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 a moment of awful silence. Then, once more, there came a knock at the door against which Danny leaned.

Another knock. No answer. Another—louder. Still no reply.

"Bridget," cried a voice from without. It was Mona's voice.

"Bridget, let me in. What has happened?"

No one stirred.

"Bridget, they are coming. Tell the men to go off to sea."

None spoke or moved. The latch was lifted, but in vain.

"Bridget—Christian—Christian!"—(knocking continued).

"Kisseck—Kisseck—Bill Kisseck—Bill!"

At last one of the men found his voice:

"Bill is gone to bed," he said, hoarsely.    CHAPTER XV.

"The night is long that never finds the day."—Macbeth

shaft of the old lead-mine down which Christian leaped was forty-five feet deep, yet he was not killed; he was not even hurt. At the bottom were fifteen feet of water, and this had broken his dreadful fall. On coming to the surface, one stroke in the first instant of dazed consciousness had landed him on a narrow ledge of rock that raked downward with the seam. But what was his position when he realized it? It seemed to be worse than death itself; it was a living death; it was life in the 