reamed in the wind; her
countenance exhibited the most intense anxiety. Her boy, among the
oldest of those who had remained that morning in the village, was well
able to comprehend what had occurred, yet he did not cry or shriek out,
but did his utmost to keep pace with the woman's rapid steps.

"Perhaps father and Mat had come up before the blast happened, mother,"
said the boy in a hopeful tone. "They would be stopping to see how
things are going on, or maybe to help any poor fellows left in the pit."
The woman answered only by a gasp. "Don't give way, mother dear,"
continued the boy. "We shall find them both well above ground, depend
on't." Still the woman made no reply; her heart told her that her worst
anticipations would be realised. She and the rest of the women from the
village arrived in a short time at the pit's mouth, where, among the
ruined buildings, the broken machinery, and the heaps of rubbish, they
rushed frantically here and there seeking for the bread-winners of their
families, many uttering piteous wails when they sought in vain for their
loved ones; while others, when they were discovered, bursting into
shrieks of hysterical laughter, as they flung their arms round the men's
necks, led them off to their homes. Some of the miners had, it
appeared, come up just before the explosion; but what was the fate of
the rest, far beyond a hundred in number, still below? Some, it was
surmised, might have escaped death, and many brave volunteers came
forward ready to descend to their rescue. All was quiet--the shaft
appeared to be free--a fresh corve or teek was procured--a rope attached
to the gin, to the shaft of which a party of men putting their shoulders
worked it with the strength of horses. The corve descended with its
adventurous crew down the shaft. The young woman with the little boy
had been among those who had sought in vain for a husband and son.
"Have any of you seen John Gilbart and his boy Mat?" she asked of those
who had come out of the pit and of others standing by. No one could
give her any information about her husband, though one had replied that
he had seen young Gilbart leaving the trap at which he had been
stationed.

Unlike the other women, on hearing this she uttered no cry, but stood
speechless and trembling as near as she could venture to the pit's
mouth, where she waited, with intense anxiety, the return of the corve
to the surface. "Don't take on so, mother dear," said