"No, not a foot. Go up and try yourself."

"No," said Joe, slowly. "A bit ago I felt as if I could do anything to get out of this horrible place; but now I'm fagged, like Sam Hardock there, and don't seem to mind much about it, except when I think of father."

"Don't talk like that," cried Gwyn, passionately, "I can't bear it. Here, we must do something; it's so cowardly to lie down and die without trying to get out. You go up there, and perhaps you will do better than I did."

"No; you tried, and you're cleverer than I am."

"No, I'm not. You try. You shall try," cried Gwyn, with energy. "Go up at once. Stop; let's put up a fresh candle."

"It's of no use; you can't—I've been trying."

"Joe! Don't say there are no more candles."

"Wasn't going to. There's one, but the wick's soaked and it won't burn."

Gwyn snatched at the candle, examined the blackened end and sodden wick, and then turned it upside down, holding the bottom end close to the flame of his own light and letting the grease drip away till fresh wick was exposed and gradually began to burn.

"I should never have thought of doing that," said Joe, calmly, as he lay on his chest resting his chin upon his hands.

"There," cried Gwyn, sticking up the fresh candle in the tin sconce, and waiting till the fat around it had congealed. "Now you go on up, and see what you can do. Keep the door side of the lanthorn away from the wind."

"Must I go?" said Joe, dolefully.

"Yes, if you want to see the poor Major again."

"Ah!" sighed Joe, and taking the lanthorn, he crawled up to where Gwyn had been, while the latter searched eagerly round to try and find out some other opening. But, saving that by which they had come, and up which the whistling, roaring and gurgling increased in intensity, and sounded as if some writhing mass of subterranean creatures were fighting their way through the dark passage to escape from the flood, there was not the smallest crack, and he turned again to where Joe was passing out of sight, his boot soles alone visible as he slowly crawled up the narrow chimney-like place.

Then they disappeared, and Gwyn turned to where Hardock was lying on his face.

"Sam," he said.

There was no reply.

"Sam!" he cried, angrily now; and the man slowly raised his face and gazed at him reproachfully.

"Might let me die in peace," he groaned.

"You rouse up, and try and help us," said Gwyn, firmly; and his will being the stronger, the man began to raise himself slowly into a sitting position, shuddering as he listened to the furious hurricane of sounds which came up the narrow rift.

"It's only a noise, Sam," said Gwyn. "I say, there has never been any mining done up here, has there?"

"Never, sir. It's all natural rock. Look at the crystals."

"That's what I thought. But look up there at Joe."

"Eh? Where's Mr Joe Jollivet?"

"Clambering up that hole where Grip must have gone. He must have got up to the surface."

Hardock shook his head.

"Why not?" continued Gwyn, eagerly. "The wind rushes up there."

"Ay, but wind will go where even a mouse couldn't."

"But if Grip hadn't got up there, he'd have come back."

"If he could, sir—if he could. But don't, don't ask me questions; I'm all mazed like, and can't think or do anything. I only want to go to sleep, sir, out of it all, never to have any more of this horror and trouble."

"Look here, Sam," continued Gwyn; "this noise of the wind coming up means the water filling up the passages and driving it out, doesn't it?"

"I s'pose so, sir."

"How long will it be before the mine is quite full of water?"

"Who knows, sir? Tends on how big the hole is. Maybe hours, for it's a vasty place—miles of workings."

"Then the water won't come up to us till the passages are all full."

"No, sir, and maybe not come to us at all. We may be too high."

"Too high? Of course. If we're above sea-level now, it won't reach us."

"No, sir. You see the mouth of the mine's quite two hundred feet above sea-level, the workings are all below."

"Then we may escape yet?"

"Escape, sir?" said Hardock, despairingly. "How?"

"Grip has gone up to grass."

"Ay, perhaps he has escaped," said Hardock, dismally.

"And if he has, do you think he will not bring us help? Why, it may come any time."

"Yes, to the hole he got out of; and it'll take five years to dig down through the solid rock to get us out. Nay, Master Gwyn, you may give it up. We're as good as dead."

A faint sound, half groan, half cry, arrested them; and Gwyn hurried to the crack up which Joe Jollivet had crawled.

"What is it? Can you get by?"

"No, no," came back faintly, the words being half drowned by the noise of the wind; "stuck fast."

"Oh, why did he grow so long and awkward!" muttered Gwyn. "Here, Joe, turn round a bit and try and come back on your side."

"Been trying hard, and I can't come back."

Gwyn's heart sank, and he hesitated for a few moments, till the piteous word "Help!" reached his ears, when he crept into the hole, leaving his lanthorn burning outside, sheltered from the current of air which rushed to the outlet, and began to crawl up as fast as he could.

"Help!" came again.

"Coming. You must turn."

"Can't, I tell you. Oh, Ydoll, old fellow, it's all over now I—ah!"

Then there was a wild cry that petrified Gwyn, just as he was nearing the place where Joe had managed to wedge himself, for it might have meant anything.

