His house was dark without her; he was desolate and alone, and, horrible to think of, the instrument of her assassination.
This thought drove him to frenzy, and his frenzy took two forms, furious excitement and gloomy despair; this was now his life by night and day, for sleep deserted him.

At the mine his measures were all wise, but his manner very wild; the very miners whispered amongst themselves that he was going mad.

At home, on the contrary, he was gloomy, with sullen despair.

He was in this latter condition the evening after the explosion, when a visitor was announced.

Thinking it was some one from the mine, he said, faintly, "Admit him," and then his despondent head dropped on his breast; indeed, he was in a sort of lethargy, worn out with his labors, his remorse and his sleeplessness.
In that condition his ear was suddenly jarred by a hard, metallic voice, whose tone was somehow opposed to all the voices with which goodness and humanity have ever spoken.
"Well, governor, here's a slice of luck." Bartley shivered.