“I tell thee I hev but to put the light to the train, and you—. Yes, we shall be blown into eternity unless I run fro’ the place.”
“Your child—Daisy!” panted Richard, in his horror.
“I hev no bairn,” cried Banks, who then uttered an ejaculation indicative of satisfaction, for he had been feeling about, and reached the lantern.
“Banks, Joe Banks, for mercy’s sake,” groaned Richard, hoarsely, “I’m not fit to die.”
“Nay, thou’rt not, and thou’lt be worse if I let thee live, and if thou survives that poor lass will lead a living death.”
“Joe—mercy!” cried Richard, as the pressure on his breast increased.
“Ask it fro’ up yonder,” said the foreman solemnly. “I’ll gi’e you two minutes to pray while the fuse burns. It’ll last two minutes; see, lad.”
“Joe, Joe,” panted his victim, feebly struggling as against some horrible nightmare, while with starting eye-balls he glared up at the weird, distorted face of his foreman, upon which the light shone strangely as he opened the lantern door, held it to the fuse for a moment, closed it, and hurled it to the other side of the foundry, while the slow match began to burn gradually towards the powder.
“He’s mad, he’s mad!” moaned Richard, gazing hard with a feeling of horrible fascination at the burning fuse, whose faint sparkling light made the face of Banks look to him like that of some demon. “Joe, for my father’s sake!”
“Not for his. Yo’ canno’ be your father’s bairn.”