“Mr. Hope, sir, they won’t let me go down t’ mine.”

“No; you’re discharged.”

“Who by?”

“By me.”

“What for?”

“For smoking in the mine, in spite of three warnings.”

“Me smoking in t’ mine!  Who telt you yon lie?”

“You were seen to pick the lock of your Davylamp, and that put the mine in danger.  Then you were seen to light your pipe at the bare light, and that put it in worse peril.”

“That’s a lie.  What mak’s yer believe my skin’s nowt to me?  It’s all one as it is to them liars that would rob me of my bread out of clean spite.”

“It’s the truth, and proved by four honest witnesses.  There are a hundred and fifty men and twenty ponies in that mine, and their lives must not be sacrificed by one two-legged brute that won’t hear reason.  You are discharged and paid; so be good enough to quit the premises and find work elsewhere; and Lord help your employer, whoever he is!”

Hope would waste no more time over this fellow.  He turned his back, and went off briskly on his more important errand.

Burnley shook his fist at him, and discharged a volley of horrible curses after him.  Whilst he was thus raging after the man that had done his duty he heard a satirical chuckle.  He turned his head, and, behold! there was the sneering face of his fellow jail-bird Monckton.  Burnley started.

“Yes, mate,” said Monckton, “it is me.  And what sort of a pal are you, that couldn’t send me a word to Portland that you had dropped on to this rascal Hope?  You knew I was after him.  You might have saved me the trouble, you selfish brute.”

Burnley submitted at once to the ascendency of Monckton; he hung his head, and muttered, “I am no scholard to write to folk.”

“You grudged a joey to a bloke to write for you.  Now I suppose you expect me to be a good pal to you again, all the same?”

“Why not?” said Burnley.  “He is poison to you as well as to me.  He gave you twelve years’ penal; you told me so at Portland; let’s be revenged on him.”

“What else do you think I am here for, you fool?  But empty revenge, that’s child’s play.  The question is, can you do what you are told?”

“Ay, if I see a chance of revenge.  Why, I always did what you told me.”

“Very well, then; there’s nothing ripe yet.”

“Yer don’t mean I am to wait a year for my revenge.”

“You will have to wait an opportunity.  Revenge is like other luxuries, there’s a time for it.  Do you think I am such a fool as to go in for blindfold revenge, and get lagged or stretched?  Not for Joseph, nor for you, either, Benjamin.  I’ll tell you what, though, I think this will be a busy day; it must be a busy day.  That old fox Bartley has found out his blunder before now, and he’ll try something on; then the Cliffords, they won’t go to sleep on it.”

“I don’t know what yer talking about,” says Burnley.