“Ethel—Ethel—may God forgive me!” he whispered brokenly.
She swayed dizzily, and he caught and held her close.
“I—I think I am going to faint,” she murmured. “I——”
His arms tightened their clasp and her head drooped until it lay in the hollow of his shoulder.
“Ethel, darling—only one little word! Ah, sweetheart—I’ve loved you so!”
She raised her hand and just touched his cheek with her fingers, then let her arm fall about his neck. His head bent low and his lips closed over hers as she drew a long, quivering sigh.
“May God forgive me,” he breathed, “but ’tis the end—the end!”
XVIII
When Ethel Barrington regained consciousness she was in her own bed at The Maples, but it was a full two days after that before they let her ask the questions that so often came to her lips. It was her father who finally answered her.
“Yes, dear, you were unconscious when the miners found you. Westbrook could barely speak. Why, girlie, when that second crash came and the miners realized that Hustler Joe—as they insist upon calling that remarkable man—was himself imprisoned, they swarmed into that mine like ants and attacked the fallen wall like madmen! Those that had no pickaxe clawed at the dirt and stones with their naked fingers.”