"Walter, there has been an explosion in the mine--a fearful explosion; the shaft has fallen in; there is no getting access to the mine, and all the poor souls confined there are in mortal peril. Those who are best acquainted with the mine do not think that many of them have been destroyed by the ruin, but they tell me these explosions let loose poisonous gases, and so now those poor souls are all exposed to three deadly perils--choke-damp, fire-damp, and starvation." "It's pitiable," said Walter, "but surely this is a calamity to Bartley, and to the poor miners, but not to any one that I love, and that you have learnt to respect." "My son," said the Colonel, solemnly, "the mine was fired by foul play." "Is it possible?" "It is believed that some rival owner, or else some personal enemy of William Hope, bribed a villain to fire some part of the mine that Hope was inspecting." "Great heavens!" said Walter, "can such villains exist? Poor, poor Mr. Hope: who would think he had an enemy in the world?" "Alas!" said the Colonel, "that is not all. His daughter, it seems, over-heard the villain bribing the ruffian to commit this foul and terrible act, and she flew to the mine directly. She dispatched some miners to seize that hellish villain, and she went down the mine to save her father." "Ah!" said Walter, trembling all over. "She has never been seen since." The Colonel's head sank for a moment on his breast. Walter groaned and turned pale. "She came too late to save him; she came in time to share his fate." Walter sank into a chair, and a deadly pallor overspread his face, his forehead, and his very lips. The Colonel rushed to the door and called for help, and in a moment John Baker and Mrs. Milton and Julia Clifford were round poor Walter's chair with brandy and ether and salts, and every stimulant. He did not faint away; strong men very seldom do at any mere mental shock. The color came slowly back to his cheeks and his pale lips, and his eyes began to fill with horror. The weeping women, and even the stout Colonel, viewed with anxiety his return to the full consciousness of his calamity. "Be brave," cried Colonel Clifford; "be a soldier's son; don't despair; fight: nothing has been neglected. Even Bartley is playing the man; he has got another engine coming up, and another body of workmen to open the new shaft as well as the old one." "God bless him!" said Walter. "And I have an experienced engineer on the road, and the things civilians always forget--tents and provisions of all sorts. We will set an army to work sooner than your sweetheart, poor girl, shall lose her life by any fault of ours." "My sweetheart," cried Walter, starting suddenly from his chair. "There, don't cling to me, women. No man shall head that army but I. My sweetheart! God help me--SHE'S MY WIFE." CHAPTER XXII. REMORSE.