Then came relief, for Joe cried exultantly—

"My arm wedged round the block of stone; I've got it out."

It was Gwyn's turn to cry "Ah!" now, in the relief he felt; and for a few minutes he lay listening to the peculiar rustling noise beyond him, unable to stir. But he was brought to himself by a kick on the crown of his head, and began to back away from his companion's feet as fast as he could, getting out at last to find Sam Hardock kneeling by the hole, lanthorn in hand, looking utterly despondent.

"It's no good, my lad," he said, with a groan. "What's the use o' punishing yourself in this way? You ought to know when you're beat."

"That's what Englishmen never know, Sam," cried Gwyn.

"Ay, so they say, sir—so they say; but we are beat now."

The appearance of Joe's boots put an end to their conversation; and a few minutes after he turned his face to them, looking ghastly in the feeble light of the lanthorns.

"Thought I was going to die caught fast in there," he said, with a sob, "Oh, Ydoll, it was horrible. You can't think how bad."

"Lie down for a bit and rest," said Gwyn, gently, for the poor fellow was quite hysterical from what he had gone through; and without a word he obeyed, lying perfectly still save when a shudder shook him from head to foot, and he clung fast to Gwyn's hand.

"Do you think you could do any good by trying?" said Gwyn at last.

"Me, sir?" said Sam. "No; I'm too big. I should get stuck fast."

"No, there's room enough. He got himself fixed by wedging his arm in beyond the stone."

"Yes, that was it," sighed Joe; and, to the surprise of both, Hardock picked up his lanthorn, crawled to the hole, thrust it in and followed, while the two lads lay listening to the rustling sounds he made, half drowned by the shrieking and whistling of the wind.

In about a quarter-of-an-hour he backed out, drawing his light after him.

"It's of no use, my lads," he said; "we may shake hands now, for we've done all that we can do. I've been trying hard at that stone, but it's wedged in fast. A shot o' powder might drive it out, but our hands aren't powder nor dinnymite neither, and we may give it up."

No one spoke, and they lay there utterly exhausted in mind and body, hour after hour, while their clothes began slowly to dry upon their bodies. The rush of wind and the gurgle of water went on as if it were boiling violently; and something like sleep overtook them, for they did not move.

But from time to time Gwyn bent over one or the other of the lanthorns to see to the candles, his one great dread being now lest they should sink into a deep stupor, and come to, finding that they were in the dark.

Then suddenly, after lying down for some time trying to imagine that it was all some terrible dream, there was a quick, short bark; and unable to bear this, the lad uttered a wild cry, and then, from the terrible tension being taken so suddenly from off his nerves, he burst into a hysterical fit of laughter.

The next minute Grip was licking at his face, following it up by the same endearment bestowed upon the other two, and then bursting into a prolonged fit of barking.



CHAPTER FIFTY.

NEWS FROM GRASS.

"Ydoll! Ydoll! Look! look!" cried Joe, suddenly. "Here, Grip! Grip! Quick!"

But Gwyn had seen and caught at the dog's collar as soon as Joe had shouted to him; and as rapidly as his trembling fingers would allow, he untied the string which bound a white packet to the ring in the dog's collar.

It was a note written in pencil, the words large, and easy to see; but they seemed to sail round before the lad's eyes, and minutes had elapsed before he could read in his father's bold hand:—

"Try and keep a good heart. Grip has shown us the way, and, please God, we'll reach you before many hours have passed. Tie a handkerchief to the dog's collar if you get this, and are all well. Send him back at once.

"Arthur Pendarve."

A strange sobbing sound escaped from Gwyn's lips as with trembling hands he tied his pocket-handkerchief tightly to the dog's collar.

"Now, Grip!" he cried in a husky voice which did not sound like his own; and the dog, who was standing panting, with his tongue out and curled up at the tip, uttered an eager bark. "Home! home!" cried Gwyn; and the dog made for the hole, dashed in, and disappeared, while his master crept away into the darkness of the lowest part of the long, sloping grotto-like place, and half-an-hour must have passed before he joined the others and lay down close to the hole where Grip had disappeared.

They had no idea of how the time passed, and they could not speak, for their hearts were too full. Words did not come till they heard a fresh barking, and the dog came scuffling out of the opening into the light, this time with the Colonel's flask tied to his collar, and stood panting while it was untied.

It was one of the large flat leather-covered bottles with a silver screw top and silver cup, which slipped on the bottom; and now, for the first time awaking to the fact that he was in a fainting condition, Gwyn slipped off the cup, unscrewed the top, and poured out some of the contents of the bottle, handing the vessel to Hardock, who shook his head.

"Nay, sir," he said, "I'll wait till we get out; I'm a tot'ler."

Gwyn handed the silver cup to Joe, who tasted it.

"Eggs and milk," he cried, and drank the contents with avidity before returning the cup.

"Now, Sam," said Gwyn, refilling it.

