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+Project Gutenberg's That Lass O' Lowrie's, by Frances Hodgson Burnett
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: That Lass O' Lowrie's
+       1877
+
+Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett
+
+Release Date: June 8, 2008 [EBook #25725]
+Last Updated: December 20, 2015
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THAT LASS O' LOWRIE'S ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+THAT LASS O' LOWRIE'S
+
+By Frances Hodgson Burnett
+
+Charles Scribners Sons - 1877
+
+
+
+
+THAT LASS O' LOWRIE'S
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I - A Difficult Case
+
+They did not look like women, or at least a stranger new to the district
+might easily have been misled by their appearance, as they stood
+together in a group, by the pit's mouth. There were about a dozen of
+them there--all "pit-girls," as they were called; women who wore a
+dress more than half masculine, and who talked loudly and laughed
+discordantly, and some of whom, God knows, had faces as hard and brutal
+as the hardest of their collier brothers and husbands and sweethearts.
+They had lived among the coal-pits, and had worked early and late at the
+"mouth," ever since they had been old enough to take part in the heavy
+labor. It was not to be wondered at that they had lost all bloom of
+womanly modesty and gentleness. Their mothers had been "pit-girls" in
+their time, their grandmothers in theirs; they had been born in coarse
+homes; they had fared hardly, and worked hard; they had breathed in the
+dust and grime of coal, and, somehow or other, it seemed to stick to
+them and reveal itself in their natures as it did in their bold unwashed
+faces. At first one shrank from them, but one's shrinking could not
+fail to change to pity. There was no element of softness to rule or even
+influence them in their half savage existence.
+
+On the particular evening of which I speak, the group at the pit's mouth
+were even more than usually noisy. They were laughing, gossiping and
+joking,--coarse enough jokes,--and now and then a listener might have
+heard an oath flung out as if all were well used to the sound. Most of
+them were young women, though there were a few older ones among them,
+and the principal figure in the group--the center figure, about whom the
+rest clustered--was a young woman. But she differed from the rest in two
+or three respects. The others seemed somewhat stunted in growth; she was
+tall enough to be imposing. She was as roughly clad as the poorest of
+them, but she wore her uncouth garb differently. The man's jacket of
+fustian, open at the neck, bared a handsome sunbrowned throat. The man's
+hat shaded a face with dark eyes that had a sort of animal beauty, and a
+well-molded chin. It was at this girl that all the rough jokes seemed to
+be directed.
+
+"I'll tell thee, Joan," said one woman, "we'st ha' thee sweetheartin'
+wi' him afore th' month's out."
+
+"Aye," laughed her fellows, "so we shall. Tha'st ha' to turn soft
+after aw. Tha conna stond out again' th' Lunnon chap. We'st ha' thee
+sweetheartin', Joan, i' th' face o' aw tha'st said."
+
+Joan Lowrie faced them defiantly:
+
+"Tha'st noan ha' me sweetheartin' wi' siccan a foo'," she said, "I amna
+ower fond o' men folk at no time. I've had my fill on 'em; and I'm noan
+loike to tak' up wi' such loike as this un. An' he's no an a Lunnoner
+neither. He's on'y fro' th' South. An th' South is na Lunnon."
+
+"He's getten' Lunnon ways tho'," put in another. "Choppin' his words up
+an' mincin' 'em sma'. He's noan Lancashire, ony gowk could tell."
+
+"I dunnot see as he minces so," said Joan roughly. "He dunnot speak our
+loike, but he's well enow i' his way."
+
+A boisterous peal of laughter interrupted her.
+
+"I thowt tha' ca'ed him a foo' a minute sin'," cried two or three voices
+at once. "Eh, Joan, lass, tha'st goin' t' change thy moind, I see."
+
+The girl's eyes flashed.
+
+"Theer's others I could ca' foo's," she said; "I need na go far to
+foind foo's. Foo' huntin's th' best sport out, an' th' safest. Leave th'
+engineer alone an' leave me alone too. It 'll be th' best fur yo'."
+
+She turned round and strode out of the group.
+
+Another burst of derisive laughter followed her, but she took no notice
+of it She took no notice of anything--not even of the two men who at
+that very moment passed and turned to look at her as she went by.
+
+"A fine creature!" said one of them.
+
+"A fine creature!" echoed the other. "Yes, and you see that is precisely
+it, Derrick. 'A fine creature'--and nothing else."
+
+They were the young engineer and his friend the Reverend Paul Grace,
+curate of the parish. There were never two men more unlike, physically
+and mentally, and yet it would have been a hard task to find two natures
+more harmonious and sympathetic. Still most people wondered at and
+failed to comprehend their friendship. The mild, nervous little Oxonian
+barely reached Derrick's shoulder; his finely cut face was singularly
+feminine and innocent; the mild eyes beaming from behind his small
+spectacles had an absent, dreamy look. One could not fail to see at
+the first glance, that this refined, restless, conscientious little
+gentleman was hardly the person to cope successfully with Riggan.
+Derrick strode by his side like a young son of Anak--brains and muscle
+evenly balanced and fully developed.
+
+He turned his head over his shoulder to look at Joan Lowrie once again.
+
+"That girl," said Grace, "has worked at the pit's mouth from her
+childhood; her mother was a pit girl until she died--of hard work,
+privation and ill treatment. Her father is a collier and lives as most
+of them do--drinking, rioting, fighting. Their home is such a home as
+you have seen dozens of since you came here; the girl could not better
+it if she tried, and would not know how to begin if she felt inclined.
+She has borne, they tell me, such treatment as would have killed most
+women. She has been beaten, bruised, felled to the earth by this father
+of hers, who is said to be a perfect fiend in his cups. And yet she
+holds to her place in their wretched hovel, and makes herself a slave
+to the fellow with a dogged, stubborn determination. What can I do with
+such a case as that, Derrick?"
+
+"You have tried to make friends with the girl?" said Derrick.
+
+Grace colored sensitively.
+
+"There is not a man, woman or child in the parish," he answered, "with
+whom I have not conscientiously tried to make friends, and there
+is scarcely one, I think, with whom I have succeeded. Why can I not
+succeed? Why do I always fail? The fault must be with myself----"
+
+"A mistake that at the outset," interposed Derrick. "There is no
+'fault' in the matter; there is simply misfortune. Your parishioners are
+so unfortunate as not to be able to understand you, and on your part you
+are so unfortunate as to fail at first to place yourself on the right
+footing with them. I say 'at first' you observe. Give yourself time,
+Grace, and give them time too."
+
+"Thank you," said the Reverend Paul. "But speaking of this girl--'That
+lass o' Lowrie's,' as she is always called--Joan I believe her name is.
+Joan Lowrie is, I can assure you, a weight upon me. I cannot help her
+and I cannot rid my mind of her. She stands apart from her fellows. She
+has most of the faults of her class, but none of their follies; and she
+has the reputation of being half feared, half revered. The man who dared
+to approach her with the coarse love-making which is the fashion among
+them, would rue it to the last day of his life. She seems to defy all
+the world."
+
+"And it is impossible to win upon her?"
+
+"More than impossible. The first time I went to her with sympathy, I
+felt myself a child in her hands. She never laughed nor jeered at me
+as the rest do. She stood before me like a rock, listening until I had
+finished speaking. 'Parson,' she said, 'if thal't leave me alone, I'll
+leave thee alone,' and then turned about and walked into the house. I
+am nothing but 'th' parson' to these people, and 'th' parson' is one for
+whom they have little respect and no sympathy."
+
+He was not far wrong. The stolid heavy-natured colliers openly
+looked down upon 'th' parson.' A 'bit of a whipper snapper,' even the
+best-natured called him in sovereign contempt for his insignificant
+physical proportions. Truly the sensitive little gentleman's lines had
+not fallen in pleasant places. And this was not all. There was another
+source of discouragement with which he had to battle in secret, though
+of this he would have felt it almost dishonor to complain. But
+Derrick's keen eyes had seen it long ago, and, understanding it well, he
+sympathized with his friend accordingly. Yet, despite the many rebuffs
+the curate had met with, he was not conquered by any means. His was not
+an easily subdued nature, after all. He was very warm on the subject of
+Joan Lowrie this evening--so warm, indeed, that the interest the mere
+sight of the girl had awakened in Derrick's mind was considerably
+heightened. They were still speaking of her when they stopped before the
+door of Grace's modest lodgings.
+
+"You will come in, of course?" said Paul.
+
+"Yes," Derrick answered, "for a short time. I am tired and shall feel
+all the better for a cup of Mrs. Burnie's tea," pushing the hair back
+from his forehead, as he had a habit of doing when a little excited.
+
+He made the small parlor appear smaller than ever, when he entered it.
+He was obliged to bend his head when he passed through the door, and it
+was not until he had thrown himself into the largest easy chair, that
+the trim apartment seemed to regain its countenance.
+
+Grace paused at the table, and with a sudden flush, took up a letter
+that lay there among two or three uninteresting-looking epistles.
+
+"It is a note from Miss Anice," he said, coming to the hearth and
+applying his pen-knife in a gentle way to the small square envelope.
+
+"Not a letter, Grace?" said Derrick with a smile.
+
+"A letter! Oh dear, no! She has never written me a letter. They are
+always notes with some sort of business object. She has very decided
+views on the subject of miscellaneous letter-writing."
+
+He read the note himself and then handed it to Derrick.
+
+It was a compact, decided hand, free from the suspicion of an
+unnecessary curve.
+
+     "Dear Mr. Grace,--
+
+     "Many thanks for the book. You are very kind indeed. Pray
+     let us hear something more about your people. I am afraid
+     papa must find them very discouraging, but I cannot help
+     feeling interested. Grandmamma wishes to be remembered to
+     you,
+
+     "With more thanks,
+
+     "Believe me your friend,
+
+     "Anice Barholm."
+
+Derrick refolded the note and handed it back to his friend. To tell
+the truth, it did not impress him very favorably. A girl not yet twenty
+years old, who could write such a note as this to a man who loved her,
+must be rather _too_ self-contained and well balanced.
+
+"You have never told me much of this story, Grace," he said.
+
+"There is not much to tell," answered the curate, flushing again. "She
+is the Rector's daughter. I have known her three years. You remember I
+wrote to you about meeting her while you were in India. As for the rest,
+I do not exactly understand myself how it is that I have gone so far,
+having so--so little encouragement--in fact having had no encouragement
+at all; but, however that is, it has grown upon me, Derrick,--my feeling
+for her has grown into my life. She has never cared for me. I am quite
+sure of that, you see. Indeed, I could hardly expect it. It is not her
+way to care for men as they are likely to care for her, though it will
+come some day, I suppose--with the coming man," half smiling. "She is
+simply what she signs herself here, my friend Anice Barholm, and I am
+thankful for that much. She would not write even that if she did not
+mean it."
+
+"Bless my soul," broke in Derrick, tossing back his head impatiently;
+"and she is only nineteen yet, you say?"
+
+"Only nineteen," said the curate, with simple trustfulness in his
+friend's sympathy, "but different, you know, from any other woman I have
+ever seen."
+
+The tea and toast came in then, and they sat down together to partake of
+it Derrick knew Anice quite well before the meal was ended, and yet
+he had not asked many questions. He knew how Grace had met her at her
+father's house--an odd, self-reliant, very pretty and youthful-looking
+little creature, with the force and decision of half a dozen ordinary
+women hidden in her small frame; how she had seemed to like him; how
+their intimacy had grown; how his gentle, deep-rooted passion had grown
+with it; how he had learned to understand that he had nothing to hope
+for.
+
+"I am a little fearful for the result of her first visit here," said
+Grace, pushing his cup aside and looking troubled. "I cannot bear to
+think of her being disappointed and disturbed by the half-savage state
+in which these people live. She knows nothing of the mining districts.
+She has never been in Lancashire, and they have always lived in the
+South. She is in Kent now, with Mrs. Barholm's mother. And though I have
+tried, in my short letters to her, to prepare her for the rough side of
+life she will be obliged to see, I am afraid it is impossible for her to
+realize it, and it may be a shock to her when she comes."
+
+"She is coming to Riggan then?" said Derrick.
+
+"In a few weeks. She has been visiting Mrs. Galloway since the Rector
+gave up his living at Ashley wolde, and Mrs. Barholm told me to-day that
+she spoke in her last letter of coming to them."
+
+The moon was shining brightly when Derrick stepped out into the street
+later in the evening, and though the air was somewhat chill it was by no
+means unpleasant. He had rather a long walk before him. He disliked
+the smoke and dust of the murky little town, and chose to live on its
+outskirts; but he was fond of sharp exercise, and regarded the distance
+between his lodging and the field of his daily labor as an advantage.
+
+"I work off a great deal of superfluous steam between the two places,"
+he said to Grace at the door. "The wind coming across Boggart Brow has a
+way of scattering and cooling restless plans and feverish fancies, that
+is good for a man. Half a mile of the Knoll Road is often enough to blow
+all the morbidness out of a fellow."
+
+To-night by the time he reached the corner that turned him upon the
+Knoll Road, his mind had wandered upon an old track, but it had been
+drawn there by a new object,--nothing other than Joan Lowrie, indeed.
+The impression made upon him by the story of Joan and her outcast life
+was one not easy to be effaced. The hardest miseries in the lot of a
+class in whom he could not fail to be interested, were grouped about
+that dramatic figure. He was struck, too, by a painful sense of
+incongruity.
+
+"If she had been in this other girl's niche," he said, "if she had lived
+the life of this Anice----"
+
+But he did not finish his sentence. Something, not many yards beyond
+him, caught his eye--a figure seated upon the road-side near a collier's
+cottage--evidently a pit girl in some trouble, for her head was bowed
+upon her hands, and there was a dogged sort of misery expressed in her
+very posture.
+
+"A woman," he said aloud. "What woman, I wonder. This is not the time
+for any woman to be sitting here alone."
+
+He crossed the road at once, and going to the girl, touched her lightly
+on the shoulder.
+
+"My lass," he said good-naturedly, "what ails you?"
+
+She raised her head slowly as if she were dizzy and bewildered. Her face
+was disfigured by a bruise, and on one temple was a cut from which the
+blood trickled down her cheek; but the moonlight showed him that it was
+Joan. He removed his hand from her shoulder and drew back a pace.
+
+"You have been hurt!" he exclaimed.
+
+"Aye," she answered deliberately, "I've had a hurt--a bad un."
+
+He did not ask her how she had been hurt. He knew as well as if she had
+told him, that it had been done in one of her father's fits of drunken
+passion. He had seen this sort of thing before during his sojourn in the
+mining districts. But, shamefully repulsive as it had been to him, he
+had never felt the degradation of it as fiercely as he did now.
+
+"You are Joan Lowrie?" he said.
+
+"Aye, I'm Joan Lowrie, if it 'll do yo' ony good to know."
+
+"You must have something done to that cut upon your temple."
+
+She put up her hand and wiped the blood away, as if impatient at his
+persistence.
+
+"It 'll do well enow as it is," she said.
+
+"That is a mistake," he answered. "You are losing more blood than you
+imagine. Will you let me help you?"
+
+She stirred uneasily.
+
+Derrick took no notice of the objection. He drew his handkerchief
+from his pocket, and, after some little effort, managed to stanch the
+bleeding, and having done so, bound the wound up. Perhaps something
+in his sympathetic silence and the quiet consideration of his manner
+touched Joan. Her face, upturned almost submissively, for the moment
+seemed tremulous, and she set her lips together. She did not speak until
+he had finished, and then she rose and stood before him immovable as
+ever.
+
+"Thank yo'," she said in a suppressed voice, "I canna say no more."
+
+"Never mind that," he answered, "I could have done no less. If you could
+go home now----"
+
+"I shall na go whoam to neet," she interrupted him.
+
+"You cannot remain out of doors!" he exclaimed.
+
+"If I do, it wunnot be th' first toime," meeting his startled glance
+with a pride which defied him to pity or question her. But his sympathy
+and interest must have stirred her, for the next minute her manner
+softened. "I've done it often," she added, "an' nowts nivver feared me.
+Yo' need na care, Mester, I'm used to it."
+
+"But I cannot go away and leave you here," he said.
+
+"You canna do no other," she answered.
+
+"Have you no friends?" he ventured hesitatingly.
+
+"No, I ha' not," she said, hardening again, and she turned away as if
+she meant to end the discussion. But he would not leave her. The spirit
+of determination was as strong in his character as in her own. He tore
+a leaf from his pocket-book, and, writing a few lines upon it, handed it
+to her. "If you will take that to Thwates' wife," he said, "there will
+be no necessity for your remaining out of doors all night."
+
+She took it from him mechanically; but when he finished speaking, her
+calmness left her. Her hand began to tremble, and then her whole frame,
+and the next instant the note fell to the ground, and she dropped into
+her old place again, sobbing passionately and hiding her face on her
+arms.
+
+"I wunnot tak' it!" she cried. "I wunnot go no wheer an' tell as I'm
+turned loike a dog into th' street."
+
+Her misery and shame shook her like a tempest. But she subdued herself
+at last.
+
+"I dunnot see as yo' need care," she protested half resentfully. "Other
+folk dunnot. I'm left to mysen most o' toimes." Her head fell again and
+she trembled from head to foot.
+
+"But I do care!" he returned. "I cannot leave you here and will not. If
+you will trust me and do as I tell you, the people you go to need know
+nothing you do not choose to tell them."
+
+It was evident that his determination made her falter, and seeing this
+he followed up his advantage and so far improved it that at last, after
+a few more arguments, she rose slowly and picked up the fallen paper.
+
+"If I mun go, I mun," she said, twisting it nervously in her fingers,
+and then there was a pause, in which she plainly lingered to say
+something, for she stood before him with a restrained air and downcast
+face. She broke the silence herself, however, suddenly looking up and
+fixing her large eyes full upon him.
+
+"If I was a lady," she said, "happen I should know what to say to yo';
+but bein' what I am, I dunnot. Happen as yo're a gentleman yo' know what
+I'd loike to say an' canna--happen yo' do."
+
+Even as she spoke, the instinct of defiance in her nature struggled
+against that of gratitude; but the finer instinct conquered.
+
+"We will not speak of thanks," he said. "I may need help some day, and
+come to you for it."
+
+"If yo' ivver need help at th' pit will yo' come to me?" she demanded.
+"I've seen th' toime as I could ha' gi'en help to th' Mesters ef I'd had
+th' moind. If yo'll promise _that_----"
+
+"I will promise it," he answered her.
+
+"An' I'll promise to gi' it yo'," eagerly. "So that's settled. Now I'll
+go my ways. Good neet to yo'."
+
+"Good night," he returned, and uncovering with as grave a courtesy as he
+might have shown to the finest lady in the land, or to his own mother or
+sister, he stood at the road-side and watched her until she was out of
+sight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. - "Liz"
+
+"Th' owd lad's been at his tricks again," was the rough comment made
+on Joan Lowrie's appearance when she came down to her work the next
+morning; but Joan looked neither right nor left, and went to her place
+without a word. Not one among them had ever heard her speak of her
+miseries and wrongs, or had known her to do otherwise than ignore the
+fact that their existence was well known among her fellow-workers.
+
+When Derrick passed her on his way to his duties, she looked up from
+her task with a faint, quick color, and replied to his courteous gesture
+with a curt yet not ungracious nod. It was evident that not even her
+gratitude would lead her to encourage any advances. But, notwithstanding
+this, he did not feel repelled or disappointed. He had learned enough of
+Joan, in their brief interview, to prepare him to expect no other manner
+from her. He was none the less interested in the girl because he
+found himself forced to regard her curiously and critically, and at a
+distance.
+
+He watched her as she went about her work, silent, self-contained and
+solitary.
+
+"That lass o' Lowrie's!" said a superannuated old collier once, in
+answer to a remark of Derrick's. "Eh! hoo's a rare un, hoo is! Th'
+fellys is haaf feart on her. Tha' sees hoo's getten a bit o' skoolin'.
+Hoo con read a bit, if tha'll believe it, Mester," with a touch of
+pride.
+
+"Not as th' owd chap ivver did owt fur her i' that road," the speaker
+went on, nothing loath to gossip with 'one o' th' Mesters.' "He nivver
+did nowt fur her but spend her wage i' drink. But theer wur a neet
+skoo' here a few years sen', an' th' lass went her ways wi' a few o' th'
+steady uns, an' they say as she getten ahead on 'em aw, so as it wur a
+wonder. Just let her set her mind to do owt an' she'll do it."
+
+"Here," said Derrick to Paul that night, as the engineer leaned back in
+his easy chair, glowering at the grate and knitting his brows, "Here,"
+he said, "is a creature with the majesty of a Juno--though really
+nothing but a girl in years--who rules a set of savages by the mere
+power of a superior will and mind, and yet a woman who works at the
+mouth of a coal-pit,--who cannot write her own name, and who is beaten
+by her fiend of a father as if she were a dog. Good Heaven! what is she
+doing here? What does it all mean?"
+
+The Reverend Paul put up his delicate hand deprecatingly.
+
+"My dear Fergus," he said, "if I dare--if my own life and the lives of
+others would let me--I think I should be tempted to give it up, as one
+gives up other puzzles, when one is beaten by them."
+
+Derrick looked at him, forgetting himself in a sudden sympathetic
+comprehension.
+
+"You have been more than ordinarily discouraged to-day," he said. "What
+is it, Grace?"
+
+"Do you know Sammy Craddock?" was the reply.
+
+"'Owd Sammy Craddock'?" said Derrick with a laugh. "Wasn't it 'Owd
+Sammy,' who was talking to me to-day about Joan Lowrie?"
+
+"I dare say it was," sighing. "And if you know Sammy Craddock, you know
+one of the principal causes of my discouragement. I went to see him this
+afternoon, and I have not quite--quite got over it, in fact."
+
+Derrick's interest in his friend's trials was stirred as usual at the
+first signal of distress. It was the part of his stronger and more
+evenly balanced nature to be constantly ready with generous sympathy and
+comfort.
+
+"It has struck me," he said, "that Craddock is one of the institutions
+of Riggan. I should like to hear something definite concerning him. Why
+is he your principal cause of discouragement, in the first place?"
+
+"Because he is the man of all others whom it is hard for me to deal
+with,--because he is the shrewdest, the most irreverent and the most
+disputatious old fellow in Riggan. And yet, in the face of all this,
+because he is so often right, I am forced into a sort of respect for
+him."
+
+"Right!" repeated Derrick, raising his eyebrows. "That's bad."
+
+Grace rose from the chair, flushing up to the roots of his hair,--
+
+"Right!" he reiterated. "Yes, _right_ I say. And how, I ask you, can a
+man battle against the faintest element of right and truth, even when it
+will and _must_ arraign itself on the side of wrong? If I could shut my
+eyes to the right, and see only the wrong, I might leave myself at least
+a blind content, but I cannot--I cannot. If I could look upon these
+things as Barholm does----" But here he stopped, suddenly checking
+himself.
+
+"Thank God you cannot," put in Derrick quietly.
+
+For a few minutes the Reverend Paul paced the room in silence.
+
+"Among the men who were once his fellow-workers, Craddock is an oracle,"
+he went on. "His influence is not unlike Joan Lowrie's. It is the
+influence of a strong mind over weaker ones. His sharp sarcastic
+speeches are proverbs among the Rigganites; he amuses them and can make
+them listen to him. When he holds up 'Th' owd parson' to their ridicule,
+he sweeps all before him. He can undo in an hour what I have struggled a
+year to accomplish. He was a collier himself until he became
+superannuated, and he knows their natures, you see."
+
+"What has he to say about Barholm?" asked Derrick--without looking at
+his friend, however.
+
+"Oh!" he protested, "that is the worst side of it--that is
+miserable--that is wretched! I may as well speak openly. Barholm is his
+strong card, and that is what baffles me. He scans Barholm with the eye
+of an eagle. He does not spare a single weakness. He studies him--he
+knows his favorite phrases and gestures by heart, and has used them
+until there is not a Riggan collier who does not recognize them when
+they are presented to him, and applaud them as an audience might applaud
+the staple jokes of a popular actor."
+
+Explained even thus far, the case looked difficult enough; but Derrick
+felt no wonder at his friend's discouragement when he had heard his
+story to the end, and understood it fully.
+
+The living at Riggan had never been happily managed. It had been
+presented to men who did not understand the people under their charge,
+and to men whom the people failed to understand; but possibly it had
+never before fallen into the hands of a man who was so little qualified
+to govern Rigganites, as was the present rector, the Reverend Harold
+Barholm. A man who has mistaken his vocation, and who has become ever so
+faintly conscious of his blunder, may be a stumbling-block in another's
+path; but restrained as he will be by his secret pangs of conscience, he
+can scarcely be an active obstructionist. But a man who, having mistaken
+the field of his life's labor, yet remains amiably self-satisfied, and
+unconscious of his unfitness, may do more harm in his serene ignorance
+than he might have done good if he had chosen his proper sphere. Such
+a man as the last was the Reverend Harold. A good-natured,
+broad-shouldered, tactless, self-sufficient person, he had taken up his
+work with a complacent feeling that no field of labor could fail to be
+benefited by his patronage; he was content now as always. He had been
+content with himself and his intellectual progress at Oxford; he had
+been content with his first parish at Ashley-wold; he had been content
+then with the gentle-natured, soft-spoken Kentish men and women; he had
+never feared finding himself unequal to the guidance of their souls, and
+he was not at all troubled by the prospect Riggan presented to him.
+
+"It is a different sort of thing," he said to his curate, in the best of
+spirits, "and new to us--new of course; but we shall get over that--we
+shall get over that easily enough, Grace."
+
+So with not a shadow of a doubt as to his speedy success, and with a
+comfortable confidence in ecclesiastical power, in whomsoever vested, he
+called upon his parishioners one after the other. He appeared at their
+cottages at all hours, and gave the same greeting to each of them. He
+was their new rector, and having come to Riggan with the intention of
+doing them good, and improving their moral condition, he intended to do
+them good, and improve them, in spite of themselves. They must come to
+church: it was their business to come to church, as it was his business
+to preach the gospel. All this implied, in half an hour's half-friendly,
+half-ecclesiastical conversation, garnished with a few favorite texts
+and religious platitudes, and the man felt that he had done his duty,
+and done it well.
+
+Only one man nonplussed him, and even this man's effect upon him was
+temporary, only lasting as long as his call. He had been met with a
+dogged resentment in the majority of his visits, but when he encountered
+'Owd Sammy Craddock' he encountered a different sort of opposition.
+
+"Aye," said Owd Sammy, "an' so tha'rt th' new rector, art ta? I thowt as
+mich as another ud spring up as soon as th' owd un wur cut down. Tha
+parsens is a nettle as dunnot soon dee oot. Well, I'll leave thee to th'
+owd lass here. Hoo's a rare un fur gab when hoo' taks th' notion, an'
+I'm noan so mich i' th' humor t' argufy mysen today." And he took his
+pipe from the mantelpiece and strolled out with an imperturbable air.
+But this was not the last of the matter. The Rector went again and
+again, cheerfully persisting in bringing the old sinner to a proper
+sense of his iniquities. There would be some triumph in converting such
+a veteran as Sammy Craddock, and he was confident of winning this laurel
+for himself. But the result was scarcely what he expected. 'Owd Sammy'
+stood his ground like an old soldier. The fear of man was not before his
+eyes, and 'parsens' were his favorite game. He was as contumacious and
+profane as such men are apt to be, and he delighted in scattering his
+clerical antagonists as a task worthy of his mettle. He encountered the
+Reverend Harold with positive glee. He jeered at him in public, and
+sneered at him in private, and held him up to the mockery of the collier
+men and lads, with the dramatic mimicry which made him so popular a
+character. As Derrick had said, Sammy Craddock was a Riggan institution.
+In his youth, his fellows had feared his strength; in his old age they
+feared his wit. "Let Owd Sammy tackle him," they said, when a new-comer
+was disputatious, and hard to manage; "Owd Sammy's th' one to gi' him
+one fur his nob. Owd Sammy'll fettle him--graidely." And the fact was
+that Craddock's cantankerous sharpness of brain and tongue were usually
+efficacious. So he "tackled" Barholm, and so he "tackled" the curate.
+But, for some reason, he was never actually bitter against Grace. He
+spoke of him lightly, and rather sneered at his physical insignificance;
+but he did not hold him up to public ridicule.
+
+"I hav' not quite settled i' my moind about th' little chap," he would
+say sententiously to his admirers. "He's noan siccan a foo' as th' owd
+un, for he's a graidely foo', _he_ is, and no mistake. At any rate a
+little foo' is better nor a big un."
+
+And there the matter stood. Against these tremendous odds Grace
+fought--against coarse and perverted natures,--worse than all, against
+the power that should have been ranged upon his side. And added to these
+discouragements, were the obstacles of physical delicacy, and an almost
+morbid conscientiousness. A man of coarser fibre might have borne the
+burden better--or at least with less pain to himself.
+
+"A drop or so of Barholm's blood in Grace's veins," said Derrick,
+communing with himself on the Knoll Road after their interview--"a few
+drops of Barholm's rich, comfortable, stupid blood in Grace's veins
+would not harm him. And yet it would have to be but a few drops indeed,"
+hastily. "On the whole I think it would be better if he had more blood
+of his own."
+
+The following day Miss Barholm came. Business had taken Derrick to the
+station in the morning, and being delayed, he was standing upon the
+platform when one of the London trains came in. There were generally so
+few passengers on such trains who were likely to stop at Riggan, that
+the few who did so were of some interest to the bystanders. Accordingly
+he stood gazing, in rather a preoccupied fashion, at the carriages, when
+the door of a first-class compartment opened, and a girl stepped out
+upon the platform near him. Before seeing her face one might have
+imagined her to be a child of scarcely more than fourteen or fifteen.
+This was Derrick's first impression; but when she turned toward him he
+saw at once that it was not a child. And yet it was a small face, with
+delicate oval features, smooth, clear skin, and stray locks of hazel
+brown hair that fell over the low forehead. She had evidently made a
+journey of some length, for she was encumbered with travelling wraps,
+and in her hands she held a little flower-pot containing a cluster of
+early blue violets,--such violets as would not bloom so far north as
+Riggan for weeks to come. She stood upon the platform for a moment or
+so, glancing up and down as if in search of some one, and then, plainly
+deciding that the object of her quest had not arrived, she looked at
+Derrick in a business-like, questioning way. She was going to speak to
+him. The next minute she stepped forward without a shadow of girlish
+hesitation.
+
+"May I trouble you to tell me where I can find a conveyance of some
+sort?" she said. "I want to go to the Rectory."
+
+Derrick uncovered, recognizing his friend's picture at once.
+
+"I think," he said with far more hesitancy than she had herself shown,
+"that this must be Miss Barholm."
+
+"Yes," she answered, "Anice Barholm. I think," she said, "from what Mr.
+Grace has said to me, that you must be his friend."
+
+"I am _one_ of Grace's friends," he answered, "Fergus Derrick."
+
+She managed to free one of her small hands, and held it out to him.
+
+She had arrived earlier than had been expected, it turned out, and
+through some mysterious chance or other, her letters to her friends
+had not preceded her, so there was no carriage in waiting, and but for
+Derrick she would have been thrown entirely upon her own resources. But
+after their mutual introduction the two were friends at once, and before
+he had put her into the cab, Derrick had begun to understand what it was
+that led the Reverend Paul to think her an exceptional girl. She knew
+where her trunks were, and was quite definite upon the subject of what
+must be done with them. Though pretty and frail looking enough, there
+was no suggestion of helplessness about her. When she was safely seated
+in the cab, she spoke to Derrick through the open window.
+
+"If you will come to the Rectory to-night, and let papa thank you," she
+said, "we shall all be very glad. Mr. Grace will be there, you know, and
+I have a great many questions to ask which I think you must be able to
+answer."
+
+Derrick went back to his work, thinking about Miss Barholm, of course.
+She was different from other girls, he felt, not only in her fragile
+frame and delicate face, but with another more subtle and less easily
+defined difference. There was a suggestion of the development in a child
+of the soul of a woman.
+
+Going down to the mine, Derrick found on approaching that there was some
+commotion among the workers at the pit's mouth, and before he turned
+in to his office, he paused upon the threshold for a few minutes to see
+what it meant. But it was not a disturbance with which it was easy for
+an outsider to interfere. A knot of women drawn away from their work
+by some prevailing excitement, were gathered together around a girl--a
+pretty but pale and haggard creature, with a helpless, despairing
+face--who stood at bay in the midst of them, clasping a child to her
+bosom--a target for all eyes. It was a wretched sight, and told its own
+story.
+
+"Wheer ha' yo' been, Liz?" Derrick heard two or three voices exclaim at
+once. "What did you coom back for? This is what thy handsome face has
+browt thee to, is it?"
+
+And then the girl, white, wild-eyed and breathless with excitement,
+turned on them, panting, bursting into passionate tears.
+
+"Let me a-be:" she cried, sobbing. "There's none of yo' need to talk.
+Let me a-be! I didna coom back to ax nowt fro' none on you! Eh Joan!
+Joan Lowrie?"
+
+Derrick turned to ascertain the meaning of this cry of appeal, but
+almost before he had time to do so, Joan herself had borne down upon
+the group; she had pushed her way through it, and was standing in the
+centre, confronting the girl's tormentors in a flame of wrath, and Liz
+was clinging to her.
+
+"What ha' they been sayin' to yo', lass?" she demanded. "Eh! but yo're a
+brave lot, yo' are--women yo' ca' yo'rsens!--badgerin' a slip o' a wench
+loike this."
+
+"I did na coom back to ax nowt fro' noan o' them," sobbed the girl. "I'd
+rayther dee ony day nor do it! I'd rayther starve i' th' ditch--an'
+it's comin' to that."
+
+"Here," said Joan, "gi' me th' choild."
+
+She bent down and took it from her, and then stood up before them all,
+holding it high in her strong arms--so superb, so statuesque, and yet
+so womanly a figure, that a thrill shot through the heart of the man
+watching her.
+
+"Lasses," she cried, her voice fairly ringing, "do yo' see this? A bit
+o' a helpless thing as canna answer back yo're jeers! Aye! look at it
+well, aw' on yo'. Some on yo's getten th' loike at whoam. An' when yo've
+looked at th' choild, look at th' mother! Seventeen year owd, Liz is,
+an' th' world's gone wrong wi' her. I wunnot say as th' world's gone
+ower reet wi' ony on us; but them on us as has had th' strength to
+howd up agen it, need na set our foot on them as has gone down. Happen
+theer's na so much to choose betwixt us after aw. But I've gotten this
+to tell yo'--them as has owt to say o' Liz, mun say it to Joan Lowrie!"
+
+Rough, and coarsely pitiless as the majority of them were, she had
+touched the right chord. Perhaps the bit of the dramatic in her
+championship of the girl had as much to do with the success of her
+half-commanding appeal as anything else. But at least, the most hardened
+of them faltered before her daring, scornful words, and the fire in her
+face. Liz would be safe enough from them henceforth, it was plain.
+
+That evening while arranging his papers before going home, Derrick was
+called from his work by a summons at the office door, and going to open
+it, he found Joan Lowrie standing there, looking half abashed, half
+determined.
+
+"I ha' summat to ax yo'," she said briefly, declining his invitation to
+enter and be seated.
+
+"If there is anything I can do for--" began Derrick.
+
+"It is na mysen," she interrupted him. "There is a poor lass as I'm fain
+to help, if I could do it, but I ha' not th' power. I dunnot know of any
+one as has, except yo'rsen and th' parson, an' I know more o' yo' than
+I do o' th' parson, so I thowt I'd ax yo' to speak to him about th' poor
+wench, an ax him if he could get her a bit o' work as ud help to keep
+her honest."
+
+Derrick looked at her handsome face gravely, curiously.
+
+"I saw you defend this girl against some of her old companions, a few
+hours ago, I believe," he said.
+
+She colored, but did not return his glance.
+
+"I dunnot believe in harryin' women down th' hill," she said.
+
+Then, suddenly, she raised her eyes.
+
+"Th' little un is a little lass," she said, "an' I canna bide th' thowt
+o' what moight fa' on her if her mother's life is na an honest un--I
+canna bide the thowt on it."
+
+"I will see my friend to-night," said Derrick, "and I will speak to him.
+Where can he find the girl?"
+
+"Wi' me," she answered. "I'm taken both on 'em whoam wi' me."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III - The Reverend Harold Barholm
+
+When the Reverend Paul entered the parlor at the Rectory, he found that
+his friend had arrived before him. Mr. Barholm, his wife and Anice, with
+their guest, formed a group around the fire, and Grace saw at a glance
+that Derrick had unconsciously fallen into the place of the centre
+figure. He was talking and the others were listening--Mr. Barholm in
+his usual restless fashion, Mrs. Barholm with evident interest, Anice
+leaning forward on her ottoman, listening eagerly.
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Barholm, when the servant announced the visitor,
+"this is fortunate. Here is Grace. Glad to see you, Grace. Take a seat
+We are talking about an uncommonly interesting case. I dare say you know
+the young woman."
+
+Anice looked up.
+
+"We are talking about Joan Lowrie," she said. "Mr. Derrick is telling us
+about her."
+
+"Most interesting affair--from beginning to end," continued the Rector,
+briskly. "Something must be done for the young woman. We must go and see
+her,--I will go and see her myself."
+
+He had caught fire at once, in his usual inconsequent, self-secure
+style. Ecclesiastical patronage would certainly set this young woman
+right at once. There was no doubt of that. And who was so well qualified
+to bestow it as himself?
+
+"Yes, yes! I will go myself," he said. "That kind of people is easily
+managed, when once one understands them. There really is some good
+in them, after all. You see, Grace, it is as I have told you--only
+understand them, and make them understand you, and the rest is easy."
+
+Derrick glanced from father to daughter. The clear eyes of the girl
+rested on the man with a curious expression.
+
+"Do you think," she said quickly, "that they like us to go and see them
+in that sort of way, papa? Do you think it is wise to remind them that
+we know more than they do, and that if they want to learn they must
+learn from us, just because we have been more fortunate? It really seems
+to me that the rebellious ones would ask themselves what right we had to
+be more fortunate."
+
+"My dear," returned the Rector, somewhat testily--he was not partial to
+the interposition of obstacles even in suggestion--"My dear, if you had
+been brought into contact with these people as closely as I have, or
+even as Grace has, you would learn that they are not prone to regard
+things from a metaphysical stand-point. Metaphysics are not in their
+line. They are more apt to look upon life as a matter of bread and bacon
+than as a problem."
+
+A shadow fell upon Anice's face, and before the visit ended, Derrick
+had observed its presence more than once. It was always her father who
+summoned it, he noticed. And yet it was evident enough that she was
+fond of the man, and in no ordinary degree, and that the affection was
+mutual. As he was contented with himself, so Barholm was contented
+with his domestic relations. He was fond of his wife, and fond of his
+daughter, as much, perhaps, through his appreciation of his own
+good taste in wedding such a wife, and becoming the father of such a
+daughter, as through his appreciation of their peculiar charms. He was
+proud of them and indulgent to them. They reflected a credit on him of
+which he felt himself wholly deserving.
+
+"They are very fond of him," remarked Grace afterward to his friend;
+"which shows that there must be a great deal of virtue in the man.
+Indeed there _is_ a great deal of virtue in him. You yourself, Derrick,
+must have observed a certain kindliness and--and open generosity," with
+a wistful sound in his voice.
+
+There was always this wistful appeal in the young man's tone when he
+spoke of his clerical master--a certain anxiety to make the best of
+him, and refrain from any suspicion of condemnation. Derrick was always
+reminded by it of the shadow on Anice's face.
+
+"I want to tell you something," Miss Barholm said this evening to Grace
+at parting. "I do not think I am afraid of Riggan at all. I think I
+shall like it all the better because it is so new. Everything is so
+earnest and energetic, that it is a little bracing--like the atmosphere.
+Perhaps--when the time comes--I could do something to help you with
+that girl. I shall try at any rate." She held out her hand to him with
+a smile, and the Reverend Paul went home feeling not a little comforted
+and encouraged.
+
+The Rector stood with his back to the fire, his portly person expressing
+intense satisfaction.
+
+"You will remind me about that young woman in the morning, Anice," he
+said. "I should like to attend to the matter myself. Singular that Grace
+should not have mentioned her before. It really seems to me, you know,
+that now and then Grace is a little deficient in interest, or energy."
+
+"Surely not interest, my dear," suggested Mrs. Barholm, gently.
+
+"Well, well," conceded the Rector, "perhaps not interest, but energy
+or--or appreciation. I should have seen such a fine creature's
+superiority, and mentioned it at once. She must be a fine creature. A
+young woman of that kind should be encouraged. I will go and see her in
+the morning--if it were not so late I would go now. Really, she ought to
+be told that she has exhibited a very excellent spirit, and that people
+approve of it. I wonder what sort of a household servant she would make
+if she were properly trained?"
+
+"That would not do at all," put in Anice, decisively. "From the pit's
+mouth to the kitchen would not be a natural transition."
+
+"Well, well, as usual, perhaps you are right. There is plenty of time to
+think of it, however. We can judge better when we have seen her."
+
+He did not need reminding in the morning. He was as full of vague plans
+for Joan Lowrie when he arose as he had been when he went to bed. He
+came down to the charming breakfast-room in the most sanguine of moods.
+But then his moods usually were sanguine. It was scarcely to be wondered
+at. Fortune had treated him with great suavity from his earliest years.
+Wellborn, comfortably trained, healthy and easy-natured, the world had
+always turned its pleasant side to him. As a young man, he had been
+a strong, handsome fellow, whose convenient patrimony had placed him
+beyond the possibility of entire dependence upon his profession. When
+a curate he had been well enough paid and without private
+responsibilities; when he married he was lucky enough to win a woman who
+added to his comfort; in fact, life had gone smoothly with him for so
+long that he had no reason to suspect Fate of any intention to treat him
+ill-naturedly. It was far more likely that she would reserve her scurvy
+tricks for some one else.
+
+Even Riggan had not perplexed him at all. Its difficulties were not
+such as would be likely to disturb him greatly. One found ignorance, and
+vice, and discomfort among the lower classes always; there was the same
+thing to contend against in the agricultural as in the mining districts.
+And the Rectory was substantial and comfortable, even picturesque. The
+house was roomy, the garden large and capable of improvement; there
+were trees in abundance, ivy on the walls, and Anice would do the rest.
+The breakfast-room looked specially encouraging this morning. Anice, in
+a pretty pale blue gown, and with a few crocuses at her throat, awaited
+his coming behind the handsomest of silver and porcelain, reading his
+favorite newspaper the while. Her little pot of emigrant violets exhaled
+a faint, spring-like odor from their sunny place at the window; there
+was a vase of crocuses, snow-drops and ivy leaves in the centre of the
+table; there was sunshine outside and comfort in. The Rector had a good
+appetite and an unimpaired digestion. Anice rose when he entered, and
+touched the bell.
+
+"Mamma's headache will keep her upstairs for a while," she said. "She
+told me we were not to wait for her." And then she brought him his
+newspaper and kissed him dutifully.
+
+"Very glad to see you home again, I am sure, my dear," remarked the
+Rector. "I have really missed you very much. What excellent coffee this
+is!--another cup, if you please." And, after a pause,
+
+"I think really, you know," he proceeded, "that you will not find the
+place unpleasant, after all. For my part, I think it is well enough--for
+such a place; one cannot expect Belgravian polish in Lancashire miners,
+and certainly one does not meet with it; but it is well to make the best
+of things. I get along myself reasonably well with the people. I do not
+encounter the difficulties Grace complains of."
+
+"Does he complain?" asked Anice; "I did not think he exactly
+complained."
+
+"Grace is too easily discouraged," answered the Rector in off-handed
+explanation. "And he is apt to make blunders. He speaks of, and to,
+these people as if they were of the same fibre as himself. He does not
+take hold of things. He is deficient in courage. He means well, but he
+is not good at reading character. That other young fellow now--Derrick,
+the engineer--would do twice as well in his place. What do you think of
+that young fellow, by the way, my dear?"
+
+"I like him," said Anice. "He will help Mr. Grace often."
+
+"Grace needs a support of some kind," returned Mr. Barholm, frowning
+slightly, "and he does not seem to rely very much upon me--not so much
+as I would wish. I don't quite understand him at times; the fact is,
+it has struck me once or twice, that he preferred to take his own path,
+instead of following mine."
+
+"Papa," commented Anice, "I scarcely think he is to blame for that. I
+am sure it is always best, that conscientious, thinking people--and Mr.
+Grace is a thinking man--should have paths of their own."
+
+Mr. Barholm pushed his hair from his forehead. His own obstinacy
+confronted him sometimes through Anice in a finer, more baffling form.
+
+"Grace is a young man, my dear," he said, "and--and not a very
+strong-minded one."
+
+"I cannot believe that is true," said Anice. "I do not think we can
+blame his mind. It is his body that is not strong. Mr. Grace himself has
+more power than you and mamma and myself all put together."
+
+One of Alice's peculiarities was a certain pretty sententiousness,
+which, but for its innate refinement, and its sincerity, might have
+impressed people as being a fault. When she pushed her opposition in that
+steady, innocent way, Mr. Barholm always took refuge behind an inner
+consciousness which "knew better," and was fully satisfied on the point
+of its own knowledge.
+
+When breakfast was over, he rose from the table with the air of a
+man who had business on hand. Anice rose too, and followed him to the
+hearth.
