Dick tried to speak, but his throat restricted until he clutched it with his fingers, and his lips were white and hard.
“I did not believe that what he said was true,” the voice went on, coming as from depths of desolation and misery, and with dead levels dulled by grief beyond emotion. “I have believed in my father! I thought there must be some mistake. 292 I demanded of your partner that he lay off his own shift, and bring me here where we might listen. Oh, it was true––it was true!”
She suddenly turned and caught the steel handle of a candlestick in her hand, and tore its long steel point from the crevice.
“But I’ve found the way,” she said. “I’ve found the way. You must come with me––now! Right now, I say. We shall have this over with, and then––and then––I shall go away from here; for always!”
“Not that,” Dick said, holding his hands toward her. “Not that, Joan! What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to my father. He, too, must be spared. He must give it back. It must never be known. I must save him disgrace. It must be done to-night––now!”
She started down the drift toward the cage, walking determinedly, and Dick’s lips opened again to beg her to come back; but Bill’s hand was on his shoulder, and his grave and kindly voice in his ear.
“Go with her, boy. She’s right. It’s the only way. Have it over with to-night. If you don’t you’ll break her heart, as well as your own.”
They followed her to the cage, and the big 293 miner gave the hoisting bell. The cage floated upward, and into the pale twilight. Heedless of anything around, they walked across the yard, and turned into the roadway leading down the gulch.
“Will you come?” she asked, turning toward Bill.