"Ay, I don't mind that, sir," said Hardock; "and I was thinking I was a bit too particklar when it was sent to save our lives. Hah! That's good," he added, as he drained the last drop. "Sorry I can't wash it out for you, sir. Shall I go down to the water?"

"No, no, I don't mind drinking after you," said Gwyn, as he tremblingly poured out his portion, which was less than the others had taken; and he, too, drank the most grateful draught he had ever had, while the dog, who had couched, placed his head on the lad's knee and looked up at him with all a dog's reverence and affection for his master.

But there was no note this time.

The flask was re-fastened to the dog's collar, and he was sent back; and then the prisoners lay listening to the rushing and gurgling of the air and water, wondering how long it would take to reach them, for Hardock had been down to find that it had ascended the cavity for some distance; but he expressed his belief that it would be hours before it would hurt them, and the consequence was that, heartened by the prospect of escape, utterly exhausted mentally and bodily as they were, Nature came to their aid, and they all dropped off into a deep sleep.

Gwyn was the first to awaken many hours later, to find all in darkness, and fight alone through the strange feeling of confusion in which he was. But once more Grip came to his help; for no sooner had his master begun to move than he burst out barking loudly.

This woke the others, equally confused and startled at being in the darkness, while the noise of the wind roaring through the cavity sounded appalling.

Gwyn's first effort to light a match was a failure, but the second, within the shelter of a lanthorn, succeeded, and a fresh candle was finally lit.

By this they found that Grip was the bearer of another note, and in addition a packet, which upon being opened was found to contain a card and a pencil.

The note was very brief, stating tersely that efforts were being made to enlarge the way through which the dog had come up, and asking for information regarding their state.

This was furnished as well as the circumstances would allow, Joe holding the light, while, after placing the card on the smoothest place he could find, Gwyn wrote the answer—the principal point he emphasised being that they were safe so far; but the water was rising, and they had nearly come to the end of their candles.

But even as he wrote there was a cheering sound heard through the whistling of the wind—a sharp, clear clink as of hammer and chisel upon stone.

"Hark! do you hear?" cried Joe, wildly; "they are coming down to us. Oh work, work hard, before the water rises."

He shouted this in a wildly frantic way, and then watched eagerly while Gwyn tied the card in a handkerchief and secured it to the dog's collar, Grip going off directly, as if he quite understood the business now.

This done, Joe and Hardock lay down close to the orifice and listened to the clinking of the hammers, trying the while to imagine what kind of passage existed beyond the wedge-like block of stone, and calculating how long it would be before they were rescued. But that was all imagination, too, for there was nothing to base their calculations upon.

Meanwhile Gwyn was more matter-of-fact; for he took the lanthorn and descended to where the water had risen, and there, clinging with one hand, he held the light down, to gaze with a feeling of awe at the bubbling surface, which was in a violent state of agitation, looking as if it were boiling. Every now and then it was heaved up and then fell back with a splash.

Gwyn's object in descending the sharp slope had been to make a mark upon the rock with his knife just at the level of the water, and then try and scratch other marks at about a foot apart, so as to descend again and see how much higher the water had risen.

But this seemed to be impossible, for the level was always changing, the water running up several feet at times and then descending, playing up and down evidently as the pressure of the confined air increased or sank.

Still he made some marks, and then returned to the others to join them in listening.

But this proved weary work, for it was only now and then that they could hear the sound of the hammer, for the current of air seemed to bear it away; while, when by chance the sounds did reach their ears they were most tantalising, at one time seeming very near, and at others so faint that they felt that the work going on must be very distant.

The dog came back with food and lights and stayed with them, now trotting to the opening to bark at the sounds; and at times standing at the edge of the lower cavity to bark fiercely at those from below, his ears and the thick wolf frill about his neck being blown about by the fierce current of air.

And so the time went on, first one and then the other descending to find that the water was steadily rising, and after each examination there was a thrill of dread as the looker-on asked himself, Would they win the race?

How long was it? Was it night, now, or day?

Questions, these, which they could not answer, and at last, with their miserable state of despondency increasing, they lay half-stupefied, listening for the help which, as the hours wore slowly by, seemed as if it would never come.

The end was unexpected when it did arrive, after what, in its long-drawn agony, seemed like a week. Gwyn had sent a message by the dog imploring for news, for he said the water was very close to them now, as it was lapping the top of the cavity, and every now and then brimming over and slowly filling the bottom of the sloping cavern.

All at once, heard plainly above the rush of the air and apparently close at hand, there was the loud striking of hammers upon stone.

Gwyn thrust his head into the opening at once, and shouted, his heart bounding as a hollow-sounding cheer came back from just the other side of the wedge.

"Who is it?" cried Gwyn, with the despondency which had chilled him taking flight.

"Vores," came back. Then—"Look here, sir! I can't break through this stone. I've no room to move and strike a blow. How far can you get away from it?"

"About sixty feet," said Gwyn, after a few moments' thought.

