The Parson O' Dumford

“Let him go and lie down for an hour,” said the vicar, looking at the young man’s ghastly face.

“Not got fever, hev you, my lad?” said the old gentleman kindly, as they walked up to the house. “Here, Jess, pull down the blinds in the far room, and let John Maine come and lie down a bit theer.”

At his summons, Jessie’s young, pleasant face appeared at the window. It had no more pretensions to beauty than a pair of soft, dark eyes, and a bright, rosy colour, and the eyes looked very wistfully at John Maine, who now made an effort.

“No, no, sir,” he said. “I won’t lie down. I’ll get to work again; there’s nothing like forgetting pain.”

“Well, perhaps you’re right, Maine,” said the vicar. “Well, Mr Bultitude, we don’t get over our strike.”

“Parson, it makes me wild,” said the old man. “I can’t bear it, and I shall be glad – strange and glad to see it over; for I hate to see a pack of men standing about the town doing o’ nowt. Can’t you do owt wi’ the works people?”

The vicar shook his head. “I’ve tried both ways – hard,” he said; “master and men, but no good comes of it.”

While this conversation was going on, Jessie had stepped anxiously forward, and laid her hand upon John Maine’s arm.

“Is anything serious the matter, John?” she said anxiously. “Are you very ill?”

He started when she touched him as if he had been stung, and withdrew his arm hastily; and then, without so much as a glance at the girl’s earnest, appealing eyes, he turned away and followed the vicar down the path, for he had shaken hands and parted from the farmer.

“I’ll see you across the home close, sir,” said John Maine.

“Thank you, do,” said the vicar; “but I think your bull pretty well knows me now. Hallo! here comes Mr Brough, the Squire’s keeper, with his black looks and black whiskers. He always looks at me as if he thought I had designs on the squire’s game. Hallo! Maine, bad friends? What does that mean?” he continued, as the man gave him a surly salute and then passed on, gun over shoulder, bestowing upon the young bailiff a sneering, half-savage look that was full of meaning.

“Tom Brough has never been very good friends with me, sir, since I thrashed him for annoying Miss Jessie there, up at the farm.”

“Seems as if his love has not yet returned,” said the vicar, as he strode away, thinking of the various little plots and by-plots going on in his neighbourhood; and then sighing deeply as he felt that there was trouble in store for himself, in spite of his stern discipline and busy efforts to keep his mind too much employed to think of the countenance that haunted his dreams.

It seemed to be the vicar’s fate to appear as playing the spy upon Richard Glaire, for, on Iiis return, taking a round-about way back, so as to make a call upon one or two people whom he had relieved of some part of the suffering induced by the strike, he was once more striking for the High Street, when he heard the words sharply uttered:

“Well, I’ll pay you this time; but let me find that you fail me again and don’t you expect – Confound – !”

“How do, Mr Glaire,” said the vicar, for he had come suddenly upon Richard, laying down the law pretty sharply to Sim Slee, and he was close to them before it was seen on either side.

“Really,” said the vicar to himself as he strode on, “I’ve not the slightest wish to see what that unfortunate young man does; but it seems to me that I am to be bound to bear witness to a great deal. Heigho! these are matters that must be left to time.”

He entered his own gate soon after, and having received Mrs Slee’s report, that lady handed him the note she had found.

“Mr Glaire’s hand,” he said, involuntarily and with his brows knit. “Where did you get this?”

“My master came to see me, and he must ha’ dropped it,” said Mrs Slee.

“Then take it to him,” said the vicar, quietly, as he resumed his calm aspect. “It is nothing to do with us.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Mrs Slee, sharply. “What call has young master Dick Glaire to be writing letters to she?”

“Take the letter to your husband, Mrs Slee,” said the vicar, quietly; and then left alone, he threw himself into his chair, and covered his face with his hands, trying hard to resist temptation, for he knew well enough that if he had kept that letter and dishonourably shown it to Eve Pelly, so serious a breach would be created that his future success would be almost certain. But, no; he could not stir a step to make her unhappy. She loved this man, who was quite unworthy of her; and if she ever was awakened from her dream his must not be the hand that roused her.

He started as he heard the door close loudly, and saw Mrs Slee go down the path to seek out her husband, and return the letter.

There was time now to call her back, but he did not move, only sat and watched her bear away that which he knew might have been used as the lever to overthrow Richard Glaire.

Once only did he hesitate, but it was when his thoughts reverted to Daisy Banks and the possibility of ill befalling her, through her intimacy with Richard Glaire.

“But I cannot take action on a letter that falls accidentally into my hands,” he said. “If I speak to the girl’s father it must be on the subject of what I have seen; and that I will do.”

He gave the matter a little consideration, and then determined to act at the risk of being considered a meddler, and walked straight to Joe Banks’s pleasant little home, where he found Mrs Banks and Daisy alone, the girl being in tears.

He was turning; back, so as to avoid being present during any family trouble, when Mrs Banks arrested him.

“Don’t you go away, sir, please, for I should like you to have your word with this girl as well as me. It’s no use to speak to her father and – Hoity-toity, miss.”

Poor Daisy did not stop to hear the rest; for already growing thin with worry and mental care connected with her love affair, Mrs Banks was leading her rather a sad life in her husband’s absence, ostensibly to benefit Tom Podmore, but really hardening the girl’s heart against him, if she had felt any disposition to yield: she now started up to hide her tears, and ran out of the room.

“Well, that’s fine manners, miss!” exclaimed Mrs Banks, apostrophising the absent one. “I’m always telling her and Joe, my husband, sir, that no good can come of her listening to young Master Dick Glaire.”

“Then you don’t approve of it, Mrs Banks?” said the vicar, quietly.

“Approve of it, sir? No, nor anybody else, except her foolish father, who’s the best and kindest man in the world: only when he takes an obstinate craze there’s no turning him.”

The vicar found the matter already to his hand, and was spared the trouble of introducing the subject; but he would rather have found Joe Banks present.

“Does he approve of it?” he said, quietly.

“Approve of it, sir! yes. I tell him, and all his neighbours tell him, that it’s a bit of foolish vanity; but they can’t turn him a morsel.”

“Hallo, moother,” said Joe Banks, entering the room, “can’t you let that rest?”

“No, Joe, and I never shall,” exclaimed Mrs Banks.

“Don’t you tak’ any notice, sir,” said Joe. “She heven’t talked you round, hev she?”

“No, Mr Banks,” said the vicar, quietly; “it was not necessary. I have no right to interfere in these matters, but – ”

“Well, speak out, sir; speak out,” said Joe, rather sternly. “Say out like a man what you mean.”

“If I did, Mr Banks, I should say that you were imprudent to let this matter proceed.”

“Why?”

“Because it is a well-known fact that Mr Glaire is engaged to his cousin.”

“There, Joe; there, Joe; what did I tell thee?” cried Mrs Banks, triumphantly; while Daisy, who could hear nearly all that was said, crouched with burning face in her room, shivering with nervous excitement, though longing to hear more.

“All raight, parson, I know,” said Joe; “I see. The missus has sent you.”

“Indeed, no, Banks,” said the vicar. “I speak as a friend, without a word from anybody.”

“Then, what do you mean by it?” cried Joe, exploding with passion. “What raight have you to come interferin’ in a man’s house, and about his wife and daughter? This is my own bit o’ freehold, Mr Selwood, and if you can’t pay respect to me and to mine, and see that if Master Richard Glaire, my old fellow-workman’s boy, chooses to marry my gal, he’s a raight to, why I’d thank you to stay away.”