“I think we had better take Mr. Cameron to the four hundred level right away,” said Stephen to Burns. “I want him to see that new stope. The air isn’t very bad there, is it?” “No, it’s pretty fair.” “All right. Lower away, four hundred!” called Loring to the hoist engineer, at the same time swinging himself onto the bucket beside the others. The skip began to drop slowly down the timbered shaft. For the first twenty-five or thirty feet it was fairly light, and Jean could see the joints in the rough-grained, greasy boards. Then all became dark. She clutched the cable tightly and half closed her eyes. The water began to drip down hard from above, spattering sharply on their oilskins. Loring, close beside her, whispered: “All right. Just hold on tightly, Miss Cameron! Great elevator, isn’t it?” Even while Loring spoke, a chill struck to his heart. What if the hoist engineer failed in his duty! What if the bucket crashed into the black depths that lay below them, or shot wildly upward to be caught in the timbers at the top! What if Jean Cameron were to be snatched away as _those others_ had been, through the wanton carelessness of the man in charge above! Would any punishment be black enough for him? Would eternity be long enough for him to make a decent repentance? By the vigor of the answer which his heart made to the question, Loring sensed the pang of remorse which had gnawed at his conscience without ceasing ever since that awful night. “That was what you did.” The words said themselves over and over in his ear as the bucket slid downward. The air began to turn from the pure clear atmosphere of the mountains to the heavy close humidity of the mine, murky even in its blackness. “One hundred level,” explained Stephen, as the bucket dropped past a candle which flickered dully in a smoky hole in the side of the shaft, the entrance to the drift which was even blacker than the shaft itself. As they reached the lower levels, the water poured down faster. The bucket swung and twisted and Jean leaned an imperceptible trifle closer to Loring. He steadied her with his arm, although it may not have been strictly necessary for safety. The bucket suddenly stopped and hung lifelessly steady. “Here we are, four hundred foot level,” called Loring. “Please stay just where you are, Miss Cameron, and we will help you off.” He swung himself onto the landing stage after the others, and taking both of Jean’s hands in his, guided her safely into the drift.