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diff --git a/58183-0.txt b/58183-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e81202 --- /dev/null +++ b/58183-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12988 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58183 *** + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 58183-h.htm or 58183-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/58183/58183-h/58183-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/58183/58183-h.zip) + + + Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive. See + https://archive.org/details/haworths00burn + + + + + +HAWORTH'S. + + + * * * * * * + +MRS. BURNETT'S BOOKS. + + +_Just Published._ + + +HIS GRACE OF OSMONDE. 12mo, $1 50 +A LADY OF QUALITY. 12mo, $1 50 +THAT LASS O' LOWRIE'S. 12mo, New Edition, 1 25 + + +THAT LASS O' LOWRIE'S. 12mo, $1 25 +HAWORTH'S. Illustrated. 12mo, 1 25 +THROUGH ONE ADMINISTRATION. 12mo, 1 50 +LOUISIANA. Illustrated. 12mo, 1 25 +A FAIR BARBARIAN. 12mo, 1 25 +SURLY TIM, and Other Stories. 12mo, 1 25 +VAGABONDIA. 12mo, paper, 50 + Cloth 1 25 +EARLIER STORIES. First Series. Paper, 50 + Cloth, 1 25 +EARLIER STORIES. Second Series. Paper, 50 + Cloth, 1 25 + +_New and Uniform Edition of the above 9 vols., +Cloth, in a box, $11.50._ + + +THE PRETTY SISTER OF JOSÉ. Cloth. + Illustrated, $1 00 + + +LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY. Illustrated + by R. B. Birch. 12mo, $1 25 + +SARAH CREWE, LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH, + and Other Stories. Illustrated. 12mo, 1 25 + +GIOVANNI AND THE OTHER. Illustrated. + 12mo, 1 25 + +PICCINO, and Other Child Stories. Illustrated. + 12mo, 1 25 + +TWO LITTLE PILGRIMS' PROGRESS. A Story + of the City Beautiful. Illustrated by R. B. + Birch. 12mo, 1 25 + + +THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. + Illustrated. 12mo, $2 00 + + * * * * * * + + +[Illustration: HE WAS SO NEAR THAT HER DRESS ALMOST TOUCHED HIM. + +(_Page 70._)] + + + +HAWORTH'S + +by + +FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT + +Author of "That Lass o' Lowrie's" + + + + + + +New York: +Charles Scribner's Sons + +1907 + +Copyright by +Frances Hodgson Burnett, +1879, 1907. +(All rights reserved.) + + + + +CONTENTS. + + PAGE +CHAPTER I. +Twenty Years 1 + +CHAPTER II. +Thirty Years 11 + +CHAPTER III. +"Not Finished" 16 + +CHAPTER IV. +Janey Briarley 21 + +CHAPTER V. +The Beginning of a Friendship 25 + +CHAPTER VI. +Miss Ffrench 30 + +CHAPTER VII. +The "Who'd Ha' Thowt It?" 39 + +CHAPTER VIII. +Mr. Ffrench 45 + +CHAPTER IX. +"Not for One Hour" 49 + +CHAPTER X. +Christian Murdoch 59 + +CHAPTER XI. +Miss Ffrench Returns 66 + +CHAPTER XII. +Granny Dixon 74 + +CHAPTER XIII. +Mr. Ffrench visits the Works 82 + +CHAPTER XIV. +Nearly an Accident 90 + +CHAPTER XV. +"It would be a Good Thing" 97 + +CHAPTER XVI. +"A Poor Chap as is allus i' Trouble" 101 + +CHAPTER XVII. +A Flower 107 + +CHAPTER XVIII. +"Haworth & Co." 115 + +CHAPTER XIX. +An Unexpected Guest 123 + +CHAPTER XX. +Miss Ffrench makes a Call 130 + +CHAPTER XXI. +In which Mrs. Briarley's Position is Delicate 137 + +CHAPTER XXII. +Again 142 + +CHAPTER XXIII. +"Ten Shillings' Worth" 152 + +CHAPTER XXIV. +At an End 160 + +CHAPTER XXV. +"I Shall not turn Back" 165 + +CHAPTER XXVI. +A Revolution 169 + +CHAPTER XXVII. +The Beginning 178 + +CHAPTER XXVIII. +A Speech 186 + +CHAPTER XXIX. +"Sararann" 192 + +CHAPTER XXX. +Mrs. Haworth and Granny Dixon 198 + +CHAPTER XXXI. +Haworth's Defender 205 + +CHAPTER XXXII. +Christian Murdoch 211 + +CHAPTER XXXIII. +A Seed Sown 220 + +CHAPTER XXXIV. +A Climax 227 + +CHAPTER XXXV. +"I am not ready for it yet" 241 + +CHAPTER XXXVI. +Settling an Account 245 + +CHAPTER XXXVII. +A Summer Afternoon 254 + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. +"God Bless You!" 261 + +CHAPTER XXXIX. +"It is done with" 267 + +CHAPTER XL. +"Look Out!" 274 + +CHAPTER XLI. +"It has all been a Lie" 284 + +CHAPTER XLII. +"Another Man!" 290 + +CHAPTER XLIII. +"Even" 294 + +CHAPTER XLIV. +"Why do you cry for Me?" 299 + +CHAPTER XLV. +"It is Worse than I Thought" 305 + +CHAPTER XLVI. +Once Again 311 + +CHAPTER XLVII. +A Footstep 316 + +CHAPTER XLVIII. +Finished 322 + +CHAPTER XLIX. +"If Aught's for Me, Remember It" 327 + +CHAPTER L. +An After-Dinner Speech 336 + +CHAPTER LI. +"Th' On'y One as is na a Foo'!" 343 + +CHAPTER LII. +"Haworth's is done with" 350 + +CHAPTER LIII. +"A Bit o' Good Black" 363 + +CHAPTER LIV. +"It will be to You" 369 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. + + +HE WAS SO NEAR THAT HER DRESS ALMOST TOUCHED HIM. _Frontispiece._ + +HAWORTH'S FIRST APPEARANCE 1 + +"YO'RE TH' VERY MORAL ON HIM" 80 + +"SIT DOWN," SHE SAID, "AND TALK TO ME" 116 + +"I STAND HERE, MY LAD," HE ANSWERED 182 + +SHE TURNED HER FACE TOWARD HIM. "GOOD-NIGHT," SHE ANSWERED 278 + +"YOU'VE BEEN HERE ALL NIGHT" 323 + +IT WAS REDDY WHO AIMED THE BLOW 330 + + +[Illustration: HAWORTH'S FIRST APPEARANCE.] + + + + +"HAWORTH'S." + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +TWENTY YEARS. + + +Twenty years ago! Yes, twenty years ago this very day, and there were +men among them who remembered it. Only two, however, and these were old +men whose day was passed and who would soon be compelled to give up +work. Naturally upon this occasion these two were the center figures in +the group of talkers who were discussing the topic of the hour. + +"Aye," said old Tipton, "I 'member it as well as if it wur yesterday, +fur aw it's twenty year' sin'. Eh! but it wur cowd! Th' cowdest neet i' +th' winter, an' th' winter wur a bad un. Th' snow wur two foot deep. +Theer wur a big rush o' work, an' we'd had to keep th' foires goin' +arter midneet. Theer wur a chap workin' then by th' name o' Bob +Latham,--he's dead long sin',--an' he went to th' foundry-door to look +out. Yo' know how some chaps is about seein' how cowd it is, or how hot, +or how heavy th' rain's comin' down. Well, he wur one o' them soart, an' +he mun go an' tak' a look out at th' snow. + +"'Coom in, tha foo',' sez I to him. 'Whatten tha stickin' tha thick yed +out theer fur, as if it wur midsummer, i'stead o' being cowd enow to +freeze th' tail off a brass jackass. Coom in wi' tha.' + +"'Aye,' he sez, a-chatterin' his teeth, 'it is cowd sure-ly. It's enow +to stiffen a mon.' + +"'I wish it ud stiffen thee,' I sez, 'so as we mought set thee up as a +monyment at th' front o' th' 'Sylum.' + +"An' then aw at onct I heard him gie a jump an' a bit o' a yell, like, +under his breath. 'God-a-moighty!' he sez. + +"Summat i' th' way he said it soart o' wakkened me. + +"'What's up?' I sez. + +"'Coom here,' sez he. 