The road on which he found himself, being the main heading or highway of the pit, was a good wide one. It was even possible to stand upright in it. Here and there, however, it was partially blocked by falls of coal caused by the explosion, and over one of these his guide put out his hand to assist him. Lindo’s lamp was by this time burning low. The pitman silently took it and raised the wick, a grim smile distorting his face as he handed it back. “You will be about the first of the gentry,” he muttered, “as has been down this pit without paying his footing.” Lindo took the words for a hint, and was shocked by the man’s insensibility. “My good fellow,” he answered, “if that is all, you shall have what you like another time. But for heaven’s sake let us think of these poor fellows now.” The man turned on him and swore furiously. “Do you think I meant that?” he cried, with another violent oath. The rector recoiled, not at the sound of the man’s profanity, but in disgust at his own mistake. Then he held out his hand. “My man,” he said, “I beg your pardon. It was I who was wrong.” The giant looked at him with another stare, but made no answer, and a dozen steps brought them to another cabin. Across the doorway—there was no door—hung a rough curtain of matting. This the man raised, and, holding his lamp over the threshold, invited the rector to look in. “I guess,” he added significantly, “that you would not have made that mistake, master, after seeing this.” Lindo peered in. On the floor, which was little more than six feet square, lay four quiet figures, motionless, and covered with coarse sacking. No human eye falling on them could have taken them for anything but what they were. The visitor shuddered, as his guide let the curtain fall again and muttered with a backward jerk of the head, “Two of them I came down with this morning—in the cage.” The rector had nothing to answer, and the man, preceding him to a cabin a few yards farther on, invited him by a sign to enter, and himself turned back the way they had come. A faint moaning warned Lindo, before he raised the matting, what he must expect to see. Instinctively, as he stepped in, his eyes sought the floor; and although three pitmen crouching upon one of the benches rose and made way for him, he hardly noticed them, so occupied was he with pitiful looking at the two men lying on coarse beds on the floor. They were bandaged and muffled almost out of human form. One of them was rolling his sightless face monotonously to and fro, pouring out an unceasing stream of delirious talk. The other, whose bright eyes met the newcomer’s with eager longing, paused in the murmur which seemed to ease his pain, and whispered, “Doctor!” so hopefully that the sound went straight to Lindo’s heart.