Following close after the miner Warren Jones entered the breast, and directly behind him was Jack Hobson. The light from their lamps dazzled the eyes that for three days had lived in a darkness as absolute as though no light existed in the universe. Turning them away from the light, the prisoners listened eagerly for the voices of their deliverers. The first words they heard were from the mine boss, the man on whom they had depended, and who they knew had planned and carried out their rescue. "Are you all here, men?" "There's nine of us." "And all alive?" "All alive yet, thank God; though Boodle, poor lad, is wellnigh gone." "Where is Derrick Sterling?" "Here I am, sir," came a weak but well-known voice from back in the darkness. Before Mr. Jones could locate it, the young man who had followed him so closely into the breast sprang to the side of the lad, and seizing his hand, exclaimed, "Derrick Sterling, you are a splendid fellow, and this is one of the very happiest moments of my life!" "Who are you?" asked Derrick, faintly. "My name is Allan McClain," was the answer, "and if you will give me your friendship I shall consider it an honor to be proud of." Trying weakly to return the hand-pressure of the young stranger, Derrick answered, "He who has come to our rescue at the risk of his own life must indeed be my friend!" Then the mine boss found them, and saying, "Drink this, my poor, brave lad," gave him a cup of rich warm soup, that had been made nearly an hour before, and kept warm over a spirit-lamp in the boat, just outside the heading. It filled the boy with new life, and when he and the others had drank of it all that was allowed them, they felt strong enough to crawl out through the heading. Derrick was the first to go and the first to be drawn up the slope, supported in the car by the young man to whom he had just given his friendship. As they approached the blessed sunlight, and the weary lad caught its first gleam, still far above him, he pressed the hand of his companion, and could do nothing but gaze at it. Could it be the very light of day that he had longed for and prayed for and despaired of ever seeing again? He knew it must be, but it seemed almost too glorious to be real. When they reached the surface, the light that had roused such a tumult of feeling within him revealed two great tears coursing slowly down through the grime of his hollow cheeks. The excitement over Paul Evert's appearance was as nothing compared with that aroused by the sight of Derrick Sterling. Had not his name been a household word throughout the land for days? Was he not a brave fellow whom they all loved? Could they cheer loud enough or long enough to do him honor, and testify their joy at his deliverance? It did not seem as though they could; and poor Derrick stood before them, trembling with strong emotion, without knowing which way to turn or look.