“No, Miss Morgan, not with the night shift. The Squire and Miles are still down in the mine.”
“And all the men have gone down as usual this morning?” I asked.
“Oh! yes, and father with them.”
“Then there cannot be danger?”
“Well, I don’t know—I’m that timmersome, it may seem so to me; or it may be h’all Miles’s fancy, but he’s rare and knowing, Miles is.”
“Well, dear Nan, please sit down quietly and tell me the whole story from beginning to end, what you know and what you fear.”
Nan had by this time wiped away all traces of her tears; she was given to sudden bursts of grief, out of which her dark eyes used to flash as bright as though the briny drops were unknown to them. Had I met Nan apart from personal tragedy, I might have considered her tiny form, her piquant old-fashioned face, and quaint words, an interesting study; but now I felt a little impatient over her long delays, and deep-drawn sighs, and anxious to launch her midway into her tale.
“Miles is very knowing,” began Nan, seeing I was determined, and would have my way; “Miles is very knowing, and from the time he was a little, little lad, he’d study father’s plan o’ the mine. I never could make out the meanin’ o’ it, but long before Miles ever went down into a mine he knew all about levels, and drifts, and headings, and places without number; and he used to say to me, ‘Why, our mine is like a town, Nan, it has its main roads, and its crossings, and its railways, and all;’ he tried to make a romance out of the mine for me, seeing I was so timmersome, and he never spoke of danger, nor fall o’ roofs, nor gas, nor nothing, when I was by; only when they thought I was asleep, I used to hear him and father talk and talk; and somehow, Miss Morgan, the hearing of ’em whispering, whispering of danger, made the danger, just as you say, twice as big to me, and I used to be that frightened I feared I’d die just from sheer old h’age. And at last I spoke to the Lord about it, and it seemed to me the Lord made answer loud and clear, ‘Resist the devil and he will flee from you;’ and then I saw plain as daylight, that the devil to me now, was the fear of danger to father and Miles, and the only thing to do was to turn and face it like a man, or may be a woman, which sometimes is bravest. So I went to Miles and told him how I had prayed, and what the Lord had said, and I begged of Miles to tell me h’all about everything, all the danger of fire-damp, and explosions, and inundations. Oh! Miss Morgan, he did what I axed him, he seemed real pleased; and for a fortnight I scarce slept a wink, but then I got better, and I found the devil, now I was facing him, brave and manful, did not seem so big. Then I went to Miles again, and I made him promise not never to hide when he thought danger was going to be in the mine, and he was real glad, and said he would faithful tell me h’every thing. Well, Miss Morgan, he was very sharp and had his wits about him, and he heard people talk, and for all Mr Morgan was so pleasant, and so well liked, father said that he was so rare and anxious to win the coal, that sometimes, though he had reformed so much in the mine, he was a bit rash, and then the men grumbled about the coal pillars being struck away so much, and the supports not being thick enough.”
“But I spoke to Owen about that,” I interrupted eagerly, “and he was so dreadfully hurt and vexed; he would not endanger the men’s lives for the world, Nan; and he said that he was an engineer and must understand a great deal more about the mine than the miners. After all, Nan,” I continued rather haughtily, and with feelings new and yet old stirring in my heart for Owen, “your little brother cannot know, and without meaning it, he probably exaggerates the danger.”
“That may be so, Miss Morgan, but in the case of the coal supports it was the talk of all the men.”