little Mark, who
felt her hand trembling. "They say some may have escaped, and things
may have been worse above than they were down at the bottom. Perhaps
they threw themselves flat on their faces, and let the blast pass over
them. I heard father say, only the other day, that was the best thing
to do when fire-damp breaks out. He wouldn't have forgotten that,
mother, would he?"

"I pray Heaven that he did not," she answered in a scarcely audible
voice. Minute after minute went by, while the brave explorers who had
gone below were searching for their comrades. How that poor mother's
heart ached as she thought of what had too probably happened to those
she loved. Night had come on, but torches and lanterns and a blazing
fire not far off lighted up the scene, casting a lurid glare on the dark
figures of the men, the lighter-coloured dresses and pale faces of the
women, and the surrounding ruins. At last the cry arose that the corve
was ascending. The eager crowd pressing forward could with difficulty
be restrained from impeding the men working at the gin. Then came the
shout, "They're alive! they're alive!" and six dark figures stepped out
on the ground. They were soon recognised by their wives or mothers, and
hurriedly dragged off to their homes, while the rest of the women,
bitterly disappointed, waited till the basket should again come to the
surface. The same scene was again enacted, and the rescued now reported
that there were more to follow, though how many they could not tell.

Little Mark and his mother waited with trembling hearts. Those they
longed to see had not appeared, and to their anxious inquiries no
satisfactory reply was given. Neither John Gilbart nor his son had been
seen. At length, another party came up from the depths, but this time
there were five boys borne in the arms of stronger men. Alas! two were
motionless--the arms and heads of the others drooped helplessly down.
The poor mothers pressed forward--Mark and Mrs Gilbart among them.
"That's Mat--that's Mat!" cried the child, as one of the first was
placed on the ground. The mother, kneeling by the side of the boy,
gazed into his face. Too truly she recognised her son, but no
responsive glance came from his once bright eyes. "Oh, speak to me--
speak to me, Mat," she exclaimed. There was no reply. She took his
hand, it was icy cold. Then she knew that her boy was dead. The doctor
came. "I grieve for you, my poor woman; he