Jean turned away and twisted the curling ends of her hair slowly about her finger ends. “Tell me just what happened,” she said unsteadily. “It is a short story,” her father answered gruffly. “Two men in the cage at the bottom of the mine signaled to raise—engineer, drunk, sets lever at top speed. If you cannot imagine what happened, you may take a lantern and go over yonder to see.” Jean sank shuddering on the window-seat and buried her head in the cushions. Her silence calmed her father’s wrath as her speech had stirred it. “There, there!” Mr. Cameron said soothingly, as he walked across to the window and stroked the bowed head. “It is nothing for you to be so downhearted about, my lass. You had nothing to do with it.” Still the girl lay motionless. “Come, come, Jean! It is all over now for those poor fellows, and as for Loring, you will never see him again.” The figure on the window-seat stirred slightly, and from the pillows a muffled voice asked tremulously, “What will be done to him?” “That depends,” answered Mr. Cameron, “on whether the Mexicans decide on a demonstration between now and to-morrow morning.” “Oh!” cried Jean, suddenly sitting up and wheeling about with pale cheeks and flashing eyes, “they dare not. You would never allow it. Why are there no men guarding him? It is as bad as murder.” “Not quite,” her father replied slowly. “Besides, if the Mexicans were drunk, you could not hold them responsible. That would be—what is it?—‘Not an excuse, but an explanation.’ However, Loring is safe enough for to-night, and I promise you he will be far away by to-morrow.” With these words Mr. Cameron thrust his hands into his pockets, and rising, strode up and down the room, the boards creaking under his slow tread. His daughter leaned against the window, staring out into the night. “Oh!” she whispered, as if to some presence palpable though invisible, “how could you? How could you do it after what you promised me?” Then she turned her head and caught sight of her father’s resolute back. “He is rather a lovable person,” she said, with a little catch in her voice. “Don’t you think he will feel badly enough without much being said to him about—about the accident?” Her father laughed a short, uncompromising laugh. CHAPTER IX The next morning Stephen awoke with a start, conscious that some one was standing beside his cot, as he lay fully dressed outside the blankets. Mr. Cameron was looking down upon him. When he struggled to his feet, Loring’s mind was all confused. He ran his hand through his matted hair. “Where am I?” he murmured. Mr. Cameron’s face was set decisively. It was easy to see from which parent Jean had inherited the modeling of the lower portion of her face. “Come outside, Loring!” There was a chill incisiveness in the words which shocked Stephen into recollection. He followed Mr. Cameron out of the tent.