The Parson O' Dumford Part 86

"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--"Hus.h.!.+ 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.

"Hus.h.!.+ 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.

Here Richard paused for a few moments, but could hear nothing but the beating of their own hearts, for now he, too, was horribly alarmed.

"It's nothing," he said at last. "Daisy, you've been inventing this to make me let you go."

Daisy made no reply, for the horror of some impending evil seemed to be upon her, and with her lips parched, and tongue dry, she could not even utter a word; but clung to him, and tried to urge him away.

"Come along, then, into the counting-house," he said, infected now by the girl's manifest fears. "Mind how you come; the steps are worn.

Take care."

But for his arm Daisy would probably have fallen, but he aided her, and she reached the floor in safety.

"Stop a moment, silly child," he said, "and I'll light a match, just to look round and show you that you are frightened at nothing."

"No, no," gasped Daisy. "Quick, quick, the door."

"Well, then, little one, just to prevent our breaking our necks over this cursed machinery."

"No, no," moaned Daisy. "I know the way. Here, quick."

But Richard was already striking the wax match he had taken from a box, and then as the light blazed up he uttered a cry of horror, and let it fall, while Daisy, who took in at a glance the horror of their situation, sank beside the burning match, which blazed for a few moments on the beaten earth, and then went out, leaving them in a darkness greater than before.

Volume 3, Chapter XII.

A LATE RECOGNITION.

As Richard Glaire followed Daisy Banks and reached the works, he made for the great gates, took a rapid glance up and down the dark street to see that it was quite forsaken, and then slipped a latch-key in the wicket, which yielded quietly, and he pa.s.sed in.

"Will she be here?" he said; and then it struck him suddenly that it was impossible: the works had been closely shut up.

"But she came here--to find me. Perhaps she has Joe Banks's key," he exclaimed. "At all events I'll have a look."

He crossed the yard, entered the great pile of buildings, and listened; then returning, he went to the counting-house, and through the pa.s.sage to the dark opening into the alley, to find it on the latch.

"She is here," he exclaimed, joyously; and, leaving it as it was, he proceeded to the great building, and then began to peer about in the darkness and listen, ending by seeking the first ladder leading to the half-floor.

"She's playing with me," he said, half laughing. "She's a plucky little thing, though, to come here by herself;" and then he ascended, and stopped at one of the windows looking towards the town to listen, but all seemed still.

He had hardly placed his foot on the second flight of stairs, and begun to ascend, when the light of a bull's-eye lantern was flashed all over the foundry.

"Dark as Jonah's sea-parlour, my lad," said a voice. "Come along, all of you," and several men, who had entered by the counting-house door, and then gone back to fetch something, came silently into the great gloomy place.

They were evidently in their stocking feet, and moved about without a sound, two of them being dimly seen by the lantern light to be carrying small kegs.

"Be keerful wi' that lantern, Barker," said the first speaker, who had evidently been drinking.

"Yes, I'm careful enough," said the man; "but these nails and bits of metal are dreadful to the feet."

"He, he, he!" laughed Slee, "we shall clear all them away soon. I'm glad I comed. I'm not the man to stay away when theer's a job o' this sort on. Look alive, Stocktle."

"I'm looking alive enew," said one of the men with the kegs; "but it seems a burning shame to spoil the owd place wheer we've made so many honest s.h.i.+llings."

"None o' your snivelling, Joe Stocktle," exclaimed Sim Slee. "Don't you come powering your warm watter on the powther. Is the place a-bringing you money now, or starving your missus and the bairns?"