r of this cottage two stout youths, of about
sixteen and seventeen respectively, opened it and issued forth.

"Good-morning, lads! Going to work, I suppose?" said Oliver.

"Iss, sur," replied the elder, a fair-haired ruddy youth, who, like his
brother, had not yet sacrificed his colour to the evil influence of the
mines; "we do work in the night corps, brother and me. Father is worse
to-day, sur."

"Sorry to hear that," said the doctor, as he passed them and entered the
cottage, while the lads shouldered their tools and walked smartly down
the lane that led to Botallack mine.

"Your husband is not quite so well to-day, I hear," said the doctor,
going to the side of the bed on which the stalwart form of the miner
lay.

"No, sur," replied the poor woman; "he has much pain in his eyes to-day,
but his heart is braave, sur; I never do hear a complaint from he."

This was true. The man lay perfectly still, the compressed lip and the
perspiration that moistened his face alone giving evidence of the agony
he endured.

"Do you suffer much?" inquired the doctor, as he undid the bandages
which covered the upper part of the man's face.

"Iss, sur, I do," was the reply.

No more was said, but a low groan escaped the miner when the bandage was
removed, and the frightful effects of the accident were exposed to view.
With intense anxiety Mrs Batten watched the doctor's countenance, but
found no comfort there. A very brief examination was sufficient to
convince Oliver that the eyes were utterly destroyed, for the miner had
been so close to the hole when it exploded that the orbs were singed by
the flame, and portions of unburnt powder had been blown right into
them.

"Will he see--a _little_, sur?" whispered Mrs Batten.

Oliver shook his head. "I fear not," he said in a low tone.

"Speak out, doctor," said the miner in firm tones, "I ain't afeard to
knaw it."

"It would be unkind to deceive you," replied Oliver sadly; "your eyes
are destroyed."

No word was spoken for a few minutes, but the poor woman knelt by her
husband's side, and nestled close to him. Batten raised his large brown
hand, which bore the marks and scars of many a year of manly toil, and
laid it gently on his wife's head.

"I'll never see thee again, Annie," he murmured in a low deep tone; "but
I see thee face now, lass, as I _last_ saw it, wi' the smile of an angel
on't--an' I'll see it so till the day I die; bless the Lord for that."

Mrs Ba