The Parson O' Dumford Part 46

"Hold your tongue, and keep names quiet. Now you quite understand. I shall not show my face in the matter at all."

"Oh, no, of course not," said Sim. "All right, Mr Glaire, sir. You couldn't have a troostier man than me."

"I don't know," said Richard; "perhaps I oughtn't to have given you the money till after."

"Oh, you may troost me, Mr Richard, I'm square, sir, and honourable.

It'll all be done lovely."

"Then I shall not see you again," said Richard; and they parted.

"Ho, ho, ho!" chuckled Sim, slapping his legs. "Here's a game. Some on 'em 'll be chattering all over the place 'bout this, and, ho, my!"

He had another long enjoyable laugh, to start up half frightened, for a dark figure approached him so suddenly, that it was close upon him before he was aware of the fact.

"What are you laughing at?" said the newcomer, sharply. "What devil's game hev yow and that d.i.c.k Glaire been hatching?"

"Hatching? Devil's game, Tom Podmore? why, can't a man laugh in the lane if he likes? But there, I'm off up to the mill, for it'll reean to-night, mun."

Tom Podmore strode off after Richard Glaire, muttering angrily, and on getting close to the town, it was to see the young man walking right in the middle of the road, to avoid the men standing about on the pebble-paved sidewalks.

It was well he did so, for there were plenty of hands ready to be raised against him, and had one struck at him, it would have been the signal for a rain of blows: for scores of men in the place were now vowing vengeance against the man whom they accused of starving their wives and bairns. In fact, it had so far been Richard Glaire's insolent temerity that had saved him from a.s.sault. He had gone boldly about, urged thereto by his eagerness to meet little Daisy Banks, but for which engagements he would probably have stayed indoors, and run greater risks on the few occasions when he showed himself.

As it was, he hastened his steps this night, on seeing the dark groups about, and when Tom Podmore closed up, he almost ran the last few steps, dashed open the door, and, closing it, stood panting in the hall.

It was about half-past ten now, and he listened, with his hand upon the bolt, to the muttering voices without for a few minutes, till one of the maids came in to gaze at him curiously.

"Here, fasten up this door," he said harshly.

"Fasten the door, sir?" said the girl.

"Yes, fasten the door, stupid," he cried, angrily.

"But missus hasn't come in yet," said the girl.

"Not come in?" said Richard, starting as he recalled where he had left her; and then, with a hasty pis.h.!.+ "I daresay she's at Purley's. I'll fasten the door. Don't sit up."

The girl was leaving the hall, when he called after her:

"Where's Miss Eve?"

"Gone to bed, sir, with a sick headache."

"She's always got a sick headache," growled Richard.

"I wish you had 'em your sen," muttered the girl.

"There, bring some hot water and a tumbler into the dining-room," said Richard, as the girl was turning to go.

He went into the dining-room, got out the spirit-stand, and, on the hot water being brought, mixed himself a stiff gla.s.s of brandy and water, and drank it rapidly, listening occasionally to the footsteps and loud talking without.

A second gla.s.s followed shortly after, and then, tired out with the day's work, the young man threw himself on the sofa. The sounds outside by degrees grew indistinct and distant, and then, with a pale, ghost-like Eve following him always, he was journeying through foreign lands with Daisy, who looked lovingly up in his face. Then, Tom Podmore seemed to be pursuing him and threatening his life. Next it was the vicar; and then, at last, after struggling hard to get away, Joe Banks stood over him with a flas.h.i.+ng light, and as he waited to hear him say, "Where is my child?"--waited with a feeling of suspense that seemed prolonged for years, the voice said coldly and sternly:

"Why are you not in bed?"

He started into wakefulness to see that it was his mother standing over him with a chamber candlestick, looking very cold and white.

"How could I go to bed when you were not back?" he said sulkily.

"You can go to bed now," she said, quietly.

"Where have you been?"

She made no answer.

"Were there many of those scoundrels about?" he asked.

"The men would not injure me," she said, in the same low voice.

"But how did you get in?"

"Eve came down and admitted me," was the reply.

"What's o'clock?"

Mrs Glaire made no answer.

"Oh, if you like to be sulky you can," said Richard, coolly; and, lighting a chamber candle, he strode off to bed.

As he turned to wind up his watch in a sleepy manner, he found that it had run down, so with an impatient gesture he laid it aside, finished undressing, and tumbled into bed.

"Some of them will open their eyes to-morrow," he muttered, with a half-laugh. "Well, it was time to act. I'm not going to be under petticoat government all my life."

At the same time Mrs Glaire was seated pale and s.h.i.+vering in the dining-room, while all else in the house were sleeping soundly, and the street was now painfully still, for the murmuring workers of the foundry had long since sought their homes, more than one sending up a curse on Richard Glaire, instead of a prayer for his well-being and peace.

Volume 2, Chapter VIII.

OLD FRIENDS AGAIN.

"If I could only tell him everything," muttered John Maine, as he strode away from the vicar's side, and made for the farm.

He was not half-way back, when he met Tom Brough, the keeper, who favoured him with a sneering, contemptuous kind of smile that made the young man's blood boil. He knew him to be a rival, though he felt sure that Jessie did not favour his suit in the slightest degree. Still her uncle seemed to look upon Brough as a likely man to make his niece a good partner; for Tom Brough expected to come in for a fair amount of property, an old relative having him down in his will for succession to a comfortable farm--a nice thing, argued old Bult.i.tude, for a young couple beginning life.

It might have been only fancy, but on reaching the crew-yard, old Bult.i.tude seemed to John Maine to speak roughly to him. However, he took no notice, but went about his duties, worked very hard for a time, and went in at last to the evening meal, to find Jessie looking careworn and anxious.

After tea he sent a boy up with a message to the cricket-field, saying that he was too unwell to come; and after this he went to his own room to sit and think out his future, breaking off the thread of his musings and seeking Jessie, whom he found alone, and looking strange and distant.

"Jessie," he began, and she turned her face towards him, but without speaking, and then there was a minute's pause.

"Jessie," he began again, and the intention had been to speak of his own affairs, but his feelings were too much for him, and he turned off the primary question to pa.s.s to one that had but a secondary place in his mind.