“Oh no,” said Grace, “that would be too horrible.  Whatever should we do?”

“Keep him to his own side, that is all,” said Hope.

“But,” objected Grace in dismay, “if he is mad, he won’t listen, and he will come here and attack me.”

“If he does,” said Hope, simply, “I must kill him, that’s all.”

Burnley, however, in point of fact, kept more and more aloof for many hours; he never left his work till he laid bare the whole body of that miner, and found a pickaxe in his dead hand.  This he hid, and reserved it for deadly uses; he was not clear in his mind whether to brain Hope with it, and so be revenged on him for having shut him up in that mine, or whether to peck a hole in the tank and destroy all three by a quicker death than thirst or starvation.  The savage had another and more horrible reason for keeping out of sight; maddened by thirst he had recourse to that last extremity better men have been driven to; he made a cut with his clasp-knife in the breast of the dead miner, and tried to swallow jellied blood.

This horrible relief never lasts long, and the penalty follows in a few hours; but in the meantime the savage obtained relief, and even vigor, from this ghastly source, and seeing Hope and his daughter lying comparatively weak and exhausted, he came and sat down at a little distance in front of them:  that was partly done to divert Hope from examining his shambles and his unnatural work.

“Maister,” said he, “how long have we been here?”

“Six days and more,” said Hope.

“Six days,” said Grace, faintly, for her powers were now quite exhausted—­“and no signs of help, no hope of rescue.”

“Do not say so, Grace.  Rescue in time is certain, and, therefore, while we live there is hope.”

“Ay,” said Burnley, “for you tew but not for me.  Yow telt the men that I fired t’ mine, and if one of those men gets free they’ll all tear me limb from jacket.  Why should I leave one grave to walk into another?  But for yow I should have been away six days agone.”

“Man,” said Hope, “can not you see that my hand was but the instrument? it was the hand of Heaven that kept you back.  Cease to blame your victims, and begin to see things as they are and to repent.  Even if you escape, could the white faces ever fade from your sight, or the dying shrieks ever leave your ear, of the brave men you so foully murdered?  Repent, monster, repent!”

Burnley was not touched, but he was scared by Hope’s solemnity, and went to his own corner muttering, and as he crouched there there came over his dull brain what in due course follows the horrible meal he had made—­a feverish frenzy.

In the meantime Grace, who had been lying half insensible, raised her head slowly and said, in a low voice, “Water, water!”

“Oh, my girl,” said Hope, in despair, “I’ll go and get enough to moisten your lips; but the last scrap of food has gone, the last drop of oil is burning away, and in an hour we shall be in darkness and despair.”