+
+"You are going out, I suppose," she said.
+
+"I am going to see Joan Lowrie," he said complacently. "And I have
+several calls to make besides. Shall I tell the young woman that you
+will call on her?"
+
+Anice looked down at the foot she had placed on the shining rim of the
+steel fender.
+
+"Joan Lowrie?" she said reflectively.
+
+"Certainly, my dear. I should think it would please the girl to feel
+that we are interested in her."
+
+"I should scarcely think--from what Mr. Grace and his friend say--that
+she is the kind of a girl to be reached in that way," said Anice.
+
+The Rector shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"My dear," he answered, "if we are always to depend upon what Grace
+says, we shall often find ourselves in a dilemma. If you are going to
+wait until these collier young women call on you after the manner of
+polite society, I am afraid you will have time to lose interest in them
+and their affairs."
+
+He had no scruples of his own on the subject of his errand. He felt very
+comfortable as usual, as he wended his way through the village toward
+Lowrie's cottage, on the Knoll Road. He did not ask himself what he
+should say to the collier young woman, and her unhappy charge. Orthodox
+phrases with various distinct flavors--the flavor of encouragement, the
+flavor of reproof, the flavor of consolation,--were always ready with
+the man; he never found it necessary to prepare them beforehand. The
+flavor of approval was to be Joan's portion this morning; the flavor of
+rebuke her companion's. He passed down the street with ecclesiastical
+dignity, bestowing a curt, but not unamiable word of recognition here
+and there. Unkempt, dirty-faced children, playing hop-scotch or marbles
+on the flag pavement, looked up at him with a species of awe, not
+un-mingled with secret resentment; women lounging on door-steps, holding
+babies on their hips, stared in critical sullenness as he went by.
+
+"Theer's th' owd parson," commented one sharp-tongued matron. "Hoo's
+goin' to teach some one summat, I warrant What th' owd lad dunnot know
+is na worth knowin'. Eh! hoo's a graidely foo', that hoo is. Our Tommy,
+if tha dost na let Jane Ann be, tha'lt be gettin' a hidin'."
+
+Unprepossessing as most of the colliers' homes were, Lowrie's cottage
+was a trifle less inviting than the majority. It stood upon the
+roadside, an ugly little bare place, with a look of stubborn desolation,
+its only redeeming feature a certain rough cleanliness. The same
+cleanliness reigned inside, Barholm observed when he entered; and yet on
+the whole there was a stamp upon it which made it a place scarcely to
+be approved of. Before the low fire sat a girl with a child on her knee,
+and this girl, hearing the visitor's footsteps, got up hurriedly, and
+met him with a half abashed, half frightened look on her pale face.
+
+"Lowrie is na here, an' neyther is Joan," she said, without waiting for
+him to speak. "Both on 'em's at th' pit. Theer's no one here but me,"
+and she held the baby over her shoulder, as if she would like to have
+hidden it.
+
+Mr. Barholm walked in serenely, sure that he ought to be welcome, if he
+were not.
+
+"At the pit, are they?" he answered. "Dear me! I might have remembered
+that they would be at this time. Well, well; I will take a seat, my
+girl, and talk to you a little. I suppose you know me, the minister at
+the church--Mr. Barholm?"
+
+Liz, a slender slip of a creature, large-eyed, and woe-begone, stood up
+before him, staring at him irresolutely as he seated himself.
+
+"I--I dunnot know nobody much now," she stammered. "I--I've been away
+fro' Riggan sin' afore yo' comn--if yo're th' new parson," and then she
+colored nervously and became fearfully conscious of her miserable little
+burden, "I've heerd Joan speak o' th' young parson," she faltered.
+
+Her visitor looked at her gravely. What a helpless, childish creature
+she was, with her pretty face, and her baby, and her characterless,
+frightened way. She was only one of many--poor Liz, ignorant, emotional,
+weak, easily led, ready to err, unable to bear the consequences of
+error, not strong enough to be resolutely wicked, not strong enough to
+be anything in particular, but that which her surroundings made her.
+If she had been well-born and well brought up, she would have been a
+pretty, insipid girl, who needed to be taken care of; as it was, she had
+"gone wrong." The excellent Rector of St. Michael's felt that she must
+be awakened.
+
+"You are the girl Elizabeth?" he said.
+
+"I'm 'Lizabeth Barnes," she answered, pulling at the hem of her child's
+small gown, "but folks nivver calls me nowt but Liz."
+
+Her visitor pointed to a chair considerately. "Sit down," he said, "I
+want to talk to you."
+
+Liz obeyed him; but her pretty, weak face told its own story of distaste
+and hysterical shrinking. She let the baby lie upon her lap; her fingers
+were busy plaiting up folds of the little gown.
+
+"I dunnot want to be talked to," she whimpered. "I dunnot know as talk
+can do folk as is i' trouble any good--an' th' trouble's bad enow wi'out
+talk."
+
+"We must remember whence the trouble comes," answered the minister, "and
+if the root lies in ourselves, and springs from our own sin, we must
+bear our cross meekly, and carry our sorrows and iniquities to the
+fountain head. We must ask for grace, and--and sanctification of
+spirit."
+
+"I dunnot know nowt about th' fountain head," sobbed Liz aggrieved.
+"I amna religious an' I canna see as such loike helps foak. No Methody
+nivver did nowt for me when I war i' trouble an' want Joan Lowrie is na
+a Methody."
+
+"If you mean that the young woman is in an unawakened condition, I am
+sorry to hear it," with increased gravity of demeanor. "Without the
+redeeming blood how are we to find peace? If you had clung to the Cross
+you would have been spared all this sin and shame. You must know, my
+girl, that this," with a motion toward the frail creature on her knee,
+"is a very terrible thing."
+
+Liz burst into piteous sobs--crying like an abused child:
+
+"I know it's hard enow," she cried; "I canna get work neyther at th' pit
+nor at th' factories, as long as I mun drag it about, an' I ha' not
+got a place to lay my head, on'y this. If it wur na for Joan, I might
+starve, and the choild too. But I'm noan so bad as yo'd mak' out. I--I
+wur very fond o' _him_--I wur, an' I thowt he wur fond o' me, an' he wur
+a gentleman too. He were no laboring-man, an' he wur kind to me, until
+he got tired. Them sort allus gets tired o' yo' i' time, Joan says. I
+wish I'd ha' towd Joan at first, an' axed her what to do."
+
+Barholm passed his hand through his hair uneasily. This shallow,
+inconsequent creature baffled him. Her shame, her grief, her misery,
+were all mere straws eddying on the pool of her discomfort It was not
+her sin that crushed her, it was the consequence of it; hers was not a
+sorrow, it was a petulant unhappiness. If her lot had been prosperous
+outwardly, she would have felt no inward pang.
+
+It became more evident to him than ever that something must be done, and
+he applied himself to his task of reform to the best of his ability.
+But he exhausted his repertory of sonorous phrases in vain. His grave
+exhortations only called forth fresh tears, and a new element
+of resentment; and, to crown all, his visit terminated with a
+discouragement of which his philosophy had never dreamed.
+
+In the midst of his most eloquent reproof, a shadow darkened the
+threshold, and as Liz looked up with the explanation--"Joan!" a young
+woman, in pit girl guise, came in, her hat pushed off her forehead, her
+throat bare, her fustian jacket hanging over her arm. She glanced from
+one to the other questioningly, knitting her brows slightly at the sight
+of Liz's tears. In answer to her glance Liz spoke querulously.
+
+"It's th' parson, Joan," she said. "He comn to talk like th' rest on 'em
+an' he maks me out too ill to burn."
+
+Just at that moment the child set up a fretful cry and Joan crossed the
+room and took it up in her arms.
+
+"Yo've feart th' choild betwixt yo'," she said, "if yo've managed to do
+nowt else."
+
+"I felt it my duty as Rector of the parish," explained Barholm somewhat
+curtly, "I felt it my duty as Rector of the parish, to endeavor to bring
+your friend to a proper sense of her position."
+
+Joan turned toward him.
+
+"Has tha done it?" she asked.
+
+The Reverend Harold felt his enthusiasm concerning the young woman dying
+out.
+
+"I--I--" he stammered.
+
+Joan interrupted him.
+
+"Dost tha see as tha has done her any good?" she demanded. "I dunnot
+mysen."
+
+"I have endeavored to the best of my ability to improve her mental
+condition," the minister replied.
+
+"I thowt as much," said Joan; "I mak' no doubt tha'st done thy best,
+neyther. Happen tha'st gi'en her what comfort tha had to spare, but if
+yo'd been wiser than yo' are, yo'd ha' let her alone. I'll warrant theer
+is na a parson 'twixt here an' Lunnon, that could na ha' towd her that
+she's a sinner an' has shame to bear; but happen theer is na a parson
+'twixt here an' Lunnon as she could na ha' towd that much to, hersen.
+Howivver, as tha has said thy say, happen it 'll do yo' fur this toime,
+an' yo' can let her be for a while."
+
+Mr. Barholm was unusually silent during dinner that evening, and as
+he sat over his wine, his dissatisfaction rose to the surface, as it
+invariably did.
+
+"I am rather disturbed this evening, Anice," he said.
+
+Anice looked up questioningly.
+
+"Why?" she asked.
+
+"I went to see Joan Lowrie this morning," he answered hesitatingly, "and
+I am very much disappointed in her. I scarcely think, after all, that I
+would advise you to take her in hand. She is not an amiable young woman.
+In fact there is a positive touch of the vixen about her."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV - "Love Me, Love My Dog"
+
+Mr. Barholm had fallen into the habit of turning to Anice for it, when
+he required information concerning people and things. In her desultory
+pilgrimages, Anice saw all that he missed, and heard much that he was
+deaf to. The rough, hard-faced men and boisterous girls who passed to
+and from their work at the mine, drew her to the window whenever they
+made their appearance. She longed to know something definite of them--to
+get a little nearer to their unprepossessing life. Sometimes the men and
+women, passing, caught glimpses of her, and, asking each other who she
+was, decided upon her relationship to the family.
+
+"Hoo's th' owd parson's lass," somebody said. "Hoo's noan so bad lookin'
+neyther, if hoo was na sich a bit o' a thing."
+
+The people who had regarded Mr. Barholm with a spice of disfavor, still
+could not look with ill-nature upon this pretty girl. The slatternly
+women nudged each other as she passed, and the playing children stared
+after their usual fashion; but even the hardest-natured matron could
+find nothing more condemnatory to say than, "Hoo's noan Lancashire,
+that's plain as th' nose on a body's face;" or, "Theer is na much on
+her, at ony rate. Hoo's a bit of a weakly-like lass wi'out much blood i'
+her."
+
+Now and then Anice caught the sound of their words, but she was used
+to being commented upon. She had learned that people whose lives have a
+great deal of hard, common discomfort and struggle, acquire a tendency
+to depreciation almost as a second nature. It is easier to bear one's
+own misfortunes, than to bear the good-fortune of better-used people.
+That is the insult added by Fate to injury.
+
+Riggan was a crooked, rambling, cross-grained little place. From the one
+wide street with its jumble of old, tumble-down shops, and glaring new
+ones, branched out narrow, up-hill or down-hill thoroughfares, edged by
+colliers' houses, with an occasional tiny provision shop, where
+bread and bacon were ranged alongside potatoes and flabby cabbages;
+ornithological specimens made of pale sweet cake, and adorned with
+startling black currant eyes, rested unsteadily against the window-pane,
+a sore temptation to the juvenile populace.
+
+It was in one of these side streets that Anice met with her first
+adventure.
+
+Turning the corner, she heard the sharp yelp of a dog among a group
+of children, followed almost immediately by a ringing of loud, angry,
+boyish voices, a sound of blows and cries, and a violent scuffle. Anice
+paused for a few seconds, looking over the heads of the excited little
+crowd, and then made her way to it, and in a minute was in the heart
+of it. The two boys who were the principal figures, were fighting
+frantically, scuffling, kicking, biting, and laying on vigorous blows,
+with not unscientific fists. Now and then a fierce, red, boyish face was
+to be seen, and then the rough head ducked and the fight waxed fiercer
+and hotter, while the dog--a small, shrewd sharp-nosed terrier--barked
+at the combatants' heels, snapping at one pair, but not at the other,
+and plainly enjoying the excitement.
+
+"Boys!" cried Anice. "What's the matter?"
+
+"They're feighten," remarked a philosophical young by-stander, with
+placid interest,--"an' Jud Bates'll win."
+
+It was so astonishing a thing that any outsider should think of
+interfering, and there was something so decided in the girlish voice
+addressing them, that almost at the moment the combatants fell back,
+panting heavily, breathing vengeance in true boy fashion, and evidently
+resenting the unexpected intrusion.
+
+"What is it all about?" demanded the girl. "Tell me."
+
+The crowd gathered close around her to stare, the terrier sat down
+breathless, his red tongue hanging out, his tail beating the ground. One
+of the boys was his master, it was plain at a glance, and, as a natural
+consequence, the dog had felt it his duty to assist to the full extent
+of his powers. But the other boy was the first to speak.
+
+"Why could na he let me a-be then?" he asked irately. "I was na doin'
+owt t' him."
+
+"Yea, tha was," retorted his opponent, a sturdy, ragged, ten-year-old.
+
+"Nay, I was na."
+
+"Yea, tha was."
+
+"Well," said Anice, "what _was_ he doing?"
+
+"Aye," cried the first youngster, "tha tell her if tha con. Who hit th'
+first punse?" excitedly doubling his fist again. "I didna."
+
+"Nay, tha didna, but tha did summat else. Tha punsed at Nib wi' thy
+clog, an' hit him aside o' th' yed, an' then I punsed thee, an' I'd do
+it agen fur--"
+
+"Wait a minute," said Anice, holding up her little gloved hand. "Who is
+Nib?"
+
+"Nib's my dog," surlily. "An' them as punses him, has getten to punse
+me."
+
+Anice bent down and patted the small animal.
+
+"He seems a very nice dog," she said. "What did you kick him for?"
+
+Nib's master was somewhat mollified. A person who could appreciate the
+virtues of "th' best tarrier i' Riggan," could not be regarded wholly
+with contempt, or even indifference.
+
+"He kicked him fur nowt," he answered. "He's allus at uther him or me.
+He bust my kite, an' he cribbed my marvels, didn't he?" appealing to the
+by-standers.
+
+"Aye, he did. I seed him crib th' marvels mysen. He wur mad 'cos Jud
+wur winnen, and then he kicked Nib."
+
+Jud bent down to pat Nib himself, not without a touch of pride in his
+manifold injuries, and the readiness with which they were attested.
+
+"Aye," he said, "an' I did na set on him at first neyther. I nivver set
+on him till he punsed Nib. He may bust my kite, an' steal my marvels,
+an' he may ca' me ill names, but he shanna kick Nib. So theer!"
+
+It was evident that Nib's enemy was the transgressor. He was grievously
+in the minority. Nobody seemed to side with him, and everybody seemed
+ready--when once the tongues were loosed--to say a word for Jud and
+"th' best tarrier i'Riggan." For a few minutes Anice could scarcely make
+herself heard.
+
+"You are a good boy to take care of your dog," she said to Jud--"and
+though fighting is not a good thing, perhaps if I had been a boy,"
+gravely deciding against moral suasion in one rapid glance at the
+enemy--"perhaps if I had been a boy, I would have fought myself. _You_
+are a coward," she added, with incisive scorn to the other lad, who
+slinked sulkily out of sight.
+
+"Owd Sammy Craddock," lounging at his window, clay pipe in hand, watched
+Anice as she walked away, and gave vent to his feelings in a shrewd
+chuckle.
+
+"Eh! eh!" he commented; "so that's th' owd parson's lass, is it? Wall,
+hoo may be o' th' same mate, but hoo is na o' th' same grain, I'll
+warrant. Hoo's a rare un, hoo is, fur a wench."
+
+"Owd Sammy's" amused chuckles, and exclamations of "Eh! hoo's a rare
+un--that hoo is--fur a wench," at last drew his wife's attention. The
+good woman pounced upon him sharply.
+
+"Tha'rt an owd yommer-head," she said. "What art tha ramblin' about now?
+Who is it as is siccan a rare un?"
+
+Owd Sammy burst into a fresh chuckle, rubbing his knees with both hands.
+
+"Why," said he, "I'll warrant tha could na guess i' tha tried, but I'll
+gi'e thee a try. Who dost tha think wur out i' th' street just now i'
+th' thick of a foight among th' lads? I know thou'st nivver guess."
+
+"Nay, happen I canna, an' I dunnot know as I care so much, neyther,"
+testily.
+
+"Why," slapping his knee, "th' owd parson's lass. A little wench not
+much higher nor thy waist, an' wi' a bit o' a face loike skim-milk, but
+steady and full o' pluck as an owd un."
+
+"Nay now, tha dost na say so? What wor she doin' an' how did she come
+theer? Tha mun ha' been dreamin'!"
+
+"Nowt o' th' soart. I seed her as plain as I see thee an' heerd ivvery
+word she said. Tha shouldst ha' seen her! Hoo med as if hoo'd lived
+wi' lads aw her days. Jud Bates and that young marplot o' Thorme's wur
+feightin about Nib--at it tooth and nail--an' th' lass sees 'em, an'
+marches into th' thick, an' sets 'em to reets. Yo' should ha' seen her!
+An' hoo tells Jud as he's a good lad to tak' care o' his dog, an' hoo
+does na know but what hoo'd fowt hersen i' his place, an' hoo ca's Jack
+Thorme a coward, an' turns her back on him, an' ends up wi' tellin' Jud
+to bring th' tarrier to th' Rectory to see her."
+
+"Well," exclaimed Mrs. Craddock, "did yo' iwer hear th' loike!"
+
+"I wish th' owd parson had seed her," chuckled her spouse irreverently.
+"That soart is na i' his loine. He'd a waved his stick as if he'd been
+king and council i' one, an' rated 'em fro' th' top round o' th' ladder.
+He canna get down fro' his perch. Th' owd lad'll stick theer till he
+gets a bit too heavy, an' then he'll coom down wi' a crash, ladder an'
+aw'--but th' lass is a different mak'."
+
+Sammy being an oracle among his associates, new-comers usually passed
+through his hands, and were condemned, or approved, by him. His
+pipe, and his criticisms upon society in general, provided him with
+occupation. Too old to fight and work, he was too shrewd to be ignored.
+Where he could not make himself felt, he could make himself heard.
+Accordingly, when he condescended to inform a select and confidential
+audience that the "owd parson's lass was a rare un, lass as she
+was"--(the masculine opinion of Riggan on the subject of the weaker
+sex was a rather disparaging one)--the chances of the Rector's daughter
+began, so to speak, to "look up." If Sammy Craddock found virtue in
+the new-comer, it was possible such virtue might exist, at least in
+a negative form,--and open enmity was rendered unnecessary, and even
+impolitic. A faint interest began to be awakened. When Anice passed
+through the streets, the slatternly, baby-laden women looked at her
+curiously, and in a manner not absolutely unfriendly. She might not be
+so bad after all, if she did have "Lunnon ways," and was smiled upon by
+Fortune. At any rate, she differed from the parson himself, which was in
+her favor.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V - Outside the Hedge
+
+Deeply as Anice was interested in Joan, she left her to herself. She
+did not go to see her, and still more wisely, she managed to hush in her
+father any awakening tendency toward parochial visits. But from
+Grace and Fergus Derrick she heard much of her, and through Grace she
+contrived to convey work and help to Liz, and encouragement to her
+protectress. From what source the assistance came, Joan did not know,
+and she was not prone to ask questions.
+
+"If she asks, tell her it is from a girl like herself," Anice had said,
+and Joan had accepted the explanation.
+
+In a very short time from the date of their first acquaintance, Fergus
+Derrick's position in the Barholm household had become established. He
+was the man to make friends and keep them. Mrs. Barholm grew fond of
+him; the Rector regarded him as an acquisition to their circle, and
+Anice was his firm friend. So, being free to come and go, he came and
+went, and found his unceremonious visits pleasant enough. On his arrival
+at Riggan, he had not anticipated meeting with any such opportunities
+of enjoyment. He had come to do hard work, and had expected a hard life,
+softened by few social graces. The work of opening the new mines was
+a heavy one, and was rendered additionally heavy and dangerous by
+unforeseen circumstances. A load of responsibility rested upon his
+shoulders, to which at times he felt himself barely equal, and which
+men of less tough fibre would have been glad to shift upon others.
+Naturally, his daily cares made his hours of relaxation all the more
+pleasant. Mrs. Barholm's influence upon him was a gentle and soothing
+one, and in Anice he found a subtle inspiration. She seemed to
+understand his trials by instinct, and even the minutiae of his work
+made themselves curiously clear to her. As to the people who were under
+his control, she was never tired of hearing of them, and of
+studying their quaint, rough ways. To please her he stored up many a
+characteristic incident, and it was through him that she heard most
+frequently of Joan. She did not even see Joan for fully two months after
+her arrival in Riggan, and then it was Joan who came to her.
+
+As the weather became more spring-like she was oftener out in the
+garden. She found a great deal to do among the flower-beds and
+shrubbery, and as this had always been considered her department, she
+took the management of affairs wholly into her own hands. The old place,
+which had been rather neglected in the time of the previous inhabitant,
+began to bloom out into fragrant luxuriance, and passing Rigganites
+regarded it with admiring eyes. The colliers who had noticed her at the
+window in the colder weather, seeing her so frequently from a nearer
+point of view, felt themselves on more familiar terms. Some of them even
+took a sort of liking to her, and gave her an uncouth greeting as they
+went by; and, more than once, one or another of them had paused to ask
+for a flower or two, and had received them with a curious bashful awe,
+when they had been passed over the holly hedge.
+
+Having gone out one evening after dinner to gather flowers for the
+house, Anice, standing before a high lilac bush, and pulling its pale
+purple tassels, became suddenly conscious that some one was watching
+her--some one standing upon the roadside behind the holly hedge. She did
+not know that as she stopped here and there to fill her basket, she
+had been singing to herself in a low tone. Her voice had attracted the
+passer-by.
+
+This passer-by--a tall pit girl with a handsome, resolute face--stood
+behind the dark green hedge, and watched her. Perhaps to this girl,
+weary with her day's labor, grimed with coal-dust, it was not unlike
+standing outside paradise. Early in the year as it was, there were
+flowers enough in the beds, and among the shrubs, to make the spring air
+fresh with a faint, sweet odor. But here too was Anice in her soft white
+merino dress, with her basket of flowers, with the blue bells at her
+belt, and her half audible song. She struck Joan Lowrie with a new
+sense of beauty and purity. As she watched her she grew
+discontented--restless--sore at heart. She could not have told why, but
+she felt a certain anger against herself. She had had a hard day. Things
+had gone wrong at the pit's mouth; things had gone wrong at home. It
+was hard for her strong nature to bear with Liz's weakness. Her path was
+never smooth, but to-day it had been at its roughest. The little song
+fell upon her ear with strong pathos.
+
+"She's inside o' th' hedge," she said to herself in a dull voice. "I'm
+outside, theer's th' difference. It a'most looks loike the hedge went
+aw' around an' she'd been born among th' flowers, and theer's no way out
+for her--no more than theer's a way in fur me."
+
+Then it was that Anice turned round and saw her. Their eyes met,
+and, singularly enough, Anice's first thought was that this was Joan.
+Derrick's description made her sure. There were not two such women in
+Riggan. She made her decision in a moment. She stepped across the grass
+to the hedge with a ready smile.
+
+"You were looking at my flowers," she said. "Will you have some?"
+
+Joan hesitated.
+
+"I often give them to people," said Anice, taking a handful from the
+basket and offering them to her across the holly. "When the men come
+home from the mines they often ask me for two or three, and I think they
+like them even better than I do--though that is saying a great deal."
+
+Joan held out her hand, and took the flowers, holding them awkwardly,
+but with tenderness.
+
+"Oh, thank yo'," she said. "It's kind o' yo' to gi' 'em away."
+
+"It's a pleasure to me," said Anice, picking out a delicate pink
+hyacinth. "Here's a hyacinth." Then as Joan took it their eyes met. "Are
+you Joan Lowrie?" asked the girl.
+
+Joan lifted her head.
+
+"Aye," she answered, "I'm Joan Lowrie."
+
+"Ah," said Anice, "then I am very glad."
+
+They stood on the same level from that moment. Something as
+indescribable as all else in her manner, had done for Anice just what
+she had simply and seriously desired to do. Proud and stubborn as her
+nature was, Joan was subdued. The girl's air and speech were like her
+song. She stood inside the hedge still, in her white dress, among the
+flowers, looking just as much as if she had been born there as ever, but
+some fine part of her had crossed the boundary.
+
+"Ah! then I am glad of that," she said.
+
+"Yo' are very good to say as much," she answered, "but I dunnot know as
+I quite understand--"
+
+Anice drew a little nearer.
+
+"Mr. Grace has told me about you," she said. "And Mr. Derrick."
+
+Joan's brown throat raised itself a trifle, and Anice thought color
+showed itself on her cheek.
+
+"Both on 'em's been good to me," she said, "but I did na think as--"
+
+Anice stopped her with a little gesture, "It was you who were so kind to
+Liz when she had no friend," she began.
+
+Joan interrupted her with sudden eagerness.
+
+"It wur yo' as sent th' work an' th' things fur th' choild," she said.
+
+"Yes, it was I," answered Anice. "But I hardly knew what to send. I hope
+I sent the right things, did I?"
+
+"Yes, miss; thank yo'." And then in a lower voice, "They wur a power
+o' help to Liz an' me. Liz wur hard beset then, an' she's only a young
+thing as canna bear sore trouble. Seemed loike that th' thowt as some un
+had helped her wur a comfort to her."
+
+Anice took courage.
+
+"Perhaps if I might come and see her," she said. "May I come? I should
+like to see the baby. I am very fond of little children."
+
+There was a moment's pause, and then Joan spoke awkwardly.
+
+"Do yo' know--happen yo' dunnot--what Liz's trouble is? Bein' as yo're
+so young yorsen, happen they did na tell yo' all. Most o' toimes folk is
+na apt to be fond o' such loike as this little un o' hers."
+
+"I heard all the story."
+
+"Then come if yo' loike,--an' if they'll let yo', some ud think there
+wur harm i' th' choild's touch. I'm glad yo' dunna."
+
+She did not linger much longer. Anice watched her till she was out of
+sight. An imposing figure she was--moving down the road in her rough
+masculine garb--the massive perfection of her form clearly outlined
+against the light. It seemed impossible that such a flower as this
+could blossom, and decay, and die out in such a life, without any higher
+fruition.
+
+"I have seen Joan Lowrie," said Anice to Derrick, when next they met.
+
+"Did she come to you, or did you go to her?" Fergus asked.
+
+"She came to me, but without knowing that she was coming."
+
+"That was best," was his comment.
+
+Joan Lowrie was as much a puzzle to him as she was to other people.
+Despite the fact that he saw her every day of his life, he had never
+found it possible to advance a step with her. She held herself aloof
+from him, just as she held herself aloof from the rest. A common
+greeting, and oftener than not, a silent one, was all that passed
+between them. Try as he would, he could get no farther;--and he
+certainly did make some effort. Now and then he found the chance to do
+her a good turn, and such opportunities he never let slip, though
+his way of doing such things was always so quiet as to be unlikely to
+attract any observation. Usually he made his way with people easily, but
+this girl held him at a distance, almost ungraciously. And he did
+not like to be beaten. Who does? So he persevered with a shade of
+stubbornness, hidden under a net-work of other motives. Once, when he
+had exerted himself to lighten her labor somewhat, she set aside his
+assistance openly.
+
+"Theer's others as needs help more nor me," she said. "Help them, an'
+I'll thank yo'."
+
+In course of time, however, he accidentally discovered that there had
+been occasions when, notwithstanding her apparent ungraciousness, she
+had exerted her influence in his behalf.
+
+The older colliers resented his youth, the younger ones his authority.
+The fact that he was "noan Lancashire" worked against him too, though
+even if he had been a Lancashire man, he would not have been likely to
+find over-much favor. It was enough that he was "one o' th' mesters." To
+have been weak of will, or vacillating of purpose, would have been death
+to every vestige of the authority vested in him; but he was as strong
+mentally as physically--strong-willed to the verge of stubbornness. But
+if they could not frighten or subdue him, they could still oppose
+and irritate him, and the contention was obstinate. This feeling even
+influenced the girls and women at the "mouth." They, too, organized in
+petty rebellion, annoying if not powerful.
+
+"I think yo' will find as yo' may as well leave th' engineer be," Joan
+would say dryly. "Yo' will na fear him much, an' yo'll tire yo'rsens wi'
+yo're clatter. I donna see the good o' barkin' so much when yo' canna
+bite."
+
+"Aye," jeered one of the boldest, once, "leave th' engineer be. Joan
+sets a power o' store by th' engineer."
+
+There was a shout of laughter, but it died out when Joan confronted the
+speaker with dangerous steadiness of gaze.
+
+"Save thy breath to cool thy porridge," she said. "It will be better for
+thee."
+
+But it was neither the first nor the last time that her companions flung
+out a jeer at her "sweetheartin'." The shrewdest among them had observed
+Derrick's interest in her. They concluded, of course, that Joan's
+handsome face had won her a sweetheart. They could not accuse her
+of encouraging him; but they could profess to believe that she was
+softening, and they could use the insinuation as a sharp weapon against
+her, when such a course was not too hazardous.
+
+Of this, Derrick knew nothing. He could only see that Joan set her face
+persistently against his attempts to make friends with her, and the
+recognition of this fact almost exasperated him at times. It was quite
+natural that, seeing so much of this handsome creature, and hearing
+so much of her, his admiration should not die out, and that opposition
+should rather invite him to stronger efforts to reach her.
+
+So it was that hearing Miss Barholm's story he fell into unconscious
+reverie. Of course this did not last long. He was roused from it by the
+fact that Anice was looking at him. When he looked up, it seemed as if
+she awakened also, though she did not start.
+
+"How are you getting on at the mines?" she asked.
+
+"Badly. Or, at least, by no means well. The men are growing harder to
+deal with every day." "And your plans about the fans?" The substitution
+of the mechanical fan for the old furnace at the base of the shaft, was
+one of the projects to which Derrick clung most tenaciously. During a
+two years' sojourn among the Belgian mines, he had studied the system
+earnestly. He had worked hard to introduce it at Riggan, and meant to
+work still harder. But the miners were bitterly opposed to anything
+"newfangled," and the owners were careless. So that the mines were
+worked, and their profits made, it did not matter for the rest. They
+were used to casualties, so well used to them in fact, that unless a
+fearful loss of life occurred, they were not alarmed or even roused. As
+to the injuries done to a man's health, and so on--they had not time to
+inquire into such things. There was danger in all trades, for the matter
+of that. Fergus Derrick was a young man, and young men were fond of
+novelties.
+
+Opposition was bad enough, but indifference was far more baffling. The
+colliers opposed Derrick to the utmost, the Company was rather inclined
+to ignore him--some members good-naturedly, others with an air of
+superiority, not unmixed with contempt. The colliers talked with rough
+ill-nature; the Company did not want to talk at all.
+
+"Oh," answered Derrick, "I do not see that I have made one step forward;
+but it will go hard with me before I am beaten. Some of the men I have
+to deal with are as bat-blind as they are cantankerous. One would think
+that experience might have taught them wisdom. Would you believe that
+some of those working in the most dangerous parts of the mine have false
+keys to their Davys, and use the flame to light their pipes? I have
+heard of the thing being done before, but I only discovered the other
+day that we had such madmen in the pits here. If I could only be sure
+of them I would settle the matter at once, but they are crafty enough to
+keep their secret, and it only drifts to the master as a rumor."
+
+"Have you no suspicion as to who they are?" asked Anice.
+
+"I suspect one man," he answered, "but only suspect him because he is a
+bad fellow, reckless in all things, and always ready to break the rules.
+I suspect Dan Lowrie."
+
+"Joan's father?" exclaimed Anice in distress.
+
+Derrick made a gesture of assent.
+
+"He is the worst man in the mines," he said, "The man with the worst
+influence, the man who can work best if he will, the man whose feeling
+against any authority is the strongest, and whose feeling against me
+amounts to bitter enmity."
+
+"Against you? But why?"
+
+"I suppose because I have no liking for him myself, and because I will
+have orders obeyed, whether they are my orders or the orders of the
+owners. I will have work done as it should be done, and I will not be
+frightened by bullies."
+
+"But if he is a dangerous man--"
+
+"He would knock me down from behind, or spoil my beauty with vitriol as
+coolly as he would toss off a pint of beer, if he had the opportunity,
+and chanced to feel vicious enough at the time," said Derrick, "But his
+mood has not quite come to that yet. Just now he feels that he would
+like to have a row,--and really, if we could have a row, it would be
+the best thing for us both. If one of us could thrash the other at the
+outset, it might never come to the vitriol."
+
+He was cool enough himself, and spoke in quite a matter-of-fact way, but
+Anice suddenly lost her color. When, later, she bade him goodnight--
+
+"I am afraid of that man," she said, as he held her hand for the moment.
+"Don't let him harm you."
+
+"What man?" asked Derrick. "Is it possible you are thinking about what I
+said of Lowrie?"
+
+"Yes. It is so horrible. I cannot bear the thought of it. I am not used
+to hear of such things. I am afraid for you."
+
+"You are very good," he said, his strong hand returning her grasp with
+warm gratitude. "But I am sorry I said so much, if I have frightened
+you. I ought to have remembered how new such things were to you. It is
+nothing, I assure you." And bidding her good-night again, he went away
+quite warmed at heart by her innocent interest in him, but blaming
+himself not a little for his indiscretion.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI - Joan and the Child
+
+To the young curate's great wonder, on his first visit to her after the
+advent of Liz and her child, Joan changed her manner towards him. She
+did not attempt to repel him, she even bade him welcome in a way of her
+own. Deep in Joan's heart was hidden a fancy that perhaps the work of
+this young fellow who was "good enow fur a parson," lay with such as
+Liz, and those who like Liz bore a heavy burden.
+
+"If yo' can do her any good," she said, "come and welcome. Come every
+day. I dunnot know much about such like mysen, but happen yo' ha' a way
+o' helpin' folk as canna help theirsens i' trouble--an' Liz is one on
+'em."
+
+Truly Liz was one of these. She clung to Joan in a hopeless, childish
+way, as her only comfort. She could do nothing for herself, she could
+only obey Joan's dictates, and this she did in listless misery. When she
+had work to do, she made weak efforts at doing it, and when she had none
+she sat and held the child upon her knee, her eyes following her friend
+with a vague appeal. The discomfort of her lot, the wretchedness of
+coming back to shame and tears, after a brief season of pleasure and
+luxury, was what crushed her. So long as her lover had cared for her,
+and she had felt no fear of hunger or cold, or desertion, she had been
+happy--happy because she could be idle and take no thought for the
+morrow, and was almost a lady. But now all that was over. She had come
+to the bitter dregs of the cup. She was thrown on her own resources,
+nobody cared for her, nobody helped her but Joan, nobody called her
+pretty and praised her ways. She was not to be a lady after all, she
+must work for her living and it must be a poor one too. There would be
+no fine clothes, no nice rooms, no flattery and sugar-plums. Everything
+would be even far harder, and more unpleasant than it had been before.
+And then, the baby? What could she do with it?--a creature more helpless
+than herself, always to be clothed and taken care of, when she could not
+take care of herself, always in the way, always crying and wailing and
+troubling day and night. She almost blamed the baby for everything.
+Perhaps she would not have lost her lover if it had not been for the
+baby. Perhaps he knew what a trouble it would be, and wanted to be rid
+of her before it came, and that was why he had gone away. The night Joan
+had brought her home she had taken care of the child, and told Liz to
+sit down and rest, and had sat down herself with the small creature in
+her arms, and after watching her for a while, Liz had broken out into
+sobs, and slipped down upon the floor at her feet, hiding her wretched,
+pretty face upon her friend's knee.
+
+"I canna abide the sight o' it," she cried. "I canna see what it wur
+born fur, mysen. I wish I'd deed when I wur i' Lunnon--when _he_ cared
+fur me. He wor fond enow o' me at th' first. He could na abide me to be
+out o' his sight. I nivver wur so happy i' my life as I wur then. Aye!
+I did na think then, as th' toime ud come when he'd cast me out i' th'
+road. He had no reet to do it," her voice rising hysterically. "He had
+no reet to do it, if he wur a gentleman; but it seems gentlefolk can do
+owt they please. If he did na mean to stick to me, why could na he ha'
+let me a-be."
+
+"That is na gentlefolks' way," said Joan bitterly, "but if I wur i'
+yo're place, Liz, I would na hate th' choild. It has na done yo' as much
+harm as yo' ha' done it."
+
+After a while, when the girl was quieter, Joan asked her a question.
+
+"You nivver told me who yo' went away wi', Liz," she said. "I ha' a
+reason fur wantin' to know, or I would na ax, but fur a' that if yo'
+dunnot want to tell me, yo' need na do it against yo're will."
+
+Liz was silent a moment.
+
+"I would na tell ivverybody," she said. "I would na tell nobody but yo'.
+It would na do no good, an' I dunnot care to do harm. You'll keep it to
+yo'rsen, if I tell yo', Joan?"
+
+"Aye," Joan answered, "as long as it needs be kept to mysen. I am na one
+to clatter."
+
+"Well," said Liz with a sob, "it wur Mester Landsell I went wi'--young
+Mester Landsell--Mester Ralph."
+
+"I thout as much," said Joan, her face darkening.
+
+She had had her suspicions from the first, when Mr. Ralph Landsell had
+come to Riggan with his father, who was one of the mining company. He
+was a graceful, fair-faced young fellow, with an open hand and the air
+of a potentate, and his grandeur had pleased Liz. She was not used to
+flattery and "fine London ways," and her vanity made her an easy victim.
+
+"He wur allus after me," she said, with fresh tears. "He nivver let me
+be till I promised to go. He said he would make a lady o' me an' he wur
+allus givin' me things. He wur fond o' me at first,--that he wur,--an' I
+wur fond o' him. I nivver seed no one loike him afore. Oh! it's hard, it
+is.--Oh! it's bitter hard an' cruel, as it should come to this."
+
+And she wailed and sobbed until she wore herself out, and wearied Joan
+to the very soul.
+
+But Joan bore with her and never showed impatience by word or deed.
+Childish petulances and plaints fell upon her like water upon a
+rock--but now and then the strong nature was rasped beyond endurance by
+the weak one. She had taken no small task upon herself when she gave Liz
+her word that she would shield her. Only after a while, in a few weeks,
+a new influence began to work upon Liz's protectress. The child for whom
+there seemed no place in the world, or in any pitying heart--the child
+for whom Liz felt nothing but vague dislike and resentment--the child
+laid its light but powerful hand upon Joan. Once or twice she noticed
+as she moved about the room that the little creature's eyes would follow
+her in a way something like its mother's, as if with appeal to her
+superior strength. She fell gradually into the habit of giving it
+more attention. It was so little and light, so easily taken from Liz's
+careless hold when it was restless, so easily carried to and fro, as she
+went about her household tasks. She had never known much about babies
+until chance had thrown this one in her path; it was a great novelty.
+It liked her strong arms, and Liz was always ready to give it up to her,
+feeling only a weak bewilderment at her fancy for it. When she was at
+home it was rarely out of her arms. It was no source of weariness to her
+perfect strength. She carried it here and there, she cradled it upon
+her knees, when she sat down by the fire to rest; she learned in time
+a hundred gentle woman's ways through its presence. Her step became
+lighter, her voice softer--a heavy tread, or a harsh tone might waken
+the child. For the child's sake she doffed her uncouth working-dress
+when she entered the house; for the child's sake she made an effort to
+brighten the dulness, and soften the roughness of their surroundings.
+
+The Reverend Paul, in his visits to the house, observed with tremor,
+the subtle changes wrought in her. Catching at the straw of her negative
+welcome, he went to see Liz whenever he could find a tangible excuse.
+He had a sensitive dread of intruding even upon the poor privacy of the
+"lower orders," and he could rarely bring himself to the point of
+taking them by storm as a mere matter of ecclesiastical routine. But
+the oftener he saw Joan Lowrie, the more heavily she lay upon his mind.
+Every day his conscience smote him more sorely for his want of success
+with her. And yet how could he make way against her indifference. He
+even felt himself a trifle spell-bound in her presence. He often found
+himself watching her as she moved to and fro,--watching her as Liz and
+the child did.
+
+But "th' parson" was "th' parson" to her still. A good-natured, simple
+little fellow, who might be a trifle better than other folks, but who
+certainly seemed weaker; a frail little gentleman in spectacles, who was
+afraid of her, or was at least easily confounded; who might be of use to
+Liz, but who was not in her line,--better in his way than his master in
+his; but still a person to be regarded with just a touch of contempt.
+
+The confidence established between Grace and his friend Fergus Derrick,
+leading to the discussion of all matters connected with the parish and
+parishioners, led naturally to the frequent discussion of Joan Lowrie
+among the rest. Over tea and toast in the small parlor the two men often
+drew comfort from each other. When Derrick strode into the little place
+and threw himself into his favorite chair, with knit brows and weary
+irritation in his air, Grace was always ready to detect his mood, and
+wait for him to reveal himself; or when Grace looked up at his friend's
+entrance with a heavy, pained look on his face, Derrick was equally
+quick to comprehend. There was one trouble in which Derrick specially
+sympathized with his friend. This was in his feeling for Anice.
+
+Duty called Paul frequently to the house, and his position with regard
+to its inhabitants was necessarily familiar. Mr. Barholm did not spare
+his curate; he was ready to delegate to him all labor in which he was
+not specially interested himself, or which he regarded as scarcely
+worthy of his mettle.
+
+"Grace makes himself very useful in some cases," he would say; "a
+certain kind of work suits him, and he is able to do himself justice in
+it. He is a worthy enough young fellow in a certain groove, but it is
+always best to confine him to that groove."
+
+So, when there was an ordinary sermon to be preached, or a commonplace
+piece of work to be done, it was handed over to Grace, with a few
+tolerant words of advice or comment, and as commonplace work was rather
+the rule than the exception, the Reverend Paul's life was not idle.
+Anice's manner toward her father's curate was so gentle and earnest, so
+frank and full of trust in him, that it was not to be wondered at that
+each day only fixed her more firmly in his heart. Nothing of his
+conscientious labor was lost upon her; nothing of his self-sacrifice and
+trial was passed by indifferently in her thoughts of him; his pain and
+his effort went to her very heart. Her belief in him was so strong that
+she never hesitated to carry any little bewilderment to him or to speak
+to him openly upon any subject. Small marvel, that he found it delicious
+pain to go to the house day after day, feeling himself so near to her,
+yet knowing himself so far from any hope of reaching the sealed chamber
+of her heart.
+
+Notwithstanding her knowledge of her inability to alter his position,
+Anice still managed to exert some slight influence over her friend's
+fate.
+
+"Do you not think, papa, that Mr. Grace has a great deal to do?" she
+suggested once, when he was specially overburdened.
+
+"A great deal to do?" he said. "Well, he has enough to do, of course,
+my dear, but then it is work of a kind that suits him. I never leave
+anything very important to Grace. You do not mean, my dear, that you
+fancy he has too much to do?"
+
+"Rather too much of a dull kind," answered Anice. "Dull work is tiring,
+and he has a great deal of it on his hands. All that school work, you
+know, papa--if you could share it with him, I should think it would make
+it easier for him."
+
+"My dear Anice," the rector protested; "if Grace had my responsibilities
+to carry on his shoulders,--but I do not leave my responsibilities to
+him. In my opinion he is hardly fitted to bear them--they are not in his
+line;" but seeing a dubious look on the delicate face opposite him--"but
+if you think the young fellow has really too much to do, I will try to
+take some of these minor matters upon myself. I am equal to a good deal
+of hard work,"--evidently feeling himself somewhat aggrieved.
+
+But Anice made no further comment; having dropped a seed of suggestion,
+she left it to fructify, experience teaching her that this was her best
+plan. It was one of the good rector's weaknesses, to dislike to find
+his course disapproved even by a wholly uninfluential critic, and his
+daughter was by no means an uninfluential critic. He was never exactly
+comfortable when her views did not strictly accord with his own. To find
+that Anice was regarding a favorite whim with questioning, was for him
+to begin to falter a trifle inwardly, however testily rebellious he
+might feel. He was a man who thrived under encouragement, and sank at
+once before failure; failure was unpleasant, and he rarely contended
+long against unpleasantness; it was not a "fair wind and no favor" with
+him, he wanted both the fair wind and the favor, and if either
+failed him he felt himself rather badly used. So it was, through this
+discreetly exerted influence of Anice's, that Grace, to his surprise,
+found some irksome tasks taken from his shoulders at this time. He did
+not know that it was Anice he had to thank for the temporary relief.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII - Anice at the Cottage
+
+ANICE went to see Liz. Perhaps if the truth were told, she went to see
+Joan more than to visit Joan's _protegee_ though her interest extended
+from the one to the other. But she did not see Joan, she only heard of
+her. Liz met her visitor without any manifestations of enthusiasm. She
+was grateful, but gratitude was not often a powerful emotion with her.
