ame roof with
you, is your own sister!"

Drayton's loud guffaw rang out above the wind's moan in the trees. His
cronies within heard it and listened.

"It's a rare old story, that is. Let me see; you've told it before, I
fancy."

"Then it was a lie; now it's God's truth!" said Hugh.

Drayton laughed again.

"And then it was believed, but now it's not. No, no, Master Hugh, it
won't pass."

"We will see."

Hugh Ritson had swung about and was gone.

Drayton went back to his friends.

"Hasn't the pluck of a pigeon when it comes to the push," he muttered.

"Ey, he wears a bonny white feather in his cap, for sure," said old
Reuben Rae.

"No fight in'im--no'but tongue lather," said John, the blacksmith.

* * * * *

Hugh Ritson walked through the darkness to the pit-brow. The glow of the
furnace lighted up the air to the south, and showed vaguely the brant
sides of the fell; the dull thud of the engine, the clank of the chain,
and the sharp crack of the refuse tumbling down the bank from the
banksman's barrow were the only sounds that rose above the wind's loud
whistle.

Gubblum was at the mouth of the shaft.

"Oglethorpe," said Hugh, "how many of the gangs are below to-night?"

"All but two--auld Reuben's and Jim South'et's."

"Then they have chosen to work on?"

"Ey, another fortnight--trusting to get their wage afore that, please
God."

"They shall not be disappointed."

Hugh Ritson turned away. Gubblum trundled his last wheelbarrow to the
edge of the bank, and then rested and said to himself, "He takes it cool
enough onyway."

But the outside tranquillity disappeared when Hugh Ritson reached his
own room on the pit-brow. He bathed his hot forehead again and again.
His fingers twitched nervously, and he plunged his perspiring hands into
cold water above the wrists, holding them there for several minutes. Not
for long did he sit in one seat. He tramped the room uneasily, his
infirm foot trailing heavily. Then he threw himself on the couch, tossed
from side to side, rose, and resumed his melancholy walk. Thus an hour
passed drearily.

His mind recalled one by one the events of the day. And one by one there
came crowding back upon him the events of the two years that had passed
since his father's death. A hurricane was upheaving every memory of his
mind. And every memory had its own particular sting, and came up as a
blight to fret his soul. He tried to guard himself