The Parson O' Dumford

“Stay over at the works till the opening day. Let the brutes think I have left the town; and, with a few blankets and some provisions, I shall do. I’ll go over to-night.”

“But, Richard, this is folly,” cried Eve, beginning to tremble.

“You don’t know anything about it,” he said, sharply. “If the beasts mean mischief again, they’ll try to get me away from here, and most likely they are watching every train to catch me. If I slip over in the middle of the night, I shall be safe; for no one will think I am there. What do you say, parson?”

The vicar sat thinking for a few moments, and then gave in his acquiescence to the plan.

“But you must keep strictly in hiding,” he said.

“Well, it won’t be for long,” replied Richard; “and won’t be more dull than being in here.”

Eve winced a little, but she turned and tried to smile.

“But would it be wise, Mr Selwood?” exclaimed Mrs Glaire, eagerly.

“Yes; I think it would,” said the vicar, “if he can get there unseen. If these misguided men do search for him, that is one of the last places they will go to, I feel sure. But will you keep closely in hiding? Would it not be better to give way at once?” he continued, addressing Richard.

“I have said what I mean to do,” said Richard, sharply; “and what I say I keep to.”

The vicar bowed his head, and lent himself as much as was likely to be acceptable to the scheme; ending by saying, with a smile on his face —

“I hope, Miss Pelly, that this is the last of these unpleasant affairs we shall ever have here; for rest assured I shall lose no time in trying to bring the people to a better way of thinking.”

He rose and left them, it being thoroughly understood that Richard was to go into hiding that very night, while the vicar would communicate with the police, to ensure some protection for the house; though all felt it to be needless, as any attack was certain to be made on Richard personally.

As he reached the door, though, the vicar turned to Richard —

“Shall I come and be your companion every night? I will come. I can sleep on a bare board with any fellow, and,” he added, smiling, “I enjoy a pipe.”

Richard jumped eagerly at the idea, and was about to say yes, but the evil part of his nature prevailed.

“No,” he said rudely; “when I want Mr Selwood’s help I will ask for it.”

“As you will, Mr Glaire,” was the reply; “and I hope you will. Good-bye, Mrs Glaire – Miss Pelly, and I sincerely hope this will prove a false alarm.”

“If that fellow thinks he’s coming to my place after the marriage, he’s grievously mistaken,” said Richard to himself, and the door closed.

Meanwhile the vicar called at the station, and after a few words about the burglary and the forthcoming examination —

“By the way, Smith,” he said to the constable, “will you and your man oblige me by keeping a strict watch over the House – Mr Glaire’s – for the next week? I have my reasons.”

“Certainly, sir,” was the reply; “and, by the way, sir, my missus’s duty to you for the port wine: it’s doing her a sight o’ good.”

“Glad of it, Smith; send down for some more when that’s done.”

“He’s a good sort,” muttered the policeman, “that he is; but he ought to have sent up for me the other night.”

The vicar strolled back towards the bottom of the town, and turning off, was making his way towards the foreman’s cottage, when he came upon Big Harry with a stick and a bundle, going across the field – cut to the station.

The great fellow tried to get away, but the vicar hailed him, and he stopped.

“Now, don’t thee ask queshtuns, paarson,” he exclaimed; “I tell’d ye I’m sweered, and can’t say owt.”

“I will not ask you anything, Harry,” said the vicar; “only thank you, as I do, for your hint. But where are you going?”

“Sheffle first, Birming after. I’m sick o’ this.”

“Going to get work?”

“Yes, paarson.”

“Why not stop another week?”

“No,” said the big fellow; “I wean’t stay another day. I’m off.”

“You’ve got some other reason for going?”

“Paarson, I wean’t tell’ee owt,” said the big fellow; “theer.”

“Good-bye, Harry,” said the vicar, smiling, and holding out his hand. “I hope I shall see you back again, soon.”

“That you will, paarson, soon as iver they’ve done striking; as for me, I’m longing to get howd of a hammer again. Good-bye.”

“I should like to know more,” said the vicar, as he saw the great fellow go striding away. “There’s some atrocious plan on hand, and he’s too honest to stop and join in it, while he’s too true to his friends to betray them. There’s some fine stuff here in Dumford; but, alas! it is very, very rough.”

His walk to the cottage was in vain. “My master” was out, so Mrs Banks, who looked very sad and mournful, declared.

“He’s out wandering about a deal, sir, now. But hev you had word o’ my poor bairn?”

“I am very sorry to say no, Mrs Banks,” said the vicar, kindly; and he left soon after, to be tortured by the feeling that he would be doing wrong in marrying Richard Glaire and his cousin, for he still suspected him of knowing Daisy’s whereabouts, and could get no nearer to his confidence now than on the first day they met.

He inadvertently strolled to the spot where they had first encountered, and stood leaning against the stile, thinking of all that had since passed, wondering the while whether he might not have done better amongst these people if he had been the quiet, reserved, staid clergyman of the usual type – scholarly, refilled, and not too willing to make himself at home.

“It is a hard question to answer,” he said at last, as he turned to go home, listening to the ringing song of the lark far up in the blue sky, unstained by the smoke of the great furnace and the towering shaft; “it is a hard question to answer, and I can only say – God knows.”

Volume Three – Chapter Ten.

A Revelation

It was the day of the plot concocted by Sim’s Brotherhood, the members of which body had been perfectly quiet, holding no meeting, and avoiding one another as they brooded over their wrongs, and in their roused state of mind rejoiced at the idea of their cunning revenge.

Had the vicar been ignorant of coming danger he would have suspected it, for men who had been in the habit of frankly returning his salutations or stopping to chat, now refused to meet his eye, or avoided him by crossing the road.

He shuddered as he thought of what might be done, but as the last day had come, he was in hopes that it might pass over safely, for Richard had kept closely to his hiding-place, and the rumour had got abroad that he had left the town.

He bore this good news to the House.

“Let him only keep to his hiding-place to-night, Mrs Glaire,” he said; “and to-morrow give out the announcement that the works are opened, and the men once met, we shall have tided over our trouble.”