seem to hear himself; but even the grey dawn of the morning, brightening over the rounded outlines of the mountains, did not awaken him from his trance of terror and bewilderment.  Miss Anne kept near to him all night, and Stephen lingered about her, making a seat for her upon the grass, and taking care that Martha also should be at hand to wait upon her.  There was a great buzzing of people about them, hurrying to and fro; and every now and then they heard different conjectures as to how the fire began.  But it was not, generally known that the constables from Longville and Botfield had contrived to arrest Black Thompson and Davies in the midst of the confusion, and had quietly taken them off to the jail at Longville.  When the daylight grew strong, it shone upon a smouldering mass of ruins, and heaps of broken furniture piled upon the down-trodden grass.  The master had grown aged in that one night, and he gazed helplessly about him, as if for some one to direct and guide him.  He no longer refused to quit the place, only he would not trust himself anywhere near Botfield; and as soon as a carriage could be procured, he and Miss Anne were driven off to Longville.  There was nothing more to wait for now; and Stephen went quietly home to breakfast in the cinder-hill cabin.

It was a good deal later than usual that morning when the engineman at the works sent down the first skip-load of colliers into the pit.  Four of their number were absent, but that excited no surprise after the events of the night; and even Bess Thompson supposed her father had gone off to the public-house with the others.  But what was the amazement of the colliers when they found Tim at the bottom of the shaft, fiercely hungry after his night’s fasting, and as fiercely anxious to hear what had been taking place overhead.  He had the prudence, however, to listen to their revelations without making any of his own, and would not even explain how he came to be left behind in the pit.  He went up in the ascending skip, and, escaping from the curiosity of the people on the bank, he darted as straight as an arrow to Stephen’s cabin.

‘I’m nigh clemmed,’ were his first words, as he seized the brown loaf and cut off a slice, which he devoured ravenously.  ’It seems like a year,’ he continued; ’thee’lt never catch me being left behind anywhere again.  Eh, Stephen, lad! many a time I shouted for fear I’d never see daylight again; it’s awful down there in the night.  Thee hears them as thee can’t see punning agen the coal; and then there comes a downfall like a clap of thunder.  I wasn’t so much afeared of little Nan:  she never did any harm when she was alive; and I thought God was too good to send her out of heaven just to terrify a poor lad like me.’

‘But how did thee get left behind?’ asked Martha.