Slowly, so slowly, the rescuers worked their way into the mine. One by one the unconscious forms of the miners were borne back to fresh air and safety. But no trace could be found of Miss Barrington and her band of sightseers. At last, far down a gallery, Westbrook heard a faint cry. With an answering shout of reassurance he dashed ahead of the others and came face to face with Ethel Barrington. “You!” she cried. “Yes, yes; you’re not hurt?” She shook her head and leaned heavily against the wall. The reaction was making her head swim. “And your friends?” “Here”—she pointed to the ground almost at her feet. “They’re not hurt—they fainted.” Stalwart miners poured into the narrow chamber and lifted the prostrate forms, leaving Westbrook to follow with Miss Barrington. That young lady still leaned against the wall. “I—we should be going; can you—let me help you,” stammered Westbrook. “Oh, I can walk,” she laughed nervously, making a vain attempt to steady her limbs as she moved slowly away from her support. Westbrook caught her outstretched hand and passed his disengaged arm around her waist. “Miss Barrington, you’re quite unnerved,” he said, his voice suddenly firm. “Pardon me, but you must accept my assistance.” And he half carried, half led her down the long gallery, at the end of which they could hear the steps and voices of their companions. All the misery of the last few days fled from Ethel’s mind. She was conscious only of the strength and bravery and tenderness of the man at her side. Martin’s hated words became as phantoms of a past existence. “You—you haven’t told me how you came to be here today, Mr. Westbrook,” she began again, a little hysterically. “I thought you were in Dalton.” “I came down this morning,” he said. Then added softly, “Thank God!” Ethel was silent for a moment. When she spoke again her voice shook. “As usual, Mr. Westbrook—you are near when I need you! If I am ever in danger again, I shall promptly look for you. Now see that you do not disappoint me!” she added with assumed playfulness, trying to hide her depth of feeling. They had almost reached the turn when a distant rumble and vibrating crash shook the walls about them, throwing Westbrook and Miss Barrington to the ground. It was some time before the man could stagger to his feet and help his companion to stand upright. “What—what was it?” she gasped. Westbrook advanced two steps only to come sharply against a wall of earth and timbers. “My God—the roof is fallen!” he cried. She came close to his side. “Then there was another explosion?” “Yes.” “But they will find us?” “That wall may be—” he stopped abruptly. “Many feet in thickness, I know,” she supplied. “And the damp—if it should enter the gallery from the rear—” his voice choked into silence. “I know—I understand. But—we are together!” She laid her hand on his arm. He caught the hand and held it in both his own, then slowly raised it and laid the soft palm against his lips.