and said, "If an accident does occur, and that man never
comes up again, you are to have five hundred pounds."

"Five hundred pounds!" shouted Ben. "I do t' job. Nay, _nay_, but," said
he, and his countenance fell, "they will not let me go down the mine."

The diabolical agent went cat-like to Bartley.

"Please give me a written order to let this man go to work again in
the mine."

Bartley trembled and hesitated, but at last took out his pocket-book and
wrote on a leaf,

"Take Burnley on again.

"R. BARTLEY."

Whilst writing it his hand shook, and when it was written he would not
tear it out. He panted and quivered and was as pale as ashes, and said,
"No, no, it's a death-warrant; I can not;" and his trembling hand tried
to convey the note-book back to his pocket, but it fell from his shaking
fingers, and Monckton took it up and quietly tore the leaf out, and took
it across to Burnley, in spite of a feeble gesture the struggling wretch
made to detain him. He gave Ben the paper, and whispered, "Be off before
he changes his mind."

"You'll hear of an accident in the mine before the day is over," said
Burnley, and he went off without a grain of remorse under the double
stimulus of revenge and lucre.

"He'll do it," cried Monckton, triumphantly, "and Hope will end his days
in the Bartley mine."

* * * * *

These words were hardly out of his lips when Grace Hope walked out of the
house, pale, and with her eyes gleaming, and walked rapidly past them.
She had nothing on her head but a white handkerchief that was tied under
her chin. Her appearance and her manner struck the conspirators with
terror. Bartley stood aghast; but the more resolute villain seized her as
she passed him. She was not a bit frightened at that, but utterly amazed.
It was a public road.

"How dare you touch me, you villain!" she cried. "Let me go. Ah, I shall
know you again, with your face like a corpse and your villainous eyes.
Let me go, or I'll have you hung."

"Where are you going?" said Bartley, trembling.

"To my father."

"He is not your father; it is a conspiracy. You must come home with me."

"Never!" cried Mary, and by a sudden and violent effort she flung
Monckton off.

But Bartley, mad with terror, seized her that moment, and that gave
Monckton time to recover and seize her again by the arm.

"You are not of age," cried Bartley; "you are under my authority, and you
shall come home with me."