In a very short time all the people at work on the surface of the mine
knew that Stephen Fern's little sister was dead--lying dead in the very
pit where he was then labouring for her, with the spirit and strength and
love of a father rather than a brother. Every face was overcast and
grave; and many of the boys and girls were weeping, for little Nan had
endeared herself to them all since she came to live at the cinder-hill
cabin. Tim felt faint and heart-sick, almost wishing he could have
perished in the child's stead, for poor Stephen's sake; but he had to
rouse himself, for one of the banksmen was going to shout the terrible
tidings down the shaft; and if Stephen should be near, instead of being
at work farther in the pit, the words would fall upon him without any
softening or preparation. He implored them to wait until he could run and
tell Miss Anne; but while he was speaking they saw Miss Anne herself
coming towards the pit, her face very pale and sorrowful, for the rumour
had reached the master's house, and she was hastening to meet Stephen,
and comfort him, if that were possible.

'Oh, Miss Anne!' cried Tim; 'it will kill poor Stephen, if it come upon
him sudden like. I know the way through the old pit to where poor little
Nan has fallen; and I'll go and find her. The roof's dropped in, and only
a boy could creep along. But who's to tell Stevie? Oh, Miss Anne,
couldn't you go down with me, and tell him gently your own self?'

'Yes, I will go,' said Miss Anne, weeping.

Underground, in those low, dark, pent-up galleries, lighted only here and
there by a glimmering lamp, the colliers were busy at their labours,
unconscious of all that was happening overhead. Stephen was at work at