"Any place where you can shelter from flying stones?"

"Oh, yes, several."

"Then I'm going back for a cartridge, and I shall put it under the stone, light a slow fuse and get away. It must be blasted."

"But you'll blow the roof down and stop the way."

"No fear of that, sir. If I do, it will only be in pieces that we can get rid of this end, you that. It must be done, there's no other chance."

"Is there plenty of room out your way?"

"Sometimes. Here and there it's a close fit to get through. I've been nearly fast more than once. Now, then, I'm going."

"Must you go?" said Gwyn, mournfully.

"Yes, but I'll soon be back. Keep a good heart, and we'll have you out now."

"Is my father there?"

"Yes, sir, and the Major, and your mother, too."

Gwyn's emotion choked his utterance for a time. Then he spoke, but no answer came, and the feeling of loneliness and despair that came over him was horrible.

He backed out and repeated the conversation, Joe giving a faint cheer, and Hardock shaking his head.

"He may bury us alive," he said, "but the smoke and damp can't hurt us, for this wind will sweep it all out at once. How long will he be?"

It seemed quite an hour before Gwyn, who had crept right up the hole till he could touch the stone, heard any sound, and then it came all at once, when he was beginning to lose all hope again.

The sound was the tap of a hammer upon stone, so near that he felt the jar.

"Mr Gwyn, sir," came from close by.

"Yes, here."

"I've got the cartridge, and I'm going to wedge it under the stone, but it's going to be a hard job to light the match in this strong wind. Now, you go back, and when you're all safe I'll do my work and get safe, too, for it will be like a great cannon going off at both ends at once. How long will it take you?"

"Two minutes," said Gwyn.

"I'll count two hundred, and then begin."

Gwyn shuffled back, gave his news, and the trio of prisoners crept behind angles of the cavern, Gwyn taking the light; and then they waited what seemed to be an hour, with the conclusion growing that Vores had been unable to light the fuse, and had gone back.

"Sam!" shouted Gwyn at last.

"Ay, ay, sir."

"You both stay where you are; I'm going to crawl up to the mouth of the hole, and speak to Vores."

"Nay, stay where you are," cried Hardock. "It may be an hour before the charge is fired. We don't know what trouble he has to get it to—"

A deafening roar broke Hardock's speech in two; and to Gwyn it seemed as if he had received a violent blow on both ears at once. Then in a dull, distant way he heard pieces of stone rattling, and there was perfect silence; the wind had ceased to roar and whistle, and Gwyn began to struggle, for he felt as if a hand had suddenly clutched his throat, and he knew he was suffocating.

The next moment there was a rush and roar again; the air that had been compressed and driven back rebounded, as it were, rushing through the open cavity, and Gwyn felt that he could breathe again.

"Where are you?" cried Hardock; and now Gwyn realised that the explosion had put out the light.

"Here. Where's Joe Jollivet?"

"I'm here," panted the lad. "I couldn't breathe for a bit. Think the block's blown away?"

"I'm going to feel," replied Gwyn. "Here!" he cried, excitedly, "the floor's covered with pieces of broken stone; but I can't find my way. Yes, all right; I can feel the way in."

"Mind you don't get wedged in with the bits, my lad," cried Hardock, excitedly. "Here, let me go first."

"No," said Gwyn, "I—"

His next words were not heard, for his head and shoulders were in the cavity and his voice was swept on before him ere he could say, as he intended, "I shall soon be back."

But there was no risk of getting himself wedged, for the explosion had swept everything before it; and he crept on and on, till his heart gave a bound, for he realised that he must have passed the spot where the stone had wedged up the orifice, and the way to life and light was open.

"Ahoy!" he shouted with all his might; and "Ahoy!" came from a distance, for the wind, which was whistling by him, drove the answer back. But in another minute, as he extended his hand to feel his way along, he touched something warm in the darkness, and his hand was seized.

That warm grasp, which meant so much to the lad, acted upon him like the discharging rod of the electrician upon a Leyden jar; in an instant his energy seemed to have left him, and he lay prone in the narrow way, only half-conscious of being very slowly dragged over rough stone for some time before the dizzy, helpless sensation passed off, and he struggled slightly.

"Let go!" he cried. "I must go back and tell them."

"No, my lad, I'll do that," said a familiar voice. "There's room to pass here. Think you can go on crawling up now?"

"Yes—yes, I'm all right. Did I faint?"

"I suppose so, sir. Wait a moment." There was a moment's pause, and then Gwyn heard the words bellowed out, "All clear! Got to them! Coming now."

There was a murmur at a distance, and then Vores spoke again,—

"I'm coming by you now. Are the others strong enough to crawl?"

"Yes," said Gwyn, faintly, for his heart was beating strangely now just when he felt that he ought to be at his strongest and best.

"You, there, Ydoll?" came loudly.

"Yes; all right," cried Gwyn. "Where's Sam Hardock?"

"Crawling up after me," came more loudly.

