Richard made an effort to rise, and stood tottering on his feet, speechless with the reaction from the horror through which he had passed, while Banks crossed to where Daisy was beginning to recover from her swoon. "Poor bairn!" he said softly; "and I should ha' slain thee too. Get up, Miss Eve, and some day you may pray for and forgive me." He turned the light full upon her as she rose to her knees, then covered her eyes, for the light dazzled her. "Where am I?" she cried; then, as recollection flashed back, she started up with a cry of "Father--father!" Joe Banks stood motionless for a few moments, staring wildly at what seemed to him like some horrible vision; and it was not until Daisy rose to her feet that he fully realised what he had so nearly achieved; then the lantern dropped from his hand; he clasped his temples with his sinewy hands, and uttered a hoarse cry that echoed through the gloomy place-- "My God!" As the words left his lips he turned slightly, and fell heavily upon the ground, just as there were shouts, the rush of feet; and, bearing lights, a couple of policemen, Tom, Harry, and about a dozen of the tradespeople, headed by the vicar, rushed into the place. Volume 3, Chapter XIII. A PERIL PAST. "Thank Heaven, we're in time," exclaimed the vicar. "Back, every man with lights," he shouted; "there's a train." There was a rush back for the entrance, but the vicar stood firm, and, taking one of the policemen's lanterns, he cautiously stepped forward, tracing the train, and scattering it with his feet till he saw the heap that had trickled from the opened kegs. "Keep your places with the lights," he cried. "Harry! Tom! buckets of water, quick!" Half-a-dozen started for the yard, where there was a large iron tank outside the door, and bucketsful were brought in rapidly, with which, while the vicar lighted them, Tom and Harry deluged the heap of powder. "There's no danger now," said the vicar, as the ground was saturated in every direction. "Good heavens! what a diabolical attempt." And not till now was attention drawn to Richard Glaire, who sat upon a block of metal, watching the actions of those around him, as their lights feebly illumined the great, gloomy place. He was white as ashes, trembling as if stricken with the palsy; and when spoken to stared vacantly at the vicar. "Are you hurt, Mr Glaire?" he said kindly. For answer, Richard burst into an hysterical fit of sobbing, and cried like a child. "Fetch a little brandy, some one," said the vicar. "He will be better after this. He must have had some terrible shock. Who is this?" he continued, directing his light to where Banks lay insensible, with the blood trickling from a cut upon his forehead, where he had struck it against a rough piece of slag in falling. "It's Joe Banks," growled Harry, as the vicar knelt down and quickly bandaged the wound.