+But Anice began to attract her somewhat before she had been in the house
+ten minutes. Liz found, first, that she was not one of the enemy,
+and did not come to read a homily to her concerning her sins and
+transgressions; having her mind set at ease thus far, she found time to
+be interested in her. Her visitor's beauty, her prettiness of toilet, a
+certain delicate grace of presence, were all virtues in Liz's eyes. She
+was so fond of pretty things herself, she had been wont to feel such
+pleasure and pride in her own beauty, that such outward charms were
+the strongest of charms to her. She forgot to be abashed and miserable,
+when, after talking a few minutes, Anice came to her and bent over the
+child as it lay on her knee. She even had the courage to regard the
+material of her dress with some degree of interest.
+
+"Yo'n getten that theer i' Lunnon," she ventured, wistfully touching the
+pretty silk with her finger. "Theer's noan sich i' Riggan."
+
+"Yes," answered Anice, letting the baby's hand cling to her fingers. "I
+bought it in London."
+
+Liz touched it again, and this time the wistfulness in her touch crept
+up to her eyes, mingled with a little fretfulness.
+
+"Ivverything's fine as comes fro' Lunnon," she said. "It's the grandest
+place i' th' world. I dunnot wonder as th' queen lives theer. I wur
+happy aw th' toime I wur theer. I nivver were so happy i' my life.
+I--I canna hardly bear to think on it--it gi'es me such a wearyin' an'
+long-in'; I wish I could go back, I do"--ending with a sob.
+
+"Don't think about it any more than you can help," said Anice gently.
+"It is very hard I know; don't cry, Liz."
+
+"I canna help it," sobbed Liz; "an' I can no more help thinkin' on it,
+than th' choild theer can help thinkin' on its milk. I'm hungerin'
+aw th' toime--an' I dunnot care to live; I wakken up i' th' noight
+hungerin' an' cryin' fur--fur what I ha' not got, an' nivver shall ha'
+agen."
+
+The tears ran down her cheeks and she whimpered like a child. The sight
+of the silk dress had brought back to her mind her lost bit of paradise
+as nothing else would have done--her own small store of finery, the
+gayety and novelty of London sounds and sights.
+
+Anice knelt down upon the flagged floor, still holding the child's hand.
+
+"Don't cry," she said again. "Look at the baby, Liz. It is a pretty
+baby. Perhaps if it lives, it may be a comfort to you some day."
+
+"Nay! it wunnot;" said Liz, regarding it resentfully. "I nivver could
+tak' no comfort in it. It's nowt but a trouble. I dunnot loike it. I
+canna. It would be better if it would na live. I canna tell wheer Joan
+Lowrie gets her patience fro'. I ha' no patience with the little marred
+thing mysen--allus whimperin' an' cryin'; I dunnot know what to do wi'
+it half th' toime."
+
+Anice took it from her lap, and sitting down upon a low wooden stool,
+held it gently, looking at its small round face. It was a pretty little
+creature, pretty with Liz's own beauty, or at least, with the baby
+promise of it. Anice stooped and kissed it, her heart stirred by the
+feebly-strong clasp of the tiny fingers.
+
+During the remainder of her visit, she sat holding the child on her
+knee, and talking to it as well as to its mother. But she made no
+attempt to bring Liz to what Mr. Barholm had called, "a fitting sense
+of her condition." She was not fully settled in her opinion as to what
+Liz's "fitting sense" would be. So she simply made an effort to please
+her, and awaken her to interest, and she succeeded very well. When she
+went away, the girl was evidently sorry to see her go.
+
+"I dunnot often want to see folk twice," she said, looking at her shyly,
+"but I'd loike to see yo'. Yo're not loike th' rest. Yo' dunnot harry me
+wi' talk. Joan said yo' would na."
+
+"I will come again," said Anice.
+
+During her visit, Liz had told her much of Joan. She seemed to like to
+talk of her, and certainly Anice had been quite ready to listen.
+
+"She is na easy to mak' out," said Liz, "an' p'r'aps that's th' reason
+why folks puts theirsens to so much trouble to mak' her out."
+
+When he passed the cottage on the Knoll Road in going home at night,
+Fergus could not help looking out for Joan. Sometimes he saw her, and
+sometimes he did not. During the warm weather, he saw her often at the
+door, or near the gate; almost always with the child in her arms. There
+was no awkward shrinking in her manner at such times, no vestige of the
+clumsy consciousness usually exhibited by girls of her class. She met
+his glance with a grave quietude, scarcely touched with interest, he
+thought; he never observed that she smiled, though he was uncomfortably
+conscious now and then that she stood and calmly watched him out of
+sight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII - The Wager of Battle
+
+"Owd Sammy Craddock" rose from his chair, and going to the mantel-piece,
+took down a tobacco jar of red and yellow delft, and proceeded to fill
+his pipe with solemn ceremony. It was a large, deep clay pipe, and held
+a great deal of tobacco--particularly when filled from the store of an
+acquaintance. "It's a good enow pipe to borrow wi'," Sammy was wont to
+remark. In the second place, Mr. Craddock drew forth a goodly portion
+of the weed, and pressed it down with ease and precision into the top
+of the foreign gentleman's turban which constituted the bowl. Then he
+lighted it with a piece of paper, remarking to his wife between long
+indrawn puffs, "I'm goin'--to th' Public."
+
+The good woman did not receive the intelligence as amicably as it had
+been given.
+
+"Aye," she said, "I'll warrant tha art. When tha art no fillin' thy
+belly tha art generally either goin' to th' Public, or comin' whoam. Aw
+Riggan ud go to ruin if tha wert na at th' Public fro' morn till neet
+looking after other folkses business. It's well for th' toun as tha'st
+getten nowt else to do."
+
+Sammy puffed away at his pipe, without any appearance of disturbance.
+
+"Aye," he consented dryly, "it is, that. It ud be a bad thing to ha'
+th' pits stop workin' aw because I had na attended to 'em, an' gi'en th'
+mesters a bit o' encouragement. Tha sees mine's what th' gentlefolk
+ca' a responsible position i' society. Th' biggest trouble I ha', is
+settlin' i' my moind what th' world 'ill do when I turn up my toes to
+th' daisies, an' how the government'll mak' up their moinds who shall
+ha' th' honor o' payin' for th' moniment."
+
+In Mr. Craddock's opinion, his skill in the solution of political and
+social problems was only equalled by his aptitude in managing the weaker
+sex. He never lost his temper with a woman. He might be sarcastic, he
+was sometimes even severe in his retorts, but he was never violent. In
+any one else but Mr. Craddock, such conduct might have been considered
+weak by the male population of Riggan, who not unfrequently settled
+their trifling domestic difficulties with the poker and tongs, chairs,
+or flat-irons, or indeed with any portable piece of household furniture.
+But Mr. Craddock's way of disposing of feminine antagonists was
+tolerated. It was pretty well known that Mrs. Craddock had a temper,
+and since he could manage her, it was not worth while to criticise the
+method.
+
+"Tha'rt an owd yommer-head," said Mrs. Craddock, as oracularly as if
+she had never made the observation before. "Tha deserves what tha has na
+getten."
+
+"Aye, that I do," with an air of amiable regret "Tha'rt reet theer fur
+once i' thy loife. Th' country has na done its duty by me. If I'd had aw
+I deserved I'd been th' Lord Mayor o' Lunnon by this toime, an' tha'd a
+been th' Lady Mayoress, settin' up i' thy parlor wi' a goold crown atop
+o' thy owd head, sortin' out thy cloathes fur th' wesh woman i'stead o'
+dollyin' out thy bits o' duds fur thysen. Tha'rt reet, owd lass--tha'rt
+reet enow."
+
+"Go thy ways to th' Public," retorted the old dame driven to
+desperation. "I'm tired o' hearkenin' to thee. Get thee gone to th'
+Public, or we'st ha' th' world standin' still; an' moind tha do'st na
+set th' horse-ponds afire as tha goes by em.
+
+"I'll be keerful, owd lass," chuckled Sammy, taking his stick. "I'll be
+keerful for th' sake o' th' town."
+
+He made his way toward the village ale-house in the best of humors.
+Arriving at The Crown, he found a discussion in progress. Discussions
+were always being carried on there in fact, but this time it was not
+Craddock's particular friends who were busy. There were grades even
+among the visitors at The Crown, and there were several grades below
+Sammy's. The lowest was composed of the most disreputable of the
+colliers--men who with Lowrie at their head were generally in some
+mischief. It was these men who were talking together loudly this
+evening, and as usual, Lowrie was the loudest in the party. They did
+not seem to be quarrelling. Three or four sat round a table listening to
+Lowrie with black looks, and toward them Sammy glanced as he came in.
+
+"What's up in them fellys?" he asked of a friend.
+
+"Summat's wrong at th' pit," was the answer. "I canna mak' out what
+mysen. Summat about one o' th' mesters as they're out wi'. What'll tha
+tak', owd lad?"
+
+"A pint o' sixpenny." And then with another sidelong glance at the
+debaters:
+
+"They're an ill set, that lot, an' up to summat ill too, I'll warrant.
+He's not the reet soart, that Lowrie."
+
+Lowrie was a burly fellow with a surly, sometimes ferocious, expression.
+Drink made a madman of him, and among his companions he ruled supreme
+through sheer physical superiority. The man who quarrelled with him
+might be sure of broken bones, if not of something worse. He leaned over
+the table now, scowling as he spoke.
+
+"I'll ha' no lads meddlin' an' settin' th' mesters agen _me_," Craddock
+heard him say. "Them on yo' as loikes to tak' cheek mun tak' it, I'm too
+owd a bird fur that soart o' feed. It sticks i' my crop. Look thee out
+o' that theer window, Jock, and watch who passes. I'll punse that lad
+into th' middle o' next week, as sure as he goes by."
+
+"Well," commented one of his companions, "aw I've gotten to say is, as
+tha'll be loike to ha' a punse on it, fur he's a strappin' youngster,
+an' noan so easy feart."
+
+"Da'st ta mean to say as I conna do it?" demanded Lowrie fiercely.
+
+"Nay--nay, mon," was the pacific and rather hasty reply. "Nowt o' th'
+soart. I on'y meant as it was na ivvery mon as could."
+
+"Aye, to be sure!" said Sammy testily to his friend. "That's th' game is
+it? Theer's a feight on hond. That's reet, my lads, lay in thy beer,
+an' mak' dom'd fools o' thysens, an' tha'lt get a chance to sleep on th'
+soft side o' a paving-stone i' th' lock-ups."
+
+He had been a fighting man himself in his young days, and had prided
+himself particularly upon "showing his muscle," in Riggan parlance, but
+he had never been such a man as Lowrie. His comparatively gentlemanly
+encounters with personal friends had always been fair and square, and
+in many cases had laid the foundation for future toleration, even
+amiability. He had never hesitated to "tak' a punse" at an offending
+individual, but he had always been equally ready to shake hands when
+all was over, and in some cases, when having temporarily closed a
+companion's eyes in the heat of an argument, he had been known to lead
+him to the counter of "th' Public," and bestow nectar upon him in the
+form of "sixpenny." But of Lowrie, even the fighting community, which
+was the community predominating in Riggan, could not speak so well. He
+was "ill-farrant," and revengeful,--ready to fight, but not ready to
+forgive. He had been known to bear a grudge, and remember it, when it
+had been forgotten by other people. His record was not a clean one, and
+accordingly he was not a favorite of Sammy Craddock's.
+
+A short time afterward somebody passed the window facing the street, and
+Lowrie started up with an oath.
+
+"Theer he is!" he exclaimed. "Now fur it. I thowt he'd go this road.
+I'll see what tha's getten to say fur thysen, my lad."
+
+He was out in the street almost before Craddock and his companion had
+time to reach the open window, and he had stopped the passer-by, who
+paused to confront him haughtily.
+
+"Why!" cried Sammy, slapping his knee, "I'm dom'd if it is na th' Lunnon
+engineer chap."
+
+Fergus Derrick stood before his enemy with anything but a propitiatory
+air. That this brutal fellow who had caused him trouble enough already,
+should interfere with his very progress in the street, was too much for
+his high spirit to bear.
+
+"I comn out here," said Lowrie, "to see if tha had owt to say to me."
+
+"Then," replied Fergus, "you may go in again, for I have nothing."
+
+Lowrie drew a step nearer to him.
+
+"Art tha sure o' that?" he demanded. "Tha wert so ready wi' thy gab
+about th' Davys this mornin' I thowt happen tha'd loike to say summat
+more if a mon ud gi' yo' a chance. But happen agen yo're one o' th'
+soart as sticks to gab an' goes no further."
+
+Derrick's eyes blazed, he flung out his open hand in a contemptuous
+gesture.
+
+"Out of the way," he said, in a suppressed voice, "and let me pass."
+
+But Lowrie only came nearer.
+
+"Nay, but I wunnot," he said, "until I've said my say. Tha wert goin' to
+mak' me obey th' rules or let th' mesters hear on it, wert tha? Tha wert
+goin' to keep thy eye on me, an' report when th' toime come, wert
+tha? Well, th' toime has na come yet, and now I'm goin' to gi' thee a
+thrashin'."
+
+He sprang upon him with a ferocity which would have flung to the earth
+any man who had not possessed the thews and sinews of a lion. Derrick
+managed to preserve his equilibrium. After the first blow, he could not
+control himself. Naturally, he had longed to thrash this fellow
+soundly often enough, and now that he had been attacked by him, he
+felt forbearance to be no virtue. Brute force could best conquer brute
+nature. He felt that he would rather die a thousand deaths than be
+conquered himself. He put forth all his strength in an effort that
+awakened the crowd--which had speedily surrounded them, Owd Sammy among
+the number--to wild admiration.
+
+"Get thee unto it, lad," cried the old sinner in an ecstasy of
+approbation, "Get thee unto it! Tha'rt shapin' reet I see. Why, I'm
+dom'd," slapping his knee as usual--"I'm dom'd if he is na goin' to
+mill Dan Lowrie!"
+
+To the amazement of the by-standers, it became evident in a very short
+time, that Lowrie had met his match. Finding it necessary to defend
+himself, Derrick was going to do something more. The result was that
+the breathless struggle for the mastery ended in a crash, and Lowrie lay
+upon the pavement, Fergus Derrick standing above him pale, fierce and
+panting.
+
+"Look to him," he said to the men about him, in a white heat, "and
+remember that the fellow provoked me to it. If he tries it again, I will
+try again too." And he turned on his heel and walked away.
+
+He had been far more tolerant, even in his wrath, than most men would
+have been, but he had disposed of his enemy effectually. The fellow
+lay stunned upon the ground. In his fall, he had cut his head upon the
+curbstone, and the blood streamed from the wound when his companions
+crowded near, and raised him. Owd Sammy Craddock offered no assistance;
+he leaned upon his stick, and looked on with grim satisfaction.
+
+"Tha's getten what tha deserved, owd lad," he said in an undertone. "An'
+tha'st getten no more. I'st owe th' Lunnon chap one fro' this on. He's
+done a bit o' work as I'd ha' takken i' hond mysen long ago, if I'd ha'
+been thirty years younger, an' a bit less stiff i' th' hinges."
+
+Fergus had not escaped without hurt himself, and the first angry
+excitement over, he began to feel so sharp an ache in his wrist, that
+he made up his mind to rest for a few minutes at Grace's lodgings before
+going home. It would be wise to know the extent of his injury.
+
+Accordingly, he made his appearance in the parlor, somewhat startling
+his friend, who was at supper.
+
+"My dear Fergus!" exclaimed Paul. "How excited you look!"
+
+Derrick flung himself into a chair, feeling rather dubious about his
+strength, all at once.
+
+"Do I?" he said, with a faint smile. "Don't be alarmed, Grace, I have no
+doubt I look as I feel. I have been having a brush with that scoundrel
+Lowrie, and I believe something has happened to my wrist."
+
+He made an effort to raise his left hand and failed, succumbing to a
+pain so intense that it forced an exclamation from him.
+
+"I thought it was a sprain," he said, when he recovered himself, "but it
+is a job for a surgeon. It is broken."
+
+And so it proved under the examination of the nearest practitioner, and
+then Derrick remembered a wrench and shock which he had felt in Lowrie's
+last desperate effort to recover himself. Some of the small bones had
+broken.
+
+Grace called in the surgeon himself, and stood by during the strapping
+and bandaging with an anxious face, really suffering as much as Derrick,
+perhaps a trifle more. He would not hear of his going home that night,
+but insisted that he should remain where he was.
+
+"I can sleep on the lounge myself," he protested. "And though I shall be
+obliged to leave you for half an hour, I assure you I shall not be away
+a longer time."
+
+"Where are you going?" asked Derrick.
+
+"To the Rectory. Mr. Barholm sent a message an hour ago, that he wished
+to see me upon business."
+
+Fergus agreed to remain. When Grace was on the point of leaving the
+room, he turned his head.
+
+"You are going to the Rectory, you say?" he remarked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Do you think you shall see Anice?"
+
+"It is very probable," confusedly.
+
+"I merely thought I would ask you not to mention this affair to her,"
+said Derrick. The Curate's face assumed an expression at that moment,
+which it was well that his friend did not see. A shadow of bewilderment
+and anxiety fell upon it and the color faded away.
+
+"You think--" faltered he.
+
+"Well, I thought that perhaps it would shock or alarm her," answered
+Derrick. "She might fancy it to have been a more serious matter than it
+was."
+
+"Very well. I think you are right, perhaps."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX - The News at the Rectory
+
+If she did not hear of the incident from Grace, Anice heard of it from
+another quarter.
+
+The day following, the village was ringing with the particulars of "th'
+feight betwix' th' Lunnon chap an' Dan Lowrie."
+
+Having occasion to go out in the morning, Mr. Barholm returned to
+luncheon in a state of great excitement.
+
+"Dear me!" he began, almost as soon as he entered the room. "Bless my
+life! what ill-conditioned animals these colliers are!"
+
+Anice and her mother regarded him questionably.
+
+"What do you suppose I have just heard?" he went on. "Mr. Derrick has
+had a very unpleasant affair with one of the men who work under him--no
+other than that Lowrie--the young woman's father. They are a bad lot it
+seems, and Lowrie had a spite against Derrick, and attacked him openly,
+and in the most brutal manner, as he was going through the village
+yesterday evening."
+
+"Are you sure?" cried Anice. "Oh! papa," and she put her hand upon the
+table as if she needed support.
+
+"There is not the slightest doubt," was the answer, "everybody is
+talking about it. It appears that it is one of the strictest rules of
+the mine that the men shall keep their Davy lamps locked while they are
+in the pit--indeed they are directed to deliver up their keys before
+going down, and Derrick having strong suspicions that Lowrie had
+procured a false key, gave him a rather severe rating about it, and
+threatened to report him, and the end of the matter was the trouble of
+yesterday. The wonder is, that Derrick came off conqueror. They say he
+gave the fellow a sound thrashing. There is a good deal of force in that
+young man," he said, rubbing his hands. "There is a good deal of--of
+pluck in him--as we used to say at Oxford."
+
+Anice shrank from her father's evident enjoyment, feeling a mixture
+of discomfort and dread. Suppose the tables had turned the other way.
+Suppose it had been Lowrie who had conquered. She had heard of horrible
+things done by such men in their blind rage. Lowrie would not have
+paused where Derrick did. The newspapers told direful tales of such
+struggles ending in the conquered being stamped upon, maimed, beaten out
+of life.
+
+"It is very strange," she said, almost impatiently. "Mr. Grace must have
+known, and yet he said nothing. I wish he would come."
+
+As chance had it, the door opened just at that moment, and the Curate
+was announced. He was obliged to drop in at all sorts of unceremonious
+hours, and to-day some school business had brought him. The Rector
+turned to greet him with unwonted warmth. "The very man we want," he
+exclaimed. "Anice was just wishing for you. We have been talking of this
+difficulty between Derrick and Lowrie, and we are anxious to hear what
+you know about it."
+
+Grace glanced at Anice uneasily.
+
+"We wanted to know if Mr. Derrick was quite uninjured," she said. "Papa
+did not hear that he was hurt at all, but you will be able to tell us."
+
+There was an expression in her upraised eyes the Curate had never seen
+there.
+
+"He met with an injury," he answered, "but it was not a severe one.
+He came to my rooms last night and remained with me. His wrist is
+fractured."
+
+He was not desirous of discussing the subject very freely, it was
+evident, even to Mr. Barholm, who was making an effort to draw him out.
+He seemed rather to avoid it, after he had made a brief statement of
+what he knew. In his secret heart, he shrank from it with a dread far
+more nervous than Anice's. He had doubts of his own concerning Lowrie's
+action in the future. Thus the Rector's excellent spirits grated on him,
+and he said but little.
+
+Anice was silent too. After luncheon, however, she went into a small
+conservatory adjoining the room, and before Grace took his departure,
+she called him to her.
+
+"It is very strange that you did not tell us last night," she said; "why
+did you not?"
+
+"It was Derrick's forethought for you," he answered. "He was afraid that
+the story would alarm you, and as I agreed with him that it might, I
+remained silent. I might as well have spoken, it appears."
+
+"He thought it would frighten me?" she said.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Has this accident made him ill?"
+
+"No, not ill, though the fracture is a very painful and inconvenient
+one."
+
+"I am very sorry; please tell him so. And, Mr. Grace, when he feels able
+to come here, I have something to say to him."
+
+Derrick marched into the Barholm parlor that very night with his arm in
+splints and bandages.
+
+It was a specially pleasant and homelike evening to him; Mrs. Barholm's
+gentle heart went out to the handsome invalid. She had never had a son
+of her own, though it must be confessed she had yearned for one, strong
+and deep as was her affection for her girl.
+
+But it was not till Derrick bade Anice good-night, that he heard what
+she intended to say to him. When he was going, just as he stepped across
+the threshold of the entrance door, she stopped him.
+
+"Wait a minute, if you will be so good," she said, "I have something to
+ask of you."
+
+He paused, half smiling.
+
+"I thought you had forgotten," he returned.
+
+"Oh! no, I had not forgotten," she answered. "But it will only seem a
+very slight thing to you perhaps." Then she began again, after a pause.
+"If you please, do not think I am a coward," she said.
+
+"A coward!" he repeated.
+
+"You were afraid to let Mr. Grace tell me about your accident last night
+and though it was very kind of you, I did not like it. You must not
+think that because these things are new and shock me, I am not strong
+enough to trust in. I am stronger than I look."
+
+"My dear Miss Barholm," he protested, "I am sure of that. I ought to
+have known better. Forgive me if--"
+
+"Oh," she interposed, "you must not blame yourself. But I wanted to ask
+you to be so kind as to think better of me than that. I want to be sure
+that if ever I can be of use to anybody, you will not stop to think of
+the danger or annoyance. Such a time may never come, but if it does--"
+
+"I shall certainly remember what you have said," Fergus ended for her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X - On the Knoll Road
+
+The moon was shining brightly when he stepped into the open road--so
+brightly that he could see every object far before him unless where the
+trees cast their black shadows, which seemed all the blacker for the
+light. "What a grave little creature she is!" he was saying to himself.
+But he stopped suddenly; under one of the trees by the roadside some one
+was standing motionless; as he approached, the figure stepped boldly out
+into the moonlight before him. It was a woman.
+
+"Dunnot be afeard," she said, in a low, hurried voice. "It's me,
+mester--it's Joan Lowrie."
+
+"Joan Lowrie!" he said with surprise. "What has brought you out at this
+hour, and whom are you waiting for?"
+
+"I'm waiting for yo'rsen," she answered.
+
+"For me?"
+
+"Aye; I ha' summat to say to you."
+
+She looked about her hurriedly.
+
+"Yo'd better come into th' shade o' them trees," she said, "I dunnot
+want to gi' any one a chance to see me nor yo' either."
+
+It was impossible that he should not hesitate a moment. If she had been
+forced into entrapping him!
+
+She made a sharp gesture.
+
+"I am na goin' to do no harm," she said. "Yo' may trust me. It's th'
+other way about."
+
+"I ask pardon," he said, feeling heartily ashamed of himself the next
+instant, "but you know--"
+
+"Aye," impatiently, as they passed into the shadow, "I know, or I should
+na be here now."
+
+A moonbeam, finding its way through a rift in the boughs and falling on
+her face, showed him that she was very pale.
+
+"Yo' wonder as I'm here at aw," she said, not meeting his eyes as she
+spoke, "but yo' did me a good turn onct, an' I ha' na had so many done
+me i' my loife as I can forget one on 'em. I'm come here--fur I may as
+well mak' as few words on't as I con--I come here to tell yo' to tak'
+heed o' Dan Lowrie."
+
+"What?" said Fergus. "He bears me a grudge, does he?"
+
+"Aye, he bears thee grudge enow," she said. "He bears thee that much
+grudge that if he could lay his hond on thee, while th' heat's on him,
+he'd kill thee or dee. He will na be so bitter after a while, happen,
+but he'd do it now, and that's why I warn thee. Tha has no reet to be
+goin' out loike this," glancing at his bandaged arm. "How could tha
+help thysen if he were to set on thee? Tha had better tak' heed, I tell
+thee."
+
+"I am very much indebted to you," began Fergus.
+
+She stopped him.
+
+"Tha did me a good turn," she said. And then her voice changed. "Dan
+Lowrie's my feyther, an' I've stuck to him, I dunnot know why--happen
+cause I never had nowt else to hold to and do for; but feyther or no
+feyther I know he's a bad un when th' fit's on an' he has a spite agen a
+mon. So tak' care, I tell thee agen. Theer now, I've done. Will tha walk
+on first an' let me follow thee?"
+
+Something in her mode of making this suggestion impressed him
+singularly.
+
+"I do not quite understand--" he said.
+
+She turned and looked at him, her face white and resolute.
+
+"I dunnot want harm done," she answered. "I will na ha' harm done if
+I con help it, an' if I mun speak th' truth I know theer's harm afoot
+toneet. If I'm behind thee, theer is na a mon i' Riggan as dare lay
+hond on thee to my face, if I _am_ nowt but a lass. That's why I ax thee
+to let me keep i' soight."
+
+"You are a brave woman," he said, "and I will do as you tell me, but I
+feel like a coward."
+
+"Theer is no need as you should," she answered in a softened voice, "Yo'
+dunnot seem loike one to me."
+
+Derrick bent suddenly, and taking her hand, raised it to his lips. At
+this involuntary act of homage--for it was nothing less--Joan Lowrie
+looked up at him with startled eyes.
+
+"I am na a lady," she said, and drew her hand away.
+
+They went out into the road together, he first, she following at a short
+distance, so that nobody seeing the one could avoid seeing the other. It
+was an awkward and trying position for a man of Derrick's temperament,
+and under some circumstances he would have rebelled against it; as it
+was, he could not feel humiliated.
+
+At a certain dark bend in the road not far from Lowrie's cottage, Joan
+halted suddenly and spoke.
+
+"Feyther," she said, in a clear steady voice, "is na that yo' standin'
+theer? I thowt yo'd happen to be comin' whoam this way. Wheer has tha
+been?" And as he passed on, Derrick caught the sound of a muttered oath,
+and gained a side glimpse of a heavy, slouching figure coming stealthily
+out of the shadow.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI - Nib and His Master Make a Call
+
+"Hoo's a queer little wench," said one of the roughest Rigganite
+matrons, after Anice's first visit, "I wur i' th' middle o' my weshin
+when she coom,--up to th' neck i' th' suds,--and I wur vexed enow when
+I seed her standin' i' th' door, lookin' at me wi' them big eyes o'
+hers--most loike a babby's wonderin' at summat. 'We dunnot want none,'
+I says, soart o' sharp loike, th' minute I clapped my eyes on her.
+'Theer's no one here as can read, an' none on us has no toime to spare
+if we could, so we dunnot want none.' 'Dunnot want no what?' she says.
+'No tracks,' says I. And what do yo' think she does, lasses? Why, she
+begins to soart o' dimple up about th' corners o' her mouth as if I'd
+said summat reight down queer, an' she gi'es a bit o' a laff. 'Well,'
+she says, 'I'm glad o' that. It's a good thing, fur I hav'n't got
+none.' An' then it turns out that she just stopped fur nowt but to leave
+some owd linen an' salve for to dress that sore hond Jack crushed i' th'
+pit. He'd towd her about it as he went to his work, and she promised to
+bring him some. An' what's more, she wouldna coom in, but just gi' it
+me, an' went her ways, as if she had na been th' Parson's lass at aw,
+but just one o' th' common koind, as knowd how to moind her own business
+an' leave other folkses a-be."
+
+The Rigganites became quite accustomed to the sight of Anice's small low
+phaeton, with its comfortable fat gray pony. She was a pleasant sight
+herself as she sat in it, her little whip in her small gloved hand, and
+no one was ever sorry to see her check the gray pony before the door.
+
+"Anice!" said Mr. Barholm to his curate, "well! you see Anice
+understands these people, and they understand her. She has the faculty
+of understanding them. There is nothing, you may be assured, Grace, like
+understanding the lower orders, and entering into their feelings."
+
+There was one member of Riggan society who had ranged himself among Miss
+Barholm's disciples from the date of his first acquaintance with her,
+who was her staunch friend and adviser from that time forward--the
+young master of "th' best tarrier i' Riggan." Neither Jud Bates nor
+Nib faltered in their joint devotions from the hour of their first
+introduction to "th' Parson's daughter." When they presented themselves
+at the Rectory together, the cordiality of Nib's reception had lessened
+his master's awkwardness. Nib was neither awkward nor one whit abashed
+upon his entree into a sphere so entirely new to him as a well-ordered,
+handsomely furnished house. Once inside the parlor, Jud had lost courage
+and stood fumbling his ragged cap, but Nib had bounced forward, in the
+best of good spirits, barking in friendly recognition of Miss Barholm's
+greeting caress, and licking her hand. Through Nib, Anice contrived
+to inveigle Jud into conversation and make him forget his overwhelming
+confusion. Catching her first glimpse of the lad as he stood upon the
+threshold with his dubious garments and his abashed air, she was
+not quite decided what she was to do with him. But Nib came to her
+assistance. He forced himself upon her attention and gave her something
+to say, and her manner of receiving him was such, that in a few minutes
+she found Jud sidling toward her, as she half knelt on the hearth
+patting his favorite's rough back. Jud looked down at her, and she
+looked up at Jud.
+
+"Have you taught him to do anything?" she asked. "Does he know any
+tricks?"
+
+"He'll kill more rats i' ten minutes than ony dog i' Riggan. He's th'
+best tarrier fur rats as tha ivver seed. He's th' best tarrier for _owt_
+as tha ivver seed. Theer is nowt as he canna do. He con feight ony dog
+as theer is fro' heer to Marfort." And he glowed in all the pride of
+possession, and stooped down to pat Nib himself.
+
+He was quite communicative after this. He was a shrewd little fellow and
+had not spent his ten years in the mining districts for nothing. He
+was thoroughly conversant with the ways of the people his young hostess
+wished to hear about. He had worked in the pits a little, and he had
+tramped about the country with Nib at his heels a great deal. He was
+supposed to live with his father and grandmother, but he was left
+entirely to himself, unless when he was put to a chance job. He knew
+Joan Lowrie and pronounced her a "brave un;" he knew and reverenced "Owd
+Sammy Craddock;" he knew Joan's father and evidently regarded him with
+distrust; in fact there was not a man, woman or child in the place of
+whom he did not know something.
+
+Mr. Barholm happening to enter the room during the interview, found his
+daughter seated on a low seat with Nib's head on her knee, and Jud a few
+feet from her. She was so intent on the task of entertaining her guest
+that she did not hear her father's entrance, and the Reverend Harold
+left the three together, himself in rather a bewildered frame of mind.
+
+"Do you know?" he asked of his wife when he found her, "do you know who
+it is Anice is amusing in the parlor? What singular fancies the girl
+has, with all her good sense!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII - On Guard
+
+Though they saw comparatively little of each other, the friendly feeling
+established between Anice and Joan, in their first interview, gained
+strength gradually as time went on. Coming home from her work at noon or
+at night, Joan would see traces of Anice's presence, and listen to Liz's
+praises of her. Liz was fond of her and found comfort in her. The days
+when the gray pony came to a stop in his jog-trot on the roadside before
+the gate had a kind of pleasurable excitement in them. They were the
+sole spice of her life. She understood Anice as little as she understood
+Joan, but she liked her. She had a vague fancy that in some way Anice
+was like Joan; that there was the same strength in her,--a strength
+upon which she herself might depend. And then she found even a stronger
+attraction in her visitor's personal adornments, in her graceful dress,
+in any elegant trifle she wore. She liked to look at her clothes and ask
+questions about them, and wonder how _she_ would look if she were the
+possessor of such beautiful things.
+
+"She wur loike a pictur," she would say mournfully to Joan. "She had a
+blue gown on, an' a hat wi' blue-bells in it, an' summat white an' soft
+frilled up round her neck. Eh! it wur pretty. I wish I wur a lady. I
+dunnot see why ivverybody canna be a lady an' have such loike."
+
+Later Joan got up and went to the child, who lay upon the bed in a
+corner of the room.
+
+There were thoughts at work within her of which Liz knew nothing. Liz
+only looked at her wondering as she took the sleeping baby in her arms,
+and began to pace the floor, walking to and fro with a slow step.
+
+"Have I said owt to vex yo'?" said Liz.
+
+"No, lass," was the answer, "it is na thee as worrits me. I con scarce
+tell what it is mysen, but it is na thee, nivver fear."
+
+But there was a shadow upon her all the rest of the night. She did not
+lay the child down again, but carried it in her arms until they went to
+bed, and even there it lay upon her breast.
+
+"It's queer to me as yo' should be so fond o' that choild, Joan," said
+Liz, standing by the side of the bed.
+
+Joan raised her head from the pillow and looked down at the small face
+resting upon her bosom, and she touched the baby's cheek lightly with
+her finger, flushing curiously.
+
+"It's queer to me too," she answered, "Get thee into bed, Liz."
+
+Many a battle was fought upon that homely couch when Liz was slumbering
+quietly, and the child's soft regular breathing was the only sound to
+be heard in the darkened room. Amid the sordid cares and humiliations
+of Joan's rough life, there had arisen new ones. She had secret
+struggles--secret yearnings,--and added to these, a secret terror. When
+she lay awake thinking, she was listening for her father's step. There
+was not a night in which she did not long for, and dread to hear it.
+If he stayed out all night, she went down to her work under a load of
+foreboding. She feared to look into the faces of her work-fellows, lest
+they should have some evil story to tell, she feared the road over which
+she had to pass, lest at some point, its very dust should cry out to
+her in a dark stain. She knew her father better than the oldest of his
+companions, and she watched him closely.
+
+"He's what yo' wenches ud ca' a handsum chap, that theer," said Lowrie
+to her, the night of his encounter with Derrick. "He's a tall chap an'
+a strappin' chap an' he's getten a good-lookin' mug o' his own, but,"
+clenching his fist slowly and speaking, "I've not done wi' him yet--I
+has not quite done wi' him. Wait till I ha', an' then see what yo'll
+say about his beauty. Look yo' here, lass,"--more slowly and heavily
+still,--"he'll noan be so tall then nor yet so straight an' strappin'.
+I'll smash his good-lookin' mug if I'm dom'd to hell fur it. Heed tha
+that?"
+
+Instead of taking lodgings nearer the town or avoiding the Knoll Road,
+as Grace advised him to do when he heard of Joan's warning, Derrick
+provided himself with a heavy stick, stuck a pistol into his belt every
+night when he left his office, and walked home as usual, keeping a sharp
+lookout, however.
+
+"If I avoid the fellow," he said to Grace, "he will suspect at once that
+I feel I have cause to fear him; and if I give him grounds for such a
+belief as that I might as well have given way at first."
+
+Strange to say he was not molested. The excitement seemed to die a
+natural death in the course of a few days. Lowrie came back to his work
+looking sullen and hard, but he made no open threats, and he even seemed
+easier to manage. Certainly Derrick found his companions more respectful
+and submissive. There was less grumbling among them and more passive
+obedience. The rules were not broken, openly, at least, and he himself
+was not defied. It was not pleasant to feel that what reason and
+civility could not do, a tussle had accomplished, but this really seemed
+to be the truth of the matter, and the result was one which made his
+responsibilities easier to bear.
+
+But during his lonely walks homeward on these summer nights, Derrick
+made a curious discovery. On one or two occasions he became conscious
+that he had a companion who seemed to act as his escort. It was usually
+upon dark or unpleasant nights that he observed this, and the first time
+he caught sight of the figure which always walked on the opposite side
+of the road, either some distance before or behind him, he put his hand
+to his belt, not perceiving for some moments that it was not a man but
+a woman. It _was_ a woman's figure, and the knowledge sent the blood to
+his heart with a rush that quickened its beatings. It might have been
+chance, he argued, that took her home that night at this particular
+time; but when time after time, the same thing occurred, he saw that
+his argument had lost its plausibility. It was no accident, there was
+purpose in it; and though they never spoke to each other or in any
+manner acknowledged each other's presence, and though often he fancied
+that she convinced herself that he was not aware of her motive, he knew
+that Joan's desire to protect him had brought her there.
+
+He did not speak of this even to Grace.
+
+One afternoon in making her visit at the cottage, Anice left a message
+for Joan. She had brought a little plant-pot holding a tiny rose-bush in
+full bloom, and when she went away she left her message with Liz.
+
+"I never see your friend when I am here," she said, "will you ask her to
+come and see _me_ some night when she is not too tired?"
+
+When Joan came home from her work, the first thing that caught her
+eye was a lovely bit of color,--the little rose-bush blooming on the
+window-sill where Anice herself had placed it.
+
+She went and stood before it, and when Liz, who had been temporarily
+absent, came into the room, she was standing before it still.
+
+"_She_ browt it," explained Liz, "she wur here this afternoon."
+
+"Aye," she answered, "wur she?"
+
+"Aye," said Liz. "An', Joan, what do yo' think she towd me to tell yo'?"
+
+Joan shook her head.
+
+"Why, she said I were to tell yo' to go and see her some neet when yo'
+wur na tired,--just th' same as if yo' wur a lady. Shanna yo' go?"
+
+"I dunnot know," said Joan awakening, "I canna tell. What does she want
+o' me?"
+
+"She wants to see thee an' talk to thee, that's what,"--answered
+Liz,--"just th' same as if tha was a lady, I tell thee. That's her way
+o' doin' things. She is na a bit loike the rest o' gentlefolk. Why,
+she'll sit theer on that three-legged stool wi' the choild on her knee
+an' laff an' talk to me an' it, as if she wur nowt but a common lass an'
+noan a lady at aw. She's ta'en a great fancy to thee, Joan. She's allus
+axin me about thee. If I wur thee I'd go. Happen she'd gi' thee some o'
+her owd cloas as she's ta'en to thee so."
+
+"I dunnot want no owd cloas," said Joan brusquely, "an' she's noan so
+daft as to offer 'em to me."
+
+"Well, I nivver did!" exclaimed Liz. "Would na tha tak' 'em? Tha nivver
+means to say, tha would na tak' 'em, Joan? Eh! tha art a queer wench!
+Why, I'd be set up for th' rest o' my days, if she'd offer 'em to me."
+
+"Thy ways an' mine is na loike," said Joan. "I want no gentlefolks'
+finery. An' I tell you she would na offer 'em to me."
+
+"I nivver con mak' thee out," Liz said, in a fret. "Tha'rt as grand as
+if tha wur a lady thy-sen. Tha'lt tak' nowt fro' nobody."
+
+"Wheer's th' choild?" asked Joan.
+
+"She's laid on th' bed," said Liz. "She wur so heavy she tired me an' I
+gave her a rose-bud to play wi' an' left her. She has na cried sin'. Eh!
+but these is a noice color," bending her pretty, large-eyed face over
+the flowers, and inhaling their perfume; "I wish I had a bit o' ribbon
+loike 'em."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII - Joan and the Picture
+
+Notwithstanding Anice's interference in his behalf, Paul did not find
+his labors become very much lighter. And then after all his labor, the
+prospect before him was not promising. Instead of appearing easier to
+cope with as he learned more of it and its inhabitants, Riggan seemed
+still more baffling. His "district" lay in the lower end of the town
+among ugly back streets, and alleys; among dirt and ignorance and
+obstinacy. He spent his days in laboring among people upon whom he
+sometimes fancied he had obtained no hold. It really seemed that they
+did not want him--these people; and occasionally a more distressing
+view of the case presented itself to his troubled mind,--namely, that to
+those who might chance to want him he had little to offer.
+
+He had his temporal thorn too. He found it difficult to read, hard to
+fix his mind on his modest sermons; occasionally he even accused himself
+of forgetting his duty. This had come since the night when he stood at
+the door and listened to his friend's warning concerning the Rector's
+daughter. Derrick's words were simple enough in themselves, but they had
+fallen upon the young Curate's ears with startling significance. He had
+given this significance to them himself,--in spite of himself,--and
+then all at once he had fallen to wondering why it was that he had never
+thought of such a possible denouement before. It was so very possible,
+so very probable; nay, when he came to think of it seriously, it was
+only impossible that it should not be. He had often told himself, that
+some day a lover would come who would be worthy of the woman he had not
+even hoped to win. And who was more worthy than Fergus Derrick--who was
+more like the hero to whom such women surrender their hearts and lives.
+If he himself had been such a man, he thought with the simplicity of
+affection, he would not have felt that there was need for fear. And the
+two had been thrown so much together and would be thrown together so
+frequently in the future. He remembered how Fergus had been taken into
+the family circle, and calling to mind a hundred trifling incidents,
+smiled at his own blindness. When the next day he received Anice's
+message, he received it as an almost positive confirmation. It was not
+like her to bestow favors from an idle impulse.
+
+It was not so easy now to meet the girl in his visits to the Rectory: it
+was not easy to listen to Mr. Barholm while Anice and Fergus Derrick
+sat apart and talked. Sometimes he wondered if the time could ever come,
+when his friend would be less his friend because he had rivalled him.
+The idea of such a possibility only brought him fresh pain. His gentle
+chivalric nature shrank within itself at the thought of the bereavement
+that double loss would be. There was little room in his mind for
+the envies of stronger men. Certainly Fergus had no suspicion of the
+existence of his secret pain. He found no alteration in his gentle
+friend.
+
+Among the Reverend Paul's private ventures was a small night school
+which he had managed to establish by slow degrees. He had picked up a
+reluctant scholar here, and one there,--two or three pit lads, two or
+three girls, and two or three men for whose attendance he had worked so
+hard and waited so long that he was quite surprised at his success in
+the end. He scarcely knew how he had managed it, but the pupils were
+there in the dingy room of the National School, waiting for him on two
+nights in the week, upon which nights he gave them instruction on a plan
+of his own. He had thought the matter so little likely to succeed at
+first, that he had engaged in it as a private work, and did not even
+mention it until his friends discovered it by chance.
+
+Said Jud Bates to Miss Barholm, during one of their confidential
+interviews:
+
+"Did tha ivver go to a neet skoo?"
+
+"No," said Anice.
+
+Jud fondled Nib's ears patronizingly.
+
+"I ha', an' I'm goin' again. So is Nib. _He's_ getten one."
+
+"Who?" for Jud had signified by a gesture that _he_ was not the dog, but
+some indefinite person in the village.
+
+"Th' little Parson."
+
+"Say, Mr. Grace," suggested Anice. "It sounds better."
+
+"Aye--Mester Grace--but ivverybody ca's him th' little Parson. He's
+getten a neet skoo i' th' town, an' he axed me to go, an' I went I
+took Nib an' we larned our letters; leastways I larned mine, an' Nib he
+listened wi' his ears up, an' th' Par--Mester Grace laffed. He wur na
+vext at Nib comin'. He said 'let him coom, as he wur so owdfashioned.'"
+
+So Mr. Grace found himself informed upon, and was rather abashed at
+being confronted with his enterprise a few days after by Miss Barholm.
+
+"I like it," said Anice. "Joan Lowrie learned to read and write in a
+night school. Mr. Derrick told me so."
+
+A new idea seemed to have been suggested to her.
+
+"Mr. Grace," she said, "why could not _I_ help you? Might I?"
+
+His delight revealed itself in his face. His first thought was a
+selfish, unclerical one, and sudden consciousness sent the color to his
+forehead as he answered her, though he spoke quite calmly.
+
+"There is no reason why you should not--if you choose," he said, "unless
+Mr. Barholm should object. I need not tell you how grateful I should
+be."
+
+"Papa will not object," she said, quietly.
+
+The next time the pupils met, she presented herself in the school-room.
+
+Ten minutes after Grace had given her work to her she was as much at
+home with it as if she had been there from the first.
+
+"Hoo's a little un," said one of the boys, "but hoo does na seem to be
+easy feart. Hoo does not look a bit tuk back."
+
+She had never been so near to Paul Grace during their friendship as
+when she walked home with him. A stronger respect for him was growing
+in her,--a new reverence for his faithfulness. She had always liked and
+trusted him, but of late she had learned to do more. She recognized
+more fully the purity and singleness of his life. She accused herself of
+having underrated him.
+
+"Please let me help you when I can, Mr. Grace," she said; "I am not
+blaming anybody--there is no real blame, even if I had the right to
+attach it to any one; but there are mistakes now and then, and you must
+promise me that I may use my influence to prevent them."
+
+She had stopped at the gate to say this, and she held out her hand. It
+was a strange thing that she could be so utterly oblivious of the pain
+she inflicted. But even Derrick would have taken her hand with less
+self-control. He was so fearful of wounding or disturbing her, that he
+was continually on his guard in her presence, and especially when she
+was thus warm and unguarded herself.
