Claude looked up at him wildly, but there was so much respectful deference in his manner that she could say nothing. In fact, her thoughts were all with the suffering man and woman--the victims of this deplorable mishap. It was nearly half-a-mile along the rough cliff road; and it was traversed in silence, Claude being too much agitated to say more. The scene was easy enough to find when they were approaching the place, for a knot of rough quarry workmen were gathered round a clean-looking, white-washed cottage, from out of whose open door came the harsh tones of a man's voice, while the crowd parted left and right, and several placed the short black pipes they were smoking hurriedly in their pockets. Claude had nearly reached the door when the words which were being uttered within the cottage seemed to act like a spell, arresting her steps and making her half turn shuddering away, as they seemed to lash her, so keenly and cuttingly they fell. "Curse you! curse you! It's all your doing. You've murdered me. Sarah, my girl, he has done for me at last." Gartram's voice was heard in low, deep, muttering tones, as if in reproof; but the injured man's voice overbore it directly, sounding shrill and harsh from agony as he cried,-- "Let every one outside hear it. Hark ye, lads, I wanted to use the dinnymite, but he made me use the cursed old powder again, and he has murdered me." "My good man," said a fresh voice, which sounded clear in the silence, "you must be calm. It was a terrible accident." "Nay, doctor, it's his doing; it's his meanness. I wanted him to use the dinnymite, and he would keep to powder. He has murdered me." There was a low groan, and then a terrible cry; and as Glyddyr mentally pictured the scene within, of the doctor dressing the injuries, he turned to the trembling girl beside him. "Miss Gartram," he whispered, "this is no place for you. There is plenty of help. Let me see you home." She shook her head as she looked at him wildly, and, making a deprecating gesture, Glyddyr turned to one of the men. "Is he very bad?" he whispered. "Blowed a'most to bits," said the man in a hoarse whisper. "Did the powder go off too soon?" "It warn't powder at all," said the man, as Gartram stepped quickly out of the cottage. "It were the dinnymite. He would use it, and he warn't used to its ways." It was evident from the peculiar tightening of Gartram's lips that he had heard the man's words; and he turned back and re-entered the cottage, for his name was sharply pronounced within. Then there was another groan, and the injured man cried,-- "Don't, don't; you're killing me." At that moment a thin, keen-looking woman of about thirty rushed out of the cottage, her eyes wild and staring, and her face blanched, while her hands and apron were horribly stained. "I can't bear it," she cried; "I can't bear it!" and she flung herself upon her knees in the stony road, and covered her face with her hands, sobbing hysterically.