from his hat, and threw it aside. Then he walked
through the people toward his room, and when he got there he shut the
door, almost slamming it in the faces of those who followed. He pulled
down the window-blinds, and began afresh his perambulation to and fro.

He had grown paler and thinner. There was a somber light in his eyes,
and his lips were whitening. His step, once quick and sure, despite his
infirmity, was now less certain. He had not slept since the night of
Mercy's death. Determined never to encounter again the pains and terrors
of sleep, he had walked through the long hours of the four succeeding
nights. He knew what the result must be, and did not shrink from it.
Once only he had thought of a quicker way to the sure goal that was
before him. Then he had opened a cupboard, and looked long and intently
at a bottle that he took from its shelf. But he had put the bottle back.
Why should he play the fool, and leap the life to come? Thus, night
after night, he had walked and walked, never resting, never pausing,
though the enfeebled limbs shook beneath him, and the four walls of the
room reeled in his dazed eyes.

Before returning to their homes, the people gathered in the darkness
about the office on the pit-brow and gave one last cheer.

The master heard them, and his lip curled.

"Simpletons!--they don't understand," he muttered, beneath his breath,
and continued his melancholy walk.

Next morning, a banksman, who acted as personal attendant on Hugh
Ritson, brought him his breakfast. It was not early.

The sun had risen, but the blinds of the office were still drawn, and a
candle burned on the table. The man would have put out the candle and
let in the sunlight, but the master forbid him. He was a Methodist, and
hummed psalm tunes as he went about his work. This morning he was more
than usually fresh and happy when he entered with his tray; but at the
sight of Hugh Ritson's pallid face his own face saddened.

"You are a young man yet, Luke," said the master. "Let me see, how old
are you?"

"Seventy-nine, sir. I was born in ninety-eight. That was when auld
Bonnypart was agate of us and Nelson bashed him up."

"I dare say you have grandchildren by this time?"

"Bless you, ey, and great-grandchilder, and ten of them, too; and all
well and hearty, thank the Lord!"

The sound of a bell, slowly tolling, came from across the dale. Hugh
Ritson's face contracted, and his eyes fell.

"What bell is that?"