his strongest and best.

"You, there, Ydoll?" came loudly.

"Yes; all right," cried Gwyn. "Where's Sam Hardock?"

"Crawling up after me," came more loudly.

"Then I must go back," said Vores. "P'raps I'd better lead, Mr Gwyn."

"Yes, yes, go on, and we'll follow," said Gwyn, more faintly; and he
felt the man pass him again, there being just room.

"Must go very slowly," said Vores, "because there's no room to turn for
another fifty yards or so. Going backward takes time. Now, then, come
on, all on you."

Once more Gwyn's dizzy feeling came back, but he struggled on, conscious
that his rescuer's face was close to his--so close that at times their
hands touched. Then, after what seemed to be a long nightmare journey,
the man's words sounded clearer on his ears.

"It's wider here. Goes zigzagging along with one or two close nips, and
then we're out to the crack in the cliff."

Gwyn did not reply. He felt that if he spoke his words would be wild
and incoherent, and that all his strength was required to crawl along
this terrible crevice in the rock. He was conscious of a hand touching
his foot from time to time, and of hearing voices, and of passing over
loose, small pieces of shattered rock which might have resulted from the
explosion.

At last, after what seemed to be a terrible distance, a voice said, "Out
of the way, dog," and directly after a cold wet nose touched his brow,
and there was a snuffing sound at his ear, followed by a joyous barking.
Then gradually all grew more dense and dark in his brain, and the next
thing he remembered was being touched by hands, and feeling the
contraction of a rope about his chest followed by a burst of cheering
which seemed to take place far away down in the mine; for the roaring
and whistling of the wind had ceased, so that he could hear distinctly
that hurrahing; and then he heard nothing, for, strong in spirit while
the danger lasted, that energy was all used now, and of what took place
Gwyn Pendarve knew no more.

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.

IN THE LIGHT.

"Yes, what is it? Who's there?"

"Oh, Gwyn, my boy, my boy!" came piteously; and two soft arms raised him
from his pillow to hold him to a throbbing breast, while passionate lips
pressed warm kisses on his face.

"Mother! You! What's the matter? Ah, I remember. You there, father?
Where's Joe? Where's poor old Sam Hardock?"

"Joe Jollivet's in the next room, sleeping soundly; Sam Hardock's at
Harry