+
+He had fancied before, sometimes, that she had seen his difficulties,
+and sympathized with him, but he had never hoped that she would be thus
+unreserved. His thanks came from the depths of his heart; he felt that
+she had lightened his burden.
+
+After this, Miss Barholm was rarely absent from her place at the school.
+The two evenings always found her at work among her young women, and she
+made very steady progress among them.
+
+By degrees the enterprise was patronized more freely. New pupils dropped
+in, and were usually so well satisfied that they did not drop out again.
+Grace gave all the credit to Anice, but Anice knew better than to accept
+it. She had been his "novelty" she said; time only would prove whether
+her usefulness was equal to her power of attraction.
+
+She had been teaching in the school about three weeks, when a servant
+came to her one night as she sat reading, with the information that a
+young woman wished to see her.
+
+"A fine-looking young woman, Miss," added the girl. "I put her into your
+own room, as you give orders."
+
+The room was a quiet place, away from the sounds of the house, which had
+gradually come to be regarded as Miss Barholm's. It was not a large room
+but it was a pretty one, with wide windows and a good view, and as Anice
+liked it, her possessions drifted into it until they filled it,--her
+books, her pictures,--and as she spent a good deal of her time there,
+it was invariably spoken of as her room, and she had given orders to the
+servants that her village visitors should be taken to it when they came.
+
+Carrying her book in her hand, she went upstairs. She had been very much
+interested in what she was reading, and had hardly time to change the
+channel of her thought. But when she opened the door, she was brought
+back to earth at once.
+
+Against the end wall was suspended a picture of Christ in the last
+agony, and beneath it was written, "It is finished." Before it, as Anice
+opened the door, stood Joan Lowrie, with Liz's sleeping child on her
+bosom. She had come upon the picture suddenly, and it had seized on some
+deep, reluctant emotion. She had heard some vague history of the Man;
+but it was different to find herself in this silent room, confronting
+the upturned face, the crown, the cross, the anguish and the mystery.
+She turned toward Anice, forgetting all else but her emotion. She even
+looked at her for a few seconds in questioning silence, as if waiting
+for an answer to words she had not spoken.
+
+When she found her voice, it was of the picture she spoke, not of the
+real object of her visit.
+
+"Tha knows," she said, "I dunnot, though I've heerd on it afore. What is
+it as is finished? I dunnot quite see. What is it?"
+
+"It means," said Anice, "that God's Son has finished his work."
+
+Joan did not speak.
+
+"I have no words of my own, to explain," continued Anice. "I can tell
+you better in the words of the men who loved him and saw him die."
+
+Joan turned to her.
+
+"Saw him dee!" she repeated.
+
+"There were men who saw him when he died you know," said Anice. "The New
+Testament tells us how. It is as real as the picture, I think. Did you
+never read it?"
+
+The girl's face took an expression of distrust and sullenness.
+
+"Th' Bible has na been i' my line," she answered;
+
+"I've left that to th' parsons an' th' loike; but th' pictur' tuk my
+eye. It seemt different."
+
+"Let us sit down," said Anice, "you will be tired of standing."
+
+When they sat down, Anice began to talk about the child, who was
+sleeping, lowering her voice for fear of disturbing it. Joan regarded
+the little thing with a look of half-subdued pride.
+
+"I browt it because I knowed it ud be easier wi' me than wi' Liz," she
+said. "It worrits Liz an' it neer worrits me. I'm so strong, yo' see, I
+con carry it, an' scarce feel its weight, but it wears Liz out, an' it
+seems to me as it knows it too, fur th' minute she begins to fret it
+frets too."
+
+There was a certain shamefacedness in her manner, when at last she began
+to explain the object of her errand. Anice could not help fancying
+that she was impelled on her course by some motive whose influence she
+reluctantly submitted to. She had come to speak about the night school.
+
+"Theer wur a neet skoo here once afore as I went to," she said; "I larnt
+to reed theer an' write a bit, but--but theer's other things I'd loike
+to know. Tha canst understand," she added a little abruptly, "I need na
+tell yo'. Little Jud Bates said as yo' had a class o' yore own, an'
+it come into my moind as I would ax yo' about it. If I go to th' skoo
+I--I'd loike to be wi' ye."
+
+"You can come to me," said Anice. "And do you know, I think you can help
+me." This thought had occurred to her suddenly. "I am sure you can help
+me," she repeated.
+
+When Joan at last started to go away, she paused before the picture,
+hesitating for a moment, and then she turned to Anice again.
+
+"Yo' say as th' book maks it seem real as th' pictur," she said.
+
+"It seems so to me," Anice answered.
+
+"Will yof lend me th' book?" she asked abruptly.
+
+Anice's own Bible lay upon a side-table. She took it up and handed it to
+the girl, saying simply, "I will give you this one if you will take it.
+It was mine."
+
+And Joan carried the book away with her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV - The Open "Davy"
+
+     Mester Derik
+
+     Th' rools is ben broak agen on th' quiet bi them as broak em
+     afore, i naim no naimes an wudnt say nowt but our loifes is
+     in danger And more than one, i Only ax yo' tu Wach out. i am
+
+     Respekfully
+
+     A honest man wi a famly tu fede
+
+The engineer found this letter near his plate one morning on coming down
+to breakfast. His landlady explained that her daughter had picked it up
+inside the garden gate, where it had been thrown upon the gravel-walk,
+evidently from the road.
+
+Derrick read it twice or three times before putting it in his pocket.
+Upon the whole, he was not unprepared for the intelligence. He knew
+enough of human nature--such human nature as Lowrie represented--to feel
+sure that the calm could not continue. If for the present the man did
+not defy him openly, he would disobey him in secret, while biding his
+time for other means of retaliation.
+
+Derrick had been on the lookout for some effort at revenge; but so far
+since the night Joan had met him upon the road, Lowrie outwardly had
+been perfectly quiet and submissive.
+
+After reading the letter, Derrick made up his mind to prompt and
+decisive measures, and set about considering what these measures should
+be, There was only one certain means of redress and safety,--Lowrie must
+be got rid of at once. It would not be a difficult matter either.
+There was to be a meeting of the owners that very week, and Derrick
+had reports to make, and the mere mention of the violation of the rules
+would be enough.
+
+"Bah!" he said aloud. "It is not pleasant; but it must be done."
+
+The affair had several aspects, rendering it unpleasant, but Derrick
+shut his eyes to them resolutely. It seemed, too, that it was not
+destined that he should have reason to remain undecided. That very day
+he was confronted with positive proof that the writer of the anonymous
+warning was an honest man, with an honest motive.
+
+During the morning, necessity called him away from his men to a side
+gallery, and entering this gallery, he found himself behind a man
+who stood at one side close to the wall, his Davy lamp open, his pipe
+applied to the flame. It was Dan Lowrie, and his stealthy glance over
+his shoulder revealing to him that he was discovered, he turned with an
+oath.
+
+"Shut that lamp," said Derrick, "and give me your false key."
+
+Lowrie hesitated.
+
+"Give me that key," Derrick repeated, "or I will call the gang in the
+next gallery and see what they have to say about the matter."
+
+"Dom yore eyes! does tha think as my toime 'll nivver coom?"
+
+But he gave up the key.
+
+"When it comes," he said, "I hope I shall be ready to help myself. Now
+I've got only one thing to do. I gave you fair warning and asked you to
+act the man toward your fellows. You have played the scoundrel instead,
+and I have done with you. I shall report you. That's the end of it."
+
+He went on his way, and left the man uttering curses under his breath.
+If there had not been workers near at hand, Derrick might not have
+gotten away so easily. Among the men in the next gallery there were
+some who were no friends to Lowrie, and who would have given him rough
+handling if they had caught him just at that moment, and the fellow knew
+it.
+
+Toward the end of the week, the owners came, and Derrick made his
+report. The result was just what he had known it would be. Explosions
+had been caused before by transgressions of the rules, and explosions
+were expensive and disastrous affairs. Lowrie received his discharge,
+and his fellow-workmen a severe warning, to the secret consternation of
+some among them.
+
+That the engineer of the new mines was a zealous and really amiable
+young man, if rather prone to innovations, became evident to his
+employers. But his innovations were not encouraged. So, notwithstanding
+his arguments, the blast-furnaces held their own, and "for the present,"
+as the easy-natured manager put it, other matters, even more important,
+were set aside.
+
+"There is much to be done, Derrick," he said; "really so much that
+requires time and money, that we must wait a little. 'Rome, etc'."
+
+"Ah, Rome!" returned Derrick. "I am sometimes of the opinion that
+Rome had better never been built at all. You will not discharge your
+imperfect apparatus for the same reason that you will discharge a
+collier,--which is hardly fair to the collier. Your blast-furnaces
+expose the miners to as great danger as Lowrie's pipe. The presence of
+either may bring about an explosion when it is least expected."
+
+"Well, well," was the good-natured response; "we have not exploded yet;
+and we have done away with Lowrie's pipe."
+
+Derrick carried the history of his ill-success to Anice, somewhat
+dejectedly.
+
+"All this is discouraging to a man," said Derrick, and then he added
+meditatively, "As to the rest, I wonder what Joan Lowrie will think of
+it."
+
+A faint sense of discomfort fell upon Anice--not exactly easy to
+understand. The color fluttered to her cheek and her smile died away.
+But she did not speak,--merely waited to hear what Derrick had to say.
+
+He had nothing more to say about Joan Lowrie:--when he recovered
+himself, as he did almost immediately, he went back to the discussion of
+his pet plans, and was very eloquent on the subject.
+
+Going home one evening, Derrick found himself at a turn of the road
+only a few paces behind Joan. He had thought much of her of late, and
+wondered whether she was able to take an utterly unselfish view of his
+action. She had a basket upon her arm and looked tired. He strode up to
+her side and spoke to her without ceremony.
+
+"Let me carry that," he said. "It is too heavy for you."
+
+The sun was setting redly, so perhaps it was the sunset that flung its
+color upon her face as she turned to look at him.
+
+"Thank yo'," she answered. "I'm used to carryin' such-loike loads."
+
+But he took her burden from her, and even if she had wished to be left
+to herself she had no redress, and accordingly submitted. Influences
+long at work upon her had rendered her less defiant than she had been
+in the past. There was an element of quiet in her expression, such as
+Derrick had not seen when her beauty first caught his attention.
+
+They walked together silently for a while.
+
+"I should like to hear you say that you do not blame me," said Derrick,
+at last, abruptly.
+
+She knew what he meant, it was evident.
+
+"I conna blame yo' fur doin' what were reet," she answered.
+
+"Right,--you thought it right?"
+
+"Why should na I? Yo' couldna ha' done no other."
+
+"Thank you for saying that," he returned. "I have thought once or twice
+that you might have blamed me."
+
+"I did na know," was her answer. "I did na know as I had done owt to
+mak' yo' think so ill of me."
+
+He did not find further comment easy. He felt, as he had felt before,
+that Joan had placed him at a disadvantage. He so often made irritating
+mistakes in his efforts to read her, and in the end he seldom found that
+he had made any advance. Anice Barholm, with her problems and her moods,
+was far less difficult to comprehend than Joan Lowrie.
+
+Liz was at the cottage door when they parted, and Liz's eyes had
+curiosity and wonder in them when she met her friend.
+
+"Joan," she said, peering over the door-sill at Derrick's retreating
+figure, "is na that one o' th' mesters? Is na it the Lunnon engineer,
+Joan?"
+
+"Yes," Joan answered briefly.
+
+The pretty, silly creature's eyes grew larger, with a shade of awe.
+
+"Is na it th' one as yore feyther's so bitter agen?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"An' is na he a gentleman? He dunnot look loike a workin' mon. His cloas
+dunnot fit him loike common foakes. He mun be a gentleman."
+
+"I've heerd foak ca' him one; an' if his cloas fit him reet, he mun be
+one, I suppose."
+
+Liz looked after him again.
+
+"Aye," she sighed, "he's a gentleman sure enow. I've seed gentlemen enow
+to know th' look on 'em. Did----" hesitating fearfully, but letting her
+curiosity get the better of her discretion nevertheless,--"did he court
+thee, Joan?"
+
+The next moment she was frightened into wishing she had not asked the
+question. Joan turned round and faced her suddenly, pale and wrathful.
+
+"Nay, he did na," she said. "I am na a lady, an' he is what tha ca's
+him--a gentleman."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV - A Discovery
+
+The first time that Joan appeared at the night school, the men and
+girls looked up from their tasks to stare at her, and whisper among
+themselves; but she was, to all appearances, oblivious of their
+scrutiny, and the flurry of curiosity and excitement soon died out.
+After the first visit her place was never vacant. On the nights
+appointed for the classes to meet, she came, did the work allotted to
+her, and went her way again, pretty much as she did at the mines. When
+in due time Anice began to work out her plan of co-operation with her,
+she was not disappointed in the fulfilment of her hopes. Gradually it
+became a natural thing for a slow and timid girl to turn to Joan Lowrie
+for help.
+
+As for Joan's own progress, it was not long before Miss Barholm began to
+regard the girl with a new wonder. She was absolutely amazed to find
+out how much she was learning, and how much she had learned, working
+on silently and by herself. She applied herself to her tasks with a
+determination which seemed at times almost feverish.
+
+"I mun learn," she said to Anice once. "I _will_," and she closed her
+hand with a sudden nervous strength.
+
+Then again there were times when her courage seemed to fail her, though
+she never slackened her efforts.
+
+"Dost tha think," she said, "dost tha think as I could ivver learn as
+much as tha knows thysen? Does tha think a workin' lass ivver did learn
+as much as a lady?"
+
+"I think," said Anice, "that _you_ can do anything you try to do."
+
+By very slow degrees she had arrived at a discovery which a less close
+observer might have missed altogether, or at least only arrived at much
+later in the day of experience. Anice's thoughts were moved in this
+direction the night that Derrick slipped into that half soliloquy about
+Joan. She might well be startled. This man and woman could scarcely have
+been placed at a greater distance from each other, and yet those half
+dozen words of Fergus Derrick's had suggested to his hearer that each,
+through some undefined attraction, was veering toward the other. Neither
+might be aware of this; but it was surely true. Little as social creeds
+influenced Anice, she could not close her eyes to the incongruous--the
+unpleasant features of this strange situation. And, besides, there was a
+more intimate and personal consideration. Her own feeling toward Fergus
+Derrick was friendship at first, and then she had suddenly awakened
+and found it something more. That had startled her, too, but it had
+not alarmed her till her eyes were opened by that accidental speech
+of Derrick's. After that, she saw what both Derrick and Joan were
+themselves blind to.
+
+Setting her own pain aside, she stood apart, and pitied both. As for
+herself, she was glad that she had made the discovery before it was too
+late. She knew that there might have been a time when it would have been
+too late. As it was, she drew back,--with a pang, to be sure; but still
+she could draw back.
+
+"I have made a mistake," she said to herself in secret; but it did not
+occur to her to visit the consequences of the mistake upon any other
+than herself.
+
+The bond of sympathy between herself and Joan Lowrie only seemed to
+increase in strength. Meeting oftener, they were knit more closely,
+and drawn into deeper faith and friendship. With Joan, emotion was
+invariably an undercurrent. She had trained herself to a stubborn
+stoicism so long, and with such determination, that the habit of
+complete self-control had become a second nature, and led her to hold
+the world aloof. It was with something of secret wonder that she awoke
+to the consciousness of the fact that she was not holding Anice Barholm
+aloof, and that there was no necessity for doing so. She even found that
+she was being attracted toward her, and was submitting to her influence
+as to a spell. She did not understand at first, and wondered if it would
+last; but the nearer she was drawn to the girl, the less doubting and
+reluctant she became. There was no occasion for doubt, and her proud
+suspiciousness melted like a cloud in the spring sunshine. Having
+armed herself against patronage and curiosity, she encountered earnest
+friendship and good faith. She was not patronized, she was not asked
+questions, she was left to reveal as much of herself as she chose, and
+allowed to retain her own secrets as if they were her own property.
+So she went and came to and from the Rectory; and from spending a few
+minutes in Anice's room, at last fell into the habit of spending
+hours there. In this little room the books, and pictures, and other
+refinements appealed to senses unmoved before. She drew in some fresh
+experience with almost every breath.
+
+One evening, after a specially discouraging day, it occurred to Grace
+that he would go and see Joan; and dropping in upon her on his way back
+to town, after a visit to a parishioner who lived upon the high-road, he
+found the girl sitting alone--sitting as she often did, with the child
+asleep upon her knee; but this time with a book lying close to its hand
+and her own. It was Anice's Bible.
+
+"Will yo' set down?" she said in a voice whose sound was new to him.
+"Theer's a chair as yo' con tak'. I conna move fur fear o' wakenin'
+th' choild. I'm fain to see yo' toneet."
+
+He took the chair and thanked her, and waited for her next words. Only a
+few moments she was silent, and then she looked up at him.
+
+"I ha' been readin' th' Bible," she said, as if in desperation. "I
+dunnot know why, unless happen some un stronger nor me set me at it.
+Happen it coom out o' settin here wi' th' choild. An'--well, queer enow,
+I coom reet on summat about childer,--that little un as he tuk and
+set i' th' midst o' them, an' then that theer when he said 'Suffer th'
+little childer to coom unto me.' Do yo' say aw that's true? I nivver
+thowt on it afore,--but somehow I should na loike to think it wur na.
+Nay, I should na!" Then, after a moment's pause--"I nivver troubled
+mysen wi' readin' th' Bible afore," she went on, "I ha' na lived wi'
+th' Bible soart; but now--well that theer has stirred me up. If he said
+_that_--if he said it hissen--Ah! mester,"--and the words breaking from
+her were an actual cry,--"Aye, mester, look at th' little un here! I
+munnot go wrong--I munnot, if he said it hissen!"
+
+He felt his heart beat quick, and his pulses throb. Here was the birth
+of a soul; here in his hands perhaps lay the rescue of two immortal
+beings. God help him! he cried inwardly. God help him to deal rightly
+with this woman. He found words to utter, and uttered them with courage
+and with faith. What words it matters not,--but he did not fail. Joan
+listened wondering, and in a passion of fear and belief.
+
+She clasped her arms about the child almost as if seeking help from it,
+and wept.
+
+"I munnot go wrong," she said over and over again. "How could I hold th'
+little un back, if he said hissen as she mun coom? If it's true as he
+said that, I'll believe aw th' rest an' listen to yo'. 'Forbid them
+not--'. Nay, but I wunnot--I could na ha' th' heart."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI - "Owd Sammy" in Trouble
+
+"Craddock is in serious trouble," said Mr. Barholm to his wife and
+daughter.
+
+"'Owd Sammy' in trouble," said Anice. "How is that, papa?"
+
+The Reverend Harold looked at once concerned and annoyed. In truth he
+had cause for irritation. The laurels he had intended to win through
+Sammy Craddock were farther from being won to-day than they had ever
+been. He was beginning to feel a dim, scarcely developed, but sore
+conviction, that they were not laurels for his particular wearing.
+
+"It is that bank failure at Illsbery," he answered. "You have heard of
+it, I dare say. There has been a complete crash, and Craddock's small
+savings being deposited there, he has lost everything he depended upon
+to support him in his old age. It is a hard business."
+
+"Have you been to see Craddock?" Mrs. Barholm asked.
+
+"Oh! yes," was the answer, and the irritation became even more apparent
+than before. "I went as soon as I heard it, last night indeed; but it
+was of no use. I had better have stayed away. I don't seem to make much
+progress with Craddock, somehow or other. He is such a cross-grained,
+contradictory old fellow, I hardly know what to make of him. And to add
+to his difficulties, his wife is so prostrated by the blow that she is
+confined to her bed. I talked to them and advised them to have patience,
+and look for comfort to the Fountain-head; but Craddock almost seemed to
+take it ill, and was even more disrespectful in manner than usual."
+
+It was indeed a heavy blow that had fallen upon "Owd Sammy." For a
+man to lose his all at his time of life would have been hard enough
+anywhere; but it was trebly hard to meet with such a trial in Riggan. To
+have money, however small a sum, "laid by i' th' bank," was in Riggan to
+be illustrious. The man who had an income of ten shillings a week was
+a member of society whose opinion bore weight; the man with twenty was
+regarded with private awe and public respect. He was deferred to as a
+man of property; his presence was considered to confer something
+like honor upon an assembly, or at least to make it respectable. The
+Government was supposed to be not entirely oblivious of his existence,
+and his remarks upon the affairs of the nation, and the conduct of the
+Prime Minister and Cabinet, were regarded as having something more than
+local interest. Sammy Craddock had been the man with twenty shillings
+income. He had worked hard in his youth and had been too shrewd and
+far-sighted to spend hard. His wife had helped him, and a lucky windfall
+upon the decease of a parsimonious relative had done the rest. The
+weekly deposit in the old stocking hidden under the mattress had become
+a bank deposit, and by the time he was incapacitated from active
+labor, a decent little income was ready. When the Illsbery Bank stopped
+payment, not only his daily bread but his dearly valued importance
+was swept away from him at one fell blow. Instead of being a man of
+property, with a voice in the affairs of the nation, he was a beggar. He
+saw himself set aside among the frequenters of The Crown, his political
+opinions ignored, his sarcasms shorn of their point. Knowing his poverty
+and misfortune; the men who had stood in awe of him would begin to
+suspect him of needing their assistance and would avoid him accordingly.
+
+"It's human natur'," he said. "No one loikes a dog wi' th' mange,
+whether th' dog's to blame or no. Th' dog may ha' getten it honest. Tis
+na th' dog, it's the mange as foakes want to get rid on."
+
+"Providence?" said he to the Rector, when that portly consoler called on
+him. "It's Providence, is it? Well, aw I say is, that if that's th' ways
+o' Providence, th' less notice Providence takes o' us, th' better."
+
+His remarks upon his first appearance at The Crown among his associates,
+after the occurrence of the misfortune, were even more caustic and
+irreverent. He was an irreverent old sinner at his best, and now Sammy
+was at his worst. Seeing his crabbed, wrinkled old face drawn into
+an expression signifying defiance at once of his ill luck and worldly
+comment, his acquaintances shook their heads discreetly. Their reverence
+for him as a man of property could not easily die out. The next thing to
+being a man of property, was to have possessed worldly goods which had
+been "made away wi'," it scarcely mattered how. Indeed even to have
+"made away wi' a mort o' money" one's self, was to be regarded a man of
+parts and of no inconsiderable spirit.
+
+"Yo're in a mort o' trouble, Sammy, I mak' no doubt," remarked one
+oracle, puffing at his long clay.
+
+"Trouble enow," returned Sammy, shortly, "if you ca' it trouble to be on
+th' road to th' poor-house."
+
+"Aye, indeed!" with a sigh. "I should think so. But trouble's th' lot o'
+mon. Riches is deceitful an' beauty is vain--not as tha wur ivver much
+o' a beauty, Sammy; I canna mean that."
+
+"Dunnot hurt thysen explaining I nivver set up fur one. I left that to
+thee. Thy mug wus allus thy fortune."
+
+"Tha'rt fretted now, Sammy," he said. "Tha'rt fretted, an' it maks thee
+sharp-tongued."
+
+"Loike as not," answered Sammy. "Frettin' works different wi' some foak
+to what it does wi' others. I nivver seed thee fretted, mysen. Does it
+ha' th' same effect on thee? If it happens to, I should think it would
+na harm thee,--or other foak either. A bit o' sharpness is na so hard to
+stand wheer it's a variety."
+
+"Sithee, Sammy," called out a boisterous young fellow from the other
+side of the room. "What did th' Parson ha' to say to thee? Thwaite wur
+tellin' me as he carried th' prayer-book to thee, as soon as he heerd
+th' news. Did he read thee th' Christenin' service, or th' Burial, to
+gi' thee a bit o' comfort?"
+
+"Happen he gi' him both, and throwed in th' Litany," shouted another.
+"How wur it, Sammy? Let's hear."
+
+Sammy's face began to relax. A few of the knots and wrinkles showed
+signs of dispersing. A slow twisting of the features took place, which
+might have been looked upon as promising a smile in due course of time.
+These young fellows wanted to hear him talk, and "tak' off th' Parson."
+His occupation was not entirely gone, after all. It was specially
+soothing to his vanity to feel that his greatest importance lay in
+his own powers, and not altogether in more corruptible and uncertain
+attractions. He condescended to help himself to a pipe-full of a
+friend's tobacco.
+
+"Let's hear," cried a third member of the company. "Gi' us th' tale owt
+an' owt, owd lad. Tha'rt th' one to do it graidely."
+
+Sammy applied a lucifer to the fragrant weed, and sucked at his pipe
+deliberately.
+
+"It's noan so much of a tale," he said, with an air of disparagement
+and indifference. "Yo' chaps mak' so much out o' nowt. Th' Parson's well
+enow i' his way, but," in naive self-satisfaction, "I mun say he's a
+foo', an' th' biggest foo' fur his size I ivver had th' pleasure o'
+seein'."
+
+They knew the right chord was touched. A laugh went round, but there was
+no other interruption and Sammy proceeded.
+
+"Whatten yo' lads think as th' first thing he says to me wur?" puffing
+vigorously. "Why, he cooms in an' sets hissen down, an' he swells hissen
+out loike a frog i' trouble, an' ses he, 'My friend, I hope you cling
+to th' rock o' ages.' An' ses I, 'No I dunnot nowt o' th' soart, an'
+be dom'd to yo'. 'It wur na hos_pit_ible,'" with a momentary touch of
+deprecation,--"An' I dunnot say as it wur hospitible, but I wor na i'
+th' mood to be hospitible just at th' toime. It tuk him back too, but he
+gettin round after a bit, an' he tacklet me agen, an' we had it back'ard
+and for'ard betwixt us for a good haaf hour. He said it wur Providence,
+an' I said, happen it wur, an' happen it wurn't. I wur na so friendly
+and familiar wi' th' Lord as he seemed to be, so I could na tell foak
+aw he meant, and aw he did na mean. Sithee here, lads," making a fist
+of his knotty old hand and laying it upon the table, "that theer's what
+stirs me up wi' th' parson kind. They're allus settin down to explain
+what th' Lordamoigty's up to, as if he wur a confidential friend o'
+theirs as they wur bound to back up i' some road; an' they mun drag him
+in endways or sideways i' their talk whether or not, an' they wun-not be
+content to leave him to work fur hissen. Seems to me if I wur a disciple
+as they ca' it, I should be ashamed i' a manner to be allus apologizin'
+fur him as I believed in. I dunnot say for 'em to say _nowt_, but I _do_
+say for 'em not to be so dom'd free an' easy about it. Now theer's th'
+owd Parson, he's getten a lot o' Bible words as he uses, an' he brings
+'em in by the scruft o' th' neck, if he canna do no better,--fur bring
+'em in he mun,--an' it looks loike he's aw i' a fever till he's said 'em
+an' getten 'em off his moind. An' it seems to me loike, when he has said
+'em, he soart o' straightens hissen out, an' feels comfortable, loike a
+mon as has done a masterly job as conna be mended. As fur me, yo' know,
+I'm noan the Methody soart mysen, but I am na a foo', an' I know a foine
+loike principle when I see it, an' this matter o' religion is a foine
+enow thing if yo' could get it straightforward an' plain wi'out so much
+trimmins. But----" feeling perhaps that this was a large admission, "I
+am noan o' th' Methody breed mysen."
+
+"An' so tha tellt Parson, I'll warrant," suggested one of his listeners,
+who was desirous of hearing further particulars of the combat.
+
+"Well, well," admitted Craddock with the self-satisfaction of a man who
+feels that he has acquitted himself creditably. "Happen I did. He wur
+fur havin' me thank th' A'moighty fur aw ut had happent me, but I towd
+him as I did na quoite see th' road clear. I dunnot thank a chap as
+gi'es me a crack at th' soide o' th' yed. I may stand it if so be as I
+conna gi' him a crack back, but I dunnot know as I should thank him fur
+th' favor, an' not bein' one o' th' regenerate, as he ca's 'em, I dunnot
+feel loike singin' hymns just yet; happen it's 'cause I'm onregenerate,
+or happen it's human natur'. I should na wonder if it's 'pull devil,
+pull baker,' wi' th' best o' foak,--foak as is na prize foo's, loike th'
+owd Parson. Ses I to him, 'Not bein' regenerate, I dunnot believe i'
+so much grace afore meat. I say, lets ha' th' meat first, an' th' grace
+arterward.'"
+
+These remarks upon matters theological were applauded enthusiastically
+by Craddock's audience. "Owd Sammy" had finished his say, however, and
+believing that having temporarily exhausted his views upon any subject,
+it was well to let the field lie fallow, he did not begin again. He
+turned his attention from his audience to his pipe, and the intimate
+friends who sat near.
+
+"What art tha goin' to do, owd lad?" asked one.
+
+"Try fur a seat i' Parlyment," was the answer, "or pack my bits o' duds
+i' a wheelbarrow, an' set th' owd lass on 'era an' tak' th' nighest road
+to th' Union. I mun do summat fur a bein'."
+
+"That's true enow. We're main sorry fur thee, Sammy. Tak' another mug o'
+sixpenny to keep up thy sperrets. Theer's nowt as cheers a mon loike a
+sup o' th' reet soart."
+
+"I shanna get much on it if I go to th' poor-house," remarked Sammy,
+filling his beer mug. "Skilly an' water-gruel dunnot fly to a raon's
+head, I'll warrant. Aye! I wonder how th' owd lass'll do wi'out her drop
+o' tea, an' how she'll stand bein' buried by th' parish? That'll be
+worse than owt else. She'd set her moind on ridin' to th' grave-yard i'
+th' shiniest hearse as could be getten, an' wi' aw th' black feathers i'
+th' undertaker's shop wavin' on th' roof. Th' owd wench wur quoite set
+i' her notion o' bein' a bit fashynable at th' last. I believe hoo'd ha'
+enjoyed th' ride in a quiet way. Eh, dear! I'm feart she'll nivver be
+able to stand th' thowt o' bein' put under i' a common style. I wish
+we'd kept a bit o' brass i' th' owd stockin'."
+
+"It's a bad enow lookout," granted another, "but I would na gi' up aw at
+onct, Sammy. Happen tha could find a bit o' leet work, as ud keep
+thee owt o' th' Union. If tha could get a word or two spoke to Mester
+Hoviland, now. He's jest lost his lodge-keeper an' he is na close about
+payin' a mon fur what he does. How would tha loike to keep the lodge?"
+
+"It ud be aw I'd ax," said Sammy. "I'd be main well satisfied, yo' mebbe
+sure; but yo' know theer's so mony lookin' out for a job o' that koind,
+an' I ha' na mony friends among th' quality. I nivver wur smooth-tongued
+enow."
+
+True enough that. Among the country gentry, Sammy Craddock was regarded
+as a disrespectful, if not a dangerous, old fellow. A man who made
+satirical observations upon the ways and manners of his social
+superiors, could not be much better than a heretic. And since his
+associates made an oracle of him, he was all the more dangerous. He
+revered neither Lords nor Commons, and was not to be awed by the most
+imposing institutions. He did not take his hat off when the gentry rode
+by, and it was well known that he had jeered at several of the most
+important individuals in county office. Consequently, discreet persons
+who did not believe in the morals of "the masses" shook their heads at
+him, figuratively speaking, and predicted that the end of his career
+would be unfortunate. So it was not very likely that he would receive
+much patronage in the hour of his downfall.
+
+Sammy Craddock was in an uncomfortable frame of mind when he left his
+companions and turned homeward. It was a bad lookout for himself, and a
+bad one for "th' owd lass." His sympathy for the good woman was not of a
+sentimental order, but it was sympathy nevertheless. He had been a good
+husband, if not an effusive one. "Th' owd lass" had known her only rival
+in The Crown and his boon companions; and upon the whole, neither had
+interfered with her comfort, though it was her habit and her pleasure
+to be loud in her condemnation and disparagement of both. She would not
+have felt her connubial life complete without a grievance, and Sammy's
+tendency to talk politics over his pipe and beer was her standard
+resource.
+
+When he went out, he had left her lying down in the depths of despair,
+but when he entered the house, he found her up and dressed, seated by
+the window in the sun, a bunch of bright flowers before her.
+
+"Well now!" he exclaimed. "Tha niwer says! What's takken thee? I thowt
+tha wur bedrid fur th' rest o' thy days."
+
+"Howd thy tongue," she answered with a proper touch of wifely irritation
+at his levity. "I've had a bit o' company an' it's chirked me up summat.
+That little lass o' th' owd Parson has been settin wi' me."
+
+"That's it, is it?"
+
+"Aye, an' I tell yo' Sammy, she's a noice little wench. Why, she's
+getten th' ways o' a woman, stead o' a lass,--she's that theer quoiet
+an' steady, an' she's getten a face as pretty as her ways, too."
+
+Sammy scratched his head and reflected.
+
+"I mak' no doubt on it," he answered. "I mak' no doubt on it. It wur
+her, tha knows, as settlet th' foight betwixt th' lads an' th' dog. I'm
+wonderin' why she has na been here afore."
+
+"Well now!" taking up a stitch in her knitting, "that's th' queer part
+o' it. Whatten yo' think th'little thing said, when I axt her why? She
+says, 'It did na seem loike I was needed exactly, an' I did na know as
+yo'd care to ha' a stranger coom wi'out bein' axt.' Just as if she had
+been nowt but a neebor's lass, and would na tak' th' liberty."
+
+"That's noan th' owd Parson's way," said Sammy.
+
+"Th' owd Parson!" testily; "I ha' no patience wi' him. Th' little lass
+is as different fro' him as chalk is fro' cheese."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII - The Member of Parliament
+
+The morning following, Anice's father being called away by business left
+Riggan for a few days' absence, and it was not until after he had gone,
+that the story of Mr. Haviland's lodge-keeper came to her ears. Mr.
+Haviland was a Member of Parliament, a rich man with a large estate, and
+his lodge-keeper had just left him to join a fortunate son in America.
+Miss Barholm heard this from one of her village friends when she was
+out with the phaeton and the gray pony, and she at once thought of Sammy
+Craddock. The place was the very thing for him. The duties were light,
+the lodge was a pretty and comfortable cottage, and Mr. Haviland was
+known to be a generous master. If Sammy could gain the situation, he was
+provided for. But of course there were other applicants, and who was
+to speak for him? She touched up the gray pony with her whip, and drove
+away from the woman who had told her the news, in a perplexed frame of
+mind. She herself knew Mr. Haviland only by sight, his estate was three
+miles from the village, her father was away, and there was really no
+time to be lost. She drove to the corner of the road and paused there
+for a moment.
+
+"Oh indeed, I must go myself," she said at last. "It is unconventional,
+but there is no other way." And she bent over and touched the pony again
+and turned the corner without any further delay.
+
+She drove her three miles at a pretty steady trot, and at the end of the
+third,--at the very gates of the Haviland Park, in fact,--fortune came
+to her rescue. A good-humored middle-aged gentleman on a brown
+horse came cantering down the avenue and, passing through the gates,
+approached her. Seeing her, he raised his hat courteously; seeing him,
+she stopped her pony, for she recognized Mr. Haviland.
+
+She bent forward a little eagerly, feeling the color rise to her face.
+
+It was somewhat trying to find herself obliged by conscience to stop a
+gentleman on the highway and ask a favor of him.
+
+"Mr. Haviland," she said. "If you have a moment to spare----"
+
+He drew rein by her phaeton, removing his hat again. He had heard a
+great deal of Miss Barholm from his acquaintance among the county
+families. He had heard her spoken of as a rather singular young lady who
+had the appearance of a child, and the views of a feminine reconstructor
+of society. He had heard of her little phaeton too, and her gray pony,
+and so, though he had never seen her before, he recognized her at once.
+
+"Miss Barholm?" he said with deference.
+
+"Yes," answered Anice. "And indeed I am glad to have been fortunate
+enough to meet you here. Papa is away from home, and I could not wait
+for his return, because I was afraid I should be too late. I wanted to
+speak to you about the lodge-keeper's place, Mr. Haviland."
+
+He had been rather of the opinion that Miss Barholm must be a terrible
+young woman, with a tendency to model cottages and night schools.
+
+Young ladies who go out of the ordinary groove are not apt to be
+attractive to the average English mind. There are conventional charities
+in which they may indulge,--there are Sunday-schools, and rheumatic old
+women, and flannel night-caps, and Dorcas societies, and such things
+to which people are used and which are likely to alarm nobody. Among a
+class of discreet persons these are held to afford sufficient charitable
+exercise for any well regulated young woman; and girls whose plans
+branch out in other directions are looked upon with some coldness. So
+the country gentry, hearing of Miss Barholm and her novel fancies,--her
+teaching in a night school with a young curate, her friendship for the
+daughter of a dissipated collier, her intimate acquaintance with ragged
+boys and fighting terriers, her interest in the unhappy mothers
+of nameless babies,--hearing of these things, I say, the excellent
+nonenthusiasts shook their heads as the very mildest possible expression
+of dissent. They suspected strong-mindedness and "reform"--perhaps even
+politics and a tendency to advance irregular notions concerning the
+ballot. "At any rate," said they, "it does not look well, and it is very
+much better for young persons to leave these matters alone and do as
+others do who are guided wholly by their elders."
+
+It was an agreeable surprise to Mr. Haviland to see sitting in her
+modest phaeton, a quiet girl who looked up at him with a pair of the
+largest and clearest eyes he had ever seen, while she told him about
+Sammy Craddock.
+
+"I want the place very much for him, you see," she ended. "But of course
+I do not wish to be unfair to any one who may want it, and deserve
+it more. If there is any one who really _is_ in greater need of it, I
+suppose I must give it up."
+
+"But I am glad to tell you, there is nobody," answered Mr. Haviland
+quite eagerly. "I can assure you, Miss Barholm, that the half dozen men
+who have applied to me are without a solitary exception, unmitigated
+scamps--great strong burly fellows, who would, ten to one, spend their
+days in the public house, and their nights in my preserves, and leave
+their wives and children to attend to my gates. This Craddock is
+evidently the very man for me; I am not a model landowner, but I like
+to combine charity with subservience to my own interest occasionally.
+I have heard of the old fellow. Something of a demagogue, isn't he? But
+that will not frighten me. I will allow him to get the better of me in
+political discussion, if he will leave my pheasants alone."
+
+"I will answer for the pheasants," said Anice, "if you will let me send
+him to you."
+
+"I will see him to-morrow morning with pleasure," said Mr. Haviland.
+"And if there is anything else I can do, Miss Barholm------"
+
+"Thank you, there is nothing else at present. Indeed, you do not know
+how grateful I feel."
+
+Before an hour had passed, Sammy Craddock heard the good news. Anice
+drove back to his house and told him, without delay.
+
+"If you will go to-morrow morning, Mr. Haviland will see you," she
+ended; "and I think you will be good friends, Mr. Craddock."
+
+"Owd Sammy" pushed his spectacles up on his forehead, and looked at her.
+
+"An' tha went at th' business o' thy own accord an' managt it i' haaf
+an hour!" he said. "Well, I'm dom'd,--axin your pardin fur takkin th'
+liberty; it's a habit I've getten--but I be, an' no mistake."
+
+He had not time to get over his grateful amazement and recover his
+natural balance before she had said all she had come to say, and was
+gone, leaving him with "th' owd lass" and his admiration.
+
+"Well," said Sammy, "I mun say I nivver seed nowt loike it i' my loife.
+To think o' th' little wench ha'in' so mich gumption, an' to think
+o' her takkin th' matter i' hond th' minnit she struck it! Why! hoo's
+getten as mich sense as a mon. Eh! but hoo's a rare un--I said it when I
+seed her amongst th' lads theer, an' I say it again. An' hoo is na mich
+bigger nor six penn'orth o' copper neyther. An' I warrant hoo nivver
+thowt o' fillin her pocket wi' tracks by way o' comfort. Well, tha'st
+noan ha' to dee i' th' Union after aw, owd lass, an' happen we con save
+a bit to gi' thee a graidely funeral if tha'lt mak' up thy moind to stay
+to th' top a bit longer."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII - A Confession of Faith
+
+The Sunday following the Curate's visit to Lowrie's cottage, just before
+the opening of the morning service at St, Michael's, Joan Lowrie
+entered, and walking up the side aisle, took her place among the free
+seats. The church members turned to look at her as she passed their
+pews. On her part, she seemed to see nobody and to hear nothing of the
+rustlings of the genteel garments stirred by the momentary excitement
+caused by her appearance.
+
+The Curate, taking his stand in the pulpit that morning, saw after the
+first moment only two faces among his congregation. One, from among the
+old men and women in the free seats, looked up at him with questioning
+in its deep eyes, as if its owner had brought to him a solemn problem
+to be solved this very hour, or forever left at rest; the other, turned
+toward him from the Barholm pew, alight with appeal and trust. He stood
+in sore need of the aid for which he asked in his silent opening prayer.
+
+Some of his flock who were somewhat prone to underrate the young
+Parson's talents, were moved to a novel comprehension of them this
+morning. The more appreciative went home saying among themselves that
+the young man had power after all, and for once at least he had preached
+with uncommon fire and pathos. His text was a brief one,--but three
+words,--the three words Joan had read beneath the picture of the dead
+Christ: "It is finished!"
+
+If it was chance that led him to them to-day, it was a strange and
+fortunate chance, and surely he had never preached as he preached then.
+
+After the service, Anice looked for Joan in vain; she had gone before
+the rest of the congregation.
+
+But in the evening, being out in the garden near the holly hedge, she
+heard her name spoken, and glancing over the leafy barrier, saw Joan
+standing on the side path, just as she had seen her the first time they
+had spoken to each other.
+
+"I ha' na a minnit to stay," she said without any prelude, "but I ha'
+summat to say to yo'."
+
+Her manner was quiet, and her face wore a softened pallor. Even her
+physical power for a time appeared subdued. And yet she looked steady
+and resolved.
+
+"I wur at church this mornin'." she began again almost immediately.
+
+"I saw you," Anice answered.
+
+"I wur nivver theer before. I went to see fur mysen. I ha' read the book
+yo' g' me, an' theer's things in it as I nivver heerd on. Mester Grace
+too,--he coom to see me an' I axt him questions. Theer wur things as I
+wanted to know, an' now it seems loike it looks clearer. What wi' th'
+pickur',--it begun wi' th' pictur',--an' th' book, an' what _he_ said
+to-day i' church, I've made up my moind."
+
+She paused an instant, her lips trembled.
+
+"I dunnot want to say much about it now," she said, "I ha' not getten
+th' words. But I thowt as yo'd loike to know. I believe i' th' Book; I
+believe i' th' Cross; I believe i' Him as deed on it! That's what I coom
+to say."
+
+The woman turned without another word and went away.
+
+Anice did not remain in the garden. The spirit of Joan Lowrie's intense
+mood communicated itself to her. She, too, trembled and her pulse beat
+rapidly. She thought of Paul Grace and wished for his presence. She felt
+herself drawn near to him again. She wanted to tell him that his harvest
+had come, that his faithfulness had not been without its reward. Her own
+labor she only counted as chance-work.
+
+She found Fergus Derrick in the parlor, talking to her mother.
+
+He was sitting in his favorite position, leaning back in a chair before
+a window, his hands clasped behind his head. His friendly intercourse
+with the family had extended beyond the ceremonious epoch, when a man's
+attitudes are studied and unnatural. In these days Derrick was as much
+at ease at the Rectory as an only son might have been.
+
+"I thought some one spoke to you across the hedge, Anice?" her mother
+said.
+
+"Yes," Anice answered. "It was Joan Lowrie."
+
+She sat down opposite Fergus, and told him what had occurred. Her voice
+was not quite steady, and she made the relation as brief as possible.
+Derrick sat looking out of the window without moving.
+
+"Mr. Derrick," said Anice at last, after a few minutes had elapsed,
+"What _now_ is to be done with Joan Lowrie?"
+
+Derrick roused himself with a start to meet her eyes and find them
+almost sad.
+
+"What now?" he said. "God knows! For one, I cannot see the end."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX - Ribbons
+
+The light in the cottage upon the Knoll Road burned late in these days,
+and when Derrick was delayed in the little town, he used to see it
+twinkle afar off, before he turned the bend of the road on his way home.
+He liked to see it. It became a sort of beacon light, and as such he
+began to watch for it. He used to wonder what Joan was doing, and he
+glanced in through the curtainless windows as he passed by. Then he
+discovered that when the light shone she was at work. Sometimes she was
+sitting at the wooden table with a book, sometimes she was laboring at
+some task with pen and ink, sometimes she was trying to use her needle.
+
+She had applied to Anice for instruction in this last effort. It was not
+long before Anice found that she was intent upon acquiring the womanly
+arts her life had put it out of her power to learn.
+
+"I'd loike to learn to sew a bit," she had said, and the confession
+seemed awkward and reluctant "I want to learn to do a bit o' woman's
+work. I'm tired o' bein' neyther th' one thing nor th' other. Seems
+loike I've allus been doin' men's ways, an' I am na content."
+
+Two or three times Derrick saw her passing to and fro before the window,
+hushing the child in her arms, and once he even heard her singing to
+it in a low, and evidently rarely used voice. Up to the time that Joan
+first sang to the child, she had never sung in her life. She caught
+herself one day half chanting a lullaby she had heard Anice sing. The
+sound of her own voice was so novel to her, that she paused all at once
+in her walk across the room, prompted by a queer impulse to listen.
