The Parson O' Dumford

No one on this floor; and with a shiver, begotten of cold and dread, she proceeded to the steps leading to the next floor, which she searched in turn, ending by going to the third – a repetition of those below.

“There is no one here,” she said to herself at last; “unless he is asleep.”

She shuddered at this; and now, with the chilly feeling growing stronger each moment, she made her way amongst the benches and wood-work of this place, which was the pattern shop, and reached the top of the stairs, where she paused; and then, not satisfied, feeling that this was the most likely place for a man to be in hiding, she went over this upper floor again.

As she searched, the clock at the church struck eleven, and its tones sent a thrill through her, they sounded so solemn; but directly after, with the tears falling fast, as the old clock bell brought up happy recollections of the past, she began to descend; but was not half-way down before she heard footsteps, and her name pronounced in an eager whisper —

“Daisy – Daisy!”

She stopped short, trembling with dread. It was Richard Glaire, the man who had had such influence over her, and whom she had told herself that she loved so well. But this feeling of fear that she suffered now could not be love; she knew that well: and during her late seclusion she had learned to look upon the young man’s actions in a new light. His mother’s words to her had taken root, and she knew now that his intentions towards her had only been to make her the plaything of the hour of his fleeting liking; and the girl’s face flushed, and her teeth were set, as once again she asked herself why had she been so weak and vain as to believe this man.

“Daisy – Daisy – Daisy Banks, are you here?” came in a loud whisper; and still she did not move, but her heart fluttered, and her breath was drawn painfully.

No: she did not care for him now, she felt. It was a dream – a silly love dream, and she had awakened a wiser, stronger girl than she was before.

“Stronger!” she thought; “and yet I stand here afraid to speak, afraid to move, when I have come to save him perhaps from a horrible death. I will speak:”

She stopped again, for a terrible thought oppressed her. She must not betray her father. He might even now be coming to the place, if it was true that he was to blow up the works – he might even now be here, and the explosion – Oh, it was too horrible; she dared not speak even now: she dared not stay. She was not so brave as she thought, and she must fly from the place, or try to meet her father. Not Richard Glaire; she could not – dare not meet him again; for she feared him still, even though she told herself that she was strong. A strange feeling of faintness came over her, all seemed to swim round – and had she not clutched at the handrail, her feelings would have been too much for her, and she would have fallen headlong to the foot of the steep flight.

As it was, she uttered a faint cry, and it betrayed her presence.

“I knew you were here,” cried Richard Glaire, hurriedly ascending the stairs; “why, Daisy, my little bird, at last – at last. Where have you been?”

“Then you are safe yet,” she gasped, as he caught her in his arms, though she repulsed him.

“Safe; yes, my little beauty. I found you had been at the house, and they said you were here – come to look for me. Why, Daisy, this meeting makes up for all my misery since you have been gone.”

Daisy wrenched herself from his arms, exclaiming passionately —

“I came to save you and others, Mr Glaire, and you act like this. Quick, get away from this place. Your life is in danger.”

“I have heard that tale, my dear,” he said, “till I am tired of it.”

“I tell you,” cried Daisy, as he tried to clasp her again, and she struggled with him; “I tell you there is a plot against you, and that you must go. This place is not safe. You have not a moment to lose.”

“Why,” said Richard, holding her in spite of her struggles; “did you not come to see me and comfort me for being in hiding here?”

“No, no,” cried Daisy, trying to free herself; “I came to warn you. Oh, sir, this is cowardly.”

“Come, Daisy, my little one, why are you struggling? You used not.”

“No,” cried the girl, angrily; “not when I was a silly child and believed you.”

“Come, that’s unkind,” said Richard, laughing. “Where have you been, eh? But there, I know.”

“I tell you, Mr Richard, you are in danger.”

“Pooh! what danger? We’re safe enough here, Daisy, and no one will interrupt us.”

“I cannot answer questions,” said Daisy.

“Oh, pray, pray let us go. I came to save you.”

“Then you do love me still, Daisy?”

“No, no; indeed no, sir, I hate you; but I would not see you hurt.”

“Look here, Daisy,” cried Richard. “I hate mystery. Did you come here alone?”

“Yes, yes – to save you.”

“Thank you, my dear; but now, please, tell me why? No mystery, please, or I shall think this is some trick, and that you have been sent by the men on strike.”

“Indeed, no, Mr Richard,” cried Daisy, who, in her horror, caught at his arm, and tried to drag him away. “Mr Richard, sir, you told me you loved me; and in those days I was foolish enough to believe you, to the neglect of a good, true man, who wanted to make me his wife.”

“Poor idiot!” cried Richard, who was getting out of temper at being so kept at a distance.

“No; but a good, true man,” cried Daisy, indignantly. “I’ve wakened up from the silly dream you taught me to believe, and now I come to warn you of a great danger, and you scoff at it.”

“What’s the danger, little one?”

“I cannot – dare not tell you.”

“Then it isn’t true. It’s an excuse of yours. The old game, Daisy: all promises and love in your letters – all coyness and distance when we meet; but you are not going to fool me any more, my darling. I don’t believe a word of your plot, for no one knows I am here except those who would not betray me.”

“What shall I do?” cried Daisy, clasping her hands in agony. “Even now it may be too late.”

“What shall you do, you silly little thing!” cried Richard, whose promises were all forgotten, and he clasped Daisy more tightly; “why, behave like a sensible girl. Why, Daisy, I have not kissed you for weeks, and so must make up for lost time.”

“If you do not loose me, Mr Richard, I shall scream for help,” cried the girl, now growing frightened.

“And who’s to hear you if you do?” he said, mockingly.

“Those who are coming to destroy your works,” exclaimed Daisy, now fully roused to the peril of her position.

“Let them come!” cried Richard, as he held her more tightly; “when they do,” he added, with a laugh, “I’ll let you go.”

He was drawing Daisy’s face round to his in spite of her struggles, when, in an instant, she ceased to fight against him, as she exclaimed in a low, awe-stricken whisper – “Hush! what was that?” Richard loosed his hold on the instant, and stood listening.

“Nothing but a trick of yours, Miss Daisy,” he cried, catching her arm as she was gliding from him into the darkness.

“Hush! there it is again,” whispered the girl. “I heard it plainly. Pray, pray, let us go.”

“No one can have got in here,” muttered Richard, turning pale, for this time he had distinctly heard some sound from below. “Here, wait a moment, and I’ll go and see.”

“No, no,” faltered Daisy. “Not alone; and you must not leave me. There is danger – there is, indeed, Mr Richard.”

“Give me your hand, then,” he whispered. “Curse the place; it’s dark enough by night to frighten any one. Mind how you come.” Daisy clung convulsively to his hand and arm, as they descended to the second floor, where all seemed to be still, not a sound reaching their ears; and from thence to the first floor, where all was as they had left it.