Then Burnley came in, but stood at some distance. Bartley turned his back upon them both, and edged away from them a little; but Monckton stood between the two men, determined to bring them together. "Ben," said he, "Mr. Bartley takes you on again at my request, no thanks to Mr. Hope." "No, curse him; I know that." "Talking of that, Ben, how was it that you got rid of that troublesome overseer in the Welsh colliery?" Ben started, and looked aghast for a moment, but soon recovered himself and told his tale of blood with a strange mixture of satisfaction and awe, washing his hands in the air nervously all the time. "Well, you see, sir, we put some gun-cotton in a small canister, with a fuse cut to last fowr minutes, and hid it in one of the old workings the men had left; then they telt t' overseer they thowt t' water was coming in by quickly. He got there just in time; and what with t' explosion, fire-damp, and fallen coal, we never saw t' over-seer again." "Dear me," said Monckton, "and Mr. Hope has gone down the mine expressly to inspect old workings. Is it not a strange coincidence? Now if such an accident was to befall Mr. Hope, it's my belief Mr. Bartley would give you five hundred pounds." Bartley made no reply, the perspiration was pouring down his face, and he looked a picture of abject guilt and terror. Monckton looked at him, and decided for him. He went softly, like a cat, to Ben Burnley and said, "If an accident does occur, and that man never comes up again, you are to have five hundred pounds." "Five hundred pounds!" shouted Ben. "I do t' job. Nay, _nay_, but," said he, and his countenance fell, "they will not let me go down the mine." The diabolical agent went cat-like to Bartley. "Please give me a written order to let this man go to work again in the mine." Bartley trembled and hesitated, but at last took out his pocket-book and wrote on a leaf, "Take Burnley on again. "R. BARTLEY." Whilst writing it his hand shook, and when it was written he would not tear it out. He panted and quivered and was as pale as ashes, and said, "No, no, it's a death-warrant; I can not;" and his trembling hand tried to convey the note-book back to his pocket, but it fell from his shaking fingers, and Monckton took it up and quietly tore the leaf out, and took it across to Burnley, in spite of a feeble gesture the struggling wretch made to detain him. He gave Ben the paper, and whispered, "Be off before he changes his mind." "You'll hear of an accident in the mine before the day is over," said Burnley, and he went off without a grain of remorse under the double stimulus of revenge and lucre. "He'll do it," cried Monckton, triumphantly, "and Hope will end his days in the Bartley mine." * * * * *