“Oh, father,” cried Louise, as she clung to him and buried her head on his breast, sobbing wildly, “don’t speak to me so harshly! It will kill me! Have I not,” said she, between her sobs, “stood by you and believed [230] with you, though all others, unless it was Mr. Gilder, turned against you? I believe now that you are right, father, but it may be deeper down, and I was only trying to make the disappointment less hard in case disappointment should again be the result of our efforts.” “There, there, little girl,” said the Colonel, stroking her head affectionately, “I do forgive yo’, and yo’ must forgive yo’r old, excitable father. Let us put in the powdeh; let us make the last blast, and let its resoundin’ peals tell the whole world that we’ve done our best!” “Yes, father; that we have indeed done our utmost; and after this blast we will go home and still have faith in Gray Rocks, though the whole world disbelieves.” “We have plenty of powdeh here,” said the old Colonel, picking up the can, “to tear ten tons of rock into shreds.” The fuse was lighted and they retired for protection until the powder should ignite. Presently there was a deafening roar, as if the mountains were being split asunder. The Colonel grasped his daughter’s hand with such a vise-like grip that it almost made her cry out with pain. “The last blast!” shouted the old Colonel, when the reverberations had ceased, “the smoke will soon clear away, and then we shall see, yes, suh, we shall see!” CHAPTER XXVI.—A STARTLING EDITORIAL. 9239 ANCE knew [231] nothing of Colonel Bonifield’s discouraging labors in the mine. Indeed, he had been so busy with other matters that he had not found time to call on the Bonifield’s for over a week—a very unusual occurrence. A few days prior to Louise’s experience in her father’s mine, Vance had been routed up by some one knocking on his window in the middle of the night. It proved to be none other than the missing Hank Casey, accompanied by Marcus Donald of Waterville. A consultation that lasted several hours followed. An understanding was finally reached, and it was agreed that Hank Casey should remain concealed during the daytime in Vance’s room, and await developments. “I may be laying myself liable to the law,” said Vance, laughingly, “in concealing a man for whom a warrant has been issued, but, nevertheless, I believe what you tell me, and on our mutual friend, Marcus Donald’s advice, I shall act my part unflinchingly.” “Of course,” said Marcus Donald, “it’s none of my affairs in one sense of the word, but when Mr. Casey came to Waterville, having walked all the way from Gold Bluff by a circuitous route, in order to avoid meeting any [232] one, and told me that Mr. Gibbons was about to be unjustly arrested for murder, I at once became interested, especially with Mr. Casey’s knowledge of the affair.”