The Parson O' Dumford Part 89

"Ay, la.s.s, 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, la.s.s? 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, hoa.r.s.ely.

"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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.s-word.

"Dal thee silly foolery," cried the landlord, in a pa.s.sion, "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 a.s.saults on your employer--"

"Which he well deserved, parson."

"I cannot enter into that," said the vicar. "If one man does wrong, it is no excuse for the wrong of others. Our salutary laws will protect even a murderer, and then punish him according to his deserts. But listen--In a few words, you have been led away to conspire for the accomplishment of a most dastardly outrage. I have just come from the works, and I tell you, as a man, that if the scheme had succeeded, they would have been destroyed."

"Serve him right," growled a voice. "All the houses round would have been injured, and the loss of life would have been frightful."

"Nay, nay, parson," said Stockton. "I am giving you my honest conviction, my men," continued the vicar. "A hundred pounds of powder in a confined s.p.a.ce is sufficient to commit awful ravages; and you forget what would have followed if that tremendous chimney had fallen.

But I have not told you all. If the powder had been fired, three people in the works would have been killed. Those people were Mr Richard Glaire--"

"Weer he theer, sir?" exclaimed Stockton.

"He was," said the vicar; "he has been in hiding there from your violence for days. I knew some plot was hatching, and, to save both him and you, I advised his staying in the works, so that you might think he had left the town."

"Which we did," muttered two or three.

"I shudder when I think of the consequences of my advice. But listen-- there would have been two more horribly mutilated and shattered corpses at this moment--the remains of your foreman and his poor child, Daisy Banks."

"Oh, coom, parson!" said Stockton.

"I tell you, man, as I rushed in, they were all three there. How they came there together I do not know. I do not want to know. All I know is that it has pleased G.o.d to spare us from a sin for which we should never have forgiven ourselves."

"I don't see as yow had much to do wi' it, parson," said a voice, sneeringly.

"My men, my men," cried the vicar, in a deeply moved voice, "do you think I live here among you without feeling that your joys and sorrows are mine? and your sins are mine as well, for I ought to have taught you better. For G.o.d's sake let us have no more of these wretched meetings; break up your society, and act as man to man. Suffer and be strong.

Have forbearance, and try to end these dreadful strikes, which fall not on you, but on your wives and children."

"But what call hev you got to interfere?" cried a surly voice.

"Howd hard theer," cried Stockton; "parson's i' the raight. He's spent three hundred pound, if he's spent a penny, over them as was 'most pined to dead."

"That's raight," cried several voices.

"Never mind that, my men; it was my duty, even as it is to be the friend and brother of all who are here. But listen--"

"I didn't come to hear parson preach," cried a voice,

"One word--listen to me for your own sakes," cried the vicar, in impa.s.sioned tones. "Suppose you had succeeded without the horrible loss of life that must have occurred through your ignorance of the force of powder--suppose the works had been, with all the costly machinery, turned into a heap of ruins?"

"It would hev sarved Richard Glaire well raight," said some one.

"Grant that it would, but what then, my lads? For Heaven's sake look a little further than the satisfaction of a paltry, unmanly desire for revenge."

"It would hev ruined d.i.c.ky Glaire," cried Stockton.

"Yes, my men; but it would have ruined you as well. Those works could not have been restored for years: perhaps never; the trade would have gone elsewhere, and, as I take it, over two hundred men and their wives and children must have gone elsewhere for bread."