"Then I must go back," said Vores. "P'raps I'd better lead, Mr Gwyn."

"Yes, yes, go on, and we'll follow," said Gwyn, more faintly; and he felt the man pass him again, there being just room.

"Must go very slowly," said Vores, "because there's no room to turn for another fifty yards or so. Going backward takes time. Now, then, come on, all on you."

Once more Gwyn's dizzy feeling came back, but he struggled on, conscious that his rescuer's face was close to his—so close that at times their hands touched. Then, after what seemed to be a long nightmare journey, the man's words sounded clearer on his ears.

"It's wider here. Goes zigzagging along with one or two close nips, and then we're out to the crack in the cliff."

Gwyn did not reply. He felt that if he spoke his words would be wild and incoherent, and that all his strength was required to crawl along this terrible crevice in the rock. He was conscious of a hand touching his foot from time to time, and of hearing voices, and of passing over loose, small pieces of shattered rock which might have resulted from the explosion.

At last, after what seemed to be a terrible distance, a voice said, "Out of the way, dog," and directly after a cold wet nose touched his brow, and there was a snuffing sound at his ear, followed by a joyous barking. Then gradually all grew more dense and dark in his brain, and the next thing he remembered was being touched by hands, and feeling the contraction of a rope about his chest followed by a burst of cheering which seemed to take place far away down in the mine; for the roaring and whistling of the wind had ceased, so that he could hear distinctly that hurrahing; and then he heard nothing, for, strong in spirit while the danger lasted, that energy was all used now, and of what took place Gwyn Pendarve knew no more.



CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.

IN THE LIGHT.

"Yes, what is it? Who's there?"

"Oh, Gwyn, my boy, my boy!" came piteously; and two soft arms raised him from his pillow to hold him to a throbbing breast, while passionate lips pressed warm kisses on his face.

"Mother! You! What's the matter? Ah, I remember. You there, father? Where's Joe? Where's poor old Sam Hardock?"

"Joe Jollivet's in the next room, sleeping soundly; Sam Hardock's at Harry Vores' cottage getting right fast."

"And Tom Dinass? Where is he?" cried Gwyn.

"Dinass? Great heavens! Is he somewhere in the mine?"

"No," said Gwyn, frowning. "I only want to know where he is."

"Never mind about him," said the Colonel.

Gwyn nodded his head and became very thoughtful.

"There, you had better lie in bed to-day, and the effects of your terrible experience will pass off. We have suffered agonies since the alarm was given."

"Did the lads all escape?"

"Every man," said the Colonel; "but some of the last up were nearly drowned, for the water had risen to their necks at the foot of the shaft when they reached the man-engine."

"Grip came and told you where we were?" said Gwyn, after a pause.

"Yes, and led us to the opening up which he had come."

"Where was it, father?"

"In the face of the cliff—a mile away."

"What, overlooking the sea?"

"Yes, my boy, and the air was rushing out of it with tremendous force. It was a mere crack, and took a long time to open sufficiently for a man to pass in. But there, don't talk about it. We have passed through as terrible an experience as you, and it has nearly killed the Major."

Gwyn passed the greater part of the next twenty-four hours in sleep, and then woke up, and was very little the worse. He rose and went to Joe, who snatched at his hand, and then nearly broke down; but, mastering his emotion, he too insisted upon getting up; and soon after the two lads went on to the Major's, where the old officer was lying back in an easy-chair.

"Hah!" he cried, as he grasped the boys' hands; "now I shall be able to get better. This has nearly killed me, Joe, my boy; but I've been coming round ever since they found you."

"Tell us how it all was, father," said Joe, as he sat holding the Major's hand in his. "Colonel Pendarve always put me off when I asked him, and told me to wait."

"I'm ready to do the same, my boy, for it has been very horrible. But, thank heaven, only one life has been lost!"

"Has one man been drowned?" cried Gwyn, excitedly. "I thought everyone was saved."

"One man is missing, Gwyn—that man Dinass. They say he was hanging about the mine that day, and he has not been seen since, and I'm afraid he went down unnoticed. Oh, dear; I wish we had not engaged in this wild scheme; but it is too late to repent, and the poor fellow will never be found."

"Not when the mine is pumped out again, father?" said Joe.

"Pumped out? That will never be, my boy. The water must have broken into one of the workings which ran beneath the sea, and unless the breach could be found and stopped it would be impossible."

"Don't leave me for very long," said the Major, after they had sat with him some time; "but go for a bit—it will do you good."

The two lads went straight away to the mine, where the engineer was busy cleaning portions of the machinery, but ready enough to leave off and talk to them.

"Want to get my engines in good order, sir, so that they'll sell well, for they'll never be wanted again. Nay, sir, that mine'll never be pumped out any more. Sea's broke in somewhere beyond low-water mark. It's all over now."

"Do you think Tom Dinass was below?" said Gwyn.

"Yes, poor fellow. He's a man I never liked; but there, he never liked me. No one saw him go down, but he's never been seen since."