'Theer's a dead lad here.' + +"An' when I getten to him, sure enow I thowt he wur reet. Drawed up i' a +heap nigh th' door theer _wur_ a lad lyin' on th' snow, an' th' stiff +look on him mowt ha' gi'en ony mon a turn. + +"Latham wur bendin' ower him, wi' his teeth chatterin'. + +"'Blast thee!' I sez, 'why dost na tha lift him?' + +"Betwixt us we did lift him, an' carry him into th' Works an' laid him +down nigh one o' the furnaces, an' th' fellys coom crowdin' round to +look at him. He wur a lad about nine year' owd, an' strong built; but he +looked more than half clemmed, an' arter we'st rubbed him a good bit an' +getten him warmed enow to coom round 'i a manner, th' way he set up an' +stared round were summat queer. + +"'Mesters,' he sez, hoarse an' shaky, 'ha' ony on yo' getten a bit o' +bread?' + +"Bob Latham's missus had put him up summat to eat, an' he browt it an' +gie it to him. Well, th' little chap a'most snatched it, an' crammed it +into his mouth i' great mouthfuls. His honds trembled so he could +scarce howd th' meat an' bread, an' in a bit us as wur standin' lookin' +on seed him soart o' choke, as if he wur goin' to cry; but he swallyed +it down, and did na. + +"'I havn't had nowt to eat i' a long time,' sez he. + +"'How long?' sez I. + +"Seemt like he thowt it ower a bit afore he answered, and then he sez: + +"'I think it mun ha' been four days.' + +"'Wheer are yo' fro'?' one chap axed. + +"'I coom a long way,' he sez. 'I've bin on th' road three week'.' An' +then he looks up sharp. 'I run away fro' th' Union,' he sez. + +"That wur th' long an' short on it--he had th' pluck to run away fro' +th' Union, an' he'd had th' pluck to stond out agen clemmin' an' +freezin' until flesh an' blood ud howd out no longer, an' he'd fell down +at the foundry-door. + +"'I seed th' loight o' th' furnaces,' he sez, 'an' I tried to run; but I +went blind an' fell down. I thowt,' he sez, as cool as a cucumber, 'as I +wur deein'.' + +"Well, we kep' him aw neet an' took him to th' mester i' th' mornin', +an' th' mester gie him a place, an' he stayed. An' he's bin i' th' +foundry fro' that day to this, an' how he's worked an' getten on yo' see +for yoresens--fro' beein' at ivvery one's beck an' call to buyin' out +Flixton an' settin' up for hissen. It's the 'Haworth Iron Works' fro' +to-day on, an' he will na mak' a bad mester, eyther." + +"Nay, he will na," commented another of the old ones. "He's a pretty +rough chap, but he'll do--will Jem Haworth." + +There was a slight confused movement in the group. + +"Here he cooms," exclaimed an outsider. + +The man who entered the door-way--a strongly built fellow, whose +handsome clothes sat rather ill on his somewhat uncouth body--made his +way through the crowd with small ceremony. He met the glances of the +workmen with a rough nod, and went straight to the managerial desk. But +he did not sit down; he stood up, facing those who waited as if he meant +to dispose of the business in hand as directly as possible. + +"Well, chaps," he said, "here we are." + +A slight murmur, as of assent, ran through the room. + +"Aye, mester," they said; "here we are." + +"Well," said he, "you know why, I suppose. We're taking a fresh start, +and I've something to say to you. I've had my say here for some time; +but I've not had my way, and now the time's come when I _can_ have it. +Hang me, but I'm going to have the biggest place in England, and the +best place, too. 'Haworth's' sha'n't be second to none. I've set my mind +on that. I said I'd stand here some day,"--with a blow on the +desk,--"and here I am. I said I'd make my way, and I've done it. From +to-day on, this here's 'Haworth's,' and to show you I mean to start fair +and square, if there's a chap here that's got a grievance, let that chap +step out and speak his mind to Jem Haworth himself. Now's his time." And +he sat down. + +There was another stir and murmur, this time rather of consultation; +then one of them stepped forward. + +"Mester," he said, "I'm to speak fur 'em." Haworth nodded. + +"What I've getten to say," said the man, "is said easy. Them as thowt +they'd getten grievances is willin' to leave the settlin' on 'em to Jem +Haworth." + +"That's straight enough," said Haworth. "Let 'em stick to it and +there's not a chap among 'em sha'n't have his chance. Go into Greyson's +room, lads, and drink luck to 'Haworth's.' Tipton and Harrison, you wait +a bit." + +Tipton and Harrison lingered with some degree of timidity. By the time +the room had emptied itself, Haworth seemed to have fallen into a +reverie. He leaned back in his chair, his hands in his pockets, and +stared gloomily before him. The room had been silent five minutes before +he aroused himself with a start. Then he leaned forward and beckoned to +the two, who came and stood before him. + +"You two were in the place when I came," he said. "You"--to +Tipton--"were the fellow as lifted me from the snow." + +"Aye, mester," was the answer, "twenty year' ago, to-neet." + +"The other fellow----" + +"Dead! Eh! Long sin'. Ivvery chap as wur theer, dead an' gone, but me +an' him," with a jerk toward his comrade. + +Haworth put his hand in his vest-pocket and drew forth a crisp piece of +paper, evidently placed there for a purpose. + +"Here," he said with some awkwardness, "divide that between you." + +"Betwixt us two!" stammered the old man. "It's a ten-pun-note, mester!" + +"Yes," with something like shamefacedness. "I used to say to myself when +I was a youngster that every chap who was in the Works that night should +have a five-pound note to-day. Get out, old lads, and get as drunk as +you please. I've kept my word. But--" his laugh breaking off in the +middle--"I wish there'd been more of you to keep it up together." + +Then they were gone, chuckling in senile delight over their good luck, +and he was left alone. He glanced round the room--a big, handsome one, +well filled with massive office furniture, and yet wearing the usual +empty, barren look. + +"It's taken twenty years," he said, "but I've done it. It's _done_--and +yet there isn't as much of it as I used to think there would be." + +He rose from his chair and went to the window to look out, rather +impelled by restlessness than any motive. The prospect, at least, could +not have attracted him. The place was closed in by tall and dingy +houses, whose slate roofs shone with the rain which drizzled down +through the smoky air. The ugly yard was wet and had a deserted look; +the only living object which caught his eye was the solitary figure of a +man who stood waiting at the iron gates. + +At the sight of this man, he started backward with an exclamation. + +"The devil take the chap!" he said. "There he is again!" + +He took a turn across the room, but he came back again and looked out +once more, as if he found some irresistible fascination in the sight of +the frail, shabbily clad figure. + +"Yes," he said, "it's him, sure enough. I never saw another fellow with +the same, done-for look. I wonder what he wants." + +He