+
+"It moight ha' been somebody else," she said. "I wonder what made me do
+it. It wur a queer thing."
+
+Sometimes Derrick met Joan entering the Rectory (at which both were
+frequent visitors); sometimes, passing through the hall on her way home;
+but however often he met her, he never felt that he advanced at all in
+her friendship.
+
+On one occasion, having bidden Anice goodnight and gone out on the
+staircase, Joan stepped hurriedly back into the room and stood at the
+door as if waiting.
+
+"What is it?" Anice asked.
+
+Joan started. She had looked flushed and downcast, and when Anice
+addressed her, an expression of conscious self-betrayal fell upon her.
+
+"It is Mester Derrick," she answered, and in a moment she went out.
+
+Anice remained seated at the table, her hands clasped before her.
+
+"Perhaps," at last she said aloud, "perhaps this is what is to be done
+with her. And then--" her lips tremulous,--"it will be a work for me to
+do."
+
+Derrick's friendship and affection for herself held no germ of warmer
+feeling. If she had had the slightest doubt of this, she would have
+relinquished nothing. She had no exaggerated notions of self-immolation.
+She would not have given up to another woman what Heaven had given to
+herself, any more than she would have striven to win from another woman
+what had been Heaven's gift to her. If she felt pain, it was not the
+pain of a small envy, but of a great tenderness. She was capable of
+making any effort for the ultimate good of the man she could have loved
+with the whole strength of her nature.
+
+When she entered her room that night, Joan Lowrie was moved to some
+surprise by a scene which met her eyes. It was a simple thing, and under
+some circumstances would have meant little; but taken in connection with
+her remembrance of past events, it had a peculiar significance. Liz
+was sitting upon the hearth, with some odds and ends of bright-colored
+ribbon on her knee, and a little straw hat in her hand. She was trimming
+the hat, and using the scraps of ribbon for the purpose. When she heard
+Joan, she looked up and reddened somewhat, and then hung her head over
+her work again.
+
+"I'm makin' up my hat agen," she said, almost deprecatingly. "It wur
+sich a faded thing."
+
+"Are yo'?" said Joan.
+
+She came and stood leaning against the fireplace, and looked down at
+Liz thoughtfully. The shallowness and simplicity of the girl baffled her
+continually. She herself, who was prompted in action by deep motive and
+strong feeling, found it hard to realize that there could be a surface
+with no depth below.
+
+Her momentary embarrassment having died out, Liz had quite forgotten
+herself in the interest of her task. She was full of self-satisfaction
+and trivial pleasure. She looked really happy as she tried the effect of
+one bit of color after another, holding the hat up. Joan had never
+known her to show such interest in anything before. One would never
+have fancied, seeing the girl at this moment, that a blight lay upon her
+life, that she could only look back with shrinking and forward without
+hope. She was neither looking backward nor forward now,--all her simple
+energies were concentrated in her work. How was it? Joan asked herself.
+Had she forgotten--could she forget the past and be ready for petty
+vanities and follies? To Joan, Liz's history had been a tragedy--a
+tragedy which must be tragic to its end. There was something startlingly
+out of keeping in the present mood of this pretty seventeen-year-old
+girl sitting eager and delighted over her lapful of ribbons. Not that
+Joan begrudged her the slight happiness--she only wondered, and asked
+herself how it could be.
+
+Possibly her silence attracted Liz's attention. Suddenly she looked up,
+and when she saw the gravity of Joan's face, her own changed.
+
+"Yo're grudgin' me doin' it," she cried. "Yo' think I ha' no reet to
+care for sich things," and she dropped hat and ribbon on her knee with
+an angry gesture. "Happen I ha' na," she whimpered. "I ha' na getten no
+reet to no soart o' pleasure, I dare say."
+
+"Nay," said Joan rousing herself from her revery. "Nay, yo' must na say
+that, Liz. If it pleases yo' it conna do no hurt; I'm glad to see yo'
+pleased."
+
+"I'm tired o' doin' nowt but mope i' th' house," Liz fretted. "I want to
+go out a bit loike other foak. Theer's places i' Riggan as I could go to
+wi'out bein' slurred at--theer's other wenches as has done worse nor
+me. Ben Maxy towd Mary on'y yesterday as I was the prettiest lass i' th'
+place, fur aw their slurs."
+
+"Ben Maxy!" Joan said slowly.
+
+Liz twisted a bit of ribbon around her finger.
+
+"It's not as I care fur what Ben Maxy says or what ony other mon says,
+fur th' matter o' that, but--but it shows as I need na be so mich
+ashamed o' mysen after aw, an' need na stay i' doors as if I dare na
+show my face."
+
+Joan made no answer.
+
+"An' yet," she said, smiling faintly at her own train of thought
+afterward, "I dunnot see what I'm complainin' on. Am I out o' patience
+because her pain is na deeper? Surely I am na wantin' her to mak' th'
+most o' her burden. I mun be a queer wench, tryin' to mak' her happy,
+an' then feelin' worrited at her forgettin' her trouble. It's well as
+she con let things slip so easy."
+
+But there came times when she could not help being anxious, seeing Liz
+gradually drifting out into her old world again. She was so weak, and
+pretty, and frivolous, so ready to listen to rough flatteries. Riggan
+was more rigid in its criticism than in its morality, and criticism
+having died out, offence was forgotten through indifference rather
+than through charity. Those who had been hardest upon Liz in her day of
+darkness were carelessly ready to take her up again when her fault was
+an old story overshadowed by some newer scandal.
+
+Joan found herself left alone with the child oftener than she used
+to be, but in truth this was a relief rather than otherwise. She was
+accustomed to solitude, and the work of self-culture she had begun
+filled her spare hours with occupation.
+
+Since his dismissal from the mines, she saw but little of her father.
+Sometimes she saw nothing of him for weeks. The night after he lost
+his place, he came into the house, and making up a small bundle of his
+personal effects, took a surly leave of the two women.
+
+"I'm goin' on th' tramp a bit," he said. "If yo're axed, yo' con say I'm
+gone to look fur a job. My day has na coom yet, but it's on th' way."
+
+Since then he had only returned once or twice, and his visits had always
+been brief and unexpected, and at night. The first time he had startled
+Joan by dropping in upon her at midnight, his small bundle on his
+knob-stick over his shoulder, his clothes bespattered with road-side
+mud. He said nothing of his motive in coming--merely asked for his
+supper and ate it without much remark.
+
+"I ha' na had luck," he said. "Luck's not i my loine; I wur na born to
+it, loike some foak. Happen th' tide'll tak' a turn after a bit."
+
+"Yore feyther wur axin me about th' engineer," Liz said to Joan the next
+morning. "He wanted to know if we seed him pass heer i' his road hoam.
+D'yo' think he's getten a spite agen th' engineer yet, Joan?"
+
+"I'm afeard," Joan answered. "Feyther's loike to bear a grudge agen them
+as put him out, whether they're reet or wrong. Liz----" hesitating.
+
+"What is it, Joan?"
+
+"Dunnot yo' say no more nor yo' con help when he axes yo' about th'
+engineer. I'm worritin' mysen lest feyther should get hissen into
+trouble. He's hasty, yo' know."
+
+In the evening she went out and left the child to its mother. She had
+business to look after, she told Liz, and it would keep her out late.
+Whatever the business was, it kept her out so late that Liz was tired of
+waiting, and went to bed worn out and a trifle fretted.
+
+She did not know what hour it was when she awakened; voices and a light
+in the road roused her, and almost as soon as she was fully conscious,
+the door opened and Joan came in. Liz raised her head from the pillow to
+look at her. She was pale and seemed excited. She was even trembling a
+little, and her voice was unsteady as she asked,
+
+"Has th' little un been quiet, Liz?"
+
+"Quiet enow," said Liz. "What a toime yo' ha' been, Joan! It mun be near
+midneet. I got so worn out wi' waitin' fur yo' that I could na sit up no
+longer. Wheer ha' yo' been?"
+
+"I went to Riggan," said Joan, "Theer wur summat as I wur obliged to see
+to, an' I wur kept beyond my toime by summat as happent. But it is na
+quoite midneet, though it's late enow."
+
+"Was na theer a lantern wi' yo'?" asked Liz. "I thowt I seed th' leet
+fro' a lantern."
+
+"Yes," Joan answered, "theer wur a lantern. As I wur turnin' into th'
+road, I met Mester Derrick comin' fro' th' Rectory an'--an' he walked
+alongside o' me."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX - The New Gate-Keeper
+
+Sammy Craddock made his appearance at Mr. Haviland's promptly, and being
+shown into the library, which was empty, took a seat and proceeded to
+regard the surroundings critically.
+
+"Dunnot scald thy nose wi' thy own broth," Mrs. Craddock had said to him
+warningly, when he left her. "Keep a civil tongue i' thy head. Thy toime
+fur saucin' thy betters is past an' gone. Tha'lt ha' to tak' both fat
+an' lean together i' these days, or go wi'out mate."
+
+Sammy remembered these sage remarks rather sorely, as he sat awaiting
+the master of the household. His independence had been very dear to
+him, and the idea that he must relinquish it was a grievous thorn in
+the flesh. He glanced round at the pictures and statuettes and shook his
+head dubiously.
+
+"A mon wi' so many crinkum-crankums as he seems to ha' getten 'll be
+apt to be reyther set i' polytics. An' I'll warrant this is na th' best
+parlor neyther. Aw th' wall covered wi' books too, an' a ornymental
+step-lather to climb up to th' high shelves. Well, Sammy, owd lad,
+tha's not seen aw th' world yet, tha finds out. Theer's a bit o' summat
+outside Riggan. After aw, it does a mon no hurt to travel. I should na
+wonder if I mought see things as I nivver heerd on if I getten as fur
+as th' Contynent. Theer's France now--foak say as they dunnot speak
+Lancashire i' France, an' conna so much as understand it. Well, theer's
+ignorance aw o'er th' world."
+
+The door opened at this juncture, and Mr. Haviland entered--fresh,
+florid and cordial. His temperament being an easy one, he rather
+dreaded collision with anybody, and would especially have disliked an
+uncomfortable interview with this old fellow. He would like to be able
+to preserve his affability of demeanor for his own sake as well as for
+Miss Barholm's.
+
+"Ah!" he said, "Craddock, is it? Glad to see you, Craddock."
+
+Sammy rose from his seat
+
+"Aye," he answered. "Sam'll Craddock fro' Riggan. Same to you, Mester."
+
+Mr. Haviland waved his hand good-naturedly.
+
+"Take your seat again," he said. "Don't stand. You are the older man of
+the two, you know, and I dare say you are tired with your walk. You came
+about the lodge-keeper's place?"
+
+"That little lass o' th' owd Parson's----" began Sammy.
+
+"Miss Anice Barholm," interposed Mr. Haviland. "Yes, she told me she
+would send you. I never had the pleasure of seeing her until she drove
+here yesterday to ask for the place for you. She was afraid to lose time
+in waiting for her father's return."
+
+"Yo' nivver saw her afore?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Well," rubbing his hands excitedly over the knob of his stick, "hoo's a
+rarer un than I thowt fur, even. Hoo'll stond at nowt, wont that little
+wench," and he gave vent to his feelings in a delighted chuckle. "I'd
+loike to ax yo'," he added, "wheer's th' other lass, as ud ha' had the
+pluck to do as mich?"
+
+"I don't think there is another woman in the country who would have done
+it," said Mr. Haviland smiling. "We shall agree in our opinion of Miss
+Barholm, I see, Craddock, if we quarrel about everything else."
+
+Sammy took out his flowered bandanna and wiped his bald forehead. He was
+at once mollified and encouraged. He felt that he was being treated
+with a kind of respect and consideration. Here was one of the gentry who
+placed himself on a friendly footing with him. Perhaps upon the whole
+he should not find it so difficult to reconcile himself to his change of
+position after all. And being thus encouraged, a certain bold simplicity
+made him address himself to Mr. Haviland not as a servant in prospective
+to a prospective master, but as man to man.
+
+"Th' fact is," he said, "as I am na mich o' a lass's mon mysen, and
+I wunnot say as I ha' mich opinion o' woman foak i' general--they're
+flighty yo' see--they're flighty; but I mun say as I wur tuk by that
+little wench o' th' Parson's--I wur tuk by her."
+
+"She would be glad to hear it, I am sure," with an irony so suave that
+Sammy proceeded with fresh gravity.
+
+"I mak' no doubt on't," dogmatically. "I mak' no doubt on't i' th'
+world, but I dunnot know as th' flattery ud do her good. Sugar sop is na
+o'er digestible to th' best o' 'em. They ha' to be held a bit i' check,
+yo' see. But hoo's a wonderfu' little lass--_fur_ a lass, I mun admit.
+Seems a pity to ha' wasted so mich good lad metal on a slip o' a
+wench,--does na it?"
+
+"You think so? Well, that is a matter of opinion, you know.
+However--concerning the lodge-keeper's place. You understand what your
+duties would be, I suppose?"
+
+"Tendin' th' gates an' th' loike. Aye sir. Th' little lass towd me aw
+about it. Hoo is na one as misses owt."
+
+"So I see," smiling again. "And you think you can perform them?"
+
+"I wur thinkin' so. It did na stroike me as a mon need to be partic'lar
+muskylar to do th' reet thing by 'em. I think I could tackle 'em wi'out
+breakin' down."
+
+After a brief discussion of the subject, it was agreed that Mr. Craddock
+should be installed as keeper of the lodge the week following.
+
+"As to politics," said Mr. Haviland, when his visitor rose to depart, "I
+hear you are something of a politician, Craddock."
+
+"Summat o' one, sir," answered Sammy, his evident satisfaction touched
+with a doubtful gravity. "Summat o' one. I ha' my opinions o' things i'
+gineral."
+
+"So I have been told; and they have made you rather unpopular among our
+county people, per-haps?"
+
+"I am na mich o' a favorite," with satisfaction.
+
+"No, the fact is that until Miss Barholm came to me I had rather a bad
+idea of you, Craddock."
+
+This looked somewhat serious, Craddock regarding it rather in the light
+of a challenge.
+
+"I'd loike well enow to ha' yo' change it," he said, "but my coat is na
+o' th' turnin' web. I mun ha' my say about things--gentry or no gentry."
+And his wrinkled old visage expressed so crabbed a determination that
+Mr. Haviland laughed outright.
+
+"Oh! don't misunderstand me," he said, "stick to your party, Craddock.
+We will try to agree, for Miss Barholm's sake. I will leave you to your
+opinion, and you will leave me to mine--even a Member of Parliament
+has a right to an opinion, you know, if he doesn't intrude it upon the
+public too much."
+
+Craddock went home in a mollified frame of mind. He felt that he
+had gained his point and held his ground, and he respected himself
+accordingly. He felt too that his associates had additional right to
+respect him. It was their ground too, and he had held it for them as
+well as for himself. He stopped at The Crown for his midday glass of
+ale; and his self-satisfaction was so evident that his friends observed
+it, and remarked among themselves that "th' owd lad wur pickin' up his
+crumbs a bit."
+
+"Yo're lookin' graidely to-day, Sammy," said one.
+
+"I'm feelin' a trifle graidelier than I ha' done," he answered,
+oracularly. "Things is lookin' up."
+
+"I'm main glad to hear it. Tell us as how."
+
+"Well,"--with studied indifference,--"it's noan so great luck i'
+comparison, but it's summat to be thankfu' fur to a mon as is down i'
+th' world. I've getten the lodge-keeper's place at Mr. Haviland's."
+
+"Tha' nivver says! Who'd a' thowt it? How ivver did that coom about?"
+
+"Friends i' coort," with dignity. "Friends i' coort. Hond me that jug
+o' ale, Tummy. Haviland's a mon o' discretion, if he is a Member o'
+Parlyment. We've had quoite a friendly chat this mornin' as we set i'
+th' loibery together. He is na so bad i' his pollytics after aw's said
+an' done. He'll do, upo' th' whole."
+
+"Yo' stood up to him free enow, I warrant," said Tummy. "Th' gentle folk
+dunnot often hear sich free speakin' as yo' gi' 'em, Sammy."
+
+"Well, I had to be a bit indypendent; it wur nat'ral. It would na ha'
+done to ha' turnt soft, if he _wur_ th' mester an' me th' mon. But he's
+a mon o' sense, as I say, an' he wur civil enow, an' friendly enow. He's
+getten gumption to see as pollytics is pollytics. I'll tell yo' what,
+lads, I'm comin' to th' opinion as happen theer's more sense i' some o'
+th' gentry than we gi' em credit fur; they ha' not mich but book larnin
+i' their heads, it's true, but they're noan so bad--some on 'em--if
+yo're charytable wi' 'em."
+
+"Who was thy friend i' coort, Sammy?" was asked next.
+
+Sammy's fist went down upon the table with a force which made the mugs
+dance and rattle.
+
+"Now tha'rt comin' to the meat i' th' egg." he said. "Who should tha
+think it wur 'at had th' good-will an' th' head to tak' th' business i'
+hond?"
+
+"It ud be hard to say."
+
+"Why, it wur that little lass o' th' owd Parsen's again. Dom'd if she
+wunnot run aw Riggan i' a twelvemonth. I dunnot know wkeer she getten
+her head-fillin' fro' unless she robbed th' owd Parson, an' left his nob
+standin' empty. Happen that's what's up wi' th' owd chap."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI - Derrick's Question
+
+Derrick had had a great deal to think about of late. Affairs at the
+mines had been troublesome, as usual, and he had been often irritated
+by the stupidity of the men who were in authority over him. He began to
+feel, moreover, that an almost impalpable barrier had sprung up between
+himself and his nearest friend. When he came to face the matter, he was
+obliged to acknowledge to himself that there were things he had kept
+from Grace, though it had been without any positive intention of
+concealment And, perhaps, being the sensitive fellow he had called
+him, Grace had felt that there was something behind his occasional
+abstraction and silence, and had shrunk within himself, feeling a trifle
+hurt at Derrick's want of frankness and confidence.
+
+Hardly a day passed in which he did not spend some short time in the
+society of his Pythias. He rarely passed his lodgings without dropping
+in, and, to-night, he turned in on his way from the office, and fell
+upon Grace hard at work over a volume of theology.
+
+"Lay your book aside," he said to him. "I want to gossip this evening,
+old fellow."
+
+Grace closed his book and came to his usual seat, smiling
+affectionately. There was a suggestion of feminine affectionateness in
+his bearing toward his friend.
+
+"Gossip," he remarked. "The word gossip----
+
+"Oh," put in Derrick, "it's a woman's word; but I am in a womanish sort
+of humor. I am going to be--I suppose, one might say--confidential."
+
+The Reverend Paul reddened a little but as Derrick rather avoided
+looking at him he did not observe the fact.
+
+"Grace," he said, after a silence, "I have a sort of confession to make.
+I am in a difficulty, and I rather blame myself for not having come to
+you before."
+
+"Don't blame yourself," said the Curate, faintly. "You--you are not to
+blame."
+
+Then Derrick glanced up at him quickly. This sounded so significant
+of some previous knowledge of his trouble, that he was taken aback. He
+could not quite account for it.
+
+"What!" he exclaimed. "Is it possible that you have guessed it already?"
+
+"I have thought so--sometimes I have thought so--though I feel as if I
+ought almost to ask your pardon for going so far."
+
+Grace had but one thought as he spoke. His friend's trouble meant his
+friend's honor and regard for himself. It was for his sake that Derrick
+was hesitating on the brink of a happy love--unselfishly fearing for
+him. He knew the young man's impetuous generosity, and saw how under the
+circumstances, it might involve him. Loving Anice Barholm with the full
+strength of a strong nature, Derrick was generous enough still to shrink
+from his prospect of success with the woman his friend had failed to
+win.
+
+Derrick flung himself back in his chair with a sigh. He was thinking,
+with secret irritation, that he must have felt even more than he had
+acknowledged to himself since he had in all unconsciousness, confessed
+so much.
+
+"You have saved me the trouble of putting into words a feeling I have
+not words to explain," he said. "Perhaps that is the reason why I have
+not spoken openly before. Grace,"--abruptly,--"I have fancied there was
+a cloud between us."
+
+"Between us!" said Grace, eagerly and warmly. "No, no! That was a poor
+fancy indeed; I could not bear that."
+
+"Nor I," impetuously. "But I cannot be explicit even now, Grace--even
+my thoughts are not explicit. I have been bewildered and--yes,
+amazed--amazed at finding that I had gone so far without knowing it.
+Surely there never was a passion--if it is really a passion--that had so
+little to feed upon."
+
+"So little!" echoed Grace.
+
+Derrick got up and began to walk across the floor.
+
+"I have nothing--nothing, and I am beset on every side."
+
+There was something extraordinary in the blindness of a man with an
+absorbing passion. Absorbed by his passion for one woman, Grace was
+blind to the greatest of inconsistencies in his friend's speech and
+manner. Absorbed in his passion for another woman, Derrick forgot for
+the hour everything concerning his friend's love for Anice Barholm.
+
+Suddenly he paused in his career across the room.
+
+"Grace," he said, "I cannot trust myself; but I can trust you, I cannot
+be unselfish in this--you can. Tell me what I am to do--answer me
+this question, though God knows, it would be a hard one for any man to
+answer. Perhaps I ought not to ask it--perhaps I ought to have decision
+enough to answer it myself without troubling you. But how can I? And you
+who are so true to yourself and to me in other things, will be true in
+this I know. This feeling is stronger than all else--so strong that I
+have feared and failed to comprehend it. I had not even thought of it
+until it came upon me with fearful force, and I am conscious that it has
+not reached its height yet. It is not an ignoble passion, I know. How
+could a passion for such a creature be ignoble? And yet again, there
+have been times when I have felt that perhaps it was best to struggle
+against it. I am beset on every side, as I have said, and I appeal to
+you. Ought love to be stronger than all else? I used to tell myself so,
+before it came upon me--and now I can only wonder at myself and tremble
+to find that I have grown weak."
+
+God knows it was a hard question he had asked of the man who loved him;
+but this man did not hesitate to answer it as freely as if he had had no
+thought that he was signing the death-warrant of all hopes for himself.
+Grace went to him and laid a hand upon his broad shoulder.
+
+"Come, sit down and I will tell you," he said, with a pallid face.
+
+Derrick obeyed his gentle touch with a faint smile.
+
+"I am too fiery and tempestuous, and you want to cool me," he said. "You
+are as gentle as a woman, Grace."
+
+The Curate standing up before him, a slight, not at all heroic figure in
+his well worn, almost threadbare garments, smiled in return.
+
+"I want to answer your question," he said, "and my answer is this:
+When a man loves a woman wholly, truly, purely, and to her highest
+honor,--such a love is the highest and noblest thing in this world,
+and nothing should lead to its sacrifice,--no ambition, no hope, no
+friendship."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII - Master Landsell's Son
+
+"I dunnot know what to mak' on her," Joan said to Anice, speaking of
+Liz. "Sometimes she is i' sich sperrits that she's fairly flighty, an'
+then agen, she's aw fretted an' crossed with ivvery-thing. Th' choild
+seems to worrit her to death."
+
+"That lass o' Lowrie's has made a bad bargain, i' takin' up wi' that
+wench," said a townswoman to Grace. "She's noan one o' th' soart as
+'ll keep straight. She's as shallow as a brook i' midsummer. What's she
+doin' leavin' th' young un to Joan, and gaddin' about wi' ribbons i' her
+bonnet? Some lasses would na ha' th' heart to show theirsens."
+
+The truth was that the poor weak child was struggling feebly in deep
+water again. She had not thought of danger. She had only been tired of
+the monotony of her existence, and had longed for a change. If she had
+seen the end she would have shrunk from it before she had taken her
+first step. She wanted no more trouble and shame, she only wanted
+variety and excitement.
+
+She was going down a by-lane leading to the Maxy's cottage, and was
+hurrying through the twilight, when she brushed against a man who was
+lounging carelessly along the path, smoking a cigar, and evidently
+enjoying the balmy coolness of the summer evening. It was just light
+enough for her to see that this person was well-dressed, and young,
+and with a certain lazily graceful way of moving, and it was just light
+enough for the man to see that the half-frightened face she lifted was
+pretty and youthful. But, having seen this much, he must surely have
+recognized more, for he made a quick backward step. "Liz!" he said.
+"Why, Liz, my girl!" And Liz stood still. She stood still, because, for
+the moment, she lost the power of motion. Her heart gave a great wild
+leap, and, in a minute more, she was trembling all over with a strange,
+dreadful emotion. It seemed as if long, terrible months were blotted
+out, and she was looking into her cruel lover's face, as she had looked
+at it last. It was the man who had brought her to her greatest happiness
+and her deepest pain and misery. She could not speak at first; but
+soon she broke into a passion of tears. It evidently made the young man
+uncomfortable--perhaps it touched him a little. Ralph Landsell's nature
+was not unlike Liz's own. He was invariably swayed by the passing
+circumstance,--only, perhaps, he was a trifle more easily moved by an
+evil impulse than a good one. The beauty of the girl's tearful face,
+too, overbalanced his first feeling of irritation at seeing her and
+finding that he was in a difficult position. Then he did not want her
+to run away and per-haps betray him in her agitation, so he put out his
+hand and laid it on her shoulder.
+
+"Hush," he said. "Don't cry. What a poor little goose you are. Somebody
+will hear you."
+
+The girl made an effort to free herself from his detaining hand, but it
+was useless. Light as his grasp was, it held her.
+
+"Let me a-be," she cried, sobbing petulantly. "Yo' ha' no reet to howd
+me. Yo' were ready enow to let me go when--when I wur i' trouble."
+
+"Trouble!" he repeated after her. "Wasn't I in trouble, too? You don't
+mean to say you did not know what a mess I was in? I'll own it looked
+rather shabby, Liz, but I was obliged to bolt as I did. I hadn't time to
+stay and explain. The governor was down on us, and there'd have been an
+awful row. Don't be hard on a fellow, Lizzie. You're--you're too nice a
+little girl to be hard on a fellow."
+
+But Liz would not listen.
+
+"Yo' went away an' left me wi'out a word," she said; "yo' went away an'
+left me to tak' care o' mysen when I could na do it, an' had na strength
+to howd up agen th' world. I wur turned out o' house an' home, an' if it
+had na been fur th' hospytal, I might ha' deed i' th' street. Let me go.
+I dunnot want to ha' awt to do wi' yo'. I nivver wanted to see yore
+face agen. Leave me a-be. It's ower now, an' I dunnot want to get into
+trouble agen."
+
+He drew his hand away, biting his lip and frowning boyishly. He had been
+as fond of Liz as such a man could be. But she had been a trouble to him
+in the end, and he had barely escaped, through his cowardly flight, from
+being openly disgraced and visited by his father's wrath.
+
+"If you had not gone away in such a hurry, you would have found that I
+did not mean to treat you so badly after all," he said. "I wrote to you
+and sent you money, and told you why I was obliged to leave you for the
+time, but you were gone, and the letter was returned to me. I was not so
+much to blame."
+
+"Th' blame did na fa' on yo'," said Liz. "I tell yo' I wur turnt out,
+but--it--it does na matter now," with a sob.
+
+Now that she was out of his reach, he discovered that she had not lost
+all her old attractions for him. She was prettier than ever,--the shawl
+had slipped from her curly hair, the tears in her eyes made them
+look large and soft, and gave her face an expression of most pathetic
+helplessness,--and he really felt that he would like to defend, if not
+clear himself. So, when she made a movement as if to leave him, he was
+positively anxious to detain her.
+
+"You are not going?" he said. "You won't leave a fellow in this way,
+Lizzie?"
+
+The old tone, half caressing, half reproachful, was harder for the girl
+to withstand than a stronger will could comprehend. It brought back so
+much to her,--those first bright days, her poor, brief little reign, her
+childish pleasures, his professed love for her, all her lost delight.
+If she had been deliberately bad, she would have given way that instant,
+knowing that she was trifling on the brink of sin once more. But she was
+not bad, only emotional, weak and wavering. The tone held her one moment
+and then she burst into fresh tears.
+
+"I wunnot listen to yo'," she cried. "I wunnot listen to yo'. I
+wunnot--I wunnot," and before he had time to utter another word, she
+had turned and fled down the lane back toward Joan's cottage, like some
+hunted creature fleeing for life.
+
+Joan, sitting alone, rose in alarm, when she burst open the door and
+rushed in. She was quivering from head to foot, panting for breath, and
+the tears were wet upon her cheeks.
+
+"What is it?" cried Joan. "Lizzie, my lass, what ails yo'?"
+
+She threw herself down upon the floor and hid her face in the folds of
+Joan's dress.
+
+"I--ha'--I ha' seed a ghost, or--summat," she panted and whimpered.
+"I--I met summat as feart me."
+
+"Let me go and look what it wur," said Joan. "Was it i' th' lane? Tha
+art tremblin' aw o'er, Lizzie."
+
+But Liz only clung to her more closely.
+
+"Nay--nay," she protested. "Tha shall na go. I'm feart to be
+left--an'--an' I dunnot want yo' to go. Dunnot go, Joan, dunnot."
+
+And Joan was fain to remain.
+
+She did not go out into the village for several days after this, Joan
+observed. She stayed at home and did not even leave the cottage. She
+was not like herself, either. Up to that time she had seemed to be
+forgetting her trouble, and gradually slipping back into the enjoyments
+she had known before she had gone away. Now a cloud seemed to be upon
+her. She was restless and nervous, or listless and unhappy. She was
+easily startled, and now and then Joan fancied that she was expecting
+something unusual to happen. She lost color and appetite, and the
+child's presence troubled her more than usual. Once, when it set up a
+sudden cry, she started, and the next moment burst into tears.
+
+"Why, Liz!" said Joan, almost tenderly. "Yo' mun be ailin', or yo'
+hannot getten o'er yo're fright yet. Yo're not yoresen at aw. What a
+simple little lass yo' are to be feart by a boggart i' that way."
+
+"I dunnot know what's the matter wi' me," said Liz, "I dunnot feel reet,
+somehow. Happen I shall get o'er it i' toime."
+
+But though she recovered herself somewhat, she was not the same girl
+again. And this change in her it was that made Joan open her heart to
+Anice. She saw that something was wrong, and noted a new influence at
+work even after the girl began to go out again and resume her visits
+to her acquaintances. Then, alternating with fretful listlessness, were
+tremulous high spirits and feverish fits of gayety.
+
+There came a day, however, when Joan gained a clue to the meaning of
+this change, though never from her first recognition of it until the end
+did she comprehend it fully. Perhaps she was wholly unconscious of what
+narrower natures experience. Then, too, she had little opportunity for
+hearing gossip. She had no visitors, and she was kept much at home with
+the child, who was not healthy, and who, during the summer months, was
+constantly feeble and ailing.
+
+Grace, hearing nothing more after the first hint of suspicion, was so
+far relieved that he thought it best to spare Joan the pain of being
+stung by it.
+
+But there came a piece of news to Joan that troubled her.
+
+"Theer's a young sprig o' one o' th' managers stayin' at th' 'Queen's
+Arms,'" remarked a pit woman one morning. "He's a foine young chap,
+too--dresses up loike a tailor's dummy, an' looks as if he'd stepped
+reet square out o' a bandbox. He's a son o' owd Landsell's."
+
+Joan stopped a moment at her work.
+
+"Are yo' sure o' that?" she asked, anxiously.
+
+"Sure he's Mester Landsell's son? Aye, to be 'sure it's him. My mester
+towd me hissen."
+
+This was Liz's trouble, then.
+
+At noon Joan went home full of self-reproach because sometimes her
+patience had failed her. Liz looked up with traces of tears in her eyes,
+when Joan came in. Joan did not hesitate. She only thought of giving her
+comfort. She went and sat down in a chair near by--she drew the curly
+head down upon her lap, and laid her hand on it caressingly.
+
+"Lizzie, lass," she said; "yo' need na ha' been afeard to tell me."
+
+There was a quick little pant from Liz, and then stillness.
+
+"I heard about it to-day," Joan went on, "an' I did na wonder as yo' wur
+full o' trouble. It brings it back, Liz, I dare say."
+
+The pant became a sob--the sob broke into a low cry.
+
+"Oh, Joan! Joan! dunnot blame me--dunnot. It wur na my fault as he coom,
+an'--an' I canna bear it."
+
+Even then Joan had no suspicion. To her mind it was quite natural that
+such a cry of pain should be wrung from the weak heart. Her hand lost
+its steadiness as she touched the soft, tangled hair more tenderly than
+before.
+
+"He wur th' ghost as yo' seed i' th' lane," she said. "Wur na he?"
+
+"Aye," wept Liz, "he wur, an' I dare na tell yo'. It seemit loike it
+tuk away my breath, an' aw my heart owt o' me. Nivver yo' blame me,
+Joan--nivver yo' be hard on me--ivverything else is hard enow. I thowt I
+wur safe wi' yo'--I did fur sure."
+
+"An' yo' _are_ safe," Joan answered. "Dost tha' think I would turn agen
+thee? Nay, lass; tha'rt as safe as th' choild is, when I hold it i' my
+breast. I ha' a pain o' my own, Liz, as 'll nivver heal, an' I'd loike
+to know as I'd held out my hond to them as theer is healin' fur. I'd
+thank God fur th' chance--poor lass--poor lass--poor lass!" And she bent
+down and kissed her again and again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII - "Cannybles"
+
+The night school gained ground steadily. The number of scholars was
+constantly on the increase, so much so, indeed, that Grace had his hands
+inconveniently full.
+
+"They have dull natures, these people," said the Reverend Harold;
+"and in the rare cases where they are not dull, they are stubborn.
+Absolutely, I find it quite trying to face them at times, and it is not
+my fortune to find it difficult to reach people, as a rule. They seem to
+have made up their minds beforehand to resent what I am going to say.
+It is most unpleasant. Grace has been working among them so long that,
+I suppose, they are used to his methods; he has learned to place himself
+on a level with them, so to speak. I notice they listen to, and seem to
+understand him. The fact is, I have an idea that that sort of thing is
+Grace's forte. He is not a brilliant fellow, and will never make any
+particular mark, but he has an odd perseverance which carries him along
+with a certain class. Riggan suits him, I think. He has dropped into
+the right groove."
+
+Jud Bates and "th' best tarrier i' Riggan" were among the most faithful
+attendants. The lad's fancy for Anice had extended to Grace. Grace's
+friendly toleration of Nib had done much for him. Nib always appeared
+with his master, and his manner was as composed and decorous as if rats
+were subjects foreign to his meditations. His part it was to lie at
+Jud's feet, his nose between his paws, his eyes twinkling sagaciously
+behind his shaggy eyebrows, while occasionally, as a token of approval,
+he wagged his tail. Once or twice, during a fitful slumber, he had been
+known to give vent to his feelings in a sharp bark, but he never failed
+to awaken immediately, with every appearance of the deepest abasement
+and confusion at the unconscious transgression.
+
+During a visit to the Rectory one day, Jud's eyes fell upon a book which
+lay on Anice's table. It was full of pictures--illustrations depicting
+the adventures and vicissitudes of a fortunate unfortunate, whose desert
+island has been the paradise of thousands; whose goat-skin habiliments
+have been more worthy of envy than kingly purple; whose hairy cap has
+been more significant of monarchy than any crown. For the man who wore
+these savage garments has reigned supreme in realms of romance, known
+only in their first beauty to boyhood's ecstatic belief.
+
+Jud put out his hand, and drawing the gold and crimson snare toward him,
+opened it. When Anice came into the room she found him poring over it.
+His ragged cap lay with Nib, at his feet, his face was in a glow, his
+hair was pushed straight up on his head, both elbows were resting on the
+table. He was spelling his way laboriously, but excitedly, through the
+story of the foot-print on the sand. Anice waited a moment, and then
+spoke:
+
+"Jud," she said, "when you can read I will give you 'Robinson Crusoe.'"
+
+In less than six months she was called upon to redeem her promise.
+
+This occurred a few weeks after Craddock had been established at the
+lodge at the Haviland gates. The day Anice gave Jud his well-earned
+reward, she had a package to send to Mrs. Craddock, and when the boy
+came for the book, she employed him as a messenger to the park.
+
+"If you will take these things to Mrs. Craddock, Jud, I shall be much
+obliged," she said; "and please tell her that I will drive out to see
+her to-morrow."
+
+Jud accepted the mission readily. With Nib at his heels and "Robinson
+Crusoe" under his arm, three miles were a trivial matter. He trudged
+off, whistling with keen delight. As he went along he could fortify
+himself with an occasional glance at the hero and his man Friday. What
+would he not have sacrificed at the prospect of being cast with Nib upon
+a desert island?
+
+"Owd Sammy" sat near the chimney-corner smoking his pipe, and making
+severe mental comments upon the conduct of Parliament, then in session,
+of whose erratic proceedings he was reading an account in a small but
+highly seasoned newspaper. Sammy shook his head ominously over the
+peppery reports, but feeling it as well to reserve his opinions for
+a select audience at The Crown, allowed Mrs. Craddock to perform her
+household tasks unmolested.
+
+Hearing Jud at the door, he turned his head.
+
+"It's yo', is it?" he said. "Tha con coom in. What's browten?"
+
+"Summat fur th' missis fro' th' Rectory," Jud answered, producing his
+parcel; "Miss Anice sent me wi' it."
+
+"Tak' it to th' owd lass, then," said Sammy. "Tak' it to her. Tha'lt
+find her in th' back kitchen."
+
+Having done as he was bidden, Jud came back again to the front room.
+Mrs. Craddock had hospitably provided him with a huge sandwich of bread
+and cheese, and Nib followed him with expectant eyes.
+
+"Sit thee down, lad," said Sammy, condescendingly. "Sit thee down,
+tha'st getten a walk both afore and behind thee. What book 'st getten
+under thy arm?"
+
+Jud regarded the volume with evident pride and exultation.
+
+"It's Robyson Crusoe, that theer is," he answered.
+
+Sammy shook his head dubiously.
+
+"Dunnot know as I ivver heerd on him. He's noan scripter, is he?"
+
+"No," said Jud, repelling the insinuation stoutly; "he is na."
+
+"Hond him over, an' let's ha' a look at him."
+
+Jud advanced.
+
+"Theer's picters in it," he commented eagerly. "Theer's one at th'
+front. That theer un," pointing to the frontispiece, "that theer's him."
+
+Sammy gave it a sharp glance, then another, and then held the book at
+arm's length, regarding Robinson's goat-skin habiliments over the rims
+of his spectacles.
+
+"Well, I'm dom'd," he exclaimed. "I'm dom'd, if I would na loike to see
+that chap i' Riggan! What's th' felly getten on?"
+
+"He's dressed i' goat-skins. He wur cast upon a desert island, an' had
+na owt else to wear."
+
+"I thowt he must ha' been reduced i' circumstances, or he'd nivver ha'
+turnt out i' that rig less he thowt more o' comfort than appearances.
+What wur he doin' a-casting hissen on a desert island? Wur he reet i'
+th' upper story?"
+
+"He wur shipwrecked," triumphantly. "Th' sea drifted him to th' shore,
+an' he built hissen a hut, an' gettin' goats an' birds, an'--an' aw
+sorts--an'--it's the graideliest book tha ivver seed. Miss Anice gave it
+me."
+
+"Has she read it hersen?"
+
+"Aye, it wur her as tellt me most on it."
+
+Sammy turned the volume over, and looked at the back of it, at the edges
+of the leaves, at the gilt-lettered title.
+
+"I would na be surprised," he observed with oracular amiability. "I
+would na be surprised--if that's th' case--as theer's summat in it."
+
+"That as I've towd thee is nowt to th' rest on it," answered Jud in
+enthusiasm. "Theer's a mon ca'd Friday, an' a lot o' fellys as eats each
+other--cannybles they ca' 'em----"
+
+"Look tha here," interposed Craddock, his curiosity and interest getting
+the better of him. "Sit thee down and read a bit. That's something as I
+nivver heard on--cannybles an' th' loike. Pick thee th' place, an' let's
+hear summat about th' cannybles if tha has na th' toime to do no more."
+
+Jud needed no second invitation. Sharing the general opinion that "Owd
+Sammy" was a man of mark, he could not help feeling that Crusoe was
+complimented by his attention. He picked out his place, as his hearer
+had advised him, and plunged into the details of the cannibal feast with
+pride and determination. Though his elocution may have been of a style
+peculiar to beginners and his pronunciation occasionally startling in
+its originality, still Sammy gathered the gist of the story. He puffed
+at his pipe so furiously that the foreign gentleman's turbaned head was
+emptied with amazing rapidity, and it was necessary to refill it two or
+three times; he rubbed his corduroy knees with both hands, occasionally
+he slapped one of them in the intensity of his interest, and when Jud
+stopped he could only express himself in his usual emphatic formula--
+
+"Well, I am dom'd. An' tha says, as th' chap's name wur Robyson?"
+
+"Aye, Robyson Crusoe."
+
+"Well, I mun say, as I'd ha' loike to ha' knowed him. I did know a mon
+by th' name o' Robyson onct, but it could na ha' been him, fur he wur na
+mich o' a chap. If he'd a bin cast o' a desert island, he would na had
+th' gumption to do aw that theer--Jem Robyson could na. It could na
+ha' been him--an' besides, he could na ha' writ it out, as that theer
+felly's done."
+
+There was a pause, in which Craddock held his pipe in his hand
+reflectively--shaking his head once more.
+
+"Cannybles an' th' loike too," he said. "Theer's a soight o' things as a
+mon does na hear on. Why, _I_ nivver heard o' cannybles mysen, an' I
+am na considert ignorant by th' most o' foak." Then, as Jud rose to go,
+"Art tha fur goin'?" he asked. "Weil, I mun say as I'd loike to hear
+summat more about Robyson; but, if tha mun go, tha mun, I suppose.
+Sithee here, could tha coom again an' bring him wi' thee?"
+
+"I mowt; I dunna moind the walk."
+
+"Then thee do it," getting up to accompany him to the gates. "An' I'll
+gi'e thee a copper now an' then to pay thee. Theer's summat i' a book o'
+that soart. Coom thee again as soon as tha con, an' we'll go on wi' the
+cannybles."
+
+"What's th' lad been readin' to thee, Sammy?" asked Mrs. Craddock
+entering the room, after Jud had taken his departure.
+
+"A bit o' litterytoor. I dunnot know as tha'd know what th' book wur,
+if I towd thee. Tha nivver wur mich o' a hand at litterytoor. He wur
+readin' Robyson Crusoe."
+
+"Not a tract, sure-ly?"
+
+"Nay, that it wur na! It wur th' dairy o' a mon who wur cast upo' a
+desert island 'i th' midst o' cannybles."
+
+"The dairy?"
+
+"Nay, lass, nay," testily, "not i' th' sense yo' mean. Th' dairy wur o'
+th' litterairy soart. He wur a litterairy mon."
+
+"Cannybles an' th' loike," Sammy said to himself several times during
+the evening. "Cannybles an' th' loike. Theer's a power o' things i' th'
+universe."
+
+He took his pipe after supper and went out for a stroll. Mental activity
+made him restless. The night was a bright one. A yellow harvest moon was
+rising slowly above the tree-tops, and casting a mellow light upon the
+road stretching out before him. He passed through the gates and down the
+road at a leisurely pace, and had walked a hundred yards or so, when
+he caught sight of two figures approaching him--a girl and a man, so
+absorbed that they evidently had not noticed him. The girl was of light
+and youthful figure, and the little old red shawl she wore over her
+head was pushed aside, and showed curly hair lying upon her brow. It was
+plain that she was uneasy or frightened, for, as soon as she was near
+enough, her voice reached him in a tone of frightened protest.
+
+"Oh, dunnot!" she was saying, "I conna bear it I dunnot want to hear
+yo', an'--an' I will na. Yo' moight ha' let me be. I dunnot believe yo'.
+Let me go whoam. I'll nivver coom again," and then she broke out crying.
+
+Craddock looked after them as they passed from sight.
+
+"Theer's trouble there," he said, eagerly. "A working lass, an' a mon i'
+gentlemen's cloas. Dom sich loike chaps, say I. What would they think if
+workin' men ud coom meddlin' wi' theer lasses? I wish I'd had more toime
+to see th' wench's face."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV - Dan Lowrie's Return
+
+Not a pleasant road to travel at any time--the high road to Riggan, it
+was certainly at its worst to-night.
+
+Between twelve and one o'clock, the rain which had been pouring down
+steadily with true English pertinacity for two days, was gradually
+passing into a drizzle still more unpleasant,--a drizzle that soaked
+into the already soaked clay, that made the mud more slippery, that
+penetrated a man's clothing and beat softly but irritatingly against his
+face, and dripped from his hair and hat down upon his neck, however well
+he might imagine himself protected by his outside wrappings. But, if he
+was a common traveller--a rough tramp or laborer, who was not protected
+from it at all, it could not fail to annoy him still more, and
+consequently to affect his temper.
+
+At the hour I have named, such a traveller was making his way through
+the mire and drizzle toward Riggan,--a tramp in mud-splashed corduroy
+and with the regulation handkerchief bundle tied to the thick stick
+which he carried over his shoulder.
+
+"Dom th' rain;--dom th' road," he said.
+
+It was not alone the state of the weather that put him out of humor.
