ust as a sailor's are made for distances. But all this while
Harry felt irresistibly animated by the hope of finding the mysterious
being whose intervention, strictly speaking, had saved himself and his
friends. Would he succeed? He certainly would, if presentiments were to
be trusted; but certainly not, if he judged by the success which had as
yet attended his researches.

The attacks directed against the family of the old overman, before the
discovery of New Aberfoyle, had not been renewed.

CHAPTER XI. HANGING BY A THREAD

ALTHOUGH in this way the Ford family led a happy and contented life, yet
it was easy to see that Harry, naturally of a grave disposition, became
more and more quiet and reserved. Even Jack Ryan, with all his good
humor and usually infectious merriment, failed to rouse him to gayety of
manner.

One Sunday--it was in the month of June--the two friends were walking
together on the shores of Loch Malcolm. Coal Town rested from labor. In
the world above, stormy weather prevailed. Violent rains fell, and
dull sultry vapors brooded over the earth; the atmosphere was most
oppressive.

Down in Coal Town there was perfect calm; no wind, no rain. A soft and
pleasant temperature existed instead of the strife of the elements which
raged without. What wonder then, that excursionists from Stirling came
in considerable numbers to enjoy the calm fresh air in the recesses of
the mine?

The electric discs shed a brilliancy of light which the British sun,
oftener obscured by fogs than it ought to be, might well envy. Jack Ryan
kept talking of these visitors, who passed them in noisy crowds, but
Harry paid very little attention to what he said.

"I say, do look, Harry!" cried Jack. "See what numbers of people come
to visit us! Cheer up, old fellow! Do the honors of the place a little
better. If you look so glum, you'll make all these outside folks think
you envy their life above-ground."

"Never mind me, Jack," answered Harry. "You are jolly enough for two,
I'm sure; that's enough."

"I'll be hanged if I don't feel your melancholy creeping over me
though!" exclaimed Jack. "I declare my eyes are getting quite dull, my
lips are drawn together, my laugh sticks in my throat; I'm forgetting
all my songs. Come, man, what's the matter with you?"

"You know well enough, Jack."

"What? the old story?"

"Yes, the same thoughts haunt me."

"Ah, poor fellow!" said Jack, shrugging his shoulders. "If you would