went to the door and opening it spoke to a man who chanced to be +passing. + +"Floxham, come in here," he said. Floxham was a well-oiled and burly +fellow, plainly fresh from the engine-room. He entered without ceremony, +and followed his master to the window. Haworth pointed to the man at the +gate. + +"There's a chap," he said, "that I've been running up against, here and +there, for the last two months. The fellow seems to spend his time +wandering up and down the streets. I'm hanged if he don't make me think +of a ghost. He goes against the grain with me, somehow. Do you know who +he is, and what's up with him?" + +Floxham glanced toward the gate-way, and then nodded his head dryly. + +"Aye," he answered. "He's th' inventin' chap as has bin thirty year' at +work at some contrapshun, an' hasn't browt it to a yed yet. He lives i' +our street, an' me an' my missis hes been noticin' him fur a good bit. +He'll noan finish th' thing he's at. He's on his last legs now. He took +th' contrapshun to 'Merica thirty year' ago, when he first getten th' +idea into his yed, an' he browt it back a bit sin' a'most i' the same +fix he took it. Me an' my missis think he's a bit soft i' the yed." + +Haworth pushed by him to get nearer the window. A slight moisture +started out upon his forehead. + +"Thirty year'!" he exclaimed. "By the Lord Harry!" + +There might have been something in his excitement which had its effect +upon the man who stood outside. He seemed, as it were, to awaken slowly +from a fit of lethargy. He glanced up at the window, and moved slowly +forward. + +"He's made up his mind to come in," said Floxham. + +"What does he want?" said Haworth, with a sense of physical uneasiness. +"Confound the fellow!" trying to shake off the feeling with a laugh. +"What does he want with me--to-day?" + +"I can go out an' turn him back," said Floxham. + +"No," answered Haworth. "You can go back to your work. I'll hear what he +has to say. I've naught else to do just now." + +Floxham left him, and he went back to the big armchair behind the table. +He sat down, and turned over some papers, not rid of his uneasiness even +when the door opened, and his visitor came in. He was a tall, slender +man who stooped and was narrow-chested. He was gray, hollow-eyed and +haggard. He removed his shabby hat and stood before the table a second, +in silence. + +"Mr. Haworth?" he said, in a gentle, absent-minded voice. "They told me +this was Mr. Haworth's room." + +"Yes," he answered, "I'm Haworth." + +"I want--" a little hoarsely, and faltering--"to get some work to do. My +name is Murdoch. I've spent the last thirty years in America, but I'm a +Lancashire man. I went to America on business--which has not been +successful--yet. I--I have worked here before,"--with a glance around +him,--"and I should like to work here again. I did not think it would be +necessary, but--that doesn't matter. Perhaps it will only be temporary. +I must get work." + +In the last sentence his voice faltered more than ever. He seemed +suddenly to awaken and bring himself back to his first idea, as if he +had not intended to wander from it. + +"I--I must get work," he repeated. + +The effect he produced upon the man he appealed to was peculiar. Jem +Haworth almost resented his frail appearance. He felt it an +uncomfortable thing to confront just at this hour of his triumph. He +had experienced the same sensation, in a less degree, when he rose in +the morning and looked out of his window upon murky sky and falling +rain. He would almost have given a thousand pounds for clear, triumphant +sunshine. + +And yet, in spite of this, he was not quite as brusque as usual when he +made his answer. + +"I've heard of you," he said. "You've had ill luck." + +Stephen Murdoch shifted his hat from hand to hand. + +"I don't know," he replied, slowly. "I've not called it that yet. The +end has been slow, but I think it's sure. It will come some----" + +Haworth made a rough gesture. + +"By George!" he exclaimed. "Haven't you given the thing up yet?" + +Murdoch fell back a pace, and stared at him in a stunned way. + +"Given it up!" he repeated. "Yet?" + +"Look here!" said Haworth. "You'd better do it, if you haven't. Take my +advice, and have done with it. You're not a young chap, and if a thing's +a failure after thirty years' work----" He stopped, because he saw the +man trembling nervously. "Oh, I didn't mean to take the pluck out of +you," he said bluntly, a moment later. "You must have had plenty of it +to begin with, egad, or you'd never have stood it this long." + +"I don't know that it was pluck,"--still quivering. "I've lived on it so +long that it would not give _me_ up. I think that's it." + +Haworth dashed off a couple of lines on a slip of paper, and tossed it +to him. + +"Take that to Greyson," he said, "and you'll get your work, and if you +have anything to complain of, come to me." + +Murdoch took the paper, and held it hesitatingly. + +"I--perhaps I ought not to have asked for it to-day," he said, +nervously. "I'm not a business man, and I didn't think of it. I came in +because I saw you. I'm going to London to-morrow, and shall not be back +for a week." + +"That's all right," said Haworth. "Come then." + +He was not sorry to see his visitor turn away, after uttering a few +simple words of thanks. It would be a relief to see the door close after +him. But when it had closed, to his discomfiture it opened again. The +thin, poorly clad figure reappeared. + +"I heard in the town," said the man, his cheek flushing faintly, "of +what has happened here to-day. Twenty years have brought you better luck +than thirty have brought me." + +"Yes," answered Haworth, "my luck's been good enough, as luck goes." + +"It seems almost a folly"--falling into the meditative tone--"for _me_ +to wish you good luck in the future." And then, pulling himself together +again as before: "it is a folly; but I wish it, nevertheless. Good luck +to you!" + +The door closed, and he was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THIRTY YEARS. + + +A little later there stood at a window, in one of the cheapest of the +respectable streets, a woman whom the neighbors had become used to +seeing there. She was a small person, with a repressed and watchful look +in her eyes, and she was noticeable, also, to the Lancashire mind, for a +certain slightly foreign air, not easily described. It was in +consequence of inquiries made concerning this foreign air, that the +rumor had arisen that she was a "'Merican," and it was possibly a result +of this rumor that she was regarded by the inhabitants of the street +with a curiosity not unmingled with awe. + +"Aye," said one honest matron. "Hoo's a 'Merican, fur my mester heerd it +fro' th' landlord. Eh! I would like to ax her summat about th' Blacks +an' th' Indians." + +But it was not easy to attain the degree of familiarity warranting the +broaching of subjects so delicate and truly "'Merican." The stranger and +her husband lived a simple and secluded life. It was said the woman had +never been known to go out; it seemed her place to stand or sit at the +window and watch for the man when he left the house on one of his +mysterious errands in company with the wooden case he carried by its +iron handle. + +This morning she waited as usual, though the case had not gone +out,--rather to the disappointment of those interested, whose +conjectures concerning its contents were varied and ingenious. When, at +last, the tall, stooping figure turned the corner, she went to the door +and stood in readiness to greet its crossing the threshold. + +Stephen Murdoch looked down at her with a kindly, absent smile. + +"Thank you, Kitty," he said. "You are always here, my dear." + +There was a narrow, hard, horse-hair sofa in the small room into which +they passed, and he went to it and lay down upon it, panting a little in +an exhausted way, a hectic red showing itself on his hollow cheeks. + +"Everything is ready, Kitty?" he said at last. + +"Yes, all ready." + +He lay and looked at the fire, still breathing shortly. + +"I never was as certain of it before," he said. "I have thought I was +certain, but--I never felt as I do now. And yet--I don't know what made +me do it--I went into Haworth's this morning and asked for--for work." + +His wife dropped the needle she was holding. + +"For work!" she said. + +"Yes--yes," a little hastily. "I was there and saw Haworth at a window, +and there have been delays so often that it struck me I might as +well--not exactly depend on it----" He broke off and buried his face in +his hands. "What am I saying?" he cried. "It sounds as if I did not +believe in it." + +His wife drew her chair nearer to him. She was used to the task of +consoling him; it had become a habit. She spoke in an even, unemotional +voice. + +"When Hilary comes----" she began. + +"It will be all over then," he said, "one way or the other. He will be +here when I come back." + +"Yes." + +"I may have good news for him," he said. "I don't see"--faltering +afresh--"how it can be otherwise. Only I am so used to discouragement +that--that I can't see the thing fairly. It has been--a long time, +Kitty." + +"This man in London," she said, "can tell you the actual truth about +it?" + +"He is the first mechanic and inventor in England," he answered, his eye +sparkling feverishly. "He is a genius. If he says it is a success, it is +one." + +The woman rose, and going to the fire bent down to stir it. She lingered +over it for a moment or so before she came back. + +"When the lad comes," he was saying, as if to himself, "we shall have +news for him." + + +Thirty years before, he had reached America, a gentle, unpractical +Lancashire man, with a frail physique and empty pockets. He had belonged +in his own land to the better class of mechanics; he had a knack of +invention which somehow had never as yet brought forth any decided +results. He had done one or two things which had gained him the +reputation among his employers of being "a clever fellow," but they had +always been things which had finally slipped into stronger or shrewder +hands, and left his own empty. But at last there had come to him what +seemed a new and wonderful thought. He had labored with it in secret, he +had lain awake through long nights brooding over it in the darkness. + +And then some one had said to him: + +"Why don't you try America? America's the place for a thinking, +inventing chap like you. It's fellows like you who are appreciated in a +new country. Capitalists are not so slow in America. Why don't you +carry your traps out there?" + +It was more a suggestion of boisterous good-fellowship than anything +else, but it awakened new fancies in Stephen Murdoch's mind. He had +always cherished vaguely grand visions of the New World, and they were +easily excited. + +"I only wonder I never thought of it," he said to himself. + +He landed on the strange shore with high hopes in his breast, and a +little unperfected model in his shabby trunk. + +This was thirty years ago, and to-day he was in Lancashire again, in his +native town, with the same little model among his belongings. + +During the thirty years' interval he had lived an unsettled, +unsuccessful life. He had labored faithfully at his task, but he had not +reached the end which had been his aim. Sometimes he had seemed very +near it, but it had always evaded him. He had drifted here and there +bearing his work with him, earning a scant livelihood by doing anything +chance threw in his way. It had always been a scant livelihood,--though +after the lapse of eight years, in one of his intervals of hopefulness, +he had married. On the first night they spent in their new home he had +taken his wife into a little bare room, set apart from the rest, and had +shown her his model. + +"I think a few weeks will finish it," he said. + +The earliest recollections of their one child centered themselves round +the small room and its contents. It was the one touch of romance and +mystery in their narrow, simple life. The few spare hours the struggle +for daily bread left the man were spent there; sometimes he even stole +hours from the night, and yet the end was always one step further. His +frail body grew frailer, his gentle temperament more excitable, he was +feverishly confident and utterly despairing by turns. It was in one of +his hours of elation that his mind turned again to his old home. He was +sure at last that a few days' work would complete all, and then only +friends were needed. + +"England is the place, after all," he said. "They are more steady there, +even if they are not so sanguine,--and there are men in Lancashire I can +rely upon. We'll try Old England once again." + +The little money hard labor and scant living had laid away for an hour +of need, they brought with them. Their son had remained to dispose of +their few possessions. Between this son and the father there existed a +strong affection, and Stephen Murdoch had done his best by him. + +"I should like the lad," he used to say, "to have a fairer chance than I +had. I want him to have what I have lacked." + +As he lay upon the horse-hair sofa he spoke of him to his wife. + +"There are not many like him," he said. "He'll make his way. I've +sometimes thought that may-be----" But he did not finish the sentence; +the words died away on his lips, and he lay--perhaps thinking over them +as he looked at the fire. