, "some on yo' speak a word for Joan Lowrie!"

There rose a murmur among them then, and the next instant this murmur
was a cry.

"Ay," they answered, "we con aw speak fur yo'. Let her go, lads! She's
worth two o' th' best on yo'. Nowt fears her. Ay, she mun go, if she
will, mun Joan Lowrie! Go, Joan lass, and we'n not forget thee!"

But the men demurred. The finer instinct of some of them shrank from
giving a woman a place in such a perilous undertaking--the coarser
element in others rebelled against it.

"We'n ha' no wenches," these said, surlily.

Grace stepped forward. He went to Joan Lowrie and touched her gently on
the shoulder.

"We cannot think of it," he said. "It is very brave and generous,
and--God bless you!--but it cannot be. I could not think of allowing it
myself, if the rest would."

"Parson," said Joan, coolly but not roughly, "tha'd ha' hard work to
help thysen, if so be as th' lads wur willin'!"

"But," he protested, "it may be death. I could not bear the thought of
it. You are a woman. We cannot let you risk your life."

She turned to the volunteers.

"Lads," she cried passionately, "yo' munnot turn me back. I--sin I mun
tell yo'--" and she faced them like a queen--"theer's a mon down theer
as I'd gi' my heart's blood to save."

They did not know whom she meant, but they demurred no longer.

"Tak' thy place, wench," said the oldest. "If tha mun, tha mun."

She took her seat in the cage by Grace, and when she took it she half
turned her face away. But when those above began to lower them, and they
found themselves swinging downward into what might be to them a pit of
death, she spoke to him.

"Theer's a prayer I'd loike yo' to pray," she said. "Pray that if we mun
dee, we may na dee until we ha' done our work."

It was a dreadful work indeed that the rescuers had to do in those black
galleries. And Joan was the bravest, quickest, most persistent of all.
Paul Grace, following in her wake, found himself obeying her slightest
word or gesture. He worked constantly at her side, for he at least had
guessed the truth. He knew that they were both engaged in the same
quest. When at last they had worked their way--lifting, helping,
comforting--to the end of the passage where the collier had said he last
saw the master, then for one moment she paused, and her companion with a
thrill of pity touched her to attract her attention.

"Let me go first," he said.

"Nay," she answered, "we'n go toget