The Parson O' Dumford

“Don’t speak to me; don’t speak to me,” she cried wildly, as she threw herself sobbing beside her father to passionately raise his head, and kiss him again and again. “He’s dead, he’s dead, and I’ve killed – I’ve killed him.”

There was silence for a few moments, which no one cared to break, and Tom Podmore stood with folded arms and heaving breast, gazing down at the weeping figure of her he so dearly loved.

“He’s not dead, my poor girl,” said the vicar, kindly; “only in a swoon. That bleeding will do him good. Constables, we must get him home at once, or – no, you must guard this place. Harry, Podmore, and two more – a stout piece of carpet from the nearest house. We can carry him in that.”

“Bring him home – to my place,” said Richard Glaire, who had somewhat recovered.

“I think not, Mr Glaire,” said the vicar, firmly. “His own house will be best.”

“Excuse me, sir,” said the chief policeman. “He’s the leader, I believe; we must have him at the station. The doctor can see him there. He had laid the train, and was to fire it. Harry and Podmore here know.”

Daisy uttered a shriek, and the vicar’s brow knit as he turned to Richard.

“It’s a lie,” cried the latter, sharply. “I was here, and know some scoundrels put the powder here, and the train; but Banks destroyed it, and saved my life.”

The vicar had him by the hand in a moment, and pressed it hard.

“It’s a lie, parson,” he said in a whisper; “but I must tell it. He did save my life.”

“How came he by that cut, then, sir?” said the policeman.

“You see,” said Richard, coldly, “he fell and struck himself against that piece of clinker. He did not know I was there, and that his child had come to warn him, and he was overcome.”

“I will be answerable for his appearance to reply to any charge,” said the vicar.

“There’s no charge against him,” said Richard, hastily. “I saw him destroy the train.”

Daisy crept to his side, and Tom Podmore groaned as he saw her kiss Richard’s hand.

“Very good, sir,” said the constable; “that will do. We’ll watch here, sir, though there’s no fear now; and the others are locked up.”

A piece of carpet was then fetched, and Banks was carefully lifted upon it, four men taking the corners, and bearing him hammock-fashion down the crowded street, the work people who had been in the street having been augmented by the rest; and a strange silence brooded over the place as they talked in whispers, the story growing every instant until it was the common report that Banks and Richard Glaire had met in the foundry, that Banks had been killed, and Richard Glaire was now dying at home.

The gossiping people could not fit Daisy Banks into the story. She was walking beside her stricken father, and they saw her bent head, and heard her bitter sobs; but it was only natural that she should make her appearance at such a time, and it seemed nothing to them that she should be close to Tom Podmore, who was one of the bearers, though he, poor fellow, winced, as Daisy half-clung to his arm for protection, when the crowd pressed upon them more than once.

On reaching the cottage, the vicar hurried in first, to prepare Mrs Banks, expecting a burst of lamentation; but as soon as he had uttered his first words, Mrs Banks was cold and firm as a stone.

“Is he dead, sir?” she whispered; “tell me true.”

“No, no; and not much injured. I think it is a fit.”

“I wean’t give way, sir,” she panted; and running upstairs, she began to drag down a mattress and pillow, ready for the suffering man.

“Poor Joe, poor Joe!” she murmured, and then gave a start as she heard the word “Mother!”

“Ay, lass, I’d forgot thee in this new trouble.”

“But you will not send me away, mother?” whispered Daisy – “wait till you know all.”

“I send thee away, lass? Nay, nay, I shouldna do that now,” said Mrs Banks, sadly.

The next moment she was putting the pillow and arranging it beneath her husband’s head, as he was borne in, the men softly retiring, and giving place to the doctor, who hurried in, hot and panting.

“Ah, Selwood, what’s all this?” he said. “Give me a light quickly.”

He was down on his knees directly, examining his patient, removing the bandage, and looking at the cut, the patient’s eyes, and carefully loosening all tight clothing.

“Poor fellow! – ah – yes – nasty cut – do him good. Hum! What fools people are; they told me he was killed.”

“Will he live, Mr Purley?” whispered Daisy, hoarsely.

“Ah, Daisy, you come back?” said the doctor. “Live? yes, of course he will. Touch of apoplexy; but we’ll bring him round.”

“Oh, mother, mother!” moaned Daisy; “I thought I’d killed him;” and she threw herself, sobbing, into her mother’s arms.

“Come, come, that won’t do,” exclaimed the doctor. “You two must help me. Selwood, you’ll do me a good turn by going, and taking all the people with you. We want fresh air.”

The vicar nodded, and a few words from him, coupled with the information that Banks was not seriously hurt and would soon recover, sufficed to send the little crowd away.

They followed him, though at a distance, Tom Podmore and Harry acting as his rearguard, as he made as if to go straight to the House.

He had to pass the Bull, though; and, seeing a group of people there, he made his way through them to where Robinson, the landlord, was standing discussing the events of the evening.

“Robinson,” said the vicar, aloud, and his words were listened to eagerly, “I’m afraid this atrocious outrage was hatched here in your house.”

“’Strue as I stand here, sir,” cried the landlord eagerly, “I knowed nowt of it.”

“But you knew that secret meetings were held here?”

“I knowd they’d their meetings, and a lot o’ flags and nonsense, sir; but I niver thowt it was owt but foolery, or they shouldn’t hev had it here.”

“I ask you as a man, Robinson, did you know they meant to blow up the works?”

“No, Mr Selwood,” cried Robinson, indignantly; “and if I had knowed I’d have come and telled you directly.”

“I believe you,” said the vicar.

“I knowed they talked big, sir,” continued Robinson; “but when men do that ower a pipe and a gill o’ ale, it’s on’y so much blowing off steam like, and does ’em good. Bud look here, sir, there’s about a dozen of ’em up in big room now. Come on up, and we’ll drift ’em.”

He led the way to the club-room, to find it locked on the inside, and on knocking he was asked the pass-word.

“Dal thee silly foolery,” cried the landlord, in a passion, “there it is;” and, stepping back, a few paces, he ran furiously at the door and dashed it off its hinges; entering, followed by the vicar, Harry, and Tom, who kept close to protect him from harm.

There were about fourteen men present, and they rose with more of dread than menace in their aspect, half expecting to see the police. “Look here, lads,” began the landlord – “Allow me, Mr Robinson,” said the vicar, stepping forward and looking straight before him. “My men, I look at no man here; I recognise no man as I say this. Smarting under injury as you thought – ”

“Real injury, parson,” cried Stockton. “Faults on both sides, my man,” continued the vicar. “Some among you destroyed Mr Glaire’s property. I say, smarting under your injuries, and led away by some foolish, mouthing demagogues, you conspired to take the law into your own hands, and, not content with making two cruel assaults on your employer – ”

“Which he well deserved, parson.”