Grace screamed violently. Immediately there was a roar of exultation
outside from the hitherto silent workers; for that scream told that the
_woman_ was alive, too: the wife of the brave fellow who had won all
their hearts and melted away the icy barrier of class.
Three gigantic waves struck the truck and made it quiver.
The first came half-way up; the second came full two-thirds; the third
dashed the senseless body of Ben Burnley, with bleeding head and broken
bones, against the very edge of the truck, then surged back with him into
a whirling vortex.
Grace screamed continuously; she gave herself up now for lost; and the
louder she screamed, the louder and the nearer the saving party shouted
and hurrahed.
"No, do not fear," cried Hope; "you shall not die. Love is stronger
than death."
The words were scarce out of his mouth when the point of a steel pick
came clean through the stuff; another followed above it; then another,
then another, and then another. Holes were made; then gaps, then larger
gaps, then a mass of coal fell in; furious picks--a portion of the mine
knocked away--and there stood in a red blaze of lamps held up, the
gallant band roaring, shouting, working, led by a stalwart giant with
bare arms, begrimed and bleeding, face smoked, hair and eyebrows black
with coal-dust, and eyes flaming like red coals.
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