They left the silent mine—only so short a time back a complete hive of industry—and went on to Harry Vores' cottage, where the owner was busy gardening, and Sam Hardock was seated in the doorway sunning himself, but ready to try and rise on seeing the two lads, though he sank back with a groan.

"How are you, gen'lemen? How are you?" he cried cheerily. "Very glad to see you both about; I can't manage it yet. Water's got in my legs; but the sun's drying it out, and as soon as I can walk I'm going to see about that bit of business. You know."

"There drop it, Sam, old man," said Vores, who had left his gardening to come up and shake hands. "Glad to see you gentlemen. Been down by the mine? Looks sad, don't it, not to have the smoke rising and the stamps rattling?"

"Don't you interrupt," said Hardock. "I want to talk to the young masters about him. Have you told the guv'nors what I said about Tom Dinass?"

"'Course they haven't," said Vores. "He's got a crotchet in his head, gentlemen, that poor Tom Dinass made a hole, and let in the sea-water."

"Crotchet? Ah, I know, and so do they. I say he did it out o' spite."

"How?" said Vores, with a grim smile at the visitors.

"I don't say how," replied Hardock; "but if we knew we should find he sunk dinnymite somehow and fired it over one of the old workings."

"Struck a match and held it under water, eh?"

"Don't you talk about what you don't understand," said Hardock, sternly. "You ask the young gentlemen here if shots can't be fired under water with 'lectric shocks, or pulling a wire that will break bottles of acid and some kinds of salts."

"Well, if Tom Dinass did that," said Vores, sharply, "I hope he blew himself up as well; but it's all a crank of yours, old man. Tom Dinass never did that. Let the poor fellow alone where he lies, somewhere at the bottom of the mine."

"Ah, you'll see," said Hardock—"You give my dooty to your fathers, young gentlemen, and tell them I'd be glad to see them if they'd look in on me. I'd come up to them, as in dooty bound, but my legs won't go. I s'pose it's rheumatiz. I want to hear what they'll say."

"Do you think the mine can be pumped dry again, Sam?" said Gwyn, suddenly, "so as to get to work once more?"

"Do I think I could dive down among the breakers with a ginger-beer cork and a bit o' wire, and stop up the hole? No, I don't, sir. That mine— the richest nearly in all Cornwall—is dead, and killed by one man out o' spite."

Vores caught Gwyn's eye, gave him a peculiar look, and tapped his forehead; but Hardock caught the movement.

"Oh no, I arn't, Harry Vores. I'm no more cracked than you are; but I won't quarrel, for you and your wife have been very good to me, and you did a brave thing when you come down that hole and got us out."

"Yah!" cried Vores, "such stuff. Why, anyone would have done it. You would for me. There, I don't mean you're mad—only that you've got that crook in your mind about Tom Dinass. Well, it's a blessing the poor fellow had neither wife nor child to break their hearts about him."



CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

THE GENERAL WIND-UP.

The days wore on, and the Colonel and Major shook their heads at Sam Hardock when he made his accusation as to the cause of the catastrophe; while the captain went about afterward in an aggrieved way, for he could get no one to believe in his ideas. The Colonel and his partner took the advice of an expert, and in a short time it was announced that no effort would be made to pump the mine dry, a few hours' trial by way of test proving that the water could not be lowered an inch.

The work-people were all liberally paid off, and began to disperse, finding work at different mines; and after several consultations, the Colonel and his old brother officer being quite of the same mind, an interview was held with a well-known auctioneer, and the whole of the machinery was announced for sale.

Just about this period, without saying anything at home, Gwyn and Joe, who had passed a good deal of time beneath the cliffs at low-water, to try and find out anything suggestive of an attempt being made to destroy the mine by an explosive—finding nothing, however, but a few places where the rocks had been chipped down by the point—determined to examine the spot from which they had escaped by the help of Vores.

The latter being consulted, expressed his willingness to go, and Sam Hardock was asked to accompany them, but he shook his head.

"No," he said, "my legs are all right again; but there aren't nothing to be got by it, and I should advise you all not to go."

But another actor in the late adventures expressed his willingness to be of the party, and tore off at full speed one morning when, well provided with candles, matches and magnesium wire, they started off, following the edge of the cliff, till, about a mile west of the mine, Grip seemed to take a plunge into the sea and disappear.

"Knows his way again," said Vores, laughing; and upon the spot where the dog had disappeared being reached, a way down for some forty or fifty feet was found, close by which a narrow opening, with the debris lying about as the pieces had been chipped, met the eye.

On approaching this, Grip made his appearance, barking loudly, and then turned and went in again.

"Will you go first, sir?" said Vores; and Gwyn led, candles being lit as soon as they were a little way in.

They followed the descent for the most part on all-fours, and lastly by creeping and pushing the lanthorns on in front, till at last the long, low, sloping cavern was reached where so terrible a time had been passed.

