This amphitheatre was now a busy scene, empty trucks being pushed off, full trucks being pushed on, all the men carrying lighted lanterns, that wavered and glinted like “wills of the wisp.”  Presently a bell rung, and a portion of the men, to whom this was a signal, left off work and began to put on their jackets and to await the descent of the cage to take them up in parties.  At this moment Hope met, to his surprise, a figure that looked like Ben Burnley.  He put up his lamp to see if he was right, and Ben Burnley it was.  The ruffian had the audacity to put up his lamp, as if to scrutinize the person who examined him.

“Did I not discharge you?” said Hope.

“Ay, lad,” said Ben; “but your master put me on again.”  With that he showed Bartley’s order and signature.

Hope bit his lips, but merely said, “He will rue it.”  Burnley sidled away; but Hope cried to one or two men who were about,

“Keep a sharp lookout on him, my men, your lives are not safe whilst he’s in the mine.”

Burnley leaned insolently against a truck and gave the men nothing to observe; the next minute in bustled the honest miner at whose instance Hope had come down the mine, and begged him to come and visit the shoring at once.

Hope asked if there were any other men there; the miner replied in the negative.

“Very well, then,” said Hope, “I’ll just take one look at the water here, and I’ll be at the shoring in five minutes.”

Unfortunately this unwary statement let Burnley know exactly what to do; he had already concealed in the wood-work a canister of dynamite, and a fuse to it to last about five minutes.  He now wriggled away under cover of Hope’s dialogue and lighted the fuse, then he came flying back to get safe out of the mine, and leave Hope in his death-trap.

But in the meantime Grace Hope came down in the cage, and caught sight of her father and came screaming to him, “Father, father!”

“You here, my child!”

“There’s a plot to murder you!  A man called Burnley is to cause an explosion at the old works just as you visit them.”

“An explosion!” cried Hope, “and fire-damp about.  One explosion will cause fifty—­ring the bell—­here men! danger!”

Then there was a rush of men.

“Ben Burnley is firing the mine.”

There was a yell of fury; but a distant explosion turned it to one of dismay.  Hope caught his daughter up in his arms and put her into a cavity.

“Fly, men, to the other part of the mine,” he cried.

There was a louder explosion.  In ran Burnley terrified at his own work, and flying to escape.  Hope sprang out upon him.  “No you don’t—­living or dead, you are the last to leave this mine.”