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +"NOT FINISHED." + + +The next morning he went upon his journey, and a few days later the son +came. He was a tall young fellow, with a dark, strongly cut face, +deep-set black eyes and an unconventional air. Those who had been wont +to watch his father, watched him in his turn with quite as much +interest. He seemed to apply himself to the task of exploring the place +at once. He went out a great deal and in all sorts of weather. He even +presented himself at "Haworth's," and making friends with Floxham got +permission to go through the place and look at the machinery. His simple +directness of speech at once baffled and softened Floxham. + +"My name's Murdoch," he said. "I'm an American and I'm interested in +mechanics. If it isn't against your rules I should like to see your +machinery." + +Floxham pushed his cap off his forehead and looked him over. + +"Well, I'm dom'd," he remarked. + +It had struck him at first that this might be "cheek." And then he +recognized that it was not. + +Murdoch looked slightly bewildered. + +"If there is any objection----" he began. + +"Well, there is na," said Floxham. "Coom on in." And he cut the matter +short by turning into the door. + +"Did any 'o yo' chaps see that felly as coom to look at th' machinery?" +he said afterward to his comrades. "He's fro' 'Merica, an' danged if he +has na more head-fillin' than yo'd think fur. He goes round wi' his +hands i' his pockits lookin' loike a foo', an' axin' questions as ud +stump an owd un. He's th' inventin' chap's lad. I dunnot go much wi' +inventions mysen, but th' young chap's noan sich a foo' as he looks." + +Between mother and son but little had been said on the subject which +reigned supreme in the mind of each. It had never been their habit to +speak freely on the matter. On the night of Hilary's arrival, as they +sat together, the woman said: + +"He went away three days ago. He will be back at the end of the week. He +hoped to have good news for you." + +They said little beyond this, but both sat silent for some time +afterward, and the conversation became desultory and lagged somewhat +until they separated for the night. + +The week ended with fresh gusts of wind and heavy rains. Stephen Murdoch +came home in a storm. On the day fixed for his return, his wife scarcely +left her seat at the window for an hour. She sat looking out at the +driving rain with a pale and rigid face; when the night fell and she +rose to close the shutters, Hilary saw that her hands shook. + +She made the small room as bright as possible, and set the evening meal +upon the table, and then sat down and waited again by the fire, cowering +a little over it, but not speaking. + +"His being detained is not a bad sign," said Hilary. + +Half an hour later they both started from their seats at once. There +was a loud summons at the door. It was Hilary who opened it, his mother +following closely. + +A great gust of wind blew the rain in upon them, and Stephen Murdoch, +wet and storm-beaten, stepped in from the outer darkness, carrying the +wooden case in his hands. + +He seemed scarcely to see them. He made his way past them and into the +lighted room with an uncertain step. The light appeared to dazzle him. +He went to the sofa weakly and threw himself upon it; he was trembling +like a leaf; he had aged ten years. + +"I--I----" And then he looked up at them as they stood before him +waiting. "There is naught to say," he cried out, and burst into wild, +hysterical weeping, like that of a woman. + +In obedience to a sign from his mother, Hilary left the room. When, +after the lapse of half an hour, he returned, all was quiet. His father +lay upon the sofa with closed eyes, his mother sat near him. He did not +rise nor touch food, and only spoke once during the evening. Then he +opened his eyes and turned them upon the case which still stood where he +had placed it. + +"Take it away," he said in a whisper. "Take it away." + + +The next morning Hilary went to Floxham. + +"I want work," he said. "Do you think I can get it here?" + +"What soart does tha want?" asked the engineer, not too encouragingly. +"Th' gentlemanly soart as tha con do wi' kid-gloves an' a eye-glass on?" + +"No," answered Murdoch, "not that sort." + +Floxham eyed him keenly. + +"Would tha tak' owt as was offert thee?" he demanded. + +"I think I would." + +"Aw reet, then! I'll gie thee a chance. Coom tha wi' me to th' +engine-room, an' see how long tha'lt stick to it." + +It was very ordinary work he was given to do, but he seemed to take +quite kindly to it; in fact, the manner in which he applied himself to +the rough tasks which fell to his lot gave rise to no slight +dissatisfaction among his fellow-workmen, and caused him to be regarded +with small respect. He was usually a little ahead of the stipulated +time, he had an equable temper, and yet despite this and his civility, +he seemed often more than half oblivious of the existence of those +around him. A highly flavored joke did not awaken him to enthusiasm, and +perhaps chiefest among his failings was noted the fact that he had no +predilection for "sixpenny," and at his midday meal, which he frequently +brought with him and ate in any convenient corner, he sat drinking cold +water and eating his simple fare over a book. + +"Th' chap is na more than haaf theer," was the opinion generally +expressed. + +Since the night of his return from his journey, Stephen Murdoch had been +out no more. The neighbors watched for him in vain. The wooden case +stood unopened in his room,--he had never spoken of it. Through the long +hours of the day he lay upon the sofa, either dozing or in silent +wakefulness, and at length instead of upon the sofa he lay upon the bed, +not having strength to rise. + +About three months after he had taken his place at Haworth's, Hilary +came home one evening to find his mother waiting for him at the door. +She shed no tears, there was in her face only a hopeless terror. + +"He has sent me out of the room," she said. "He has been restless all +day. He said he must be alone." + +Hilary went upstairs. Opening the door he fell back a step. The model +was in its old place on the work-table and near it stood a tall, gaunt, +white figure. + +His father turned toward him. He touched himself upon the breast. "I +always told myself," he said, incoherently and hoarsely, "that there was +a flaw in it--that something was lacking. I have said that for thirty +years, and believed the day would come when I should remedy the wrong. +To-night I _know_. The truth has come to me at last. There was no +remedy. The flaw was in me," touching his hollow chest,--"in _me_. As I +lay there I thought once that perhaps it was not real--that I had +dreamed it all and might awake. I got up to see--to touch it. It is +there! Good God!" as if a sudden terror grasped him. "Not finished!