The Parson O' Dumford

“None whatever,” said the vicar. “I think the storm is over – I hope for good.”

Mrs Glaire gave a sigh of relief, and then wondered, as she saw the vicar cross the room; but the next minute a faint flush came into her pale cheeks, and she tottered to where Eve was sitting, and buried her face on her shoulder.

“Mr Glaire,” said the vicar, firmly, as he nerved himself for what he had to say, determined, as he was, to leave nothing undone in what he looked upon as his duty – “Mr Glaire, I have done you a grievous wrong; I humbly ask your pardon.”

“What do you mean?” said Richard, starting, and wondering, with his customary distrust in human nature, whether it was some trap.

“I mean that, in common with others, I believed you guilty of inveigling Daisy Banks away.”

“It don’t matter to me what people think,” said Richard, roughly.

“I am sorry I misjudged you,” continued the vicar; “and once more I ask your pardon.”

“It don’t matter,” said Richard.

“Mrs Glaire,” the vicar continued, kindly, as he drew a chair to her side and took her hand, “you did a foolish, cruel thing in this.”

“Then you know all?” she sobbed.

“Yes, all – from the lips of Daisy herself. I will not blame you, though, for the act has recoiled upon yourself, and it is only by great mercy that, embittered as these men were through it, a horrible crime has not been committed.”

“I did it – I did it to save him,” sobbed Mrs Glaire. “I am a mother, and he is my only boy.”

“Poor, stricken Banks is a father, and Daisy is his only child. Mrs Glaire, you did him a cruel wrong. Why did you not trust me?”

“I was mad and foolish,” she sobbed. “I dared not trust any one, even Daisy; and I thought it would be best for all – that it would save her, and it has been all in vain. Look at him,” she cried angrily; “after all, he defies me, insults his cousin’s love, and, when the poor, foolish girl comes back, his first act is to seek her, to the forgetting of his every promise to us both.”

Eve had covered her face with her hands.

“Daisy is as bad as he,” continued Mrs Glaire, angrily.

“There you are mistaken,” said the vicar; “her act to-night was to warn your son of his dreadful danger. She went to save him from a terrible death.”

“Pray say no more,” said Mrs Glaire, shuddering; and Richard turned of a sallow yellow.

“It has been a terrible affair,” said the vicar; “but I sincerely hope that all is over, for your act has borne fruits, Mrs Glaire, and Daisy has seen the folly of the past.”

Richard looked up wonderingly, but refused to meet their visitor’s eye.

“I have spoken hastily, and I owe you an apology, Miss Pelly,” continued the vicar, rising; “but it was better to be plain even before you. I was only too glad, though, to come and apologise to Mr Glaire for the wrong I had done.”

“But poor Joe Banks?” exclaimed Mrs Glaire.

“He seems to have been struck down by an apoplectic fit. He was shocked, no doubt, at finding that so dastardly an attempt had been made, and at the sight of your son and his child in such imminent peril. I hope, however, and sincerely believe, that he will recover. I have just come from there. Good night.”

He pressed Mrs Glaire’s hand, and held that of Eve for a few moments, saying to himself, “Poor girl, I have lightened her heart of some of its load. I have somewhat cleared the man she loves.”

“Good night, Mr Glaire,” he said, turning to Richard.

“I’ll see you out,” said Richard; and he followed him to the now vacant hall.

“What did you mean,” he said, roughly, “about Daisy?”

“I mean,” said the vicar, laying his hand upon the young man’s shoulder, “that she has awakened to the folly and weakness of her dealings with you, sir, and to the truth, honesty, and faith of the man who has loved her for so long.”

“Podmore?” hissed Richard.

“Yes, Podmore. Now, Mr Glaire, your course is open.”

“What do you mean?” cried Richard, angrily.

“Act as a man of honour.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“And all will be forgiven. Good night.”

“Curse him!” cried Richard, with an impatient stamp; and he stood gnawing his fair moustache. Then, with a smile of triumph, damped by a hasty glance of fear up and down the street, he hurriedly closed the door.

Volume Three – Chapter Fifteen.

Daisy’s Letter

The weeks slipped rapidly by, and a great change had come over Dumford. The sky was blackened once more with smoke, the furnaces roared, there was the loud chink of metal heard, and the hiss of steam as the engines thudded and clanked, while at dinner time the great gates gave forth their troops of grimy workmen.

Homes looked bright once more, and “my maister” was not seen with lowering brow leaning against the door-post all day long, but tired and hearty, ready to play with the bairns, or busy himself in his bit of garden.

The trade, too, had brightened up, and one and all thanked goodness that their troubles were over, and prayed that they might be long in coming again.

Something of a search had been made for Sim Slee, and the police authorities had been pretty active; but Sim and the “deppitation” managed to keep out of sight, and Richard Glaire was in no wise anxious to have the matter too closely investigated.

He kept to his story that he found the train laid in the foundry, and Banks the foreman destroyed it, and the place was saved. This he opened at once, and the men gladly resumed work, the vicar’s influence telling upon them, and one and all being ready to ignore the past, and try to condone it by regular attendance at the time-keeper’s wicket.

Banks recovered rapidly, and, on learning the truth, sent for Richard, who, however, refused to go to the house to see him, while on his part the foreman declined to resume his position at the foundry.

“No, sir,” he said to the vicar; “I weer in the wrong, and I shouldn’t feel it weer raight to go back theer again. I’m sorry I misjudged him as I did, and I weer too hard upon him; but he hasn’t used me well, neither has Mrs Glaire. But theer, let bygones be bygones. I shan’t starve, and I’m only too happy to hev my poor lass back again, safe and sound – safe and sound, while the missus is in high feather to find that Daisy and her fav’rite, Tom Podmore, hev come together efter all.”

That same day, as it happened, Mrs Glaire called at the cottage, with Eve Pelly, and while the former talked with her old foreman,

Eve went into the little garden with Daisy.

“I’ve called to ask you to come back, Joe Banks, at my son’s wish,” said Mrs Glaire. “He desires that we bury the past, and that you resume your post, for the place is not the same without you.”

“Nay, Mrs Glaire, nay,” said Banks, shaking his head; “that can never be again. I should hev had to give it up some day, so let it be now. And, as you say, ma’am, let bygones be bygones. We were both in the wrong.”

“Both, Joe,” said Mrs Glaire, sadly; “but you will forgive me. I did what I did for the best.”

“Ay, I believe thee, but it weer very hard to bear. I deserved it, though, for I might hev knowed that he niver meant to wed my poor lass. Bud theer that’s all past and gone – past and gone. Hey, ma’am, look at them two i’ the garden. They seem good friends enew now. And so she’s to be married to Master Dick to-morrow?”