+
+"Th' lass," he went on. "Dom her handsome face. Goin' agin a
+chap--workin' agin him, an' settin' hersen i' his road. Blast me,"
+grinding his teeth--"Blast me if I dunnot ha' it out wi' her!"
+
+So cursing, and alternating his curses with raging silence, he trudged
+on his way until four o'clock, when he was in sight of the cottage upon
+the Knoll Road--the cottage where Joan and Liz lay asleep upon their
+poor bed, with the child between them.
+
+Joan had not been asleep long. The child had been unusually fretful, and
+had kept her awake. So she was the more easily awakened from her first
+light and uneasy slumber by a knock on the door. Hearing it, she started
+up and listened.
+
+"Who is it?" she asked in a voice too low to disturb the sleepers, but
+distinct enough to reach Lowrie's hearing.
+
+"Get thee up an' oppen th' door," was the answer. "I want thee."
+
+She knew there was something wrong. She had not responded to his summons
+for so many years without learning what each tone meant. But she did not
+hesitate.
+
+When she had hastily thrown on some clothing, she opened the door and
+stood before him.
+
+"I did not expect to see yo' toneet," she said, quietly.
+
+"Happen not," he replied. "Coom out here. I ha' summat to say to yo'."
+
+"Yo' wunnot come in?" she asked.
+
+"Nay. What I ha' to say mowt waken th' young un."
+
+She stepped out without another word, and closed the door quietly behind
+her.
+
+There was the faintest possible light in the sky, the first tint of
+dawn, and it showed even to his brutal eyes all the beauty of her face
+and figure as she stood motionless, the dripping rain falling upon her;
+there was so little suggestion of fear about her that he was roused to
+fresh anger.
+
+"Dom yo'!" he broke forth. "Do yo' know as I've fun yo' out?"
+
+She did not profess not to understand him, but she did not stir an inch.
+
+"I did na know before," was her reply.
+
+"Yo' thowt as I wur to be stopped, did yo'? Yo' thowt as yo' could keep
+quiet an' stond i' my way, an' houd me back till I'd forgetten? Yo're a
+brave wench! Nivver moind how I fun yo' out, an' seed how it wur--I've
+done it, that's enow fur yo'; an' now I've coom to ha' a few words wi'
+yo' and settle matters. I coom here toneet a purpose, an' this is what
+I've getten to say. Yo're stubborn enow, but yo' canna stop me. That's
+one thing I ha' to tell yo', an here's another. Yo're hard enow, an'
+yo're wise enow, but yo're noan so wise as yo' think fur, if yo' fancy
+as a hundred years ud mak' me forget what I ha' made up my moind to, an'
+yo're noan so wise as yo' think fur, if yo' put yoursen in my road. An'
+here's another yet," clinching his fist. "If it wur murder, as I wur
+goin' to do--not as I say it is--but if it wur murder itsen an' yo' wur
+i' my way, theer mowt be two blows struck i'stead o' one--theer mowt be
+two murders done--an' I wunnot say which ud coom first--fur I'll do what
+I've set my moind to, if I'm dom'd to hell fur it!"
+
+She did not move nor speak. Perhaps because of her immobility he broke
+out again.
+
+"What!" he cried. "_Yo'_ hangin' on to gentlemen, an' doggin' 'em, an'
+draggin' yoursen thro' th' dark an' mire to save 'em fro' havin' theer
+prutty faces hurt, an' getten theer dues! _Yo'_ creepin' behind a mon
+as cares no more fur yo' than he does for th' dirt at his feet, an' as
+laughs, ten to one, to know as yo're ready to be picked up or throwed
+down at his pleasure! _Yo'_ watchin' i' th' shade o' trees an' stoppin'
+a mon by neet as would na stop to speak to yo' by day. Dom yo'! theer
+were na a mon i' Riggan as dare touch yo' wi' a yard-stick until this
+chap coom."
+
+"I've listened to yo'," she said. "Will yo' listen to me?"
+
+He replied with another oath, and she continued as if it had been an
+assent.
+
+"Theer's a few o' them words as yo've spoken as is na true, but theer's
+others as is. It's true as I ha' set mysen to watch, an' it's true as I
+mean to do it again. If it's nowt but simple harm yo' mean, yo' shanna
+do it; if it's murder yo' mean--an' I dunnot trust yo' as it is na--if
+it's murder yo' mean, theer's yo' an' me for it before it's done; an' if
+theer's deathly blows struck, the first shall fa' on _me_. Theer!" and
+she struck herself upon her breast. "If I wur ivver afraid o' yo' i' my
+loife--if I ivver feared yo' as choild or woman, dunnot believe me now."
+
+"Yo' mean that?" he said.
+
+"Yo' know whether I mean it or not," she answered.
+
+"Aye!" he said. "I'm dom'd if yo' dunnot, yo' she-devil, an' bein' as
+that's what's ailin' thee, I'm dom'd if I dunnot mean summat too," and
+he raised his hand and gave her a blow that felled her to the ground;
+then he turned away, cursing as he went.
+
+She uttered no cry of appeal or dread, and Liz and the child slept on
+inside, as quietly as before. It was the light-falling rain and the cool
+morning air that roused her. She came to herself at last, feeling sick
+and dizzy, and conscious of a fierce pain in her bruised temple.
+She managed to rise to her feet and stand, leaning against the rough
+gate-post. She had borne such blows before, but she never felt her
+humiliation so bitterly as she did at this moment. She laid her brow
+upon her hand, which rested on the gate, and broke into heavy sobs.
+
+"I shall bear th' mark for mony a day," she said. "I mun hide mysen
+away. I could na bear fur _him_ to see it, even tho' I getten it fur his
+sake."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV - The Old Danger
+
+It had been some time since Derrick on his nightly walks homeward had
+been conscious of the presence of the silent figure; but the very night
+after the occurrence narrated in the last chapter, he was startled at
+his first turning into the Knoll Road by recognizing Joan.
+
+There was a pang to him in the discovery. Her silent presence seemed
+only to widen the distance Fate had placed between them. She was ready
+to shield him from danger, but she held herself apart from him even
+in doing so. She followed her own path as if she were a creature of a
+different world,--a world so separated from his own that nothing could
+ever bridge the gulf between them.
+
+To-night, Derrick was seized with an intense longing to speak to the
+girl. He had forborne for her sake before, but to-night he was in one
+of those frames of mind in which a man is selfish, and is apt to let his
+course be regulated by his impulse. Why should he not speak, after all?
+If there was danger for him there was danger for her, and it was absurd
+that he should not show her that he was not afraid. Why should she
+interpose her single strength between himself and the vengeance of a man
+of whom he had had the best in their only encounter? As soon as they
+had reached the more unfrequented part of the road, he wheeled round
+suddenly, and spoke.
+
+"Joan," he said.
+
+He saw that she paused and hesitated, and he made up his mind more
+strongly. He took a few impetuous steps toward her, and seeing this, she
+addressed him hurriedly.
+
+"Dunnot stop," she said. "If--if yo' want to speak to me, I'll go along
+wi' yo'."
+
+"You think I'm in danger?"
+
+He could not see her face, but her voice told him that her usual steady
+composure was shaken--it was almost like the voice of another woman.
+
+"Yo' nivver wur i' more danger i' yo're loife."
+
+"The old danger?"
+
+"Th' old danger, as is worse to be feared now than ivver."
+
+"And you!" he broke out. "_You_ interpose yourself between that danger
+and me!"
+
+His fire seemed to communicate itself to her.
+
+"Th' harm as is meant to be done, is coward's harm," she said, "an' will
+be done i' coward's fashion--it is na a harm as will be done yo' wi'
+fair warnin', i' dayleet, an' face to face. If it wur, I should na
+fear--but th' way it is, I say it shanna be done--it shanna, if I dee
+fur it!" Then her manner altered again, and her voice returned to its
+first tremor. "It is na wi' me as it is wi' other women. Yo' munnot
+judge o' me as yo' judge o' other lasses. What mowtn't be reet fur
+other lasses to do, is reet enow fur me. It has na been left to me to be
+lass-loike, an' feart, an'--an' modest," and she drew her breath hard,
+as if she was forced to check herself.
+
+"It has been left to you," he burst forth, "it has been left to you to
+stand higher in my eyes than any other woman God ever made."
+
+He could not have controlled himself. And yet, when he had said this,
+his heart leaped for fear he might have wounded her or given her a false
+impression. But strange to say, it proved this time that he had no need
+for fear.
+
+There was a moment's silence, and then she answered low.
+
+"Thank yo'!"
+
+They had gone some yards together, before he recovered himself
+sufficiently to remember what he had meant to say to her.
+
+"I wanted to tell you," he said, "that I do not think any--enemy I
+have, can take me at any very great disadvantage. I am--I have prepared
+myself."
+
+She shuddered.
+
+"Yo' carry--summat?"
+
+"Don't misunderstand me," he said quickly. "I shall not use any weapon
+rashly. It is to be employed more as a means of warning and alarm than
+anything else. Rigganites do not like firearms, and they are not used to
+them. I only tell you this, because I cannot bear that you should expose
+yourself unnecessarily."
+
+There was that in his manner which moved her as his light touch had
+done that first night of their meeting, when he had bound up her wounded
+temple with his handkerchief. It was that her womanhood--her hardly
+used womanhood, of which she had herself thought with such pathetic
+scorn--was always before him, and was even a stronger power with him
+than her marvellous beauty.
+
+She remembered the fresh bruise upon her brow, and felt its throb with
+less of shame, because she bore it for his sake.
+
+"Promise me one thing," he went on. "And do not think me ungracious in
+asking it of you--promise me that you will not come out again through
+any fear of danger for me, unless it is a greater one than threatens me
+now and one I am unprepared to meet."
+
+"I conna," she answered firmly. "I conna promise yo'. Yo' mun let me do
+as I ha' done fur th' sake o' my own peace."
+
+She made no further explanation, and he could not persuade her to alter
+her determination. In fact, he was led to see at last, that there was
+more behind than she had the will or power to reveal to him; something
+in her reticence silenced him.
+
+"Yo' dunnot know what _I_ do," she said before they parted. "An'
+happen yo' would na quoite understand it if yo' did. I dunnot do things
+lightly,--I ha' no reason to,--an' I ha' set my moind on seein' that th'
+harm as has been brewin' fur long enow, shanna reach wheer it's aimed.
+I mun ha' my way. Dunnot ask me to gi'e it up. Let me do as I ha' been
+doin' fur th' sake o' mysen, if fur no one else."
+
+The truth which he could not reach, and would not have reached if he had
+talked to her till doomsday, was that she was right in saying that she
+could not give it up. This woman had made no inconsequent boast when
+she told her father that if deadly blows fell, they must fall first upon
+herself. She was used to blows, she could bear them, she was fearless
+before them,--but she could not have borne to sit at home, under any
+possibility of wrong being done to this man. God knows what heavy
+sadness had worn her soul, through the months in which she had never
+for a moment flinched from the knowledge that a whole world lay
+between herself and him. God knows how she had struggled against the
+unconquerable tide of feeling as it crept slowly upon her, refusing to
+be stemmed and threatening to overwhelm her in its remorseless waves.
+She was only left endurance--yet even in this there was a gladness which
+she had in nothing else. She could never meet him as a happier woman
+might, but she could do for him what other women could not do--she could
+brave darkness and danger, she could watch over him, if need be; if the
+worst came to the worst, she could interpose herself between him and
+violence, or death itself.
+
+But of all this, Fergus Derrick suspected nothing. He only knew that
+while she had not misinterpreted his appeal, some reason of her own held
+her firm.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI - The Package Returned
+
+As Joan turned the corner of a lane leading to the high road, she found
+herself awkwardly trying to pass a man who confronted her--a young
+fellow far too elegant and well-dressed to be a Rigganite.
+
+"Beg pardon!" he said abruptly, as if he were not in the best of humors.
+And then she recognized him.
+
+"It's Mester Ralph Landsell," she said to herself as she went on. "What
+is he doin' here?"
+
+But before she had finished speaking, she started at the sight of a
+figure hurrying on before her,--Liz herself, who had evidently just
+parted from her lover, and was walking rapidly homeward.
+
+It was a shock to Joan, though she did not suspect the whole truth.
+She had trusted the girl completely; she had never interfered with her
+outgoing or incoming; she had been generously lenient toward her on
+every point, and her pang at finding herself deceived was keen. Her
+sudden discovery of the subterfuge filled her with alarm.
+
+What was the meaning of it? Surely it could not mean that this man was
+digging fresh pitfalls for the poor straying feet. She could not believe
+this,--she could only shudder as the ominous thought suggested itself.
+And Liz--nay, even Liz could not be weak enough to trifle with danger
+again.
+
+But it was Liz who was hurrying on before her, and who was walking so
+fast that both were breathless when Joan reached her side and laid a
+detaining hand upon her shoulder.
+
+"Liz," she said, "are yo' afeard o' me?"
+
+Liz turned her face around, colorless and frightened. There was a tone
+in the voice she had never heard before, a reproach in Joan's eyes
+before which she faltered.
+
+"I--did na know it wur yo'," she said, almost peevishly. "What fur
+should I be afeard o' yo'?"
+
+Joan's hand dropped.
+
+"Yo' know best," she answered. "I did na say yo' wur."
+
+Liz pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders, as if in nervous
+protest.
+
+"I dunnot see why I should be, though to be sure it's enow to fear
+one to be followed i' this way. Canna I go out fur a minnit
+wi'out--wi'out--"
+
+"Nay, lass," Joan interrupted, "that's wild talk."
+
+Liz began to whimper.
+
+"Th' choild wur asleep," she said, "an' it wur so lonesome i' th' house.
+Theer wur no harm i' comin' out."
+
+"I hope to God theer wur na," exclaimed Joan. "I'd rayther see thy dead
+face lyin' by th' little un's on th' pillow than think as theer wur. Yo'
+know what I mean, Liz. Yo' know I could na ha' caught up wi' yo'
+wi'out passin' thot mon theer,--th' mon as yo' ha' been meetin' on th'
+sly,--God knows why, lass, fur I canna see, unless yo' want to fa' back
+to shame an' ruin."
+
+They were at home by this time, and she opened the door to let the girl
+walk in before her.
+
+"Get thee inside, Liz," she said. "I mun hear what tha has to say, fur I
+conna rest i' fear for thee. I am na angered, fur I pity thee too much.
+Tha art naught but a choild at th' best, an' th' world is fu' o' traps
+an' snares."
+
+Liz took off her hat and shawl and sat down. She covered her face with
+her hands, and sobbed appealingly.
+
+"I ha' na done no harm," she protested. "I nivver meant none. It wur his
+fault. He wunnot let me a-be, an'--an' he said he wanted to hear summat
+about th' choild, an' gi'e me summat to help me along. He said as he wur
+ashamed o' hissen to ha' left me wi'out money, but he wur hard run at
+the toime, an' now he wanted to gi' me some."
+
+"Money!" said Joan. "Did he offer yo' money?"
+
+"Aye, he said----"
+
+"Wait!" said Joan. "Did yo' tak' it?"
+
+"What would yo' ha' me do?" restlessly. "Theer wur no harm----"
+
+"Ha' yo' getten it on yo'?" interrupting her again.
+
+"Aye," stopping to look up questioningly.
+
+Joan held out her hand.
+
+"Gi'e it to me," she said, steadily.
+
+Mr. Ralph Landsell, who was sitting in his comfortable private parlor at
+the principal hotel of the little town, was disturbed in the enjoyment
+of his nightly cigar by the abrupt announcement of a visitor,--a young
+woman, who surprised him by walking into the room and straight up to the
+table near which he sat.
+
+She was such a very handsome young woman, with her large eyes and finely
+cut face, and heavy nut-brown hair, and, despite her common dress,
+so very imposing a young woman, that the young man was quite
+startled,--especially when she laid upon the table-cloth a little
+package, which he knew had only left his hands half an hour before.
+
+"I ha' browt it back to yo';" she said, calmly.
+
+He glanced down at the package and then up at her, irritated and
+embarrassed.
+
+"You have brought it back to me?" he said. "May I ask what it is?"
+
+"I dunnot think yo' need ask; but sin' yo' do so, I con answer. It's th'
+money, Mester Landsell,--th' money yo' give to poor Lizzie."
+
+"And may I ask again, what the money I gave to poor Lizzie has to do
+with you?"
+
+"Yo' may ask again, an' I con answer. I am th' poor lass's
+friend,--happen th' only friend she has i' th' world,--an' I tell yo' as
+I will na see yo' play her false again."
+
+"The devil!" he broke forth, angrily. "You speak as--as if you thought I
+meant her harm."
+
+He colored and faltered, even as he spoke. Joan faced him with bright
+and scornful eyes.
+
+"If yo' dunnot mean her harm, dunnot lead her to underhand ways o'
+deceivin' them as means her well. If yo' dunnot mean her harm, tak' yore
+belongings and leave Riggan to-morrow morning."
+
+He answered her by a short, uneasy laugh.
+
+"By Jove!" he said. "You are a cool hand, young woman--but you can set
+your mind at rest. I shall not leave Riggan to-morrow morning, as you
+modestly demand--not only because I have further business to transact,
+but because I choose to remain. I shall not make any absurd promises
+about not seeing Lizzie, which, it seems to me, is more my business than
+yours, under the circumstances--and I shall not take the money back."
+
+"Yo' willna?"
+
+"No, I will not."
+
+"Very well. I ha' no more to say," and she went out of the room, leaving
+the package lying upon the table.
+
+When she reached home, Liz was still sitting as she had left her, and
+she looked up tearful and impatient.
+
+"Well?" she said.
+
+"He has th' money," was Joan's answer, "an' he ha' shown me as he is a
+villain."
+
+She came and stood near the girl, a strong emotion in her half pitying,
+half appealing look.
+
+"Lizzie, lass!" she said. "Tha mun listen to me,--tha mun. Tha mun mak'
+me a promise before tha tak's thy choild upo' thy breast toneet."
+
+"I dunnot care," protested Liz, weeping fretfully. "I dunnot care what
+I do. It's aw as bad as ivver now. I dunnot care for nowt. Ivvery-body's
+at me--noan on yo' will let me a-be. What wi' first one an' then another
+I'm a'most drove wild."
+
+"God help thee!" said Joan with a heavy sigh. "I dunnot mean to be hard,
+lass, but yo' mun promise me. It is na mich, Lizzie, if--if things is na
+worse wi' yo' than I would ivver believe. Yo're safe so far: promise
+me as yo' will na run i' danger--promise me as yo' will na see that man
+again, that yo'll keep out o' his way till he leaves Riggan."
+
+"I'll promise owt," cried Liz. "I dunnot care, I tell yo'. I'll promise
+owt yo'll ax, if yo'll let me a-be," and she hid her face upon her arms
+and wept aloud.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII - Sammy Craddock's "Manny-ensis."
+
+At least twice a week Jud Bates made a pilgrimage to Haviland Park.
+Having been enlightened to the extent of two or three chapters of
+"Robinson Crusoe," Sammy Craddock was athirst for more. He regarded the
+adventures of the hero as valuable information from foreign shores, as
+information that might be used in political debates, and brought forth
+on state occasions to floor a presumptuous antagonist. Accordingly,
+he held out inducements to Jud such as the boy was not likely to think
+lightly of. A penny a night, and a good supper for himself and Nib, held
+solid attractions for Jud, and at this salary he found himself engaged
+in the character of what "Owd Sammy" called "a manny-ensis."
+
+"What's that theer?" inquired Mrs. Craddock on first hearing this
+imposing title. "A manny--what?"
+
+"A manny-ensis, owd lass," said Sammy, chuckling. "Did tha ivver hear o'
+a private gentleman as had na a manny-ensis?"
+
+"Nay. I know nowt about thy manny-ensisses, an' I'll warrant tha does na
+know what such loike is thysen."
+
+"It means a power o' things," answered Sammy; "a power o' things. It's
+a word as is comprehensive, as they ca' it, an' it's one as will do as
+well as any fur th' lad. A manny-ensis!" and manny-ensis it remained.
+
+Surely the adventures of the island-solitary had never given such
+satisfaction as they gave in the cheery house room of the lodge. Sammy
+listened to them over numerous pipes, with a respect for literature such
+as had never before been engendered in his mind by the most imposing
+display of bindings.
+
+"I've allus thowt as th' newspaper wur enow fur a mon to tackle," he
+would say, reflectively; "but theer's summat outside o' th' newspapers.
+I nivver seed a paper as had owt in it about desert islands, let alone
+cannybles."
+
+"Cannybles, indeed!" replied Mrs. Craddock, who was occasionally one
+of the audience. "I conna mak' no sense out o' thee an' thy cannybles. I
+wonder they are na' shamt o' theirsens, goin' about wi'out so mich as a
+hat on, an' eatin' each other, as if there wur na a bit o' good victual
+i' th' place. I wonder th' Queen dunnot put a stop to it hersen if th'
+parlyment ha' not getten the sense to do it. It's noan respectable, let
+alone Christian."
+
+"Eh!" said Sammy; "but tha'rt i' a muddle. Th'dst allus be i' a muddle
+if I'd let thee mak' things out thysen an' noan explain 'em to thee.
+Does tha think aw this here happent i' England? It wur i' furrin lands,
+owd wench, i' a desert island i' th' midst o' th' sea."
+
+"Well, I wur hopin' it wur na i' Lancashire, I mun say!"
+
+"Lancashire! Why, it happent further off nor Lunnon, i' a place as it's
+loike th' Queen has nivver seed nor heerd tell on."
+
+The old woman looked dubious, if not disapproving. A place that was not
+in Lancashire, and that the Queen had nothing to do with, was, to her, a
+place quite "off color."
+
+"Well! well!" she resumed, with the manner of an unbeliever, "thee go on
+thy way readin' if tha con tak' comfort i' it. But I mun say again as it
+does na sound Christian to me. That's the least I con say on't."
+
+"Tha'rt slow i' understanding owd lass," was her husband's tolerant
+comment. "Tha' does na know enow o' litterytoor to appreciate. Th'
+female intylect is na strong at th' best, an' tha nivver wur more than
+ordinary. Get into it, Manny-ensis. It's getten late, and I'm fain to
+hear more about th' mon Friday, an' how th' poor' chap managed."
+
+Both reader and audience were so full of interest that Jud's story was
+prolonged beyond the usual hour. But to the boy, this was a matter of
+small consequence. He had tramped the woods too often with Nib for a
+companion to feel fear at any time. He had slept under a hedge many a
+night from choice, and had enjoyed his slumber like a young vagabond, as
+he was.
+
+He set out on this occasion in high good humor. There were no clouds to
+hide the stars; he had had an excellent supper, and he had enjoyed his
+evening. He trudged along cheerily, his enjoyment as yet unabated. The
+trees and hedges, half stripped of their leaves, were so suggestive of
+birds' nests, that now and then he stepped aside to examine them more
+closely. The nests might be there yet, though the birds had flown. Where
+throstles had built this year, it was just possible others might build
+again, and, at any rate, it was as well to know where their haunts had
+been. So, having objects enough to attract his attention, the boy did
+not find the way long. He was close upon the mine before he had time to
+feel fatigue possible, and, nearing the mine, he was drawn from his
+path again by a sudden remembrance brought up by the sight of a hedge
+surrounding a field near it.
+
+"Theer wur a bird as built i' that hedge i' th' spring," he said. "She
+wur a new kind. I'd forgotten her. I meant to ha' watched her. I wonder
+if any other felly fun her. I'll go an' see if th' nest is theer."
+
+He crossed the road to the place where he fancied he had seen this
+treasure; but not being quite certain as to the exact spot, he found his
+search lengthened by this uncertainty.
+
+"It wur here," he said to himself; "at least I thowt it wur. Some chap
+mun ha' fun it an' tuk it."
+
+At this moment he paused, as if listening.
+
+"What's that theer?" he said. "Theer's some one on th' other side o' th'
+hedge."
+
+He had been attracted by the sound of voices--men's voices--the voices
+of men who were evidently crouching under the shadow of the hedge on the
+other side, and whose tones in a moment more reached him distinctly and
+were recognized.
+
+The first was Dan Lowrie's, and before he had heard him utter a dozen
+words, Jud dropped upon his knees and laid his hand warningly upon Nib's
+neck. The dog pricked his pointed ears and looked up at him restlessly.
+All the self-control of his nature could scarcely help him to suppress a
+whine.
+
+"Them as is feared to stand by Dan Lowrie," said the voice, with an
+oath, "let 'em say so."
+
+"Theer's not a mon here as is feart," was the gruff answer.
+
+"Then theer's no need to gab no more," returned Lowrie. "Yo' know what
+yo' ha' getten to do. Yo' ha' th' vitriol an' th' sticks. Wait yo' fur
+him at th' second corner an' I'll wait at th' first. If he does na tak'
+one turn into th' road he'll tak' th' other, an' so which turn he tak's
+we'll be ready fur him. Blast him! he'll be done wi' engineerin' fur a
+while if he fa's into _my_ hands, an' he'll mak' no more rows about th'
+Davvies."
+
+Impatient for the word of command, Nib stirred uneasily among the dead
+leaves, and the men heard him. Not a moment's space was given to the two
+listeners, or they would have saved themselves. There was a smothered
+exclamation from three voices at once, a burst of profanity, and Dan
+Lowrie had leaped the low hedge and caught Jud by the collar. The
+man was ghastly with rage. He shook the lad until even he himself was
+breathless.
+
+"Yo' young devil!" he cried, hoarsely, "yo've been listenin', ha'
+yo'? Nay, theer's no use o' yo' tryin' to brave it out. Yo've done for
+yorsen, by God!"
+
+"Let me a-be," said Jud, but he was as pale as his captor. "I wur na
+doin' thee no harm. I on'y coom to look fur a bird's nest."
+
+"Yo' listened," said Lowrie; "y o' heerd what we said."
+
+"Let me a-be," was Jud's sullen reply.
+
+At this moment a man's face rose above the whitethorn hedge.
+
+"Who is it?" asked the fellow, in a low voice.
+
+"A dom'd young rascal as has been eaves-droppin'. Yo' may as well coom
+out, lads. We've getten to settle wi' him, or we'n fun ourselves in th'
+worst box yet."
+
+The man scrambled over the hedge without further comment and his
+companion followed him; and seeing who they were, Jud felt that his
+position was even more dangerous than he fancied at first. The three
+plotters who grouped themselves about him were three of the most
+desperate fellows in the district--brutal, revengeful, vicious,
+combining all the characteristics of a bad class. The two last looked at
+him with evident discomfort and bewilderment.
+
+"Here's a pretty go," said one.
+
+"Aye, by th' Lord Harry!" added the other. "How long's he bin here?"
+
+"How long'st bin here?" demanded Lowrie, with another shake.
+
+"Long enow to look fur a bird's nest an' not find it," said Jud, trying
+to speak stoutly.
+
+The three exchanged glances and oaths.
+
+"He's heerd ivvery word," said Lowrie, in a savage answer.
+
+There was a moment's silence, and then Lowrie broke out again.
+
+"Theer's on'y one road to stop his gab," he said. "Pitch him into th'
+mine, an' be dom'd to him. He shall na spoil th' job, if I ha' to swing
+fur it."
+
+Nib gave a low whine, and Jud's heart leaped within him. Every lad
+in Riggan knew Dan Lowrie and feared him. There was not a soul within
+hearing, and people were not fond of visiting the mine at night, so
+if they chose to dispose of him in any way, they would have time and
+opportunity to do it without risk of being interfered with. But it
+happened that upon the present occasion Lowrie's friends were not as
+heated as himself. It was not a strictly personal grudge they were going
+to settle, and consequently some remnant of humanity got the better of
+them.
+
+"Nay," said the youngest, "one's enow."
+
+"Nay," Lowrie put in; "one's not enow fur me, if theer's another as is
+goin' to meddle. Summat's getten to be done, an' done quick."
+
+"Mak' him promise to keep his mouth shut," suggested No. 3. "He'll do it
+sooner nor get hissen into trouble."
+
+"Wilt ta?" demanded the young one.
+
+Jud looked up at him. He had the stubborn North country blood in him,
+and the North country courage. Having heard what he had, he was sharp
+enough to comprehend all. There was only one engineer whom Lowrie could
+have a grudge against, and that one was Derrick. They were going to work
+some harm against "Mester Derrick," who was his friend and Miss Anice's.
+
+"Wilt ta?" repeated his questioner, feeling quite sure of him. The youth
+of Riggan were generally ready enough for mischief, and troubled by no
+scruples of conscience, so the answer he received took him by surprise.
+
+"Nay," said Jud, "I will na."
+
+"Tha will na?"
+
+"Nay."
+
+The fellow fell back a step or two to stare at him.
+
+"Well, tha'rt a plucky one at ony rate," he growled, discomfited.
+
+Jud stood his ground.
+
+"Mester Derrick's bin good to me," he said, "an' he's bin good to Nib.
+Th' rest o' yo' ha' a kick for Nib whenivver he gits i' yo're way; but
+he nivver so much as spoke rough to him. He's gin me a penny more nor
+onct to buy him summat to eat. Chuck me down the shaft, if yo' want
+to."
+
+Though he scarcely believed they would take him at his word, since the
+two were somewhat in his favor, it was a courageous thing to say. If his
+fate had rested in Lowrie's hands alone, heaven knows what the result
+might have been; but having the others to contend with, he was safe so
+far. But there was not much time to lose, and even the less interested
+parties to the transgression had a stolid determination to stand by
+their comrade. There was a hurried consultation held in undertones, and
+then the youngest man bent suddenly, and, with a short laugh, caught
+Nib in his arms. He was vicious enough to take a pleasure in playing
+tormentor, if in his cooler moods he held back from committing actual
+crime.
+
+"Tha'rt a plucky young devil," he said; "but tha's getten to swear to
+howd thy tongue between thy teeth, an' if tha wunnot do it fur thy own
+sake, happen tha will fur th' dog's."
+
+"What art tha goin' to do wi' him?" cried Jud, trembling. "He has na
+done yo' no hurt."
+
+"We're goin' to howd him over th' shaft a minnit till tha mak's up thy
+mind. Bring th' young chap along, lads."
+
+He had not struggled before, but he began to struggle now with all his
+strength. He grew hot and cold by turns. It might not be safe to kill
+him; but it would be safe enough to kill Nib.
+
+"Let me a-be," he cried. "Let that theer dog loose. Nib, Nib,--seize
+him, lad!"
+
+"Put thy hond over his mouth," said the young man.
+
+And so Jud was half dragged, half carried to the shaft. It was as
+useless for him to struggle as it was for Nib. Both were powerless.
+But Jud's efforts to free himself were so frantic that the men
+laughed,--Lowrie grimly, the other two with a kind of malicious
+enjoyment of the grotesqueness of the situation.
+
+"Set him down, but keep him quiet," was the command given when they
+reached the pit's side.
+
+The next instant a dreadful cry was smothered in the boy's grappled
+throat. They were leaning against the rail and holding Nib over the
+black abyss.
+
+"Wilt ta promise?" he was asked. "Tha may let him speak, Lowrie; he
+canna mak' foak hear."
+
+Nib looked down into the blackness, and broke into a terrific whine,
+turning his head toward his master.
+
+"I--I--conna promise," said Jud; but he burst into tears.
+
+"Let th' dog go," said Lowrie.
+
+"Try him again. Wilt ta promise, or mun we let th' dog go, lad? We're
+noan goin' to do th' chap ony great harm; we're on'y goin' to play him a
+trick to pay him back fur his cheek."
+
+Jud looked at Nib.
+
+"Lowrie said you had vitriol and knob-sticks," he faltered. "Yo' dunnat
+play tricks wi' _them_."
+
+"Yo' see how much he's heerd," said Lowrie. "He'll noan promise."
+
+The one who held the dog was evidently losing patience.
+
+"Say yes or no, yo' young devil," he said, and he made a threatening
+gesture. "We conna stand here aw neet. Promise ta will na tell mon,
+woman, nor choild, what tha heerd us say. When I say 'three,' I'll drop
+th' dog. One--two--"
+
+The look of almost human terror in Nib's eyes was too much for his
+master. Desperation filled him. He could not sacrifice Nib--he could not
+sacrifice the man who had been Nib's friend; but he might make a sort of
+sacrifice of himself to both.
+
+"Stop!" he cried. "I'll promise yo'"
+
+He had saved Nib, but there was some parleying before he was set free,
+notwithstanding his promise to be silent. But for the fact that he was
+under the control of the others for the time being, Lowrie would have
+resorted to harsher precautions; but possibly influenced by a touch
+of admiration for the lad, the youngest man held out against his
+companions. They wrangled together for a few minutes, and then Nib was
+handed over.
+
+"Here, cut an' run, tha young beggar," said the fellow who had stood by
+him, "an' dunnot let's hear ony more on thee. If we do, it'll be worse
+fur thee an' th' dog too. So look out."
+
+Jud did not wait for a second command. The instant he felt Nib in his
+arms, he scudded over the bare space of ground before him at his best
+speed. They should not have time to repent their decision. If the men
+had seen his face, they might not have felt so safe. But the truth was,
+they were reckoning upon Jud Bates as they would have reckoned upon any
+other young Riggan rascal of his age. After all, it was not so much his
+promise they relied on as his wholesome fear of the consequences of its
+being broken. It was not a matter of honor but of dread.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII - Warned
+
+It was even later than usual this evening when Fergus Derrick left the
+Rectory. When Mr. Barholm was in his talkative mood, it was not easy for
+him to break away. So Derrick was fain to listen and linger, and then
+supper was brought in and he was detained again, and at eleven o'clock
+Mr. Barholm suddenly hit upon a new topic.
+
+"By the by," he said, "where is that fellow, Lowrie? I thought he had
+left Riggan."
+
+"He did leave Riggan," answered Derrick.
+
+"So I heard," returned the Rector, "and I suppose I was mistaken in
+fancying I caught sight of him to-day. I don't know the man very well
+and I might easily be deceived. But where is he?"
+
+"I think," said Derrick, quietly, "that he is in Riggan. I am not of
+the opinion that you were mistaken at all. I am sure he is here, but for
+reasons of his own he is keeping himself quiet. I know him too well to
+be deceived by any fancied resemblance."
+
+"But what are his reasons?" was the next question. "That looks bad, you
+know. He belongs to a bad crew."
+
+"Bad enough," said Derrick.
+
+"Is it a grudge? He is just the rascal to bear a grudge."
+
+"Yes," said Derrick. "It is a grudge against _me_."
+
+He looked up then across the table at Anice and smiled reassuringly.
+
+"You did not tell us that you had seen him," she said.
+
+"No. You think I ought to be afraid of him, and I am too vain to like
+to admit the possibility that it would be better to fear any man, even a
+Riggan collier."
+
+"But such a man!" put in Mrs. Barholm. "It seems to me he is a man to be
+feared."
+
+"I can thrash him," said Derrick. He could not help feeling some
+enjoyment in this certainty. "I _did_ thrash him upon one occasion, you
+know, and a single combat with a fellow of that kind is oftener than not
+decisive."
+
+"Yes," said the Rector, "that is the principal cause of his grudge, I
+think. He might forgive you for getting him into trouble, but he will
+never forgive you for thrashing him."
+
+They were still sitting at the table discussing the matter, when Anice,
+who sat opposite a window, rose from her seat, and crossing the room to
+it, drew aside the curtain and looked out.
+
+"There was somebody there," she said, in answer to the questioning in
+the faces of her companions. "There was a face pressed close against the
+glass for a minute, and I am sure it was Jud Bates."
+
+Derrick sprang from his chair. To his mind, it did not appear at all
+unlikely that Jud Bates had mischief in hand. There were apples enough
+in the Rectory garden to be a sore trial to youthful virtue.
+
+He opened the door and stepped into the night, and in a short time
+a sharp familiar yelp fell upon the ears of the listeners. Almost
+immediately after, Derrick returned, holding the trespasser by the arm.
+
+It was Jud Bates, but he did not look exactly like a convicted culprit,
+though his appearance was disordered enough. He was pale and out of
+breath, he had no cap on, and he was holding Nib, panting and excited,
+in his arms.
+
+"Jud," exclaimed Anice, "what have you been doing? Why did you come to
+the window?"
+
+Jud drew Nib closer, and turned, if possible, a trifle paler.
+
+"I coom," he said, tremulously, "to look in."
+
+Nobody smiled.
+
+"To look in?" said Anice. "Why, whom did you want to see?"
+
+Jud jerked his elbow at Derrick.
+
+"It was _him_" he answered. "I wanted to see if he had gone home yet."
+
+"But why?" she asked again.
+
+He shuffled his feet uneasily and his eyes fell. He looked down at Nib's
+head and faltered.
+
+"I--" he said. "I wanted to stop him. I--I dunnot know----" And then the
+rest came in a burst. "He munnot go," he cried, trembling afresh. "He
+mun keep away fro' th' Knoll Road."
+
+The party exchanged glances.
+
+"There is mischief in hand," said Mr. Barholm; "that is plain enough."
+
+"_He_ munnot go," persisted Jud; "_he_ mun keep away fro' th' Knoll
+Road. I'm gettin' myself i' trouble," he added, the indifference of
+despair in his pale face. "If I'm fun out they'll mill me."
+
+Derrick stepped aside into the hall and returned with his hat in his
+hand. He looked roused and determined.
+
+"There are two or three stout colliers in Riggan who are my friends, I
+think," he said, "and I am going to ask them to face the Knoll Road
+with me. I should like to settle this matter to-night. If I give these
+fellows the chance to attack me, they will be the more easily disposed
+of. A few years in jail might have a salutary effect upon Lowrie."
+
+In his momentary heat, he forgot all but the strife into which he was
+forced. He did not question Jud closely. He knew Riggan and the mining
+districts too well not to have a clear enough idea of what means of
+vengeance would be employed.
+
+But when he got out into the night he had not gone many yards before
+a new thought flashed upon him, and quickened his pulse. It was not a
+pleasant thought because it checked him, and he was in a mood to feel
+impatient of a check. But he could not throw it off. There arose within
+his mind a picture of a silent room in a cottage,--of a girl sitting by
+the hearth. He seemed to see quite clearly the bent head, the handsome
+face, the sad eyes. He had a fancy that Liz was not with her to-night,
+that the silence of the room was only broken by the soft breathing of
+the child upon Joan's knee.
+
+He stopped with an impatient gesture.
+
+"What was I thinking of?" he demanded of himself, "to have forgotten
+_her_, and what my madness would bring upon her? I am a selfish fool!
+Let it go. I will give it up. I will stay in Riggan for the future--it
+will not be long, and she need torture herself no more. I will give it
+up. Let them think I am afraid to face him. I am afraid--afraid to wound
+the woman I--yes--the woman I _love_."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX - Lying in Wait
+
+Liz crept close to the window and looked down the road. At this time of
+the year it was not often that the sun set in as fair a sky. In October,
+Riggan generally shut its doors against damps and mist, and turned
+toward its fire when it had one. And yet Liz had hardly seen that the
+sun had shone at all to-day. Still, seeing her face a passer-by would
+not have fancied that she was chilled. There was a flush upon her
+cheeks, and her eyes were more than usually bright. She was watching for
+Joan with a restless eagerness.
+
+"She's late," she said. "I mought ha' knowed she'd be late. I wisht
+she'd coom--I do. An' yet--an' yet I'm feart. I wisht it wur over;" and
+she twisted her fingers together nervously.
+
+She had laid the child down upon the bed, and presently it roused her
+with a cry. She went to it, took it up into her arms, and, carrying it
+to the fire, sat down.
+
+"Why couldn't tha stay asleep?" she said. "I nivver seed a choild loike
+thee."
+
+But the next minute, the little creature whimpering, she bent down in
+impatient repentance and kissed it, whimpering too.
+
+"Dunnot," she said. "I conna bear to hear thee. Hush, thee! tha goes
+on as if tha knew. Eh! but I mun be a bad lass. Ay, I'm bad through an'
+through, an' I conna be no worse nor I am."
+
+She did not kiss the child again, but held it in her listless way even
+after it fell asleep. She rested an elbow on her knee and her chin upon
+her hand while her tearful eyes searched the fire, and thus Joan found
+her when she came in at dusk.
+
+"Tha'rt late again, Joan," she said.
+
+"Ay," Joan answered, "I'm late."
+
+She laid her things aside and came to the firelight. The little one
+always won her first attention when she came from her day's labor.
+
+"Has she been frettin'?" she asked.
+
+"Ay," said Liz, "she's done nowt else but fret lately. I dunnot know
+what ails her."
+
+She was in Joan's arms by this time, and Joan stood looking at the puny
+face.
+
+"She is na well," she said in a low voice. "She has pain as we know nowt
+on, poor little lass. We conna help her, or bear it fur her. We would if
+we could, little un,"--as if she forgot Liz's presence.
+
+"Joan," Liz faltered, "what if yo' were to lose her?"
+
+"I hope I shanna. I _hope_ I shanna."
+
+"Yo' could na bear it?"
+
+"Theer is na mich as we conna bear."
+
+"That's true enow," said Liz. "I wish foak could dee o' trouble."
+
+"Theer's more nor yo' has wished th' same," Joan answered.
+
+She thought afterward of the girl's words and remembered how she looked
+when she uttered them,--her piteous eyes resting on the embers, her weak
+little mouth quivering, her small hands at work,--but when she heard
+them, she only recognized in them a new touch of the old petulance to
+which she had become used.
+
+Joan went about her usual tasks, holding the baby in her arms. She
+prepared the evening meal with Liz's assistance and they sat down to eat
+it together. But Liz had little appetite. Indeed neither of them ate
+much and both were more than usually silent. A shadow of reserve had
+lately fallen between them.
+
+After the meal was ended they drew their seats to the hearth again, and
+Liz went back to her brooding over the fire. Joan, lulling the child,
+sat and watched her. All Liz's beauty had returned to her. Her soft,
+rough hair was twisted into a curly knot upon her small head, her
+pretty, babyish face was at its best of bloom and expression--that
+absent, subdued look was becoming to her.
+
+"Theer's honest men as mought ha' loved her," said Joan, inwardly.
+"Theer's honest men as would ha' made her life happy."
+
+It was just as she was thinking this that Liz turned round to her.
+
+"If she lived to be a woman," with a gesture toward the child; "if she
+lived to be a woman, do yo' think as sh'd remember me if--if owt should
+happen to me now?"
+
+"I conna tell," Joan answered, "but I'd try to mak' her."
+
+"Would yo'?" and then she dropped her face upon her hands. "It ud be
+best if she'd forget me," she said. "It ud be best if she'd forget me."
+
+"Nay, Liz," said Joan. "Tha'rt out o' soarts."
+
+"Ay, I am," said the girl, "an' I need be. Eh, Joan! tha'rt a good
+wench. I wish I wur loike thee."
+
+"Tha need na, lass."
+
+"But I do. Tha'd nivver go wrong i' th' world. Nowt could mak' thee go
+wrong. Tha'rt so strong like. An' tha'rt patient, too, Joan, an' noan
+loike the rest o' women. I dunnot think--if owt wur to happen me now--as
+tha'd ha' hard thowts o' me. Wouldst tha?" wistfully.
+
+"Nay, lass. I've been fond o' thee, an' sorry fur thee, and if tha wur
+to dee tha mayst mak' sure I'd noan be hard on thee. But tha art na
+goin' to dee, I hope."
+
+To her surprise the girl caught her hand, and, pulling it down upon her
+knee, laid her cheek against it and burst into tears.
+
+"I dunnot know; I mought, or--or--summat. But nivver tha turn agen me,
+Joan,--nivver tha hate me. I am na loike thee,--I wur na made loike
+thee. I conna stand up agen things, but I dunnot think as I'm so bad as
+foaks say!"
+
+When this impassioned mood passed away, she was silent again for a long
+time. The baby fell asleep upon Joan's breast, but she did not move
+it,--she liked to feel it resting there; its close presence always
+seemed to bring her peace. At length, however, Liz spoke once more.
+
+"Wheer wur thy feyther goin' wi' Spring an' Braddy?" she asked.
+
+Joan turned a pale face toward her.
+
+"Wheer did yo' see him wi' Spring an' Braddy?"
+
+"Here," was Liz's reply. "He wur here this afternoon wi' em. They did
+na coom in, though,--they waited i' th' road, while he went i' th' back
+room theer fur summat. I think it wur a bottle. It wur that he coom fur,
+I know, fur I heerd Braddy say to him, 'Hast getten it?' an' thy feyther
+said, 'Ay,' an' th' other two laughed as if they wur on a spree o' some
+soart."
+
+Joan rose from her chair, white and shaking.
+
+"Tak' th' choild," she said, hoarsely. "I'm goin' out."
+
+"Out!" cried Liz. "Nay, dunnot go out. What ails thee, Joan?"
+
+"I ha' summat to do," said Joan. "Stay tha here with th' choild." And
+almost before she finished speaking she was gone, and the door had
+closed behind her.
+
+There would be three of them against one man. She walked faster as she
+thought of it, and her breath was drawn heavily.
+
+Lowrie bent down in his hiding-place, smiling grimly. He knelt upon
+the grass behind a hedge at the road-side. He had reached the place a
+quarter of an hour before, and he had chosen his position as coolly as
+if he had been sitting down to take his tramp dinner in the shade. There
+was a gap in the hedge and he must not be too near to it or too far from
+it. It would be easier to rush through this gap than to leap the hedge;
+but he must not risk being seen. The corner where the other men lay
+concealed was not far above him. It was only a matter of a few yards,
+but if he stood to wait at one turn and the engineer took the other, the
+game would escape.
