From the second shaft the mine was in such a complete state of wreckage and ruin, that it would take weeks before it was even possible to get near the third shaft and the original scene of the disaster. So once more a casualty list was sent out, and this time was headed by the name
“Alan Forsyth”.
Sir John heard the news with a set face. First Desmond, now Alan had been taken from him.
“Don’t take it so to heart, Mr. Dickson,” said he kindly. “The boy was doing his duty when death overtook him.”
“I am broken-hearted, Sir John,” said Mr. Dickson. “I feel that it was I who drove him to his doom. If I hadn’t sent him to the third shaft that day, he would be with us still.”
“It is fate,” said Sir John simply.
But when he reached his office next day, he told Masters to get him his will from the safe. With trembling fingers he tore it across, threw the pieces in the fire and watched it burn. Then he said quietly, “I must make a new will, Masters. But to whom shall I leave my money? There is no one to follow me now.” Suddenly he took up pen and paper and wrote hurriedly. “Fetch a clerk, Masters,” said he, and when a clerk appeared he added quietly, “I want you both to witness my signature to my will,” and with firm fingers wrote his name, and passed the paper over to Masters, making no effort to hide what he had written.
And Masters’ eyes grew dim as he read—
“Everything I possess to the ‘Miners’ Fund’ for widows and orphans, rendered such by accidents in the mine.”