water's creeping up after me. To think after all these years o' mining I should live to be drowned in a crack like this!"

Just then a loud rustling and scrambling noise was heard.

"What is it, Ydoll? What are you doing?"

"There's a big stone here, wedged across the slope, or I could get higher. It's loose, and I think I can—hah!"

The lad uttered an exultant shout, for with a loud rattle the flat block gave way, and came rattling and sliding down.

"Got it!" cried Gwyn. "I'm passing it under me. Come close, Joe, and catch hold, as it reaches my feet."

Joe climbed a little higher, by forcing his knees against the wall of the crack facing him, and, reaching up, he got hold of the block and lowered it, till, fearing that if he let go, it might injure Hardock, he bade him come higher and pass it beneath him.

"Nay, nay, let me be," groaned Hardock; "it's all over now. I'm spent."

"Let it fall on him to rouse him up," shouted Gwyn.—"You, Sam, lay hold of that stone."

The man roused himself, and, climbing higher over the ragged, sharp, prickly crystals, reached up and took hold of the stone, passed it under him, and it fell away down for a few feet, and then there was a sullen splash.

The light showed Gwyn plainly enough that they were in a spot where a vein of some mineral, probably soapstone, had in the course of ages dissolved away; and, convinced that the dog had found his way to some higher cavern, and in the hope that he might find room enough to force his way after, he scrambled and climbed upward, foot by foot, pausing every now and then to shout back to his companions to follow.

There was plenty of room to right and left; the difficulty was to find the widest parts of the crack, whose sides were exactly alike, as if the bed-rock had once split apart, and pressure, if applied, would have made them join together exactly again. And this engendered the gruesome thought that if that happened now they would be crushed out flat.

There was plenty of air, too, for it rushed by now in a strong current which made the flame of the candle in the lanthorn he pushed on before him flutter and threaten to go out. For the air was terribly impure, as shown by the dim blue flame of the candles, and so enervating that the perspiration streamed from the lad's face, and a strange, dull, sleepy feeling came over him, which he tried desperately to keep off.

Roughly speaking, the crack ascended at an angle of about fifty degrees, turning and zigzagging after the fashion of a flash of lightning, the greatest difficulty being to pass the angles.

But Gwyn toiled on, finding that the great thing he dreaded—the closing-in of the sides—did not occur, but trembling in the narrowest parts on account of one who was to follow.

"Joe will easily manage it," he said to himself; "but Sam will stick."

"Time enough to think of that," he muttered, "if he does."

"Can you get higher?" panted Joe, after they had been creeping slowly along for some time.

"Yes, yes; but there's an awkward turn just here. All right, it's wider on my left. Hurrah! I've got into quite a big part. Come on!"

Joe climbed on, pushing his lanthorn before him, till it was suddenly taken and drawn up, when, looking above him with a start, he saw his friend's face looking down upon him, surrounded by a pale, bluish glow of light.

"Want a hand?" cried Gwyn.

"No; I can do it," was the reply, and Joe climbed beyond an angle to find himself in a sloping, flattened cave, whose roof was about four feet above his head; how far it extended the darkness beyond the lanthorn concealed.

"Come on, Sam," cried Gwyn, as he looked down the slope he had ascended expecting to see the man's face just below; but it was not visible, and, saving the hissing of the hot wind and the strange gurgling of rushing water, there was not a sound.

"He's dead!" cried Joe, wildly.

"No, no; don't say that," whispered Gwyn. "It's too horrible just when we are going to escape;" and, without pausing, he lowered himself over the angle of the rock and began to descend.

"Hold the light over," he said. "Ah, mind, or you'll have it out."

For the candle flickered in the steady draught which came rushing up from below, and it had to be drawn partly back for shelter.

"Sam!" cried Gwyn, as he descended; but there was no reply, and the dread grew within the lad's breast as he went on down into the darkness.

"I shall be obliged to come back for the light," he shouted. "I can see nothing down here. How far is he back?"

"I don't know," said Joe, despairingly. "I thought he was close behind me. Shall I come down with the lanthorn?"

"Yes, you must, part of the way—to help me. No, I can just touch his lanthorn with my foot—here he is!"

"All right?" faltered Joe.

"I think so," replied Gwyn, slowly. "Here, Sam Hardock, what's the matter?—why don't you come on?"

"It's of no good," said the man, feebly; "I'm done, I tell you. Why can't you let me die in peace?"

