tand by steadily he did, all through that interminable April
afternoon while the sun came sifting down through the elm buds, to
throw irrelevant golden splashes across their gloom; while the merry
voices of the college girls, passing by in the street outside, came
floating in across their waiting silence. There was nothing in the
world that he could do, except to be there and, now and then, to stave
off a caller too insistent to be appeased by any bulletin issued by the
maid. Among those callers was Prather, the novelist. Priest though he
was, Brenton was conscious of a human and athletic wish to wring his
neck, so palpably was his expression of fussy sympathy mingled with the
professional sense of copy latent in the situation.

And at last, when twilight had dulled the sunshine and sent the
chattering, laughing college girls home to supper, a messenger boy came
to the door to bring a yellow envelope.

Professor Opdyke tore it open. Then, forgetful of his science,--

"Thank God!" he said quite simply, as he read the message to his wife.

Next morning early, Brenton went to them again. He found them taking
breakfast with good appetite, while they made an infinite variety of
plans for the home-coming of the invalid. There had been two more
telegrams, the previous evening, and a night letter had followed them.
To Brenton, however, the particulars seemed glorious rather than
reassuring. Instead of the fire stirred with a stick of dynamite, there
had been something infinitely more deadly. A careless blast, set off by
an inexperienced miner, had brought down a fall of rock where it had
been least expected. A dozen men had been injured, and some of the
shoring had been loosened, imperilling the lives of many more. No
reasonably sane consulting engineer, however conscientious, could have
imagined it his duty to lead the work of rescue. Measured by the value
to the corporation, his one brain was worth a dozen score of miners'
lives. Nevertheless, Reed Opdyke had not viewed the matter in that
light. He was alert and strong, trained to face every possible
emergency known underground. Moreover, he knew better than any other
man the conditions likely to be existent in the dismantled vein.
Therefore it was Reed Opdyke who had led the first of the rescue
parties.

Quite as a matter of course, he had made his way directly to the
injured men, had helped to carry them back safely to the main shaft.
Providence always looks out for li