made to suffer for the past, since I came here only on an
errand of mercy. Yes, sir, in my unregenerate days I was Leonard
Monckton. I disgraced the name. But I repented, and when I adopted the
sacred calling of a clergyman I parted with the past, name and all. I
was that man's clerk; and so," said he, spitefully, and forgetting his
sing-song, "was your son Walter Clifford. Was that not so, Mr. Bartley?"

"Don't speak to me, sir," said Bartley. "I shall say nothing to gratify
you nor to affront Colonel Clifford."

"Speak the truth, sir," said Colonel Clifford; "never mind the
consequences."

"Well, then," said Bartley, very unwillingly, "they _were_ clerks in my
office, and this one robbed me."

"One thing at a time," said Monckton. "Did I rob you of twenty thousand
pounds, as you robbed Mr. Walter Clifford?"

His voice became still more incisive, and the curtain of the little room
opened a little and two eyes of fire looked in.

"Do you remember one fine day your clerk, Walter Clifford, asking you for
leave of absence--to be married?"

Bartley turned his back on him contemptuously.

But Colonel Clifford insisted on his replying.

"Yes, he did," said Bartley, sullenly.

"But," said the Colonel, quietly, "he thought better of it, and so--you
married her yourself."

This bayonet thrust was so keen and sudden that the villain's
self-possession left him for once. His mouth opened in dismay, and his
eyes, roving to and fro, seemed to seek a door to escape.

But there was worse in store for him. The curtains were drawn right and
left with power, and there stood Grace Clifford, beautiful, but pale and
terrible. She marched toward him with eyes that rooted him to the spot,
and then she stopped.

"Now hear _me_; for he has tortured me, and tried to kill me. Look at his
white face turning ghastly beneath his paint at the sight of me; look at
his thin lips, and his devilish eyebrows, and his restless eyes. THIS IS
THE MAN THAT BRIBED THAT WRETCH TO FIRE THE MINE!"

These last words, ringing from her lips like the trumpet of doom, were
answered, as swiftly as gunpowder explodes at a lighted torch, by a
furious yell, and in a moment the room seemed a forest of wild beasts. A
score of raging miners came upon him from every side, dragging, tearing,
beating, kicking, cursing, yelling. He was down in a moment, then soon up
again, then dragged out of the room, nails, fists, and heavy boots all
going, stripped to the shir