"
This silenced Burnley for the day, and he remained sullenly apart; still
the idea never left his mind. The next day, toward evening, he asked Hope
to light his own lamp, and come and look at the wall of the tank.
"Not without me," whispered Grace. "I see him cast looks of hatred at
you."
They went together, and Burnley bade Hope observe that the water was
trickling through in places, a drop at a time; it could not penetrate the
coaly veins, nor the streaks of clay, but it oozed through the porous
strata, certain strips of blackish earth in particular, and it trickled
down, a drop at a time. Hope looked at this feature with anxiety, for he
was a man of science, and knew by the fate of banked reservoirs, great
and small, the strange explosive power of a little water driven through
strata by a great body pressing behind it.
"You'll see, it will brust itsen," said Burnley, exultantly, "and the
sooner the better for me; for I'll never get alive out on t' mine; yow
blowed me to the men, and they'll break every bone in my skin.
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