‘Pleasant for those whom they concern!—That’s rather a cold-blooded speech for you, Tregarva!’
The Cornishman looked up at him earnestly. His eyes were glittering—was it with tears?
‘Don’t fancy I don’t feel for the poor young gentleman—God help him!—I’ve been through it all—or not through it, that’s to say. I had a brother once, as fine a young fellow as ever handled pick, as kind-hearted as a woman, and as honest as the sun in Heaven.—But he would drink, sir;—that one temptation, he never could stand it. And one day at the shaft’s mouth, reaching after the kibble-chain—maybe he was in liquor, maybe not—the Lord knows; but—’
‘I didn’t know him again, sir, when we picked him up, any more than—’ and the strong man shuddered from head to foot, and beat impatiently on the ground with his heavy heel, as if to crush down the rising horror.
‘Where is he, sir?’
A long pause.
‘Do you think I didn’t ask that, sir, for years and years after, of God, and my own soul, and heaven and earth, and the things under the earth, too? For many a night did I go down that mine out of my turn, and sat for hours in that level, watching and watching, if perhaps the spirit of him might haunt about, and tell his poor brother one word of news—one way or the other—anything would have been a comfort—but the doubt I couldn’t bear. And yet at last I learnt to bear it—and what’s more, I learnt not to care for it. It’s a bold word—there’s one who knows whether or not it is a true one.’
‘Good Heavens!—and what then did you say to yourself?’
‘I said this, sir—or rather, one came as I was on my knees, and said it to me—What’s done you can’t mend. What’s left, you can. Whatever has happened is God’s concern now, and none but His. Do you see that as far as you can no such thing ever happen again, on the face of His earth. And from that day, sir, I gave myself up to that one thing, and will until I die, to save the poor young fellows like myself, who are left now-a-days to the Devil, body and soul, just when they are in the prime of their power to work for God.’
‘Ah!’ said Lancelot—‘if poor Luke’s spirit were but as strong as yours!’