The floor was littered with broken stones, the result of the shot that was fired, and for a few moments Gwyn knelt there listening, expecting to hear the hiss and roar of the wind dislodged by the pressure of the water; but the only sound heard was the rustling and panting of those who were following; and as soon as Joe was out they went together to the descent into the mine.

Here there was no way down farther than about twenty feet; then the water lay calm, smooth and black.

"It was higher than this when we were here, Joe," exclaimed Gwyn.

"Yes, right over the floor."

"Pressed up by the confined air, perhaps, gentlemen," said Vores; and with this explanation they had to be content.

"But about how high above the sea are we here, Vores?" said Gwyn.

"No height at all, sir. According to my calculation, as we came down, we are about sea-level, and the mine must be full."

They returned, bringing a few crystals as mementoes of their adventure; and that evening, when the Major was at the Cove house, Gwyn was about to bring the specimens out and relate where they had been that day, when the servant announced the comma of two visitors, and Messrs. Dix and Brownson, the solicitors, who seemed to be now on the most friendly terms, were shown in.

Their visit was soon explained. They had seen the announcement, they said, of the sale, and they thought it, would be a pity to remove all the machinery, as it was in position for carrying out the working of the mine.

Finally, they were there for the purpose of making the Colonel a liberal offer for the estate, house, mine, machinery, everything, as it stood.

Mr Dix was the chief speaker; and when he had finished, and stood smilingly expectant that the Colonel would jump at the offer, he was somewhat taken aback by the reply,—

"But I do not want to sell my estate. This has been my home, sir, for years."

"But as you wish to sell the machinery, my dear sir," said Mr Dix, "surely you would not mind parting with the mine now?"

"Indeed, but I should," said the Colonel.

"Then you will try and clear it, and commence work again?"

"Never, sir," said the Colonel, emphatically.

"Surely, then, you would not hinder others from adventuring upon what may prove a failure, but who are still willing to try?"

"Indeed, but I would, sir," said the Colonel. "The machinery will be sold for what it will fetch, and then I shall return to my old, calm, peaceful life."

"But, my dear sir," began Mr Brownson.

"Pray do not argue the matter, sir," said the Colonel, and at last the two solicitors went disappointed away. But in the three weeks which elapsed before the auction, four more applications were made, still without result, and then came the sale, months of work, and at last the whole of the appliances of the mine that could be got at were swept away.

It was about three months later that, one evening, the Major sat at a round table over which Colonel Pendarve presided, with divers books before him and a carefully-drawn-up balance-sheet, which he proceeded to read; Mrs Pendarve, Gwyn and Joe Jollivet being the other listeners. It was full of details, vouchers for all of which were in the books.

But Major Jollivet stopped him.

"Look here, Pendarve," he said; "the weather is going to change, or I have one of my fever fits coming on, so I don't want to be bothered. Look here, I joined you in this speculation, and it has turned out unfortunate. I trust you in every way, and I know that everything you have done is for the best. So just tell me in plain figures what is the amount of the deficit, and I will draw you a cheque for one-half. If it's too big a pull, Joe, you will have to go to work, and I into a smaller house. Now, then, please let me know the worst."

"Glad you take it so well," said the Colonel, frowning, and coughing to clear his voice, while Mrs Pendarve looked very anxious, and the lads exchanged glances.

"Ahem!" coughed the Colonel again. "Well, sir, in spite of the very favourable returns made by the mine, our expenses in commencing, for machinery, and the months of barren preparation, we are only—"

"Will you tell me the worst?" cried the Major, angrily.

"I will," said the Colonel; "the worst is, that after all we have paid and received, we now have standing in the bank the sum of twelve hundred pounds odd, which, being divided by two, means just over six hundred pounds apiece."

"Loss?" cried the Major.

"Gain," said the Colonel. "We worked the mine for the boys, so that money will just do for their preparation for the army, for they're fitter for soldiers than miners after all."

The Major had risen to his feet, and stood with his lips trembling.

"Am I dreaming?" he said.

"No, my dear old friend; very wide awake."

"Then I have not lost?"

"No; gained enough to pay well for Joe's education, and I stand just the same. Now, boys, a good training with an army coach, and then Sandhurst. What do you say?"

"Hurrah!" cried the boys in a breath; and when they repeated it their fathers joined in.

About a month later Grip was loose in the garden, and seeing some one approach, Gwyn rushed at the dog, seized him by the collar, and chained him up before turning back to meet—Tom Dinass, who was coming up to the house.

"You here—alive?" cried Gwyn.

"Seems like it, sir," said the man, grinning. "That there dorg's as nasty and savage as ever. Guv'nor in?"

"Yes, I'm here, sir," said the Colonel, who had seen the man approach. "Then you were not drowned in the mine?"

"Oh, no, I warn't drowned in the mine."

"Well, what is your business?"

"Would you mind taking me in where we sha'n't be heard?"

"No, sir; you can speak out here. I don't suppose you have anything to say that my son may not hear."