--and +I----" + +He fell into a chair and sank forward, his hand falling upon the model +helplessly and unmeaningly. + +Hilary raised him and laid his head upon his shoulder. He heard his +mother at the door and cried out loudly to her. + +"Go back!" he said. "Go back! You must not come in." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +JANEY BRIARLEY. + + +A week later Hilary Murdoch returned from the Broxton grave-yard in a +drizzling rain, and made his way to the bare, cleanly swept chamber +upstairs. + +Since the night on which he had cried out to his mother that she must +not enter, the table at which the dead man had been wont to sit at work +had been pushed aside. Some one had thrown a white cloth over it. +Murdoch went to it and drew this cloth away. He stood and looked down at +the little skeleton of wood and steel. It had been nothing but a curse +from first to last, and yet it fascinated him. He found it hard to do +the thing he had come to do. + +"It is not finished," he said to the echoes of the empty room. +"It--never will be." + +He slowly replaced it in its case, and buried it out of sight at the +bottom of the trunk which, from that day forward, would stand unused and +locked. + +When he arose, after doing this, he unconsciously struck his hands +together as he had seen grave-diggers do when they brushed the damp soil +away. + + +The first time Haworth saw his new hand he regarded him with small +favor. In crossing the yard one day at noon, he came upon him disposing +of his midday meal and reading at the same time. He stopped to look at +him. + +"Who's that?" he asked one of the men. + +The fellow grinned in amiable appreciation of the rough tone of the +query. + +"That's th' 'Merican," he answered. "An' a soft un he is." + +"What's that he's reading?" + +"Summat about engineerin', loike as not. That's his crank." + +In the rush of his new plans and the hurry of the last few months, +Haworth had had time to forget the man who had wished him "good luck," +and whose pathetic figure had been a shadow upon the first glow of his +triumph. He did not connect him at all with the young fellow before him. +He turned away with a shrug of his burly shoulders. + +"He doesn't look like an Englishman," he said. "He hasn't got backbone +enough." + +Afterward when the two accidentally came in contact, Haworth wasted few +civil words. At times his domineering brusqueness excited Murdoch to +wonder. + +"He's a queer fellow, that Haworth," he said reflectingly to Floxham. +"Sometimes I think he's out of humor with me." + + +With the twelve-year-old daughter of one of the workmen, who used to +bring her father's dinner, the young fellow had struck up something of a +friendship. She was the eldest of twelve, a mature young person, whose +business-like air had attracted him. + +She had assisted her mother in the rearing of her family from her third +year, and had apparently done with the follies of youth. She was +stunted with much nursing and her small face had a shrewd and careworn +look. Murdoch's first advances she received with some distrust, but +after a lapse of time they progressed fairly and, without any weak +sentiment, were upon excellent terms. + +One rainy day she came into the yard enveloped in a large shawl, +evidently her mother's, and also evidently very much in her way. Her +dinner-can, her beer-jug, and her shawl were more than she could manage. + +"Eh! I _am_ in a mess," she said to Hilary, stopping at the door-way +with a long-drawn breath. "I dunnot know which way to turn--what wi' th' +beer and what wi' th' dinner. I've getten on mother's Sunday shawl as +she had afore she wur wed, an' th' eends keep a-draggin' an' a-draggin', +an' th' mud'll be th' ruin on em. Th' pin mother put in is na big enow, +an' it's getten loose." + +There was perhaps not much sense of humor in the young man. He did not +seem to see the grotesqueness of the little figure with its +mud-bedraggled maternal wrappings. He turned up the lapel of his coat +and examined it quite seriously. + +"I've got a pin here that will hold it," he said. "I picked it up +because it was such a large one." + +Janey Briarley's eyes brightened. + +"Eh!" she ejaculated, "that theer's a graidely big un. Some woman mun +ha' dropped it out o' her shawl. Wheer did tha foind it?" + +"In the street." + +"I thowt so. Some woman's lost it. Dost tha think tha con pin it reet, +or mun I put th' beer down an' do it mysen?" + +He thought he could do it and bent down to reach her level. + +It was at this moment that Haworth approached the door with the +intention of passing out. Things had gone wrong with him, and he was in +one of his worst moods. He strode down the passage in a savage hurry, +and, finding his way barred, made no effort to keep his temper. + +"Get out of the road," he said, and pushed Murdoch aside slightly with +his foot. + +It was as if he had dropped a spark of fire into gunpowder. Murdoch +sprang to his feet, white with wrath and quivering. + +"D----n you!" he shrieked. "D----n you! I'll kill you!" and he rushed +upon him. + +As he sprang upon him, Haworth staggered between the shock and his +amazement. A sense of the true nature of the thing he had done broke in +upon him. + +When it was all over he fell back a pace, and a grim surprise, not +without its hint of satisfaction, was in his face. + +"The devil take you," he said. "You _have_ got some blood in you, after +all." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE BEGINNING OF A FRIENDSHIP. + + +The next morning, when he appeared at the Works, Murdoch found he had to +make his way through a group of the "hands" which some sufficiently +powerful motive had gathered together,--which group greeted his +appearance with signs of interest. "Theer he is," he heard them say. And +then a gentleman of leisure, who was an outsider leaning against the +wall, enjoying the solace of a short pipe, exerted himself to look round +and add his comment. + +"Well," he remarked, "he may ha' done it, an' I wunnot stick out as he +did na; but if it wur na fur the circumstantshal evidence I would na ha' +believed it." + +Floxham met him at the entrance with a message. + +"Haworth's sent fur thee," he said. + +"Where is he?"