"What is your name?" "Jo." "Jo what?" "Jo." He detected a look of fright in her blue eyes. "Would you like to leave this place?" "No!" With a gasp Jo dropped her eyes and sorted with increased speed. Jonathan thought of the fluttering canaries. "Would you like a holiday, Jo?" She did not answer. Her face was white and her breath jerked. "Better leave her alone, sir," said Tom; "you're getting her all upset. Come. I'll show you the mine." Heartsick, he left the squat building through a tunnel which led into the cliff. Tom switched on a flashlight. By the aid of its beam they scrambled down a long incline. The air was thick and fetid; walls dripped with icy moisture. "What's that?" A shuffling sound nearby had startled him. "One of the miners, sir. They don't need lights any more; they seem to feel or smell the vein of Lapis. Look." He swung the beam to disclose a naked horror which was scrabbling at the end of the tunnel with a crowbar. The creature snarled through a matted beard and hid its eyes. "The miners only come out after dark," said Tom. "They've almost lost the power of sight.... Look out--here comes an ore car." He dragged his master aside as a loaded car trundled out of the depths and skittered by them on rickety wheels, pushed by another monster. "Good Lord," panted Jonathan. "Get me out of here before I go mad. This air...." "The pumps aren't adequate, sir. Your father was going to install new ones, but the miners don't seem bothered by the foulness. The air may become highly explosive. That's why we keep the canaries. But since the miners have stopped using lights...." He plodded toward the surface while his master walked close beside him as the one remaining link to the world of reality. Back in the factory workroom at last, Jonathan mounted a bench and shouted for attention. The belt flapped idly on; work continued. Most of the laborers lifted their eyes to stare at him dully. "I am the new master," he yelled above the din. "I do not want you to work on Sunday. Turn off the power; go home. Come back tomorrow. This is the day of rest." The belt flapped on. Most of them gaped at him without comprehension. In a far corner, however, an ancient and twisted man rose from his bench and started fumbling at his leather apron. After half a minute another followed his example. "No!" Another voice, harsh and sharp as a steel file, cut through the uproar. "Work! Work! Is the Law! God say: 'By the sweat of brow!' Work! Ye ken?" It was the cadaverous individual with the snarl who was speaking. "Ye ken?" "We ken!" The answer came in chorus, like a ragged thunderclap. The old man refastened his apron and sat down again, as did his companion. The belt flapped. "Now look here!" Jonathan was furious. "I said...." "It's no use, sir." Tom was plucking at his sleeve. "You might as well talk to the Lapis, now; come." * * * * *