"Oh, very well, then, sir, it's this here. Old Dix—Loyer Dix—sent me here, ever so long ago, to spy out and report on your mine, and I did; and both Dix and Loyer Brownson, as they're partners now, finding it a likely spec, wanted to buy it, but you wouldn't sell, and worked it yourself."

"Well, sir, what of that?"

"Oh, only that they were disappointed, and they became friends after, and sent me here to get took on and report everything."

"Ah, I see," said the Colonel, quietly; "a spy in the camp."

"Yes, sir," said the man, grinning.

"And you reported everything to them?"

"Yes, sir, o' course; they paid me to, and so I did."

"And took our money, too!" said Gwyn, indignantly.

"Oh, but I worked for that, Mr Gwyn, sir, and worked hard."

"Exactly," said the Colonel, smiling; and seeing that it was apparently taken as a good joke, Dinass grinned widely.

"Then they got more and more disappointed as they found out what a prize they'd let slip through their fingers; and at last got so wild that, when I went to report to 'em one Sunday, they asked me if I couldn't do something to spoil your game."

"On a Sunday, eh?" said the Colonel.

"Oh, yes, it was on a Sunday, sir. So I said I'd try and think it out; and at last I did, and went and told 'em I thought I could let the water in and spoil the mine, and then they'd be able to buy it cheap."

"And what did they say?"

"Oh, they both coughed and rubbed their hands, and said it would be too shocking a thing to do, and that I should be bringing myself under the law, and all on in that way, pretending like to make me feel that they didn't want me to do it, but egging me on all the time."

"Ah, I see," said the Colonel, while Gwyn's teeth gritted together with rage.

"I wasn't going to shilly-shally, so I ast 'em downright if I should do it, and 'Oh, dear no,' says they, they couldn't think of such a thing; and little Dix says, 'Of course, as we promised, if we had succeeded in buying the mine for our company through your reports we should have given you the situation of captain of the working and a hundred pounds; but we couldn't think of encouraging such criminal ideas as those you 'mulgated. Let me see,' he says, 'it was to be a hundred pounds, warn't it?'

"'Yes,' I says, 'it was.'

"'Exactly,' he says, 'but we haven't got the mine, so we wish you good-morning,' which was like renewing the offer in an underhanded way. So I come back and did it."

"How?" burst in Gwyn.

"Easy enough, sir. Found out where the highest gallery ran, stuck a big tin o' stuff over it, and set it off with a little 'lectric machine on the rocks. I knowed everybody would soon get out."

"Oh!" ejaculated Gwyn.

"Be quiet, my boy. Very clever and ingenious, Mr Dinass; and we thought you were drowned."

"Me, sir? No, I knew a trick worth two of that."

"But may I ask why you have come to me now after ruining our property?"

"Why, because they've chucked me over, sir. They say I insult them by thinking they would ever do such a thing. That was when I went and asked 'em for my money. Last thing was, when I told 'em it was their doing, and they set me at it, they said I were trying to blackmail 'em— that they never thought I meant such a thing, and that if I warn't off they'd hand me over to the police."

"Exactly like them," said the Colonel.

"Yes, sir, just like 'em. I call it mean, and I told 'em so, and that if they threatened me I'd speak out and let people know the truth. And I says at last, 'I give you a month to think over it; and if you don't give me my hundred pounds then, I shall blow the whole business, and how do you like that?'"

"And what did Mr Dix say?"

"'Brownson,' he says, 'send for a policeman at once.'"

"Yes, just what he would say," said the Colonel, while Gwyn wished fervently he had not tied up Grip.

"Yes, sir, that's what he said; but I give 'em rope, and I've been again and again; and last time they let me see that all the blame should be on me and none on them, for no one would believe that loyers like them could do wrong, while everyone would think bad of me. Last of all they ordered me off, and after thinking it over a bit I've come to you, sir."

"What for?" said the Colonel.

"Why, for you to go to law with them for spoiling your mine. You've only got to start it, and I'll come and swear to it all, and you can get them transported. Don't you be afraid, sir; I'll come and speak out, and then—"

"I'm to give you a hundred pounds, I suppose?"

"Well, sir," said the man, grinning, "I must have it out o' some one. But don't you be afraid; I'll bring it home to 'em sharp. Now what do you say?"

"This," cried the Colonel; "I'm too old, and my son is too young, to horsewhip such a scoundrel as you are. Be off my premises at once, sir; and if you dare to come here again, old as I am, or young as he is, we'll try."

"What?" cried Dinass, in a bullying tone.

"Gwyn, my boy," said the Colonel, calmly, "go and unloose Grip."

The words acted like magic, and they never saw Tom Dinass again, for in consultation with his old partner and friend it was decided that nothing was to be gained by a prosecution. The mining was over, they were as happy without it, and life was not long enough to punish scoundrels who had lost already in their nefarious game.

"But, oh!" cried Gwyn, "I only wish he had stopped till I had let loose Grip."

THE END.