But when he reached his office next day, he told Masters to get him his will from the safe. With trembling fingers he tore it across, threw the pieces in the fire and watched it burn. Then he said quietly, “I must make a new will, Masters. But to whom shall I leave my money? There is no one to follow me now.” Suddenly he took up pen and paper and wrote hurriedly. “Fetch a clerk, Masters,” said he, and when a clerk appeared he added quietly, “I want you both to witness my signature to my will,” and with firm fingers wrote his name, and passed the paper over to Masters, making no effort to hide what he had written. And Masters’ eyes grew dim as he read— “Everything I possess to the ‘Miners’ Fund’ for widows and orphans, rendered such by accidents in the mine.” * * * * * When Alan recovered from the shock of the explosion, he found his lamp was still burning dimly, and felt that he had a dull ache in his legs. He was covered with débris from head to foot and stifling from the dust and powdered coal that was all about. With difficulty he extricated himself, and realized that Daniels was completely buried. Alone in the little chamber, a feeling akin to superstition came over him, and he moved away from the silent form, now shrouded in coal. Scarcely realizing the hopeless position he was in, he leant back, and closing his eyes, his worn out nerves gave way, and he fell asleep. He woke up with a start some hours later; his watch had stopped and he had no idea of the time. Madness seemed to be coming over him; his face was flushed, his head throbbed. He was ravenously hungry, and crossed to the dead man’s side and searched about until he found the basket that contained Daniel’s untouched dinner, and the bottle of cold tea. There was not a great deal of food—half a loaf, several thick slices of beef, a piece of cheese and some homemade apple tart. Alan ate sparingly, for although his stomach clamoured for more, he realized that not yet was his greatest hour of need, and that later on he would need the food still more. When he had finished, he took up a pick and wildly struck at the blocked exit, but only the echoes replied, laughing at his impotence. Flinging his tool down he buried his head in his hands and sobbed in bitter despair. His convulsive outburst left him calmer, and he began for the first time to think out a plan of escape. He knew that rescue parties would be working hard for his release—but could they reach him in time?