"Is--Paul--Evert--alive?" and with ear held against the wet wall he breathlessly awaits the answer. "Yes." The word is enough, and with the fury and strength of a giant he again attacks the wall. He pays no attention to the relief who is ready to take his place. He knows nothing, cares for nothing, save that his boy is waiting for him beyond those few inches of crumbling coal. At last his pick strikes through. A few more desperate strokes and the barrier is broken away. He springs into the breast. Another instant and his crippled lad, whom he had thought never to see again, is strained to his heart, and the burly miner is sobbing like a child. CHAPTER XIX RESTORED TO DAYLIGHT In the overwhelming joy of the moment, Tom Evert had no thought save for the son whom he had snatched from the very gates of death. He was absolutely unconscious of the presence of another human being in the breast, nor did the broken words of blessing and gratitude uttered by the faint-voiced miners find their way to his ear. His instinct was to get his lad out from that stifling, foul-aired place, and, still holding him in his arms, he crawled back through the heading, was borne swiftly across the waters from which he had snatched their prey, and drawn up the slope. As he stepped from the car at its mouth, and they saw what it was he bore so tenderly and proudly, a mighty cheer went up from the assembled throng. Another and another. They were wild with joy. The long suspense was over, the terrible strain was relaxed, and they gave way to their feelings. Suddenly they noticed that the drooping head of the lad was not lifted from the broad shoulder on which it rested. His arms hung limp and lifeless. A great silence came over the multitude. They stood awe-stricken, as in the presence of death, and pressing aside in front of the advancing miner, they made way for him to pass. Still bearing his burden, unconscious of all besides, and looking neither to the right nor to the left, Tom Evert passed through the human lane thus formed, and went home--home to the rude, unpainted house in which Paul was born, and which, during the darkness and despair of the past five days, had been a constant picture before his mind's eye--home to the mother whose tenderest love has ever been for her crippled boy. Home! Although Tom Evert, with eyes and ears only for his own, had no thought of the others for whom he had broken open the prison door, there was no lack of warm hearts and willing hands to help them.