+
+So he had placed his comrades at the second, and he had taken the first.
+
+"I'd loike to ha' th' first yammer at him," he had said, savagely. "Yo'
+can coom when yo' hear me."
+
+As he waited by the hedge, he put his hand out stealthily toward his
+"knob-stick" and drew it nearer, saying to himself:
+
+"When I ha' done settlin' wi' him fur mysen, I shall ha' a bit o' an
+account to settle fur her. If it's his good looks as she's takken wi',
+she'll be noan so fond on him when she sees him next, I'll warrant."
+
+He had hit upon the greater villainy of stopping short of murder,--if he
+could contain himself when the time came.
+
+At this instant a sound reached his ears which caused him to start. He
+bent forward slightly toward the gap to listen. There were footsteps
+upon the road above him--footsteps that sounded familiar. Clouds had
+drifted across the sky and darkened it, but he had heard that tread
+too often to mistake it now when every nerve was strung to its highest
+tension. A cold sweat broke out upon him in the impotence of his wrath.
+
+"It's th' lass hersen," he said. "She's heerd summat, an' she's as good
+as her word!"--with an oath.
+
+He got up and stood a second trembling with rage. He drew his sleeve
+across his forehead and wiped away the sweat, and then turned round
+sharply.
+
+"I'll creep up th' road an' meet her afore she reaches th' first place,"
+he panted. "If she sees th' lads, it's aw up wi' us. I'll teach her
+summat as she'll noan forget."
+
+He was out into the Knoll Road in a minute more.
+
+"I'll teach her to go agen me," he muttered.
+
+"I'll teach her, by ------" But the sentence was never ended. There was
+a murmur he did not understand, a rush, a heavy rain of blows, a dash of
+something in his face that scorched like liquid fire, and with a shriek,
+he fell writhing.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX - The Slip of Paper
+
+A minute after there rushed past Joan, in the darkness, two
+men,--stumbling and cursing as they went, out of breath, horror-stricken
+and running at the top of their speed.
+
+"It wur Lowrie hissen, by ------!" she heard one say, as he dashed by.
+
+"Feyther! Feyther, wheer are yo'? Feyther, are yo' nigh me?" she cried,
+for she heard both the blows and the shriek.
+
+But there came no answer to her ear. The rapid feet beating upon the
+road, their echo dying in the distance, made the only sound that broke
+the stillness. There was not even a groan. Yet a few paces from her,
+lay a battered, bleeding form. There was no starlight now, she could see
+only the vague outline of the figure, which might be that of either one
+man or the other. For an instant, the similarity in stature which had
+deceived his blundering companions, deceived her also; but when she
+knelt down and touched the shoulder, she knew it was not the master who
+lay before her.
+
+"It's feyther hissen," she said, and then she drew away her hand,
+shuddering. "It's wet wi' blood," she said. "It's wet wi' blood!"
+
+He did not hear her when she spoke; he was not conscious that she tried
+to raise him; his head hung forward when she lifted him; he lay heavily,
+and without motion, upon her arms.
+
+"They ha' killed him!" she said. "How is it, as it is na _him?_"
+
+There was neither light nor help nearer than "The Crown" itself, and
+when her brain became clearer, she remembered this. Without light and
+assistance, she could do nothing; she could not even see what hurt he
+had sustained. Dead or dying, he must lie here until she had time to get
+help.
+
+She took off her shawl, and folding it, laid his head gently upon it.
+Then she put her lips to his ear.
+
+"Feyther," she said, "I'm goin' to bring help to thee. If tha con hear
+me, stir thy hond."
+
+He did not stir it, so she disengaged her arm as gently as possible,
+and, rising to her feet, went on her way.
+
+There were half a dozen men in the bar-room when she pushed the door
+inward and stood upon the threshold. They looked up in amazement.
+
+"Those on yo' as want to help a deeing mon," she said, "come wi' me. My
+feyther's lyin' in the Knoll Road, done to death."
+
+All were astir in a moment. Lanterns and other necessaries were
+provided, and bearing one of these lanterns herself, Joan led the way.
+
+As she stepped out onto the pavement a man was passing, and, attracted
+by the confusion, turned to the crowd:
+
+"What is the matter?" he asked.
+
+"There's a mon been killed up on th' Knoll Road," answered one of the
+colliers. "It's this lass's feyther, Dan Lowrie."
+
+The man strode into the light and showed an agitated face.
+
+"Killed!" he said, "Dan Lowrie!"
+
+It was Fergus Derrick.
+
+He recognized Joan immediately, and went to her.
+
+"For pity's sake," he exclaimed, "don't go with them. If what they
+say is true, this is no place for you. Let me take you home. You ought
+not----"
+
+"It wur me," interrupted Joan, in a steady voice, "as found him."
+
+He could not persuade her to remain behind, so he walked on by her side.
+He asked her no questions. He knew enough to understand that his enemy
+had reaped the whirlwind he had himself sown.
+
+It was he who knelt first by the side of the prostrate man, holding the
+lantern above the almost unrecognizable face. Then he would have raised
+the lifeless hand, but Joan, who had bent down near him, stopped him
+with a quick move.
+
+"Dunnot do that," she faltered, and when he looked up in surprise,
+he comprehended her meaning, even before she added, in a passionate
+undertone, the miserable words:
+
+"Ther's blood on it, as might ha' bin yo're own."
+
+"Theer's a bottle here," some one cried out suddenly. "A bottle as I
+just set my foot on. Chaps, theer's been vitriol throwed."
+
+"Ay," cried another, "so theer has; chaps, look yo' here. Th' villains
+has vitriolled him."
+
+They laid him upon the shutter they had brought, and carried him
+homeward. Joan and Derrick were nearest to him as they walked.
+
+They were not far from the cottage, and it was not long before the
+light glimmered through the window upon them. Seeing it, Joan turned to
+Derrick suddenly.
+
+"I mun hurry on before," she said. "I mun go and say a word to Liz.
+Comin' aw at onct th' soight ud fear her."
+
+Reaching the house, she pushed the door open and went in. Everything was
+so quiet that she fancied the girl must have gone to bed.
+
+"Liz," she said aloud. "Liz!"
+
+Her voice fell with an echoing sound upon the silent room. She looked at
+the bed and saw the child lying there asleep. Liz was not with it. She
+passed quickly into the room adjoining and glanced around. It was empty.
+Moved by some impulse she went back to the bed, and in bending over the
+child, saw a slip of paper pinned upon its breast, and upon this paper
+Joan read, in the sprawling, uncertain hand she knew so well:
+
+     "Dunnot be hard on me, Joan, dunnot--Good-bye!"
+
+When Derrick entered the door, he found Joan standing alone in the
+centre of the room, holding the scrap of paper in her hand.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI - The Last Blow
+
+"He won't live," the doctor said to Derrick. "He's not the man to
+get over such injuries, powerful as he looks. He has been a reckless,
+drunken brute, and what with the shock and reaction nothing will save
+him. The clumsy rascals who attacked him meant to do him harm enough,
+but they have done him more than they intended, or at least the man's
+antecedents will help them to a result they may not have aimed at. We
+may as well tell the girl, I suppose--fine creature, that girl, by the
+way. She won't have any sentimental regrets. It's a good riddance for
+her, to judge from what I know of them."
+
+"I will tell her," said Derrick.
+
+She listened to him with no greater show of emotion than an increased
+pallor. She remembered the wounded man only as a bad husband and a bad
+father. Her life would have been less hard to bear if he had died
+years ago, but now that death stood near him, a miserable sense of
+desolateness fell upon her, inconsistent as such a feeling might seem.
+
+The village was full of excitement during this week. Everybody was ready
+with suggestions and conjectures, everybody wanted to account for the
+assault. At first there seemed no accounting for it at all, but at
+length some one recollected that Lowrie had been last seen with Spring
+and Braddy. They had "getten up a row betwixt theirsens, and t'others
+had punsed him."
+
+The greatest mystery was the use of vitriol. It could only be decided
+that it had not been an ordinary case of neighborly "punsing," and that
+there must have been a "grudge" in the matter. Spring and Braddy
+had disappeared, and all efforts to discover their whereabouts were
+unavailing.
+
+On the subject of Liz's flight Joan was silent, but it did not remain a
+secret many hours. A collier's wife had seen her standing, crying, and
+holding a little bundle on her arm at the corner of a lane, and having
+been curious enough to watch, had also seen Landsell join her a few
+minutes later.
+
+"She wur whimperin' afore he coom," said the woman, "but she cried i'
+good earnest when he spoke to her, an' talked to him an' hung back as
+if she could na mak' up her moind whether to go or no. She wur a soft
+thing, that wench, it wur allus whichivver way th' wind blowed wi' her.
+I could nivver see what that lass o' Lowrie's wanted wi' her. Now she's
+getten th' choild on her honds."
+
+The double shock had numbed Joan. She went about the place and waited
+upon her father in a dull, mechanical way. She said but little to the
+curious crowd, who, on pretence of being neighborly, flocked to the
+house. She had even had very little to say to Anice. Perhaps after all,
+her affection for poor Liz had been a stronger one than she had thought.
+
+"I think," Grace said gently to Anice, "that she does not exactly need
+us yet."
+
+He made the remark in the Rector's presence and the Reverend Harold did
+not agree with him.
+
+"I am convinced that you are mistaken, Grace," he said. "You are a
+little too--well, too delicately metaphysical for these people. You have
+sensitive fancies about them, and they are not a sensitive class. What
+they want is good strong doctrine, and a certain degree of wholesome
+frankness. They need teaching. That young woman, now--it seems to
+me that this is the time to rouse her to a sense of her--her moral
+condition. She ought to be roused, and so ought the man. It is a great
+pity that he is unconscious."
+
+Of Joan's strange confession of faith, Anice had told him something, but
+he had been rather inclined to pronounce it "emotional," and somehow
+or other could not quite divest himself of the idea that she needed
+the special guidance of a well-balanced and experienced mind. The
+well-balanced and experienced mind in view was his own, though of course
+he was not aware of the fact that he would not have been satisfied with
+that of any other individual. He was all the more disinclined to believe
+in Joan's conversion because his interviews with her continued to be
+as unsatisfactory as ever. Her manner had altered; she had toned down
+somewhat, but she still caused him to feel ill at ease. If she did not
+defy him any longer or set his teachings at naught, her grave eyes,
+resting on him silently, had sometimes the effect of making his words
+fail him; which was a novel experience with the Rector.
+
+In a few days Lowrie began to sink visibly. As the doctor predicted, the
+reaction was powerful, and remedies were of no avail. He lay upon the
+bed, at times unconscious, at times tossing to and fro in delirium.
+During her watching at the bedside, Joan learned the truth. Sometimes he
+fancied himself tramping the Knoll Road homeward through the rain, and
+then he muttered sullenly of the "day" that was coming to him, and the
+vengeance he was returning to take; sometimes he went through the scene
+with Joan herself, and again, he waited behind the hedge for his enemy,
+one moment exultant, the next striving to struggle to his feet with
+curses upon his lips and rage in his heart, as he caught the sound of
+the advancing steps he knew so well. As he went over these scenes again
+and again, it was plain enough to the listener that his vengeance had
+fallen upon his own head.
+
+The day after he received his hurts a collier dropped into "The Crown"
+with a heavy stick in his hand.
+
+"I fun this knob-stick nigh a gap i' th' hedge on th' Knoll Road," he
+said. "It wur na fur fro' wheer they fun Lowrie. Happen them chaps laid
+i' wait fur him an' it belongs to one o' 'em."
+
+"Let's ha' a look at it," said a young miner, and on its being handed to
+him he inspected it closely.
+
+"Why!" he exclaimed. "It's Lowrie's own. I seed him wi' it th' day afore
+he wur hurt. I know th' shape o' th' knob. How could it ha' coom theer?"
+
+But nobody could guess. It was taken to Joan and she listened to the
+story without comment. There was no reason why they should be told what
+she had already discovered.
+
+When Lowrie died, Anice and Grace were in the room with Joan. After the
+first two days the visitors had dropped off. They had satisfied their
+curiosity. Lowrie was not a favorite, and Joan had always seemed to
+stand apart from her fellows, so they were left to themselves.
+
+Joan was standing near the bed when there came to him his first and
+last gleam of consciousness. The sun was setting, and its farewell glow
+streaming through the window fell upon his disfigured face and sightless
+eyes. He roused himself, moving uneasily.
+
+"What's up wi' me?" he muttered. "I conna see--I conna--"
+
+Joan stepped forward.
+
+"Feyther," she said.
+
+Then memory seemed to return to him. An angry light shot across his
+face. He flung out his hands and groaned:
+
+"What!" he cried, "tha art theer, art tha?" and helpless and broken
+as he was, he wore that moment a look Joan had long ago learned to
+understand.
+
+"Ay, feyther," she answered.
+
+It appeared as if, during the few moments in which he lay gasping, a
+full recognition of the fact that he had been baffled and beaten after
+all--that his plotting had been of no avail--forced itself upon him. He
+made an effort to speak once or twice and failed, but at last the words
+came.
+
+"Tha went agen me, did tha?" he panted. "Dom thee!" and with a struggle
+to summon all his strength, he raised himself, groping, struck at her
+with his clenched hand, and failing to reach her, fell forward with his
+face upon the bed.
+
+It was all over when they raised him and laid him back again. Joan stood
+upright, trembling a little, but otherwise calm.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII - "Turned Methody!"
+
+It had been generally expected that when all was over the cottage upon
+the Knoll Road would be closed and deserted, but some secret fancy held
+Joan to the spot. Perhaps the isolation suited her mood; perhaps the
+mere sense of familiarity gave her comfort.
+
+"I should na be less lonely any wheer else," she said to Anice Barholm.
+"Theer's more here as I feel near to than i' any other place. I ha' no
+friends, yo' know. As to th' choild, I con carry it to Thwaite's wife
+i' th' mornin' when I go to th' pit, an' she'll look after it till neet,
+for a trifle. She's getten childern o' her own, and knows their ways."
+
+So she went backward and forward night and morning with her little
+burden in her arms. The child was a frail, tiny creature, never strong,
+and often suffering, and its very frailty drew Joan nearer to it. It
+was sadly like Liz, pretty and infantine. Many a rough but experienced
+mother, seeing it, prophesied that its battle with life would be brief.
+With the pretty face, it had inherited also the helpless, irresolute,
+appealing look. Joan saw this in the baby's eyes sometimes and was
+startled at its familiarity; even the low, fretted cry had in it
+something that was painfully like its girl-mother's voice. More than
+once a sense of fear had come upon Joan when she heard and recognized
+it. But her love only seemed to strengthen with her dread.
+
+Day by day those who worked with her felt more strongly the change
+developing so subtly in the girl. The massive beauty which had almost
+seemed to scorn itself was beginning to wear a different aspect; the
+defiant bitterness of look and tone was almost a thing of the past; the
+rough, contemptuous speech was less scathing and more merciful when at
+rare intervals it broke forth.
+
+"Summat has coom over her," they said among themselves. "Happen it wur
+trouble. She wur different, somehow."
+
+They were somewhat uneasy under this alteration; but, on the whole, the
+general feeling was by no means unfriendly. Time had been when they had
+known Joan Lowrie only as a "lass" who held herself aloof, and yet in
+a manner overruled them; but in these days more than one stunted,
+overworked girl or woman found her hard task rendered easier by Joan's
+strength and swiftness.
+
+It was true that his quiet and unremitted efforts had smoothed Grace's
+path to some extent. There were ill-used women whom he had helped and
+comforted; there were neglected children whose lives he had contrived
+to brighten; there were unbelievers whose scoffing his gentle simplicity
+and long-suffering had checked a little. He could be regarded no longer
+with contempt in Riggan; he even had his friends there.
+
+Among those who still mildly jeered at the little Parson stood foremost,
+far more through vanity than malice, "Owd Sammy Craddock." A couple of
+months after Lowrie's death, "Owd Sammy" had sauntered down to the mine
+one day, and was entertaining a group of admirers when Grace went by.
+
+It chanced that, for some reason best known to himself, Sammy was by no
+means in a good humor. Something had gone wrong at home or abroad, and
+his grievance had rankled and rendered him unusually contumacious.
+
+Nearing the group, Grace looked up with a faint but kindly smile.
+
+"Good-morning!" he said; "a pleasant day, friends!"
+
+"Owd Sammy" glanced down at him with condescending tolerance. He had
+been talking himself, and the greeting had broken in upon his eloquence.
+
+"Which on us," he asked dryly; "which on us said it wur na?"
+
+A few paces from the group of idlers Joan Lowrie stood at work. Some
+of the men had noted her presence when they lounged by, but in the
+enjoyment of their gossip, they had forgotten her again. She had seen
+Grace too; she had heard his greeting and the almost brutal laugh that
+followed it; and, added to this, she had caught a passing glimpse of the
+Curate's face. She dropped her work, and, before the laugh had died out,
+stood up confronting the loungers.
+
+"If theer is a mon among yo' as he has harmed," she said; "if theer's
+one among yo' as he's ivver done a wrong to, let that mon speak up."
+
+It was "Owd Sammy" who was the first to recover himself. Probably he
+remembered the power he prided himself upon wielding over the weaker
+sex. He laid aside his pipe for a moment and tried sarcasm,--an
+adaptation of the same sarcasm he had tried upon the Curate.
+
+"Which on us said theer wur?" he asked.
+
+Joan turned her face, pale with repressed emotion, toward him.
+
+"There be men here as I would scarce ha' believed could ha' had much
+agen him. I see one mon here as has a wife as lay nigh death a month or
+so ago, an' it were the Parson as went to see her day after day, an'
+tuk her help and comfort. Theer's another mon here as had a little un
+to dee, an' when it deed, it wur th' Parson as knelt by its bed an' held
+its hond an' talkt to it when it were feart. Theer's other men here as
+had help fro' him as they did na know of, an' it wur help from a mon as
+wur na far fro' a-bein' as poor an' hard worked i' his way as they are
+i' theirs. Happen th' mon I speak on dunnot know much about th' sick
+wife, an' deein choild, an' what wur done for 'em, an' if they dunnot,
+it's th' Parson's fault."
+
+"Why!" broke in "Owd Sammy." "Blame me, if tha art na turned Methody!
+Blame me," in amazement, "if tha art na!"
+
+"Nay," her face softening; "it is na Methody so much. Happen I'm turnin'
+woman, fur I conna abide to see a hurt gi'en to them as has na earned
+it. That wur why I spoke. I ha' towd yo' th' truth o' th' little chap
+yo' jeered at an' throw'd his words back to."
+
+Thus it became among her companions a commonly accepted belief that Joan
+Lowrie had turned "Methody." They could find no other solution to her
+championship of the Parson.
+
+"Is it true as tha's j'ined th' Methodys?" Thwaite's wife asked Joan,
+somewhat nervously.
+
+She had learned to be fond of the girl, and did not like the idea of
+believing in her defection.
+
+"No," she answered, "it is na."
+
+The woman heaved a sigh of relief.
+
+"I thowt it wur na," she said. "I towd th' Maxys as I did na believe
+it when they browt th' tale to me. They're powerful fond o' talebearing
+that Maxy lot."
+
+Joan stopped in her play with the child.
+
+"They dunnot understand," she said, "that's aw. I ha' learned to think
+different, an' believe i' things as I did na use to believe in. Happen
+that's what they mean by talkin' o' th' Methodys."
+
+People learned no more of the matter than this. They felt that in some
+way Joan had separated herself from their ranks, but they found it
+troublesome to work their way to any more definite conclusion.
+
+"Hast heard about that lass o' Lowrie's?" they said to one another;
+"hoo's takken a new turn sin' Lowrie deed; hoo allus wur a queer-loike,
+high-handed wench."
+
+After Lowrie's death, Anice Barholm and Joan were oftener together than
+ever. What had at first been friendship had gradually become affection.
+
+"I think," Anice said to Grace, "that Joan must go away from here and
+find a new life."
+
+"That is the only way," he answered. "In this old one there has been
+nothing but misery for her, and bitterness and pain."
+
+Fergus Derrick was sitting at a table turning over a book of engravings.
+He looked up sharply.
+
+"Where can you find a new life for her?" he asked. "And how can you help
+her to it? One dare not offer her even a semblance of assistance."
+
+They had not spoken to him, but he had heard, as he always heard,
+everything connected with Joan Lowrie. He was always restless and eager
+where she was concerned. All intercourse between them seemed to be at an
+end. Without appearing to make an effort to do so, she kept out of his
+path. Try as he might, he could not reach her. At last it had come to
+this: he was no longer dallying upon the brink of a great and dangerous
+passion,--it had overwhelmed him.
+
+"One cannot even approach her," he said again.
+
+Anice regarded him with a shade of pity in her face.
+
+"The time is coming when it will not be so," she said.
+
+The night before Joan Lowrie had spent an hour with her. She had come in
+on her way from her work, before going to Thwaite's, and had knelt down
+upon the hearth-rug to warm herself. There had been no light in the room
+but that of the fire, and its glow, falling upon her face, had revealed
+to Anice something like haggardness.
+
+"Joan," she said, "are you ill?"
+
+Joan stirred a little uneasily, but did not look at her as she answered:
+
+"Nay, I am na ill; I nivver wur ill i' my loife."
+
+"Then," said Anice, "what--what is it that I see in your face?"
+
+There was a momentary tremor of the finely moulded, obstinate chin.
+
+"I'm tired out," Joan answered. "That's all," and her hand fell upon her
+lap.
+
+Anice turned to the fire.
+
+"What is it?" she asked, almost in a whisper.
+
+Joan looked up at her,--not defiant, not bitter, not dogged,--simply in
+appeal against her own despair.
+
+"Is na theer a woman's place fur me i' th' world? Is it allus to be this
+way wi' me? Con I nivver reach no higher, strive as I will, pray as I
+will,--fur I _have_ prayed? Is na theer a woman's place fur me i' th'
+world?"
+
+"Yes," said Anice, "I am sure there is."
+
+"I've thowt as theer mun be somewheer. Sometimes I've felt sure as theer
+mun be, an' then agen I've been beset so sore that I ha' almost gi'en it
+up. If there is such a place fur me I mun find it--I mun!"
+
+"You will find it," said Anice. "Some day, surely."
+
+Anice thought of all this again when she glanced at Derrick. Derrick was
+more than usually disturbed to-day. He had for some time been working
+his way to an important decision, fraught with some annoyance and
+anxiety to himself. There was to be a meeting of the owners in a few
+weeks, and at this meeting he had determined to take a firm stand.
+
+"The longer I remain in my present position, the more fully I am
+convinced of the danger constantly threatening us," he said to Anice.
+"I am convinced that the present system of furnaces is the cause of more
+explosions than are generally attributed to it. The mine here is a
+'fiery' one, as they call it, and yet day after day goes by and no
+precautions are taken. There are poor fellows working under me whose
+existence means bread to helpless women and children. I hold their lives
+in trust, and if I am not allowed to place one frail barrier between
+them and sudden death, I will lead them into peril no longer,--I will
+resign my position. At least I can do that."
+
+The men under him worked with a dull, heavy daring, born of long use and
+a knowledge of their own helplessness against their fate. There was
+not one among them who did not know that in going down the shaft to
+his labor, he might be leaving the light of day behind him forever. But
+seeing the blue sky vanish from sight thus during six days of fifty-two
+weeks in the year, engendered a kind of hard indifference. Explosions
+had occurred, and might occur again; dead men had been carried up to
+be stretched on the green earth,--men crushed out of all semblance to
+humanity; some of themselves bore the marks of terrible maiming; but
+it was an old story, and they had learned to face the same hazard
+recklessly.
+
+With Fergus Derrick, however, it was a different matter. It was he who
+must lead these men into new fields of danger.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII - Fate
+
+The time came, before many days, when the last tie that bound Joan to
+her present life was broken. The little one, who from the first had
+clung to existence with a frail hold, at last loosened its weak grasp.
+It had been ill for several days,--so ill that Joan had remained at
+home to nurse it,--and one night, sitting with it upon her knee in her
+accustomed place, she saw a change upon the small face.
+
+It had been moaning continuously, and suddenly the plaintive sound
+ceased. Joan bent over it. She had been holding the tiny hand as she
+always did, and at this moment the soft fingers closed upon one of her
+own quietly. She was quite alone, and for an instant there was a deep
+silence. After her first glance at the tiny creature, she broke this
+silence herself.
+
+"Little lass," she said in a whisper, "what ails thee? Is thy pain
+o'er?"
+
+As she looked again at the baby face upturned as if in silent answer,
+the truth broke in upon her.
+
+Folding her arms around the little form, she laid her head upon its
+breast and wept aloud,--wept as she had never wept before. Then she laid
+the child upon a pillow and covered its face. Liz's last words returned
+to her with a double force. It had not lived to forget or blame her.
+Where was Liz to-night,--at this hour, when her child was so safe?
+
+The next morning, on her way downstairs to the breakfast-room, Anice
+Barholm was met by a servant.
+
+"The young woman from the mines would like to see you, Miss," said the
+girl.
+
+Anice found Joan awaiting her below.
+
+"I ha' come to tell yo'," she said, "that th' little un deed at midneet.
+Theer wur no one I could ca' in. I sat alone wi' it i' th' room aw th'
+neet, an' then I left it to come here."
+
+Anice and Thwaite's wife returned home with her. What little there was
+to be done, they re-mained to do. But this was scarcely more than to
+watch with her until the pretty baby face was hidden away from human
+sight.
+
+When all was over, Joan became restless. The presence of the child had
+saved her from utter desolation, and now that it was gone, the emptiness
+of the house chilled her. At the last, when her companions were about to
+leave her, she broke down.
+
+"I conna bear it," she said. "I will go wi' yo'."
+
+Thwaite's wife had proposed before that she should make her home with
+them; and now, when Mrs. Thwaite returned to Riggan, Joan accompanied
+her, and the cottage was locked up.
+
+This alteration changed greatly the routine of her life. There were
+children in the Thwaite household--half a dozen of them--who, having
+overcome their first awe of her, had learned before the baby died to be
+fond of Joan. Her handsome face attracted them when they ceased to fear
+its novelty; and the hard-worked mother said to her neighbors:
+
+"She's getten a way wi' childer, somehow,--that lass o' Lowrie's. Yo'd
+wonder if yo' could see her wi' 'em. She's mony a bit o' help to me."
+
+But as time progressed, Anice Barholm noted the constant presence
+of that worn look upon her face. Instead of diminishing, it grew and
+deepened. Even Derrick, who met her so rarely, saw it when he passed her
+in the street.
+
+"She is not ill, is she?" he asked Anice once, abruptly.
+
+Anice shook her head.
+
+"No, she is not ill."
+
+"Then she has some trouble that nobody knows about," he said. "What a
+splendid creature she is!" impetuously--"and how incomprehensible!"
+
+His eyes chanced to meet Anice's, and a dark flush swept over his face.
+He got up almost immediately after and began to pace the room, as was
+his habit.
+
+"Next week the crisis will come at the mines," he said. "I wonder how it
+will end for me."
+
+"You are still determined?" said Anice.
+
+"Yes, I am still determined. I wish it were over. Perhaps there will be
+a Fate in it"--his voice lowering itself as he added this last sentence.
+
+"A Fate?" said Anice.
+
+"I am growing superstitious and full of fancies," he said. "I do
+not trust to myself, as I once did. I should like Fate to bear the
+responsibility of my leaving Riggan or remaining in it."
+
+"And if you leave it?" asked Anice.
+
+For an instant he paused in his walk, with an uncertain air. But he
+shook this uncertainty off with a visible effort, the next moment.
+
+"If I leave it, I do not think I shall return, and Fate will have
+settled a long unsettled question for me."
+
+"Don't leave it to Fate," said Anice in a low tone. "Settle it for
+yourself. It does not--it is not--it looks----"
+
+"It looks cowardly," he interrupted her. "So it does, and so it is. God
+knows I never felt myself so great a coward before!"
+
+He had paused again. This time he stood before her. The girl's grave,
+delicate face turned to meet his glance and seeing it, a thought seemed
+to strike him.
+
+"Anice," he said, the dark flush rising afresh. "I promised you that if
+the time should ever come when I needed help that it was possible you
+might give, I should not be afraid to ask you for it. I am coming to you
+for help. Not now--some day not far distant. That is why I remind you of
+the compact."
+
+"I did not need reminding," she said to him.
+
+"I might have known that," he answered,--"I think I did know it But let
+us make the compact over again."
+
+She held out her hand to him, and he took it eagerly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV - The Decision
+
+The owners of the Riggan collieries held their meeting. That a person
+in their employ should differ from them boldly, and condemn their course
+openly, was an extraordinary event; that a young man in the outset of
+his career should dare so much was unprecedented. It would be a ruinous
+thing, they said among themselves, for so young a man to lose so
+important a position on the very threshold of his professional life, and
+they were convinced that his knowledge of this would restrain him. But
+they were astounded to find that it did not.
+
+He brought his plans with him, and laid them before them. They were
+plans for the abolition of old and dangerous arrangements, for the
+amelioration of the condition of the men who labored at the hourly risk
+of their lives, and for rendering this labor easier. Especially, there
+were plans for a newer system of ventilation--proposing the substitution
+of fans for the long-used furnace. One or two of the younger men leaned
+toward their adoption. But the men with the greatest influence were
+older, and less prone to the encouragement of novelty.
+
+"It's all nonsense," said one. "Furnaces have been used ever since the
+mines were opened, and as to the rest--it arises, I suppose, from the
+complaints of the men. They always will complain--they always did."
+
+"So far they have had reason for complaint," remarked Derrick. "As you
+say, there have been furnaces ever since there have been mines, and
+there have also been explosions which may in many cases be attributed
+to them. There was an explosion at Browton a month ago which was to
+some extent a mystery, but there were old miners who understood it well
+enough. The return air, loaded with gas, had ignited at the furnace,
+and the result was that forty dead and wounded men were carried up the
+shaft, to be recognized, when they were recognizable, by mothers, and
+wives, and children, who depended upon them for their scant food."
+
+Derrick argued his cause well and with spirit, keeping a tight rein upon
+himself; but when, having exhausted his arguments, he found that he had
+not advanced his cause, and that it was a settled matter that he should
+not, he took fire.
+
+"Then, gentlemen," he said, "I have but one resource. I will hold
+no human life lightly in my hands. I have the honor to tender you my
+resignation."
+
+There was a dead silence for a moment or so. They had certainly not
+expected such a result as this. A well-disposed young man, who sat near
+to Derrick, spoke to him in a rapid undertone.
+
+"My dear fellow," he said, "it will be the ruin of you. For my part, I
+admire your enthusiasm, but do not be rash."
+
+"A man with a will and a pair of clean hands is not easily ruined,"
+returned Derrick a trifle hotly. "As to being rash or enthusiastic, I am
+neither the one nor the other. It is not enthusiasm which moves me, it
+is a familiarity with stern realities."
+
+When he left the room his fate had been decided. At the end of the week
+he would have no further occupation in Riggan. He had only two more
+days' work before him and he had gained the unenviable reputation of
+being a fire-and-tow young fellow, who was flighty enough to make a
+martyr of himself.
+
+Under the first street-lamp he met Grace, who was evidently making his
+way home.
+
+"I will go with you," he said, taking his arm.
+
+Once within the walls of the pleasant little room, he found it easy to
+unbosom himself. He described his interview with his employers, and its
+termination.
+
+"A few months ago, I flattered myself that my prospects were improving,"
+he said; "but now it seems that I must begin again, which is not an easy
+matter, by the way."
+
+By the time he ended he found his temporary excitement abating somewhat,
+but still his mood was by no means undisturbed.
+
+It was after they had finished tea and the armchairs had been drawn to
+the fire that Grace himself made a revelation.
+
+"When you met me to-night, I was returning from a visit I had paid to
+Joan Lowrie."
+
+"At Thwaite's?" said Derrick.
+
+"At Thwaite's. She--the fact is I went on business--she has determined
+to change her plan of life."
+
+"In what manner?"
+
+"She is to work no more at the mines. I am happy to say that I have been
+able to find her other employment."
+
+There was an interval of silence, at length broken by Derrick.
+
+"Grace," he said, "can you tell me why she decided upon such a course?"
+
+Grace looked at him with questioning surprise.
+
+"I can tell you what she said to me on the subject," he replied. "She
+said it was no woman's work, and she was tired of it."
+
+"She is not the woman to do anything without a motive," mused Derrick.
+
+"No," returned the Curate.
+
+A moment later, as if by one impulse, their eyes met. Grace started as
+if he had been stung. Derrick simply flushed.
+
+"What is it?" he asked.
+
+"I--I do not think I understand," Grace faltered. "Surely I am
+blundering."
+
+"No," said Derrick, gloomily. "You cannot blunder since you know the
+truth. You did not fancy that my feeling was so trivial that I could
+have conquered it so soon? Joan Lowrie----"
+
+"Joan Lowrie!"
+
+Grace's voice had broken in upon him with a startled sound.
+
+The two men regarded each other in bewilderment. Then again Derrick was
+the first to speak.
+
+"Grace," he said, "you have misunderstood me."
+
+Grace answered him with a visible tremor.
+
+"If," he said, "it was to your love for Joan Lowrie you referred when
+you spoke to me of your trouble some months ago, I _have_ misunderstood
+you. If the obstacles you meant were the obstacles you would find in the
+path of such a love, I have misunderstood you. If you did not mean that
+your heart had been stirred by a feeling your generous friendship caused
+you to regard as unjust to _me_, I have misunderstood you miserably."
+
+"My dear fellow!" Derrick exclaimed, with some emotion. "My dear fellow,
+do you mean to tell me that you imagined I referred to Miss Barholm?"
+
+"I was sure of it," was Grace's agitated reply. "As I said before, I
+have misunderstood you miserably."
+
+"And yet you had no word of blame for me?"
+
+"I had no right to blame you. I had not lost what I believed you had
+won. It had never been mine. It was a mistake," he added, endeavoring to
+steady himself. "But don't mind me, Derrick. Let us try to set it right;
+only I am afraid you will have to begin again."
+
+Derrick drew a heavy breath. He took up a paper-knife from the table,
+and began to bend it in his hands.
+
+"Yes," he said, "we shall have to begin again. And it is told in a few
+words," he said, with a deliberateness painful in its suggestion of an
+intense effort at self-control. "Grace, what would you think of a
+man who found himself setting reason at defiance, and in spite of all
+obstacles confronting the possibility of loving and marrying--if she can
+be won--such a woman as Joan Lowrie?"
+
+"You are putting me in a difficult position," Paul answered. "If he
+would dare so much, he would be the man to dare to decide for himself."
+
+Derrick tossed the paper-knife aside.
+
+"And you know that I am the person in question. _I_ have so defied the
+world, in spite of myself at first, I must confess. _I_ have confronted
+the possibility of loving Joan Lowrie until I _do_ love her. So there
+the case stands."
+
+Gradually there dawned upon the Curate's mind certain remembrances
+connected with Joan. Now and then she had puzzled and startled him, but
+here, possibly, might be a solution of the mystery.
+
+"And Joan Lowrie herself?" he asked, questioningly.
+
+"Joan Lowrie herself," said Derrick, "is no nearer to me to-day than she
+was a year ago."
+
+"Are you,"--hesitatingly,--"are you quite sure of that?"
+
+The words had escaped his lips in spite of himself.
+
+Derrick started and turned toward him with a sudden movement
+
+"Grace!" he said.
+
+"I asked if you were sure of that," answered Grace, coloring. "I am
+not."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV - In the Pit
+
+The next morning Derrick went down to the mine as usual. There were
+several things he wished to do in these last two days. He had heard that
+the managers had entered into negotiations with a new engineer, and he
+wished the man to find no half-done work. The day was bright and frosty,
+and the sharp, bracing air seemed to clear his brain. He felt more
+hopeful, and less inclined to view matters darkly.
+
+He remembered afterward that, as he stepped into the cage, he turned to
+look at the unpicturesque little town, brightened by the winter's
+sun; and that, as he went down, he glanced up at the sky and marked how
+intense appeared the bit of blue, which was framed in by the mouth of
+the shaft.
+
+Even in the few hours that had elapsed since the meeting the rumor of
+what he had said and done had been bruited about. Some collier had heard
+it and had told it to his comrades, and so it had gone from one to the
+other. It had been talked over at the evening and morning meal in divers
+cottages, and many an anxious woman had warmed into praise of the man
+who had "had a thowt for th' men."
+
+In the first gallery he entered he found a deputation of men awaiting
+him,--a group of burly miners with picks and shovels over their
+shoulders,--and the head of this deputation, a spokesman burlier and
+generally gruffer than the rest, stopped him.
+
+"Mester," he said, "we chaps 'ud loike to ha' a word wi' yo'."
+
+"All right," was Derrick's reply, "I am ready to listen."
+
+The rest crowded nearer as if anxious to participate as much as
+possible, and give their spokesman the support of their presence.
+
+"It is na mich as we ha' getten to say," said the man, "but we're fain
+to say it. Are na we, mates?"
+
+"Ay, we are, lad," in chorus.
+
+"It's about summat as we'n heerd. Theer wur a chap as towd some on us
+last neet, as yo'd getten th' sack fro' th' managers--or leastways as
+yo'd turned th' tables on 'em an' gi'en them th' sack yo'rsen. An' we'n
+heerd as it begun wi' yo're standin' up fur us chaps--axin fur things
+as wur wanted i' th' pit to save us fro' runnin' more risk than we need.
+An' we heerd as yo' spoke up bold, an' argied fur us an' stood to what
+yo' thowt war th' reet thing, an' we set our moinds on tellin' yo' as
+we'd heerd it an' talked it over, an' we'd loike to say a word o' thanks
+i' common fur th' pluck yo' showed. Is na that it, mates?"
+
+"Ay, that it is, lad!" responded the chorus.
+
+Suddenly one of the group stepped out and threw down his pick.
+
+"An' I'm dom'd, mates," he said, "if here is na a chap as 'ud loike to
+shake hands wi' him."
+
+It was the signal for the rest to follow his example. They crowded about
+their champion, thrusting grimy paws into his hand, grasping it almost
+enthusiastically.
+
+"Good luck to yo', lad!" said one. "We'n noan smooth soart o' chaps, but
+we'n stand by what's fair an' plucky. We shall ha' a good word fur thee
+when tha hast made thy flittin'."
+
+"I'm glad of that lads," responded Derrick, heartily, by no means
+unmoved by the rough-and-ready spirit of the scene. "I only wish I had
+had better luck, that's all."
+
+A few hours later the whole of the little town was shaken to its very
+foundations, by something like an earthquake, accompanied by an ominous,
+booming sound which brought people flocking out of their houses, with
+white faces. Some of them had heard it before--all knew what it
+meant. From the colliers' cottages poured forth women, shrieking and
+wailing,--women who bore children in their arms and had older ones
+dragging at their skirts, and who made their desperate way to the pit
+with one accord. From houses and workshops there rushed men, who, coming
+out in twos and threes joined each other, and, forming a breathless
+crowd, ran through the streets scarcely daring to speak a word--and all
+ran toward the pit.
+
+There were scores at its mouth in five minutes; in ten minutes there
+were hundreds, and above all the clamor rose the cry of women:
+
+"My Mester's down!"
+
+"An' mine!"
+
+"An' mine!"
+
+"Four lads o' mine is down!"
+
+"Three o' mine!"
+
+"My little un's theer--th' youngest--nobbut ten year owd--nobbut ten
+year owd, poor little chap! an' on'y been at work a week!"
+
+"Ay, wenches, God ha' mercy on us aw'--God ha' mercy!" And then more
+shrieks and wails in which the terror-stricken children joined.
+
+It was a fearful sight. How many lay dead and dying in the noisome
+darkness below, God only knew! How many lay mangled and crushed, waiting
+for their death, Heaven only could tell!
+
+In five minutes after the explosion occurred, a slight figure in
+clerical garb made its way through the crowd with an air of excited
+determination.
+
+"The Parson's feart," was the general comment.
+
+"My men," he said, raising his voice so that all could hear, "can any of
+you tell me who last saw Fergus Derrick?"
+
+There was a brief pause, and then came a reply from a collier who stood
+near.
+
+"I coom up out o' th' pit an hour ago," he said, "I wur th' last as coom
+up, an' it wur on'y chance as browt me. Derrick wur wi' his men i' th'
+new part o' th' mine. I seed him as I passed through."
+
+Grace's face became a shade or so paler, but he made no more inquiries.
+
+His friend either lay dead below, or was waiting for his doom at that
+very moment. He stepped a little farther forward.
+
+"Unfortunately for myself, at present," he said, "I have no practical
+knowledge of the nature of these accidents. Will some of you tell me how
+long it will be before we can make our first effort to rescue the men
+who are below?"
+
+Did he mean to volunteer--this young whipper-snapper of a parson? And if
+he did, could he know what he was doing?
+
+"I ask you," he said, "because I wish to offer myself as a volunteer at
+once; I think I am stronger than you imagine and at least my heart will
+be in the work. I have a friend below,--myself," his voice altering its
+tone and losing its firmness,--"a friend who is worthy the sacrifice of
+ten such lives as mine if such a sacrifice could save him."
+
+One or two of the older and more experienced spoke up. Under an hour it
+would be impossible to make the attempt--it might even be a longer time,
+but in an hour they might, at least, make their first effort.
+
+If such was the case, the Parson said, the intervening period must be
+turned to the best account. In that time much could be thought of and
+done which would assist themselves and benefit the sufferers. He called
+upon the strongest and most experienced, and almost without their
+recognizing the prominence of his position, led them on in the work. He
+even rallied the weeping women and gave them something to do. One was
+sent for this necessary article and another for that. A couple of boys
+were despatched to the next village for extra medical assistance, so
+that there need be no lack of attention when it was required. He took
+off his broadcloth and worked with the rest of them until all the
+necessary preparations were made and it was considered possible to
+descend into the mine.
+
+When all was ready, he went to the mouth of the shaft and took his place
+quietly.
+
+It was a hazardous task they had before them. Death would stare them
+in the face all through its performance. There was choking after-damp
+below, noxious vapors, to breathe which was to die; there was the chance
+of crushing masses falling from the shaken galleries--and yet these men
+left their companions one by one and ranged themselves, without saying a
+word, at the Curate's side.
+
+"My friends," said Grace, baring his head, and raising a feminine hand.
+"My friends, we will say a short prayer."
+
+It was only a few words. Then the Curate spoke again.
+
+"Ready!" he said.
+
+But just at that moment there stepped out from the anguished crowd a
+girl, whose face was set and deathly, though there was no touch of fear
+upon it.
+
+"I ax yo'," she said, "to let me go wi' yo' and do what I con. Lasses,
+some on yo' speak a word fur Joan Lowrie!"
+
+There was a breathless start. The women even stopped their outcry to
+look at her as she stood apart from them,--a desperate appeal in the
+very quiet of her gesture as she turned to look about her for some one
+to speak.
+
+"Lasses," she said again. "Some on yo' speak a word fur Joan Lowrie!"
+
+There rose a murmur among them then, and the next instant this murmur
+was a cry.
+
+"Ay," they answered, "we con aw speak fur yo'. Let her go, lads! She's
+worth two o' th' best on yo'. Nowt fears her. Ay, she mun go, if she
+will, mun Joan Lowrie! Go, Joan, lass, and we'n not forget thee!"
+
+But the men demurred. The finer instinct of some of them shrank from
+giving a woman a place in such a perilous undertaking--the coarser
+element in others rebelled against it.
+
+"We'n ha' no wenches," these said, surlily.
+
+Grace stepped forward. He went to Joan Lowrie and touched her gently on
+the shoulder.
+
+"We cannot think of it," he said. "It is very brave and generous,
+and--God bless you!--but it cannot be. I could not think of allowing it
+myself, if the rest would."
+
+"Parson," said Joan coolly, but not roughly, "tha'd ha' hard work to
+help thysen, if so be as th' lads wur willin'."
+
+"But," he protested, "it may be death. I could not bear the thought of
+it. You are a woman. We cannot let you risk your life."
+
+She turned to the volunteers.
+
+"Lads," she cried, passionately, "yo' munnot turn me back. I--sin I
+mun tell yo'----" and she faced them like a queen,--"theer's a mon down
+theer as I'd gi' my heart's blood to save."
+
+They did not know whom she meant, but they demurred no longer.
+
+"Tak' thy place, wench," said the oldest of them. "If tha mun, tha mun."
+
+She took her seat in the cage by Grace, and when she took it she half
+turned her face away. But when those above began to lower them, and they
+found themselves swinging downward into what might be to them a pit of
+death, she spoke to him.
+
+"Theer's a prayer I'd loike yo' to pray," she said. "Pray that if we mun
+dee, we may na dee until we ha' done our work."
+
+It was a dreadful work indeed that the rescuers had to do in those black
+galleries. And Joan was the bravest, quickest, most persistent of all.
+Paul Grace, following in her wake, found himself obeying her slightest
+word or gesture. He worked constantly at her side, for he, at least,
+had guessed the truth. He knew that they were both engaged in the
+same quest. When at last they had worked their way--lifting, helping,
+comforting--to the end of the passage where the collier had said he last
+saw the master then, for one moment, she paused, and her companion, with
+a thrill of pity, touched her to attract her attention.
