Beth Norvell

He gripped himself slowly and sternly, his jaws set, his tingling

nerves mastered by the resolute dominance of an aroused will.

Compelling himself to the act, he bent down, feeling along the ground

for the foreman's hat having the extinguished lamp fixed on it. He was

a long time discovering his object, yet the continued effort brought

back a large measure of self-control, and gave birth to a certain

clearness of perception. He held the recovered lamp in his hands,

leaning against the side of the tunnel, listening. The very intensity

of silence seemed to press against him from every direction as though

it had weight. He was still breathing heavily, but his strained ears

could not distinguish the slightest sound where he knew Burke lay

shrouded In the darkness. Nothing reached him to break the dread,

horrible silence, excepting that far-off, lonely trickle of dripping

water. He hesitated, match in hand, shrinking childishly from the

coming revealment of his victim. Yet why should he? Fierce as the

struggle had proved, on his part the fight had been entirely one of

defence. He had been attacked, and had fought back only in

self-preservation. Winston harbored no animosity; the fierceness of

actual combat past, he dreaded now beyond expression the thought that

through his savagery a human life might have been sacrificed. The tiny

flame of the ignited match played across his white face, caught the

wick of the lamp, and flared up in faint radiance through the gloom.

Burke, huddled into the rock shadow, never stirred, and the anxious

engineer bent over his motionless form in a horrid agony of fear. The

man rested partially upon one side, his hands still gripped as in

struggle, an ugly wound, made by a jagged edge of rock, showing plainly

in the side of his head. Blood had flowed freely, crimsoning the stone

beneath, but was already congealing amid the thick mass of hair,

serving somewhat to conceal the nature of the injury.

Winston, his head lowered upon the other's breast, felt confident he

detected breath, even a slight, spasmodic twitching of muscles, and

hastily arose to his feet, his mind already aflame with expedients.

The foreman yet lived; perhaps would not prove even seriously injured,

if assistance only reached him promptly. Yet what could he do? What

ought he to attempt doing? In his present physical condition Winston

realized the utter impossibility of transporting that burly body;

water, indeed, might serve to revive him, yet that faint trickle of

falling drops probably came from some distant fault in the rock which

would require much patient search to locate. The engineer had assumed

grave chances in this venture underground; in this moment of victory he

felt little inclination to surrender his information, or to sacrifice

himself in any quixotic devotion to his assailant. Yet he must give

the fellow a fair chance. There seemed only one course practicable,

the despatching to the helpless man's assistance of some among that

gang of workmen down in Number One. But could this be accomplished

without danger of his own discovery? Without any immediate revealment

of his part in the tragedy? First of all, he must make sure regarding

his own safety; he must reach the surface before the truth became known.