"Run, Sir George! run!"
A rattle like thunder roared through the mine. It was heard at the pithead, and the people crowded there ran hither and thither in dismay, thinking it was another explosion.
* * * * *
Hours passed. At last in George's numbed brain there was a faint stir of consciousness. He opened his eyes slowly.
Oh, horror! oh, cruelty! to come back from merciful nothingness and peace to this burning anguish, not to be borne, of body and mind. "I had died," he thought—"it was done with," and a wild, impotent rage, as against some brutality done him, surged through him.
A little later he made a first slight movement, which was answered at once by another movement on the part of a man sitting near him. The man bent over him in the darkness and felt for his pulse.
"Burrows!" The whisper was just perceptible.
"Yes, Sir George."
"What has happened? Where is Macgregor? Give me some brandy—there, in my inner pocket."
"No; I have it. Can you swallow it? I have tried several times before, but your mouth was set—it ran down my fingers."