--coolly enough under the circumstances. + +The engineer chuckled in sly exultation. + +"He's in the office. He didna say nowt about givin' thee th' bag; but +tha may as well mak' up thy moind to it. Tha wert pretty cheeky, tha +knows, considerin' he wur th' mester." + +"Look here," with some heat; "do you mean to say you think I was in the +wrong? Am I to let the fellow insult me and not resent it--touch me with +his foot, as if I were a dog?" + +"Tha'rt particular, my lad," dryly. "An' tha does na know as much o' +th' mester koind as most folk." But the next instant he flung down the +tool he held in his hand. "Dom thee!" he cried. "I loike thy pluck. +Stick to it, lad,--mesters or no mesters." + +As Murdoch crossed the threshold of his room, Jem Haworth turned in his +seat and greeted him with a short nod not altogether combative. Then he +leaned forward, with his arms upon the table before him. + +"Sit down," he said. "I'd like to take a look at the chap who thought he +could thrash Jem Haworth." + +But Murdoch did not obey him. + +"I suppose you have something to say to me," he said, "as you sent for +me." + +He did not receive the answer he was prepared for. Jem Haworth burst +into a loud laugh. + +"By George! you're a plucky chap," he said, "if you are an American." + +Murdoch's blood rose again. + +"Say what you have to say," he demanded. "I can guess what it is; but, +let me tell you, I should do the same thing again. It was no fault of +mine that I was in your path----" + +"If I'd been such a fool as not to see that," put in Haworth, with a +smile grimmer than before, "do you think I couldn't have smashed every +bone in your body?" + +Then Murdoch comprehended how matters were to stand between them. + +"Getten th' bag?" asked Floxham when he went back to his work. + +"No." + +"Tha hannot?" with animation. "Well, dang _me_!" + +At the close of the day, as they were preparing to leave their work, +Haworth presented himself in the engine-room, looking perhaps a trifle +awkward. + +"See here," he said to Murdoch, "I've heard something to-day as I've +missed hearing before, somehow. The inventing chap was your father?" + +"Yes." + +He stood in an uneasy attitude, looking out of the window as if he half +expected to see the frail, tall figure again. + +"I saw him once, poor chap," he said, "and he stuck to me, somehow. I'd +meant to stand by him if he'd come here. I'd have liked to do him a good +turn." + +He turned to Murdoch suddenly and with a hint of embarrassment in his +off-hand air. + +"Come up and have dinner with me," he said. "It's devilish dull spending +a chap's nights in a big place like mine. Come up with me now." + +The visit was scarcely to Murdoch's taste, but it was easier to accept +than to refuse. He had seen the house often, and had felt some slight +curiosity as to its inside appearance. + +There was only one other house in Broxton which approached it in size +and splendor, and this stood empty at present, its owner being abroad. +Broxton itself was a sharp and dingy little town, whose inhabitants were +mostly foundry hands. It had grown up around the Works and increased +with them. It had a small railway station, two or three public houses +much patronized, and wore, somehow, an air of being utterly unconnected +with the outside world which much belied it. Motives of utility, a +desire to be on the spot, and a general disregard for un-business-like +attractions had led Haworth to build his house on the outskirts of the +town. + +"When I want a spree," he had said, "I can go to Manchester or London, +and I'm not particular about the rest on it. I want to be nigh the +place." + +It was a big house and a handsome one. It was one of the expressions of +the man's success, and his pride was involved in it. He spent money on +it lavishly, and, having completed it, went to live a desolate life +among its grandeurs. + +The inhabitants of the surrounding villages, which were simple and +agricultural, regarded Broxton with frank distaste, and "Haworth's" with +horror. Haworth's smoke polluted their atmosphere. Haworth's hands made +weekly raids upon their towns and rendered themselves obnoxious in their +streets. The owner of the Works, his mode of life, his defiance of +opinion, and his coarse sins, were supposed to be tabooed subjects. The +man was ignored, and left to his visitors from the larger +towns,--visitors who occasionally presented themselves to be entertained +at his house in a fashion of his own, and who were a greater scandal +than all the rest. + +"They hate me," said Haworth to his visitor, as they sat down to dinner; +"they hate me, the devil take 'em. I'm not moral enough for 'em--not +moral enough!" with a shout of laughter. + +There was something unreal to his companion in the splendor with which +the great fellow was surrounded. The table was covered with a kind of +banquet; servants moved about noiselessly as he talked and laughed; the +appointments of the room were rich and in good taste. + +"Oh! it's none of my work," he said, seeing Murdoch glance about him. "I +wasn't fool enough to try to do it myself. I gave it into the hands of +them as knew how." + +He was loud-tongued and boastful; but he showed good-nature enough and +a rough wit, and it was also plain that he knew his own strength and +weaknesses. + +"Thirty year' your father was at work on that notion of his?" he said +once during the evening. + +Murdoch made an uneasy gesture of assent. + +"And it never came to aught?" + +"No." + +"He died." + +"Yes." + +He thrust his hands deep in his pockets, and gave the young fellow a +keen look. + +"Why don't you take the thing up yourself?" he said. "There may be +something in it, after all, and you're a long-headed chap." + +Murdoch started from his chair. He took an excited turn across the room +before he knew what he was doing. + +"I never will," he said, "so help me God! The thing's done with and shut +out of the world." + +When he went away, Haworth accompanied him to the door. At the threshold +he turned about. + +"How do you like the look of things?" he demanded. + +"I should be hard to please if I did not like the look of them," was the +answer. + +"Well, then, come again. You're welcome. I have it all to myself. I'm +not favorite enow with the gentry to bring any on 'em here. You're free +to come when th' fit takes you." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +MISS FFRENCH. + + +It was considered, after this, a circumstance illustrative of Haworth's +peculiarities that he had taken to himself a _protégé_ from among the +"hands;" that said _protégé_ was an eccentric young fellow who was +sometimes spoken of as being scarcely as bright as he should be; that he +occasionally dined or supped with Haworth; that he spent numberless +evenings with him, and that he read his books, which would not have been +much used otherwise. + +Murdoch lived his regular, unemotional life, in happy ignorance of these +rumors. It was true that he gradually fell into the habit of going to +Haworth's house, and also of reading his books. Indeed, if the truth +were told, these had been his attraction. + +"I've no use for 'em," said Haworth, candidly, on showing him his +library. "Get into 'em, if you've a fancy for 'em." + +His fancy for them was strong enough to bring him to the place again and +again. He found books he had wanted, but never hoped to possess. The +library, it may be admitted, was not of Jem Haworth's selection, and, +indeed, this gentleman's fancy for his new