The Parson O' Dumford Part 47

Jessie did not reply, but looked up at him timidly, in a way that checked rather than accelerated his flow of words.

"I wanted to speak to you about Daisy Banks," he said at last.

"Yes; what about her?" said Jessie, wonderingly.

"I ought not to speak perhaps; but you have no mother, and Mr Bult.i.tude does not seem to notice these things."

"I don't know what you mean," said Jessie, wonderingly.

John Maine would gladly have backed out of his position, but it was too late, and he was obliged to flounder on.

"I meant about Daisy Banks and Mr Richard Glaire."

"Well?" said Jessie, looking full at him. "What about them?"

"I meant that I don't think you ought to be so intimate with her now."

"And why not?"

"The Dumford people couple her name very unpleasantly with Mr Richard's, and for your sake I thought I'd speak."

"For shame!" cried the girl, rising, and looking angrily at him. "That young Podmore has been talking to you."

"No, indeed, indeed, poor Tom never mentions her name."

"I won't believe, John Maine, that you could be so petty and ungenerous yourself. Mr Glaire loves Daisy, and she confided all to me. Such words as yours are quite an insult to her, and--and I cannot--will not stay to hear them."

The girl's face was burning, and she ran out of the place to hide her tears, while John Maine, whose intention had been to say something very different, sighed bitterly, and went back to his room. There, however, everything looked blacker than ever, and he could see nothing in the gloom--devise no plan. He knew that the best proceeding would be to set the scoundrels he had seen that morning at defiance--that everybody whose opinion was worth a rush would applaud his frank declaration that he had turned from his evil courses to those which were reputable; but then the people he knew--Mr Bult.i.tude--Jessie--the vicar--his friends in Dumford--what would they say? There seemed to be but one chance for him--to pack up a few things in a bundle and go and seek his fortune again elsewhere--perhaps to live in peace for a few years before he should be again hunted down by some of the wolves amongst whom his early lot had been cast.

"John--John!"

He started. It was Jessie calling, and hastily going downstairs, it was to see her with the flush gone out of her cheeks, and looking pale and anxious, as she held out a strip of paper.

"Two rough-looking men gave this to the boy for you," she said, looking at him in a troubled way.

He took the paper hastily, and turned away with a dark red glow spreading over his temples. He divined who had sent the note, and s.h.i.+vered as he thought of how the boy would chatter to everybody about the farm. Perhaps Jessie had questioned him already, and set him down as being the friend and companion of the senders:

Turning away, he walked out into the yard to find that the paper had originally been used for holding an ounce of tobacco, and upon it was scrawled in pencil:

"We ave bin spekkin yu hat the krikt fele Ude betr c.u.m."

"2 OLE FRENDS."

"You had better come!" What should he do? Set them at defiance or go away at once?

Torn by doubts he could do neither, but stood hesitating, till, in a fit of desperation, he strode off in the direction of the cricket-field.

He had saved a little money, and he might perhaps bribe them to take it and go, leaving him in peace, though he felt the while that such a proceeding would only be an invitation to them to come back, and demand more; but even if they did, a fortnight's respite was worth all he possessed; and, besides, it would give him time to turn round and devise some plan for freeing himself of his incubus.

To reach the cricket-field he had to pa.s.s the back-door of the vicarage; taking, as he did, the cut through the fields; and as he neared it, separated from it by a high hedge, his blood turned cold as he heard Mrs Slee's shrill voice exclaim:

"You can't miss it: the second tunning to the right, and then it's the second field."

"And you wean't buy the bud then, mum--that theer goldfinch as I told you off?"

"Bird, no," cried Mrs Slee; "what do I want with such clat. Let the poor thing go. You ought to be ashamed of yoursens."

"We just about are," said one of the men: and then, as John Maine remained breathless behind the hedge, he heard the grating of feet upon the gravel, and one said to the other:

"Say, Jem, lad, did you see?" and he made a smacking noise with his lips.

"I see," replied Jem, "everythink." Then, "If that theer Johnny Maine don't show up, we'll precious soon have the owd badger out of his earth."

John Maine shrank back with a cloud of thoughts hurrying through his brain, foremost among which was that these men had been spying up at the vicarage. Through any window there could be seen the valuable plate on the sideboard and shelves, and the plan of offering a bird for sale was but an excuse for getting up to a house--a plan which he knew of old.

For a few moments he felt disposed to turn back; then he was for facing them boldly: but all doubts were set at rest by footsteps coming in his direction; so, stepping out boldly, he was soon after face to face with his two old companions, who seemed to be strolling about with their hands in their pockets, enjoying an evening pipe.

"Here he is!" exclaimed Ike, grinning; "I knew he'd come. But howd your noise, Jem; don't make a row. Johnny don't care about being seen too much along of us. It's all raight. He knows a thing or two. There'll be a bit of a game on soon, lad, and we shall want you. We don't know one another, we don't. Now, which is the gainest way to the cricket-field?"

John Maine pointed in the direction, and Jem came close up with a leer, saying:

"Say, lad, recklect that plate job, eh? Melted down at Birmingham or Sheffle, an' no questions asked."

John Maine shuddered as he recalled the time when he was innocently made the bearer of a heavy package to a bullion melter, and told afterwards whence the silver had been obtained.

Before he had recovered himself, the two scoundrels had sauntered away, leaving him s.h.i.+vering, as he thought over their words, and understood them as a threat of denunciation, unless he kept his own counsel.

Then, in imagination, he saw a party drive over from one of the big towns in a light spring-cart, drawn by a weedy screw of a horse; an entry made at the vicarage, and everything of value swept away, while he was helpless to arrest the robbery, except at the cost of his worldly position.

He stood thinking for a time, and then strode on across the fields to the cricket ground, where a little half-hearted play was going on, the men of Dumford being too much influenced by the strike to care much for any thing save their tobacco. He caught sight of the two men once or twice; but they took not the slightest heed of his presence, and instead of their watching him he watched them, following them at last into the town, and seeing them go along the main street past the Glaires' house, and away up the hill, Richard coming down and pa.s.sing them.

"Can they be going right away?" thought John Maine hopefully, till he recollected a low, poacher-haunted public-house about a mile beyond the chalk pit, and rightly set that down as their destination.

He turned back with a sigh, to see Tom Podmore leaning thoughtfully against one of the houses, and going up, the two young men engaged in conversation for a few minutes, each rigorously abstaining from all mention of the other's love affairs, and soon after they parted, for John Maine to seek his sleepless pillow.

Volume 2, Chapter IX.

LOST.

There was no newspaper in Dumford, only those which came from Ramford and Lindum, but news flew quite fast enough without, and by breakfast-time on the morning of the day following the events spoken of in the past chapter, it was known that Daisy Banks had not been home all night.

Joe Banks himself spread the news by going and making inquiries in all directions directly he was up.

For, on waking about half-past five, according to his regular custom, and jumping out of bed to dress and go into his garden, as he had no work, he found to his astonishment that his wife had not been to bed; and she now came to him, crying bitterly, to say that she had been sitting up all night waiting for Daisy.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he roared.

"I wanted to screen her, Joe," moaned Mrs Banks. "I thought you'd be so popped with the poor girl; and though I didn't like her goings on, I didn't want her to be scolded."