"Isn't it jolly! I am Miss Milbrey," she added in a lower tone, and then, raising her voice, "Mamma, Mr. Bines--and papa," and there followed a hurried and but half-acknowledged introduction to the other members of the party. And, behold! in that moment the young man had schemed the edifice of all his formless dreams. For six months he had known the unsurpassable luxury of wanting and of knowing what he wanted. Now, all at once, he saw this to be a world in which dreams come more than true. Shepler and the party were to go through the mine as a matter of sight-seeing. They were putting on outer clothes from the store-room to protect them from the dirt and damp. Presently Percival found himself again at the bottom of the shaft. During the descent of twelve hundred feet he had reflected upon the curious and interesting fact that her name should be Milbrey. He felt dimly that this circumstance should be ranked among the most interesting of natural phenomena,--that she should have a name, as the run of mortals, and that it should be one name more than another. When he discovered further that her Christian name was Avice the phenomenon became stupendously bewildering. They two were in the last of the party to descend. On reaching bottom he separated her with promptness and guile from two solemn young men, copies of each other, and they were presently alone. In the distance they could see the others following ghostly lamps. From far off mysterious recesses came the muffled musical clink of the sledges on the drills. An employee who had come down with them started to be their guide. Percival sent him back. "I've just been through; I can find my way again." "Ver' well," said the man, "with the exception that it don't happen something,--yes?" And he stayed where he was. Down one of the cross-cuts they started, stepping aside to let a car of ore be pushed along to the shaft. "Do you know," began the girl, "I am so glad to be able to thank you for what you did that night." "I'm glad you _are_ able. I was beginning to think I should always have those thanks owing to me." "I might have paid them at the time, but it was all so unexpected and so sudden,--it rattled me, quite." "I thought you were horribly cool-headed." "I wasn't." "Your manner reduced me to a groom who opened your carriage door." "But grooms don't often pick strange ladies up bodily and bear them out of a pandemonium of waltzing cab-horses. I'd never noticed before that cab-horses are so frivolous and hysterical." "And grooms know where to look for their pay." They were interrupting nervously, and bestowing furtive side-looks upon each other. "If I'd not seen you," said the girl, "glanced at you--before--that evening, I shouldn't have remembered so well; doubtless I'd not have recognised you to-day." "I didn't know you did glance at me, and yet I watched you every moment of the evening. You didn't know that, did you?" She laughed.