The Parson O' Dumford

“Drove mad by his child,” cried Tom, speaking now in tones of sorrow. “Gone by this time wi’ a lot more to blow up the wucks.”

“I won’t believe it yet,” cried Daisy. “It can’t be true. My dear father would never do the like.”

“It’s true enew,” said Tom, “and I should ha’ been theer trying once more to stop him, only I see you, and, like a fool, tried to save thee again.”

“Tom,” cried Daisy, who was giddy with dread and excitement, “tell me that this is some terrible mistake.”

“Yes,” he said, bitterly; “and I made it.”

“What shall I do?” gasped Daisy. “Oh, at last, Mrs Glaire – Mrs Glaire, what have you done?”

“You here!” cried Mrs Glaire, who now entered with Eve from the doctor’s, the latter turning pale, and sinking into a chair.

“Yes, yes,” gasped Daisy, sinking on her knees, and clinging to Mrs Glaire’s skirts; “I came – I was obliged to come back. My father, my – Oh no, no, no, no!” she sobbed to herself, “I dare not tell them; I must not tell. I – I – I came – ”

“Yes,” cried Mrs Glaire, angrily; “you came, false, cruel girl. You came back to ruin all our hopes of happiness here – to undo all which I have striven so hard to do.”

“But, Mrs Glaire, dear Mrs Glaire, I have tried so hard,” sobbed Daisy, grovelling on the floor, but still clinging to Mrs Glaire’s dress that she tried to drag away. “You don’t know what I’ve suffered away in that cold, bitter town, wi’out a word from home, wi’out knowing what they thowt o’ me, for I kep’ my word. I never wrote once, though I was breaking my heart to write.”

“But you came back – and now,” cried Mrs Glaire.

“Yes, yes, I heard – danger – so horrible, I was obliged,” panted the girl.

“You heard that?” said Mrs Glaire.

“Yes, yes,” cried Daisy; “and I came to try and save him fro’ it.”

“Of course,” cried Mrs Glaire. “Where is your promise?”

“Aunt, aunt,” sobbed Eve, “she is fainting. Pray spare her.”

“Spare her!” cried Mrs Glaire. “Why should I? Has she spared us? Go, girl, go; your presence pollutes this place.”

“No, no,” cried Daisy. “You mistake me – indeed you do, Mrs Glaire. I did not come back for what you think.”

“Then why did you come?”

“I cannot – dare not tell you; but where, where is Mr Richard?”

Tom Podmore turned aside, and moved towards the door.

“How dare you ask me,” cried Mrs Glaire, “after the promise you made?”

“Don’t ask me that,” wailed Daisy, struggling to her feet, and wringing her hands wildly. “I can’t find father. I must see Mr Richard. Harry said he hadn’t left the town. Is he here?”

“No, girl,” said Mrs Glaire, turning away, “he is not here.”

“Where is he, then? Oh, Mrs Glaire!” cried the girl, “for your own sake tell me. On my knees I beg of you to tell me. It is life and death. I came to save. Miss Eve!” she cried, turning on her knees to her. “You love him; tell me where he is. I know – yes, I know,” she cried, eagerly; “he must be at the works.”

Eve started and turned away her head, to bury her face in her hands.

“Yes,” cried Daisy, excitedly. “He must be there.”

She turned hurriedly to go, when Tom Podmore caught at her cloak.

“Stop!” he cried excitedly. “You canno’ go theer.”

Daisy turned upon him angrily, and tore off her cloak, leaving it in his hands as she dashed off through the dark with the young man in pursuit.

“Undone!” moaned Mrs Glaire. “Undone. Oh, Eve, my poor stricken darling, and after all I have tried!”

“But, aunt, he will not see her. Richard will not – ”

“A false, treacherous girl!” moaned Mrs Glaire. “Eve, my darling, for your sake, for her sake – thank Heaven, here is Dick! Oh, my boy, my darling!”

She threw her arms round him exultingly, as if to hold him, and save him from danger, whilst he threw off the heavy coat in which he was muffled.

“Phew! I’m nearly suffocated,” he cried. “There, that will do, mother. Ah! Eve.”

“But why did you leave the works, my boy?” cried Mrs Glaire.

“Sick of it,” cried Richard, hastily. “I’ll stay there no more. I’ll open to-morrow. Curse the place, it’s horrible of a night, and I’ve finished all the wine. What’s the matter with Eve?”

“But,” cried Mrs Glaire, evading the question, and speaking excitedly, “you must not stay, Richard; you must leave again to-night – now, at once.”

“Where for?” said Richard, grimly.

“London – France – anywhere,” exclaimed Mrs Glaire, piteously.

“Nova Scotia, or the North Pole,” said Richard, savagely. “Damn it, mother, I won’t hide from the curs any more. Here have I been for days in that wretched hole.”

“But there’s mischief brewing, Dick, my boy, I am sure there is. You must leave at once.”

“Let it brew,” he cried. “But who was that left the house as I came in?”

Mrs Glaire did not answer, only looked appealingly to Eve.

“I said who was that came out of the house as I came along – some woman?”

Still there was no answer, and the young man looked eagerly round the hall, to take a step aside, and pounced upon a handkerchief that had been dropped on the mat.

“Whose is this?” he cried, taking it to the light, and holding it out, first to inspect one corner and then another. “Daisy!” he cried, joyously. “Has Daisy been here? Do you hear? Speak, some of you. It was; it must have been. I might have known her in the dark.”

“You coward – you villain!” cried Mrs Glaire, in a low, hissing whisper. “Is there to be no end to your deceit? Stop. One moment. Let me tell you what I know. You planned to meet that girl to-night, and you left your hiding-place on purpose.”

“Then it was Daisy!” cried Richard.

“Yes, it was Daisy. You were a little too late. You must have good spies, Richard, my son, clever people, to keep you informed, and you learned that your poor cheated cousin and I were gone out for the evening.”