"Because you've got to help us out of this place?"

"I? Help you?"

"Yes; it's your duty. You've no right to lie like that, giving up everything."

"I'm so weak and sleepy," protested the man.

"So was I, but I fought it all down. Now then, climb up to where he is."

"I—I can't, Mr Gwyn; and, besides, it's too narrow for me."

"How do you know till you try? Come: up with you at once."

"Must I, Mr Gwyn, sir?"

"Yes, of course; so get up and try."

Sam Hardock groaned, and began to creep slowly up the steep slope, Gwyn leading the way; but at the end of a minute the man subsided.

"It's of no use, sir; I can't do it. I haven't the strength of a rat."

"Keep on; it will come," cried Gwyn. "Keep on, sir, and try. You must get to the top, where Joe Jollivet is."

"No, no; let me die in quiet."

"Very well; when I have got you into a good dry place. You can't die in peace with the cold black water creeping over you."

"N-no," said Hardock, with a shiver.

"Come on, then, at once," cried Gwyn; and, unable to resist the imperious way in which he was ordered, the poor fellow began to struggle up the narrow rift, while Gwyn, keeping his fears to himself, trembled lest the place should prove too strait.

Twice over Hardock came to a stand; but at a word from Gwyn he made fresh efforts, the way in which the lad showed him the road encouraging him somewhat; till at last, panting and exhausted, he dragged himself beyond the last angle, and rolled over upon the stony slope where Joe had been holding his lanthorn over the dark passage, and looking down.

"We can go no farther till he's rested," whispered Gwyn.

"No; but look how the water's rising. How long will it be before it reaches up to here?"

Gwyn shook his head, and listened to the murmur of the rising flood, which sounded soft and distant; but the rush of wind grew louder, sweeping up the cavity with the loud whistling sound of a tempest.

Gwyn rose to his knees, trimmed his light, and said less breathlessly now,—

"Let Sam rest a bit, while we try and find how Grip went."

And he held up the light and shaded his eyes.

There was no need of a painted white arrow to point the way, for the whistling wind could be felt now by extending a hand from where they lay in shelter; and as soon as Gwyn began to creep on all-fours towards the upper portion of the sloping cavity in which they lay, the fierce current of air pressed against him as the water had when he was wading a short time before.

"Better keep the lanthorn back in shelter," said Gwyn, hastily; "it makes mine gutter down terribly."

He handed Joe the ring, and once more went on to find the wide opening they had reached rapidly contract till once more it resembled the jagged passage through which they had forced themselves.

The slope was greater, though, and the way soon became a chimney-like climb, changing directions again and again, while in the darkness the wind whistled and shrieked by him furiously, coming with so much force that it felt as if it was impelling him forward.

And still he went on climbing along the tunnel-like place till further progress was checked by something in front; and with the wind now tearing by him with a roar, he felt above and below the obstacle, finding room to pass his arm beyond it readily; but further progress was impossible, the passage being completely choked by the block of stone which must have slid down from above.



CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

SAM HARDOCK AT HIS WORST.

Gwyn tugged and strained at the block, hoping to dislodge it as he had the former one; but his efforts were vain, and at last, with his fingers sore and the perspiration streaming down his face, he backed down the steep chimney-like place, satisfied that Grip must have made his way through the narrow aperture beneath one corner of the block, where the wind rushed up, but perfectly convinced that without the aid of tools or gunpowder no human being could force a way, while the very idea of gunpowder suggested the explosion causing the tumbling down of the rock around to bury them alive.

"Well," said Joe, looking up at him anxiously, with his face showing clearly by the open door of his lanthorn, "can we get farther?"

Gwyn felt as if he could not reply, and remained silent.

"You might as well tell me the worst."

"I'm going to try again," said Gwyn, hoarsely, and he glanced at Hardock, who was lying prone on the rock with his face buried in his hands. "The way's blocked up."

"Then we shall have to lie here till the water comes gurgling up to fill this place and drown us, if we are not smothered before."

"We can't be smothered in a place where there is so much air."

"I don't know," said Joe, thoughtfully—his feeling of despair seeming to have deadened the agony he had felt; "I've been thinking it out while you were grovelling up there like a rat, and I think that the air will soon be all driven out of the mine by the water. Ugh! hark at it now. How it comes bubbling and racing up there! If you put your head over the edge of the rock there, it's fit to blow you away, and it smells horribly. But can't you get any farther up?"