Wives and mothers, sweethearts and sisters, oh, what a hell of torture they suffered in those few tense moments whilst waiting for the news, which, though to a great extent it may relieve many, must break at least one heart.  No man, having once seen this, ever wants to witness it again.  Concentrated hell and torture with every moment, stabbing and pulling at each heart and then—­then the sad, mournful face of Andrew Marshall as he steps forward slowly past Mag Robertson, past Jean Fleming, past Jenny Maitland, past them all, and at last putting a kindly hand on the shoulder of Nellie Sinclair, he says, with a catch in his voice that would break a heart of granite:  “Come awa’ hame, Nellie.  Come awa’ hame.  Ye’ll need to bear up.”

Then it is whispered round:  “It’s Geordie Sinclair killed wi’ a fa’.”  And hope has died, and dreams have fled, and the world will never again look bonnie and fresh and sweet and full of happiness, nor the blood dance so joyously, nor the eyes ever again sparkle with the same soft loving glance.

No more happy evenings, such as the night before had been, when the glamor and romance of courtship days had come back, and they had found a new beauty of love and the glory of life, in the easier circumstances and rosy hopes ahead.

Misery and suffering, and the long keen pain, the sad cheerless prospect, and over all the empty life and the broken heart.

Lowwood was plunged into gloom when the news of the accident was known, and every heart went out in sympathy to Nellie Sinclair and her young family.  It was indeed a terrible blow to lose at one and the same time her husband and her eldest boy.

It was two days later, and the bodies had not yet been recovered.  Men toiled night and day, working as only miners fighting for life can work, risking life among the continually falling debris to recover all that remained of their comrades.

“It couldna ha’e been worse,” said Jenny Maitland sorrowfully to her next door neighbor.  “It’s an awfu’ blow.”

“Ay,” rejoined her neighbor, applying the corner of her apron to her eyes.  “It mak’s it worse them no’ bein’ gotten yet.  I think I’d gae wrang in the mind if that happened to our yin,” and then, completely overcome, she sat down on the doorstep and sobbed in real sorrow.

“I suppose it’s an awfu’ big fall.  He had been workin’ on the top o’ some auld workin’s, an’ I suppose they wadna ken, an’ it fell in.  It maun hae been an awfu’ trial for wee Rob, poor wee man.  His first day in the pit, an’ his father an’ brither killed afore his een!”

“Hoo has Nellie taken it, Jenny?” enquired the neighbor, after a little, when her sobs had subsided.

“Ye’d break yir heart if ye could see her,” replied Jenny sorrowfully.  “I gaed owre when oor yin gaed out wi’ the pieces—­he cam’ hame at fower o’clock to get mair pieces, for they’re goin’ to work on to ten the nicht—­an’ I never saw onything sae sad-lookin’ as her face.  She has never cried the least thing yet.  Never a tear has come frae her, but she’d be better if she could greet.”