+
+"Let me go first," he said.
+
+"Nay," she answered, "we'n go together."
+
+The gallery was a long and low one, and had been terribly shaken. In
+some places the props had been torn away, in others they were borne down
+by the loosened blocks of coal. The dim light of the "Davy" Joan held up
+showed such a wreck that Grace spoke to her again.
+
+"You must let me go first," he said, with gentle firmness. "If one of
+these blocks should fall----"
+
+Joan interrupted him,--
+
+"If one on 'em should fall I'm th' one as it had better fall on. There
+is na mony foak as ud miss Joan Lowrie. Yo' ha' work o' yo're own to
+do."
+
+She stepped into the gallery before he could protest, and he could only
+follow her. She went before, holding the Davy high, so that its light
+might be thrown as far forward as possible. Now and then she was forced
+to stoop to make her way around a bending prop; sometimes there was a
+fallen mass to be surmounted, but she was at the front still when they
+reached the other end without finding the object of their search.
+
+"It--he is na there," she said. "Let us try th' next passage," and she
+turned into it.
+
+It was she who first came upon what they were looking for; but they did
+not find it in the next passage, or the next, or even the next. It was
+farther away from the scene of the explosion than they had dared to
+hope. As they entered a narrow side gallery, Grace heard her utter a low
+sound, and the next minute she was down upon her knees.
+
+"Theer's a mon here," she said, "It's him as we're lookin' fur."
+
+She held the dim little lantern close to the face,--a still face with
+closed eyes, and blood upon it Grace knelt down too, his heart aching
+with dread.
+
+"Is he------" he began, but could not finish.
+
+Joan Lowrie laid her hand upon the apparently motionless breast and
+waited almost a minute, and then she lifted her own face, white as the
+wounded man's--white and solemn, and wet with a sudden rain of tears.
+
+"He is na dead," she said. "We ha' saved him."
+
+She sat down upon the floor of the gallery and lifting his head laid it
+upon her bosom, holding it close as a mother might hold the head of her
+child.
+
+"Mester," she said, "gi' me th' brandy flask, and tak' thou thy Davy an'
+go fur some o' th' men to help us get him to th' leet o' day. I'm gone
+weak at last. I conna do no more. I'll go wi' him to th' top."
+
+When the cage ascended to the mouth again with its last load of
+sufferers, Joan Lowrie came with it, blinded and dazzled by the golden
+winter's sunlight as it fell upon her haggard face.
+
+She was holding the head of what seemed to be a dead man upon her knee.
+A great shout of welcome rose up from the bystanders.
+
+She helped them to lay her charge upon a pile of coats and blankets
+prepared for him, and then she turned to the doctor who had hurried to
+the spot to see what could be done.
+
+"He is na dead," she said. "Lay yo're hond on his heart. It beats yet,
+Mester,--on'y a little, but it beats."
+
+"No," said the doctor, "he is not dead--yet," with a breath's pause
+between the two last words. "If some of you will help me to put him on a
+stretcher, he may be carried home, and I will go with him. There is just
+a chance for him, poor fellow, and he must have immediate attention.
+Where does he live?"
+
+"He must go with me," said Grace. "He is my friend."
+
+So they took him up, and Joan stood a little apart and watched them
+carry him away,--watched the bearers until they were out of sight,
+and then turned again and joined the women in their work among the
+sufferers.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI - Alive Yet
+
+In the bedroom above the small parlor a fire was burning at midnight,
+and by this fire Grace was watching. The lamp was turned low and the
+room was very quiet; a dropping cinder made quite a startling sound.
+When a moan or a movement of the patient broke the stillness--which was
+only at rare intervals--the Curate rose and went to the bedside. But
+it was only to look at the sufferer lying upon it, bandaged and
+unconscious. There was very little he could do. He could follow the
+instructions given by the medical man before he went away, but these had
+been few and hurried, and he could only watch with grief in his heart.
+There was but a chance that his friend's life might be saved. Close
+attention and unremitting care might rescue him, and to the best of his
+ability the Curate meant to give him both. But he could not help feeling
+a deep anxiety. His faith in his own skill was not very great, and there
+were no professional nurses in Riggan.
+
+"It is the care women give that he needs," he said once, standing near
+the pillow and speaking to himself. "Men cannot do these things well. A
+mother or sister might save him."
+
+He went to the window and drew back the curtain to look out upon the
+night. As he did so, he saw the figure of a woman nearing the house. As
+she approached, she began to walk more slowly, and when she reached
+the gates she hesitated, stopped and looked up. In a moment it became
+evident that she saw him, and was conscious that he saw her. The dim
+light in the chamber threw his form into strong relief. She raised her
+hand and made a gesture. He turned away from the window, left the room
+quietly, and went down-stairs. She had not moved, but stood at the gate
+awaiting him. She spoke to him in a low tone, and he distinguished in
+its sound a degree of physical exhaustion.
+
+"Yo' saw me," she said. "I thowt yo' did though I did na think o' yo'
+bein' at th' winder when I stopped--to--to see th' leet."
+
+"I am glad I saw you," said Grace. "You have been at work among the men
+who were hurt?"
+
+"Ay," pulling at a bush of evergreen nervously, and scattering the
+leaves as she spoke. "Theer's scarce a house o' th' common soart i'
+Riggan as has na trouble in it."
+
+"God help them all!" exclaimed Grace, fervently.
+
+"Have you seen Miss Barholm?" he asked next.
+
+"She wur on th' ground i' ten minnits after th' explosion. She wur
+in th' village when it happent, an' she drove to th' pit. She's been
+workin' as hard as ony woman i' Riggan. She saw us go down th' mine, but
+she did not see us come up. She wur away then wi' a woman as had a lad
+to be carried home dead. She would ha' come to _him_ but she knowed yo'
+were wi' him, an' theer wur them as needed her. When th' cages coom up
+theer wur women as screamed an' held to her, an' throwed theirsens on
+their knees an' hid their faces i' her dress, an' i' her honds, as if
+they thowt she could keep th' truth fro' 'em."
+
+Grace trembled in his excitement.
+
+"God bless her! God bless her!" he said, again and again.
+
+"Where is she now?" he asked at length.
+
+"Theer wur a little chap as come up i' the last cageful--he wur hurt
+bad, an' he wur sich a little chap as it went hard wi' him. When th'
+doctor touched him he screamed an' begged to be let alone, an' she heerd
+an' went to him, an' knelt down an' quieted him a bit. Th' poor little
+lad would na let go o' her dress; he held to it fur dear life, an'
+sobbed an' shivered and begged her to go wi' him an' howd his head on
+her lap while th' doctor did what mun be done. An' so she went, an'
+she's wi' him now. He will na live till day-leet, an' he keeps crying
+out for th' lady to stay wi' him."
+
+There was another silence, and then Joan spoke:
+
+"Canna yo' guess what I coom to say?"
+
+He thought he could, and perhaps his glance told her so.
+
+"If I wur a lady," she said, her lips, her hands trembling, "I could na
+ax yo' what I've made up my moind to; but I'm noan a lady, an' it does
+na matter. If yo' need some one to help yo' wi' him, will yo' let me ha'
+th' place? I dunnot ax nowt else but--but to be let do th' hard work."
+
+She ended with a sob. Suddenly she covered her face with her hands,
+weeping wildly.
+
+"Don't do that," he said, gently. "Come with me. It is you he needs."
+
+He led the way into the house and up the stairs, Joan following him.
+When they entered the room they went to the bedside.
+
+The injured man lay motionless.
+
+"Is theer loife i' him yet?" asked Joan. "He looks as if theer might na
+be."
+
+"There is life in him," Grace answered; "and he has been a strong man,
+so I think we may feel some hope."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII - Watching and Waiting
+
+The next morning the pony-carriage stopped before the door of the
+Curate's lodgings. When Grace went downstairs to the parlor, Anice
+Barholm turned from the window to greet him. The appearance of physical
+exhaustion he had observed the night before in Joan Lowrie, he saw again
+in her, but he had never before seen the face which Anice turned toward
+him.
+
+"I was on the ground yesterday, and saw you go down into the mine," she
+said. "I had never thought of such courage before."
+
+That was all, but in a second he comprehended that this morning they
+stood nearer together than they had ever stood before.
+
+"How is the child you were with?" he asked.
+
+"He died an hour ago."
+
+When they went upstairs, Joan was standing by the sick man.
+
+"He's worse than he wur last neet," she said. "An' he'll be worse still.
+I ha' nursed hurts like these afore. It'll be mony a day afore he'll be
+better--if th' toime ivver comes."
+
+The Rector and Mrs. Barholm, hearing of the accident, and leaving
+Browton hurriedly to return home, were met by half a dozen different
+versions on their way to Riggan, and each one was so enthusiastically
+related that Mr. Barholm's rather dampened interest in his daughter's
+protege was fanned again into a brisk flame.
+
+"There must be something in the girl, after all," he said, "if one could
+only get at it. Something ought to be done for her, really."
+
+Hearing of Grace's share in the transaction, he was simply amazed.
+
+"I think there must be some mistake," he said to his wife. "Grace is not
+the man--not the man _physically_" straightening his broad shoulders,
+"to be equal to such a thing."
+
+But the truth of the report forced itself upon him after hearing the
+story repeated several times before they reached Riggan, and arriving at
+home they heard the whole story from Anice.
+
+While Anice was talking, Mr. Barholm began to pace the floor of the room
+restlessly.
+
+"I wish I had been there," he said. "I would have gone down myself."
+
+(It is true: he would have done so.)
+
+"You are a braver man than I took you for," he said to his Curate,
+when he saw him,--and he felt sure that he was saying exactly the right
+thing. "I should scarcely have expected such dashing heroism from you,
+Grace."
+
+"I hardly regarded it in that light," said the little gentleman,
+coloring sensitively. "If I had, I should scarcely have expected it of
+myself."
+
+The fact that Joan Lowrie had engaged herself as nurse to the injured
+engineer made some gossip among her acquaintances at first, but this
+soon died out. Thwaite's wife had a practical enough explanation of the
+case.
+
+"Th' lass wur tired o' pit-work; an' no wonder. She's made up her moind
+to ha' done wi' it; an' she's a first-rate one to nurse,--strong i' the
+arms, an' noan sleepy-headed. Happen she'll tak' up wi' it fur a trade.
+As to it bein' _him_ as she meant when she said theer wur a mon as she
+meant to save, it wur no such thing. Joan Lowrie's noan th' kind o'
+wench to be runnin' after gentlefolk,--yo' know that yoresens. It's noan
+o' our business who the mon wur. Happen he's dead; an' whether he's dead
+or alive, you'd better leave him a-be, an' her too."
+
+In the sick man's room the time passed monotonously. There were days
+and nights of heavy slumber or unconsciousness,--restless mutterings and
+weary tossings to and fro. The face upon the pillow was sometimes white,
+sometimes flushed with fever; but whatever change came to pass, Death
+never seemed far away.
+
+Grace lost appetite, and grew thin with protracted anxiety and watching.
+He would not give up his place even to Anice or Mrs. Barholm, who spent
+much of their time in the house. He would barely consent to snatch a few
+minutes' rest in the day-time; in truth, he could not have slept if he
+would. Joan held to her post unflinchingly. She took even less respite
+than Grace. Having almost forced her to leave the room one morning,
+Anice went downstairs to find her lying upon the sofa,--her hands
+clasped under her head, her eyes wide open.
+
+"I conna sleep yet a while," she said. "Dunnot let it trouble yo'. I'm
+used to it."
+
+Sometimes during the long night Joan felt his hollow eyes following her
+as she moved about the room, and fixed hungrily upon her when she stood
+near him.
+
+"Who are you?" he would say. "I have seen you before, and I know your
+face; but--but I have lost your name. Who are you?"
+
+One night, as she stood upon the hearth, alone in the room,--Grace
+having gone downstairs for something,--she was startled by the sound of
+Derrick's voice falling with a singular distinctness upon the silence.
+
+"Who is it that is standing there?" he said.
+
+"Do I know you? Yes--it is-----" but before he could finish, the
+momentary gleam of recognition had passed away, and he had wandered off
+again into low, disjointed murmurings.
+
+It was always of the mine, or one other anxiety, that he spoke. There
+was something he must do or say,--some decision he must reach. Must he
+give up? Could he give up? Perhaps he had better go away,--far away.
+Yes; he had better go. No,--he could not,--he must wait and think again.
+He was tired of thinking,--tired of reasoning and arguing with himself.
+Let it go for a few minutes. Give him just an hour of rest. He was
+full of pain; he was losing himself, somehow. And then, after a brief
+silence, he would begin again and go the weary round once more.
+
+"He has had a great deal of mental anxiety of late,--too much
+responsibility," said the medical man; "and it is going rather against
+him."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII - Recognition
+
+The turning-point was reached at last. One evening, at the close of his
+usual visit, the doctor said to Grace:
+
+"To-morrow, I think, you will see a marked alteration. I should not be
+surprised to find on my next visit that his mind had become permanently
+cleared. The intervals of half consciousness have become lengthened.
+Unless some entirely unlooked-for change occurs, I feel sure that the
+worst is over. Give him close attention to-night. Don't let the young
+woman leave the room."
+
+That night Anice watched with Joan. It was a strange experience through
+which these two passed together. If Anice had not known the truth
+before, she would have learned it then. Again and again Derrick went the
+endless round of his miseries. How must it end? How could it end? What
+must he do? How black and narrow the passages were! There she was,
+coming toward him from the other end,--and if the props gave way------!
+They _were_ giving way!--Good God! the light was out, and he was held
+fast by the mass which had fallen upon him. What must he do about her
+whom he loved, and who was separated from him by this horrible wall? He
+was dying, and she would never know what he wanted to tell her. What was
+it that he wanted to say,--That he loved her,--loved her,--loved her!
+Could she hear him? He must make her hear him before he died,--"Joan!
+Joan!"
+
+Thus he raved hour after hour; and the two sat and listened, often in
+dead silence; but at last there rose in Joan Lowrie's face a look of
+such intense and hopeless pain, that Anice spoke.
+
+"Joan! my poor Joan!" she said.
+
+Joan's head sank down upon her hands.
+
+"I mun go away fro' Riggan," she whispered. "I mun go away afore he
+knows. Theer's no help fur me."
+
+"No help?" repeated Anice after her.
+
+She did not understand.
+
+"Theer's none," said Joan. "Dunnot yo' see as ony place wheer he is con
+be no place fur me? I thowt--I thowt the trouble wur aw on my side, but
+it is na. Do yo' think I'd stay an' let him do hissen a wrong?"
+
+Anice wrung her hands together.
+
+"A wrong?" she cried. "Not a wrong, Joan--I cannot let you call it
+that."
+
+"It would na be nowt else. Am _I_ fit wife fur a gentlemon? Nay, my
+work's done when the danger's ower. If he wakes to know th' leet o' day
+to-morrow morning, it's done then."
+
+"You do not mean," said Anice, "that you will leave us?"
+
+"I conna stay i' Riggan; I mun go away."
+
+Toward morning Derrick became quieter. He muttered less and less until
+his voice died away altogether, and he sank into a profound slumber.
+Grace, coming in and finding him sleeping, turned to Joan with a look of
+intense relief.
+
+"The worst is over," he said; "now we may hope for the best."
+
+"Ay," Joan answered, quietly, "th' worst is ower--fur him."
+
+At last darkness gave way to a faint gray light, and then the gray
+sky showed long slender streaks of wintry red, gradually widening and
+deepening until all the east seemed flushed.
+
+"It's mornin'," said Joan, turning from the window to the bed. "I mun
+gi' him th' drops again."
+
+She was standing near the pillow when the first flood of the sunlight
+poured in at the window. At this moment Derrick awoke from his sleep to
+a full recognition of all around him. But the strength of his delirium
+had died out; his prostration was so utter, that for the moment he had
+no power to speak and could only look up at the pale face hopelessly. It
+seemed as if the golden glow of the morning light transfigured it.
+
+"He's awake," Joan said, moving away and speaking to those on the other
+side of the room. "Will one on yo' pour out th' medicine? My hand's noan
+steady."
+
+Grace went to the bedside hurriedly.
+
+"Derrick," he said, bending down, "do you know me?"
+
+"Yes," Derrick answered in a faltering whisper, and as he said it the
+bedroom door closed. Both of them heard it. A shadow fell upon the sick
+man's face. His eyes met his friend's with a question in them, and the
+next instant the question put itself into words:
+
+"Who--went out?"
+
+Grace bent lower.
+
+"It was Joan Lowrie."
+
+He closed his eyes and waited a little as if to gain fresh strength.
+There rose a faint flush upon his hollow cheeks and his mouth trembled.
+
+"How"--he said next--"how--long?"
+
+"You mean to ask me," said Grace, "how long she has been here?"
+
+A motion of assent.
+
+"She has been here from the first."
+
+He asked no further questions. His eyes closed once more and he lay
+silent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX - A Testimonial
+
+Joan went back to her lodgings at the Thwaites' and left Mrs. Barholm
+and Anice to fill her place.
+
+Too prostrate to question his nurses, Derrick could only lie with closed
+eyes helpless and weary. He could not even keep himself awake long
+enough to work his way to any very clear memories of what had happened.
+He had so many half recollections to tantalize him. He could remember
+his last definite sensation,--a terrible shock flinging him to the
+ground, a second of pain and horror, and then utter oblivion. Had he
+awakened one night and seen Joan Lowrie by the dim fire-light and called
+out to her, and then lost himself? Had he awakened for a second or so
+again and seen her standing close to his pillow, looking down at him
+with an agony of dread in her face?
+
+In answer to his question, Grace had told him that she had been with
+him from the first. How had it happened? This he asked himself again and
+again, until he grew feverish over it.
+
+"Above all things," he heard the doctor say, "don't let him talk and
+don't talk to him."
+
+But Grace comprehended something of his mental condition.
+
+"I see by your look that you wish to question me," he said to him. "Have
+patience for a few days and then I will answer every question you may
+ask. Try to rest upon that assurance."
+
+There was one question, however, which would not wait. Grace saw it
+lying in the eager eyes and answered it.
+
+"Joan Lowrie," he said, "has gone home."
+
+Joan's welcome at the Thwaites' house was tumultuous. The children
+crowded about her, neighbors dropped in, both men and women wanting to
+have a word with her. There were few of them who had not met with some
+loss by the explosion, and there were those among them who had cause to
+remember the girl's daring.
+
+"How's th' engineer?" they asked. "What do th' doctors say o' him?"
+
+"He'll get better," she answered. "They say as he's out o' danger."
+
+"Wur na it him as had his head on yo're knee when yo' come up i' th'
+cage?" asked one woman.
+
+Mrs. Thwaite answered for her with some sharpness. They should not
+gossip about Joan, if she could help it.
+
+"I dunnot suppose as she knowd th' difference betwixt one mon an'
+another," she said. "It wur na loikely as she'd pick and choose. Let th'
+lass ha' a bit o' quoiet, wenches. Yo' moither her wi' yo're talk."
+
+"It's an ill wind as blows nobody good," said Thwaite himself. "Th'
+explosion has done one thing--it's made th' mesters change their minds.
+They're i' th' humor to do what th' engineer axed fur, now."
+
+"Ay," said a tired-looking woman, whose poor attempt at mourning told
+its own story; "but that wunnot bring my mester back."
+
+"Nay," said another, "nor my two lads."
+
+There had been a great deal of muttered discontent among the colliers
+before the accident, and since its occurrence there had been signs
+of open rebellion. Then, too, results had proved that the seasonable
+adoption of Derrick's plan would have saved some lives at least, and,
+in fact, some future expenditure. Most of the owners, perhaps, felt
+somewhat remorseful; a few, it is not impossible, experienced nothing
+more serious than annoyance and embarrassment, but it is certain
+that there were one or two who were crushed by a sense of personal
+responsibility for what had occurred.
+
+It was one of these who made the proposition that Derrick's plan be
+accepted unreservedly, and that the engineer himself should be requested
+to resume his position and undertake the management of the work. There
+was some slight demurring at first, but the catastrophe was so recent
+that its effect had not had time to wear away, and finally the agreement
+was made.
+
+But at that time Derrick was lying senseless in the bedroom over the
+parlor, and the deputation from the company could only wait upon Grace,
+and make an effort at expressing their sympathy.
+
+After Joan's return to her lodgings, she, too, was visited. There was
+some curiosity felt concerning her. A young and handsome woman, who had
+taken so remarkable a part in the tragedy, was necessarily an object of
+interest.
+
+Mr. Barholm was so fluently decided in his opinion that something
+really ought to be done, that a visit to the heroine of the day was the
+immediate result. There was only one form the appreciation of a higher
+for a lower social grade could take, and it was Mr. Barholm who had
+been, naturally, selected as spokesman. He explained to Joan the nature
+of the visit. His friends of the Company had heard the story of her
+remarkable heroism, and had felt that something was due to her--some
+token of the admiration her conduct had inspired in them. They had
+agreed that something ought to be done, and they had called this evening
+to present her with a little testimonial.
+
+The bundle of crisp bank-notes burned the hand of the man who held them,
+as Joan Lowrie listened to this speech. She stood upright before them,
+resting one hand upon the back of a chair, but when the bearer of the
+testimonial in question rose, she made a step forward. There was more
+of her old self in her gesture than she had shown for months. Her eyes
+flashed, her face hardened, a sudden red flew to her cheek.
+
+"Put it up," she said. "I wunnot tak' it."
+
+The man who had the money laid it upon the table, as if he were anxious
+to be rid of it He was in a glow of anger and shame at the false step
+they had made.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said. "I see we have made a mistake."
+
+"Ay," she said, "yo' ha' made a mistake. If yo' choose to tak' that an'
+gi'e it to th' women an' childer as is left to want bread, yo' may do it
+an' welcome."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL - Going South
+
+The first day Fergus Derrick was allowed to spend an hour in an
+easy-chair by the fire, he heard the story of his rescue from the
+lips of his friend, listening to it as he rested against the propping
+cushions.
+
+"Don't be afraid of exciting me," he had said to Grace. "I have
+conjectured until I am tired of it. Tell me the whole story. Let me hear
+the end _now_."
+
+Derrick's breath came quick and short as he listened, and his haggard
+face flushed. It was not only to his friend he owed his life, but to
+Joan Lowrie.
+
+"I should like to see her," he said when Grace had finished. "As for
+you, Grace--well--words are poor things."
+
+"They are very poor things between friends," was Grace's answer; "so
+let us have none of them. You are on this side of the grave, dear
+fellow--that is enough."
+
+During the rest of the day Derrick was silent and abstracted, but
+plainly full of active thought.
+
+By nightfall a feverish spot burned upon his cheek, and his pulse had
+quickened dangerously.
+
+"I must wait," he said to Grace, "and it is hard work."
+
+Just at that time Anice was sitting in her room at the Rectory, thinking
+of Joan also, when there came to her the sound of footsteps in the
+passage and then a summons to the door.
+
+"You may come in," she said.
+
+But it was not a servant, as she had supposed; it was Joan, with a
+bundle upon her arm.
+
+"You are going away, Joan?" she said. "Tonight?"
+
+"Ay," Joan answered, as she came and stood upon the hearth. "I'm goin'
+away toneet."
+
+"You have quite made up your mind?"
+
+"Ay," said Joan. "I mun break loose. I want to get as far fro' th' owd
+life as I con. I'd loike to forget th' most on it. I'm goin' toneet,
+because I dunnot want to be axed questions. If I passed thro' th' town
+by day-leet, theer's them as ud fret me wi' their talk."
+
+"Have you seen Mr. Grace?" Anice asked.
+
+"No. I shanna ha' th' chance to say good-by to him. I coom partly to ax
+yo' to say it fur me."
+
+"Yes, I will say it I wish there were no need that I should, though. I
+wish I could keep you."
+
+There was a brief silence. Joan knelt on one knee by the fender.
+
+"I ha' bin thinkin' o' Liz," she said. "I thowt I'd ax yo'--if it wur to
+happen so as she'd drift back here agen while I wur away--as yo'd say
+a kind word to her, an' tell her about th' choild, an' how as I nivver
+thowt hard on her, an' as th' day nivver wur as I did na pity her fro'
+th' bottom o' my soul. I'm goin' toward th' south," she said again after
+a while. "They say as th' south is as different fro' th' north as th'
+day is fro' the neet. I ha' money enow to help me on, an' when I stop I
+shall look fur work."
+
+Anice's face lighted up suddenly.
+
+"To the south!" she said. "Why did I not think of that before? If you go
+toward the south, there is Ashley-Wold and grandmamma, Mrs. Galloway. I
+will write to her now, if you will let me," rising to her feet.
+
+"If yo'll gi' me th' letter, I'll tak' it an' thank yo'," said Joan. "If
+she could help me to work or th' loike, I should be glad enow."
+
+Anice's mother's mother had always been her safest resource in the past,
+and yet, curiously enough, she had not thought of turning toward her in
+this case until Joan's words had suggested such a course.
+
+Joan took the letter and put it in the bosom of her dress.
+
+"Theer's no more danger fur _him?_" she said. "Thwaite towd me he wur
+better."
+
+She spoke questioningly, and Anice answered her--
+
+"Yes, he is out of danger. Joan, what am I to say to him?"
+
+"To say to him!"
+
+She started slightly, but ended with a strained quietness of manner.
+
+"Theer's nowt to say," she added, rising, and preparing to go.
+
+Anice rose also. She held out both her hands, and Joan took them.
+
+"I will go downstairs with you," said Anice; and they went out together.
+
+When they reached the front door, they kissed each other, and Anice
+stood in the lighted hall and watched the girl's departure.
+
+"Good-by!" she said; "and God bless you!"
+
+Early in the morning, Derrick called his friend to his bedside.
+
+"I have had a bad night," he said to him.
+
+"Yes," Grace answered. "It is easy enough to see that."
+
+There was an unnatural sparkle in the hollow eyes, and the flush upon
+the cheek had not faded away.
+
+Derrick tried to laugh, and moved restlessly upon his pillow.
+
+"So I should imagine," said he. "The fact is--well you see I have been
+thinking."
+
+"About--"
+
+"Yes--yes--Grace, I cannot wait--I must hear something. A hundred things
+might happen. I must at least be sure she is not far away. I shall never
+regain strength as long as I have not the rest that knowledge will bring
+me. Will you go to her and take her a few words of gratitude from me?"
+
+"Yes, readily."
+
+"Will you go now?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Grace would have left the room, but Derrick stretched out his hand and
+touched him.
+
+"Stay--" he said.
+
+Grace turned to him again.
+
+"You know"--in the old resolute way--"you know what I mean the end to
+be, if it may be?"
+
+"I think I do."
+
+Grace appeared at the Rectory very soon afterward, and asked for Miss
+Barholm. Anice came down into the parlor to meet him at once. She could
+not help guessing that for some reason or other he had come to speak of
+Joan, and his first words confirmed her impression.
+
+"I have just left the Thwaites'," he said. "I went there to see Joan
+Lowrie, and find that she is not there. Mrs. Thwaite told me that she
+had left Riggan. Is that true?"
+
+"Yes. She went away last night She came here to bid me good-by, and
+leave a farewell message for you."
+
+Grace was both troubled and embarrassed.
+
+"I----" he faltered. "Do _you_ understand it?"
+
+"Yes," Anice answered.
+
+Their eyes met, and she went on:
+
+"You know we have said that it was best that she should break away
+entirely from the past. She has gone to try if it is possible to do it.
+She wants another life altogether."
+
+"I do not know what I must do," said Grace. "You say she has gone away,
+and I--I came to her from Derrick."
+
+"From Mr. Derrick!" Anice exclaimed; and then both relapsed into
+silence.
+
+It was Anice who spoke first
+
+"Mamma was going to send some things to Mr. Derrick this morning," she
+said. "I will have the basket packed and take it myself. If you will let
+me, I will go with you as soon as I can have the things prepared."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI - "A Soart o' Pollygy"
+
+The interview between Anice and Derrick was a long one. At the end
+Derrick said:
+
+"I shall go to Ashley-Wold."
+
+Grace had been called out almost immediately after his return to the
+house; but on his way home he met Anice, and having something to say
+about the school, he turned toward the Rectory with her.
+
+They had not gone far, however, before they were joined by a third
+party,--Mr. Sammy Craddock, who was wending his way Crownward. Seeing
+them, Mr. Craddock hesitated for a moment, as if feeling somewhat
+doubtful; but as they approached him, he pulled off his hat. "I dunnot
+know," he said, "after aw, if it would not be as well to ha' a witness.
+Hope yo're nicely, Miss," affably; "an' th' same to yo', Parson. Would
+yo'" clearing his throat, "would yo' moind shakin' honds wi' a chap?"
+
+Grace gave him his hand.
+
+"Thank yo', Parson," said "Owd Sammy." "It's th' first toime, yo' know,
+but it shanna be th' last, if yo' dnnnot see owt agen it. Th' truth is,
+as it's summat as has been on my moind for some toime,--ivver sin' th'
+accident, i' fact. Pluck's pluck, yo' see, whether yo're for a mon or
+agen him. Yo're not mich to look at. Yo' mowt be handsomer, an' yo' mowt
+be likelier,--yo' mowt easily ha' more muscle, an' yo' dnnnot look as
+if yo' wnr like to be mich i' argyment; but yo're getten a backbone o'
+yo're own,--I'm danged if yo' ha' na."
+
+"I'm much obliged to you, I am sure," said Grace.
+
+"Yo' need na be," answered Sammy, encouragingly. "Yo' need na be. If
+yo'd getten owt to be obleeged to me fur, I should na ha' so mich to
+say. Yo' see I'm makin' a soart o' pollygy,--a soart o' pollygy," with
+evident enjoyment of the word. "An' that's why I said as it mowt be as
+well to ha' a witness. I wur allus one as set more store by th' State
+than th' Church, an' parsons wur na i' my line, an' happen I ha' ben a
+bit hard on yo', an' ha' said things as carried weight agen yo' wi' them
+as valleyed my opinion o' things i' general. An' sin' th' blow-up, I ha'
+made up my moind as I would na moind tellin' yo' as I wur agoin' to
+w'draw my oppysition, sin' it seemit as if I'd made a bit o' a mistake.
+Yo're neyther knave nor foo', if yo' are a parson. Theer now!
+Good-mornin' to yo'!"
+
+"Noan on 'em con say as I wur na fair," Owd Sammy said to himself, as
+he went on his way shaking his head, "I could na ha' done no fairer. He
+desarved a bit o' commendation, an' I let him ha' it. Be fair wi a mon,
+say I, parson or no. An' he is na th' wrong sort, after aw."
+
+He was so well pleased with himself, that he even carried his virtue
+into The Crown, and diffused it abroad over his pint of sixpenny. He
+found it not actually unpleasant to display himself as a magnate,
+who, having made a most natural mistake, had been too independent and
+straightforward to let the matter rest, and consequently had gone to the
+magnificent length of apologetic explanation.
+
+"I ha' bin havin' a word or so wi' th' little Parson," he said. "I ha'
+ben tellin' him what I thowt o' what he did th' day o' th' blow-up. I
+changed my moind about th' little chap that day, an' I ha' ben tellin'
+him so."
+
+"Yo' ha'?" in an amazed chorus. "Well, now, that theer _wur_ a turn,
+Sammy."
+
+"Ay, it wur. I'm noan afeard to speak my moind one way or t'other, yo'
+see. When a mon shows as he's med o' th' reet cloth, I am na afeard to
+tell him I loike th' web."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII - Ashley-Wold
+
+Two weeks after Joan left Riggan, she entered the village of Ashley-Wold
+on foot. With the exception of a few miles here and there, when a
+friendly wagoner had offered her a lift, she had made all her journey in
+this manner. She had met with discouragement and disappointment. She had
+not fancied that it would be an easy matter to find work, though she
+had expressed no doubt to Anice, but it was even a more difficult matter
+than she had imagined. At some places work was not to be had, in others
+the fact that she was an utter stranger went against her.
+
+It was evening when she came to Ashley-Wold; the rain was falling soft
+and slowly, and the air was chill. She was cold, and faint with hunger.
+The firelight that shone through the cottage windows brought to her an
+acute sense of her bodily weariness through its suggestion of rest and
+cheerfulness. The few passers-by--principally men and women returning
+from their daily labor--glanced at her curiously.
+
+She had held to the letter as a last resource. When she could not help
+herself she would ask for assistance, but not until then. Still she had
+always turned her face toward Ashley-Wold, Now she meant to go to Mrs.
+Galloway and deliver the letter.
+
+Upon entering the village she had stopped and asked a farmer for
+directions. He had stared at her at first, hardly comprehending her
+northern dialect, but had finally understood and pointed out the house,
+whose gables could be seen from the road-side.
+
+So Joan made her way toward it through the evening rain and mist. It
+was a pretty place, with a quaint picturesqueness. A hedge, which was
+a marvel of trimness, surrounded the garden, ivy clung to the walls and
+gables, and fancifully clipped box and other evergreens made a modest
+greenery about it, winter though it was. At her first glance at this
+garden Joan felt something familiar in it. Perhaps Anice herself had
+planned some portion of it. Joan paused a moment and stood looking over
+the hedge.
+
+Mrs. Galloway, sitting at her work-table near the window, had found her
+attention attracted a few moments before by a tall young woman coming
+down the road which passed on one side of the hedge.
+
+"There is something a little remarkable about her," she said. "She
+certainly does not belong to Ashley-Wold."
+
+Then Joan stopped by the hedge and she saw her face and uttered a low
+exclamation of surprise at its beauty. She drew nearer to the window and
+looked out at her.
+
+"She must be very cold," said Mrs. Galloway. "She looks as if she had
+made a long journey. I will send Hollis to her."
+
+A few minutes later there tripped down the garden-walk a trimly attired
+young housemaid.
+
+The mistress had seen her from the window and thought she looked cold
+and tired. Would she come into the house to rest?
+
+Joan answered with a tinge of color on her cheek. She felt a little like
+a beggar.
+
+"Thank yo'; I'll come," she said. "If th' mistress is Mrs. Galloway, I
+ha' a letter fur her fro' Lancashire."
+
+Mrs. Galloway met them on the threshold.
+
+"The young woman, ma'am," said the servant, "has a letter from
+Lancashire."
+
+"From Lancashire!" said Mrs. Galloway.
+
+"Fro' Riggan, mistress," said Joan. "Fro' Miss Anice. I'm Joan Lowrie."
+
+That Joan Lowrie was a name familiar to her was evident by the change in
+Mrs. Galloway's face. A faint flush of pleasure warmed it, and she spoke
+quickly.
+
+"Joan Lowrie!" she said. "My dear child's friend! Then I know you very
+well. Come into the room, my dear."
+
+She led her into the room and closed the door.
+
+"You are very cold and your shawl is wet," laying a kind hand upon it.
+"Give it to me, and take a seat by the fire. You must warm yourself
+thoroughly and have a cup of tea," she said, "and then I will begin to
+ask questions."
+
+There was a wide, low-seated, low-armed, soft-cushioned chair at one
+side of the fire, and in this chair she had made Joan seat herself. The
+sudden change from the chill dampness of the winter day to the exquisite
+relief and rest, almost overcame the girl. She was deadly pale when Mrs.
+Galloway ceased, and her lips trembled; she tried to speak, and for a
+moment could not; tears rushed to her eyes and stood in them. But she
+managed to answer at last.
+
+"I beg yo're pardon," she said. "Yo' ha' no need to moind me. Th' warmth
+has made me a bit faint, that's aw. I've noan been used to it lately."
+
+Mrs. Galloway came and stood near her.
+
+"I am sorry to hear that, my dear," she said.
+
+"Yo're very kind, ma'am," Joan answered.
+
+She drew the letter from her dress and handed it to her.
+
+"I getten that fro' Miss Anice the neet I left Riggan," she said.
+
+When the tea was brought in and Joan had sat down, the old lady read the
+letter.
+
+"_Keep her with you if you can. Give her the help she needs most. She
+has had a hard life, and wants to forget it._"
+
+"Now, I wonder," said Mrs. Galloway to herself, "what the help is that
+she needs most?"
+
+The rare beauty of the face impressed her as it invariably impressed
+strangers, but she looked beneath the surface and saw something more in
+it than its beauty. She saw its sadness, its resolution.
+
+When Joan rose from the table, the old lady was still standing with the
+letter in her hand. She folded it and spoke to her.
+
+"If you are sufficiently rested, I should like you to sit down and talk
+to me a little. I want to speak to you about your plans."
+
+"Then," said Joan, "happen I'd better tell yo' at th' start as I ha'
+none."
+
+Mrs. Galloway put her hand upon her shoulder.
+
+"Then," she returned, "that is all the better for me, for I have in my
+mind one of my own. You would like to find work to help you----"
+
+"I _mun_ find work," Joan interrupted, "or starve."
+
+"Of any kind?" questioningly.
+
+"I ha' worked at th' pit's mouth aw my life," said Joan. "I need na be
+dainty, yo' see."
+
+Mrs. Galloway smoothed the back of the small, withered hand upon her
+knee with the palm of the other.
+
+"Then, perhaps," she said slowly, "you will not refuse to accept my
+offer and stay here--with me?"
+
+"Wi' yo'?" Joan exclaimed. "I am an old woman, you see," Mrs. Galloway
+answered. "I have lived in Ashley-Wold all my life, and have, as it
+were, accumulated duties, and now as the years go by, I do not find it
+so easy to perform them as I used to. I need a companion who is young
+and strong, and quick to understand the wants of those who suffer. Will
+you stay here and help _me?_"
+
+"Wi' yo'?" said Joan again. "Nay," she cried; "nay--that is not fur me.
+I am na fit."
+
+On her way to her chamber some hours later Mrs. Galloway stopped at the
+room which had been Anice's, and looked in upon her guest. But Joan was
+not asleep, as she had hoped to find her. She stood at the fireside,
+looking into the blaze.
+
+"Will you come here a minnit?" she said.
+
+She looked haggard and wearied, but the eyes she raised to her hostess
+were resolute.
+
+"Theer's summat as I ha' held back fro' sayin' to yo'," she said, "an'
+th' more I think on it, th' more I see as I mun tell yo' if I mean
+to begin fair an' clear. I ha' a trouble as I'm fain to hide; it's
+a trouble as I ha' fowt wi' an' ha' na helped mysen agen. It's na a
+shame," straightening herself; "it's a trouble such as ony woman might
+bear an' be honest. I coom away fro' Riggan to be out o' th' way on
+it--not to forget it, for I conna--but so as I should na be so near
+to--to th' hurt on it."
+
+"I do not need another word," Mrs. Galloway answered. "If you had chosen
+to keep it a secret, it would have been your own secret as long as you
+chose that it should be so. There is nothing more you need? Very well
+Good-night, my dear!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII - Liz Comes Back
+
+"Miss," said Mrs. Thwaite, "it wur last neet, an' you mowt ha' knocked
+me down wi' a feather, fur I seed her as plain as I see yo'."
+
+"Then," said Anice, "she must be in Riggan now."
+
+"Ay," the woman answered, "that she mun, though wheer, God knows, I
+dunnot. It wur pretty late, yo' see, an' I wur gettin' th' mester's
+supper ready, an' as I turns mysen fro' th' oven, wheer I had been
+stoopin' down to look at th' bit o' bacon, I seed her face agen th'
+winder, starin' in at me wild loike. Ay, it wur her sure enow, poor
+wench! She wur loike death itsen--main different fro' th' bit o' a soft,
+pretty, leet-headed lass she used to be."
+
+"I will go and speak to Mr. Grace," Anice said.
+
+The habit of referring to Grace was growing stronger every day. She met
+him not many yards away, and before she spoke to him saw that he was not
+ignorant of what she had to say.
+
+"I think you know what I am going to tell you," she said.
+
+"I think I do," was his reply.
+
+The rumor had come to him from an acquaintance of the Maxys, and he had
+made up his mind to go to them at once.
+
+"Ay," said the mother, regarding them with rather resentful curiosity,
+"she wur here this mornin'--Liz wur. She wur in a bad way enow--said
+she'd been out on th' tramp fur nigh a week--seemit a bit out o' her
+head. Th' mon had left her again, as she mowt ha' knowed he would. Ay,
+lasses _is_ foo's. She'd ben i' th' Union, too, bad o' th' fever. I towd
+her she'd better ha' stayed theer. She wanted to know wheer Joan Lowrie
+wur, an' kept axin fur her till I wur tired o' hearin' her, and towd her
+so."
+
+"Did she ask about her little child?" said Anice.
+
+"Ay, I think she did, if I remember reet. She said summat about wantin'
+to know wheer we'd put it, an' if Joan wur dead, too. But it did na seem
+to be th' choild she cared about so much as Joan Lowrie."
+
+"Did you tell her where we buried it?" Grace asked.
+
+"Ay."
+
+"Thank you. I will go to the church-yard," he said to Anice. "I may find
+her there."
+
+"Will you let me go too?" Anice asked.
+
+He paused a moment
+
+"I am afraid that it would be best that I should go alone."
+
+"Let me go," she pleaded. "Don't be afraid for me. I could not stay
+away. Let me go--for Joan's sake."
+
+So he gave way, and they passed out together. But they did not find her
+in the church-yard. The gate had been pushed open and hung swinging on
+its hinges. There were fresh footprints upon the damp clay of the path
+that led to the corner where the child lay, and when they approached
+the little mound they saw that something had been dropped upon the grass
+near it. It was a thin, once gay-colored, little red shawl. Anice bent
+down and picked it up. "She has been here," she said.
+
+It was Anice who, after this, first thought of going to the old cottage
+upon the Knoll Road. The afternoon was waning when they left the
+church-yard; when they came within sight of the cottage the sun had sunk
+behind the hills. In the red, wintry light, the place looked terribly
+desolate. Weeds had sprung up about the house, and their rank growth
+covered the very threshold, the shutters hung loose and broken, and a
+damp greenness had crept upon the stone step.
+
+A chill fell upon her when they stood before the gate and saw what was
+within. Something besides the clinging greenness had crept upon the
+step,--something human,--a homeless creature, who might have staggered
+there and fallen, or who might have laid herself there to die. It was
+Liz, lying with her face downward and with her dead hand against the
+closed door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV - Not Yet
+
+Mrs. Galloway arose and advanced to meet her visitor with a slightly
+puzzled air.
+
+"Mr. ------" she began.
+
+"Fergus Derrick," ended the young man. "From Riggan, madam."
+
+She held out her hand cordially.
+
+"Joan is in the garden," she said, after a few moments of earnest
+conversation. "Go to her."
+
+It was a day very different from the one upon which Joan Lowrie had
+come to Ashley-Wold. Spring had set her light foot fairly upon the green
+Kentish soil. Farther north she had only begun to show her face timidly,
+but here the atmosphere was fresh and balmy, the hedges were budding
+bravely, and there was a low twitter of birds in the air. The garden
+Anice had so often tended was flushing into bloom in sunny corners, and
+the breath of early violets was sweet in it. Derrick was conscious of
+their springtime odor as he walked down the path, in the direction Mrs.
+Galloway had pointed out. It was a retired nook where evergreens were
+growing, and where the violet fragrance was more powerful than anywhere
+else, for the rich, moist earth of one bed was blue with them. Joan was
+standing near these violets,--he saw her as he turned into the walk,--a
+motionless figure in heavy brown drapery.
+
+She heard him and started from her revery. With another half-dozen steps
+he was at her side.
+
+"Don't look as if I had alarmed you," he said. "It seems such a poor
+beginning to what I have come to say."
+
+Her hand trembled so that one or two of the loose violets she held fell
+at his feet. She had a cluster of their fragrant bloom fastened in the
+full knot of her hair. The dropping of the flowers seemed to help her
+to recover herself. She drew back a little, a shade of pride in her
+gesture, though the color dyed her cheeks and her eyes were downcast.
+
+"I cannot--I cannot listen," she said.
+
+The slight change which he noted in her speech touched him unutterably.
+It was not a very great change; she spoke slowly and uncertainly, and
+the quaint northern burr still held its own, and here and there a word
+betrayed her effort.
+
+"No, no," he said, "you will listen. You gave me back my life. You will
+not make it worthless. If you cannot love me," his voice shaking, "it
+would have been less cruel to have left me where you found me--a dead
+man,--for whom all pain was over."
+
+He stopped. The woman trembled from head to foot. She raised her eyes
+from the ground and looked at him catching her breath.
+
+"Yo' are askin' me to be yo're wife!" she said. "Me!"
+
+"I love you," he answered. "_You_, and no other woman!"
+
+She waited a moment and then turned suddenly away from him, and leaned
+against the tree under which they were standing, resting her face upon
+her arm. Her hand clung among the ivy leaves and crushed them. Her old
+speech came back in the quick hushed cry she uttered.
+
+"I conna turn yo' fro' me," she said. "Oh! I conna!"
+
+"Thank God! Thank God!" he cried.
+
+He would have caught her to his breast, but she held up her hand to
+restrain him.
+
+"Not yet," she said, "not yet. I conna turn you fro' me, but theer's
+summat I must ask. Give me th' time to make myself worthy--give me th'
+time to work an' strive; be patient with me until th' day comes when I
+can come to yo' an' know I need not shame yo'. They say I am na slow at
+learnin'--wait and see how I can work for th' mon--for th' mon I love."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's That Lass O' Lowrie's, by Frances Hodgson Burnett
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