“Well?”
“Then he’d pray to the Lord so earnest, it seemed as if the Lord was nigh to us, and Mr Morgan said He was with us in the stall; then we’d sing.”
“What did you sing, Miles?”
“Only one hymn, over and over. We sings it at h’our meetings.”
“I know it,” said Nan, “I’ll sing it now.
“In the deep and mighty waters.
No one there can hold my head;
But my only Saviour Jesus,
Who was slaughtered in my stead.
“Friend, he is in Jordan’s river.
Holds above the wave my head;
With His smile I’ll go rejoicing,
Through the regions of the dead.”
“Ah!” said Miles, “you never’d know wot that hymn’s worth unless you was in the mine. Then we heard the men knocking, and that kep up our hearts, and Mr Morgan said we might be rescued; but any way ’twas all right. Towards the end two of the men got queer and off their heads, and Mr Morgan, and Jones, the under-viewer, had a deal of trouble with ’em; then Mr Morgan thought the water might have gone down, and on Friday he went in and tried for a bit to wade through, but it was too deep, and he did not know the mine. Jones would have tried after him, but then we was let h’out. No, I doesn’t remember that part. I knows nothing until I felt Nan kiss me, and I thought ’twas Stephie, and that I was in heaven.”
All the time during David’s slow recovery, one person nursed him day and night—one person, with hardly any intermission, remained by his bedside; this was Owen. And no hand so soothed the sick and weary man, no face brought so peaceful a smile into his eyes, as the hand and face of Owen. As David grew better they had long talks together, but I never heard what they said.
I have one thing more to write here.