"Be quiet, Blase," she interrupted, the flash in her eye, the hot flush upon her cheek, rendering her for the moment almost more than beautiful. "We will understand one another at once, and finally. To talk of such a thing as 'love,' or 'care,' to me is worse than useless. My path lies one way, your path lies another: it will not be my fault if they ever cross each other again." "You do not mean this," he said, after a pause. "I do mean it. I used to mean it: as you know. I shall mean it always." "Have you heard that Raynor is married?" asked Blase. "Yes," she answered in constrained tones, her flushed cheek fading to whiteness. "Then, perhaps, as he is out of our way, you will think of me, Rosaline. If not now----" "Neither now nor ever, Blase. Do not deceive yourself." With a quick movement, she evaded his outstretched hand that would have sought to detain her, and ran up the stairs. Leaving Mr. Blase Pellet excessively discomfited: but not as much so as a less hopeful swain would have been. "It was a little too soon to speak," reasoned he with himself: "I must wait a while." Of all the scenes connected with Bell's disappearance and his recovery, none caused more excitement than that of the funeral. It was fixed for a late hour--six o'clock in the afternoon. This was to enable the pitmen to be present. The Reverend Titus Backup made no sort of objection to it. Had they settled it for midnight, he had been equally agreeable. The hour for the interment came, and people flocked to it from far and near. Not only did the local miners attend, but also gangs of men from more distant mines. Mr. Backup had never seen such a crowd in his life. Near the grave a small space was left for Mrs. Bell and the other mourners; but in the churchyard and adjacent parts; including a portion of the Bare Plain, the spectators thronged. Rosaline was not there. Blase was. In right of his relationship to the Pellets of Falmouth, Blase had been invited to the funeral; and made one of the mourners, with a flow of crape to his hat. Whether Rosaline had meant to make one also did not clearly appear, though no one thought of doubting it; but just before the time of starting, she was seized with a fainting-fit: not quite losing consciousness, but lying back powerless in her chair, and looking white as death. Nancy Tomson, who was to be of the procession, was the first to recognize the dilemma it placed them in. "Whaat es to be done?" she cried. "It willna never do to keep _him_, and the paarson, and they folks waiting; but she caan't walk like thic!" "Him" applied to poor Bell. At least, to what remained of him. For the convenience of the inquest and other matters, he had been placed in a shelter bordering the Bare Plain, partly room, partly shed, when first brought up from the pit, and had not been removed from it. It was there that the mourners would meet the coffin and attend it to the church.