rs.

"Can't you move? I'm too far from that lamp," he said.

He scrambled by Wheeler and crouched close beneath the smoky,
flickering flame, dripping, spattered with mire, and very grim in
face. The note was from Violet Hamilton, and it was brief.

"I should like to see you as soon as you can get away," it read.
"There is something I must say, and since it might spare both of us
pain, I feel almost tempted to try to explain it now. That, however,
would perhaps be weak of me, and I think you will, after all, not
blame me very greatly."

He flung the note down in the water, and straightened himself
wearily.

"I am invited to go down to Bonavista, and it's tolerably clear that
I have another trouble to face," he announced in a dull tone. "In the
meanwhile there's this heading to be pushed on, and it seems to me
that the thing that counts most is what I owe the boys."

Wheeler, who had heard something from Gordon, looked at him with grave
sympathy, but Nasmyth made an expressive gesture as he glanced down at
his attire.

"Well," he remarked, "I probably look very much what I am--a
played-out borer of headings and builder of dams, who has just now
everything against him. Still, I was fool enough to indulge in some
very alluring fancies a little while ago." He turned to Wheeler with a
sudden flash in his eyes. "You can take those letters to Gordon and
tell him to open them. I've a little trouble to grapple with, and I
don't feel inclined for conversation."

Wheeler could take a hint, and he crawled away along the heading,
while Nasmyth toiled for the next half-hour strenuously at the
machine. The perspiration dripped from him. He gasped as he ripped the
handle around; then he let it go suddenly, and his face became softer
as he picked up the letter again.

"Well," he told himself, "I don't think I can blame her, after all,
and with what she has to say it would hurt if I kept her waiting."

He sat down again at the machine, and the boring tool crunched on
steadily into the rock until after some time, a man took his place,
and, crouching in the narrow heading, swung the heavy hammer as they
wedged the extra timbers fast. A faint grey light was creeping into
the eastern sky when Nasmyth crawled out of the heading and scrambled
back to the shanty. Gordon, who was getting up when he entered, looked
at him curiously.

"I'm going into Bonavista after breakfast," Nasmyth said. "I don't
want to leave the boys now, but I