acquaintance was not a little +increased by a shrewd admiration for an intellectual aptness which might +be turned to practical account. + +"You tackle 'em as if you were used to 'em," he used to say. "I'd give +something solid myself if I could do the same. There's what's against me +many a time--knowing naught of books, and having to fight my way rough +and ready." + +From the outset of this acquaintance, Murdoch's position at the Works +had been an easier one. It became understood that Haworth would stand by +him, and that he must be treated with a certain degree of respect. +Greater latitude was given him, and better pay, and though he remained +in the engine-room, other and more responsible work frequently fell into +his hands. + +He went on in the even tenor of his way, uncommunicative and odd as +ever. He still presented himself ahead of time, and labored with the +unnecessary, absorbed ardor of an enthusiast, greatly to the distaste of +those less zealous. + +"Tha gets into it as if tha wur doin' fur thysen," said one of these. +"Happen"--feeling the sarcasm a strong one--"happen tha'rt fond on it?" + +"Oh yes,"--unconsciously--"that's it, I suppose. I'm fond of it." + +The scoffer bestowed upon him one thunderstruck glance, opened his +mouth, shut it, and retired in disgust. + +"Theer's a chap," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, on +returning to his companions, "theer's a chap as says he's fond o' +work--fond on it!" with dramatic scorn. "Blast his eyes! Fond on it!" + +With Floxham he had always stood well, though even Floxham's regard was +tempered with a slight private contempt for peculiarities not easily +tolerated by the practical mind. + +"Th' chap's getten gumption enow, i' his way," he said to Haworth. "If +owt breaks down or gets out o' gear, he's aw theer; but theer is na a +lad on th' place as could na cheat him out o' his eye-teeth." + +His reputation for being a "queer chap" was greatly increased by the +simplicity and seclusion of his life. The house in which he lived with +his mother had the atmosphere of a monastic cell. As she had devoted +herself to her husband, the woman devoted herself to her son, watching +him with a hungry eye. He was given to taking long stretches of walks, +and appearing in distant villages, book in hand, and with apparently no +ulterior object in view. His holidays were nearly all spent out-of-doors +in such rambles as these. The country people began to know his tall +figure and long stride, and to regard him with the friendly toleration +of strength for weakness. + +"They say i' Broxton," it was said among them, "as his feyther deed +daft, and it's no wonder th' young chap's getten queer ways. He's +good-natured enow, though i' a simple road." + +His good-nature manifested itself in more than one way which called +forth comment. To his early friendship for Janey he remained faithful. +The child interested him, and the sentiment developed as it grew older. + +It was quite natural that, after a few months' acquaintance, he should +drop in at the household of her parents on Saturday afternoon, as he was +passing. It was the week's half-holiday and a fine day, and he had +nothing else to do. These facts, in connection with that of the +Briarley's cottage presenting itself, were reasons enough for going in. + +It occurred to him, as he entered the narrow strip of garden before the +door, that the children of the neighborhood must have congregated to +hold high carnival. Groups made dirt-pies; clusters played "bobber and +kibbs;" select parties settled differences of opinions with warmth of +feeling and elevation of voice; a youth of tender years, in corduroys +which shone with friction, stood upon his head in one corner, calmly but +not haughtily presenting to the blue vault of heaven a pair of +ponderous, brass-finished clogs. + +"What dost want?" he demanded, without altering his position. "Th' +missus isn't in." + +"I'm going in to see Janey," explained Murdoch. + +He found the little kitchen shining with the Saturday "cleaning up." The +flagged floor as glaringly spotless as pipe-clay and sandstone could +make it, the brass oven-handles and tin pans in a condition to put an +intruder out of countenance, the fire replenished, and Janey sitting on +a stool on the hearth enveloped in an apron of her mother's, and reading +laboriously aloud. + +"Eh! dear me!" she exclaimed. "It's yo'--an' I am na fit to be seen. I +wur settin' down to rest a bit. I've been doin' th' cleanin' aw day, an' +I wur real done fur." + +"Never mind that," said Murdoch. "That's all right enough." + +He cast about him for a safe position to take--one in which he could +stretch his legs and avoid damaging the embarrassing purity of the +floor. Finally he settled upon a small print-covered sofa and balanced +himself carefully upon its extreme edge and the backs of his heels, +notwithstanding Janey's civil protestations. + +"Dunnot yo' moind th' floor," she said. "Yo' needn't. Set yo' down +comfortable." + +"Oh, I'm all right," answered Murdoch, with calm good cheer. "This is +comfortable enough. What's that you were reading?" + +Janey settled down upon her stool with a sigh at once significant of +relief and a readiness to indulge in friendly confidence. + +"It's a book I getten fro' th' Broxton Chapel Sunday Skoo'. Its th' +Mem--m-e-m-o-i-r-s----" + +"Memoirs," responded Murdoch. + +"Memoyers of Mary Ann Gibbs." + +Unfortunately her visitor was not thoroughly posted on the subject of +the Broxton Chapel literature. He cast about him mentally, but with +small success. + +"I don't seem to have heard of it before," was the conclusion he arrived +at. + +"Hannot yo'? Well, it's a noice book, an' theer's lots more like it in +th' skoo' libery--aw about Sunday skoo' scholars as has consumption an' +th' loike an' reads th' boible to foalk an' dees. They aw on 'em dee." + +"Oh," doubtfully, but still with respect. "It's not very cheerful, is +it?" + +Janey shook her head with an expression of mature resignation. + +"Eh no! they're none on 'em cheerful--but they're noice to read. This +here un now--she had th' asthma an' summat wrong wi' her legs, an' she +knowed aw' th' boible through aside o' th' hymn-book, an' she'd sing aw +th' toime when she could breathe fur th' asthma, an' tell foak as if +they did na go an' do likewise they'd go to burnin' hell wheer th' fire +is na quenched an' th' worms dyeth not." + +"It can't have been very pleasant for the friends," was her companion's +comment. But there was nothing jocose about his manner. He was balancing +himself seriously on the edge of the hard little sofa and regarding her +with speculative interest. + +"Where's your mother?" he asked next. + +"Hoo's gone to th' chapel," was the answer. "Theer's a mothers' meetin' +in th' vestry, an' hoo's gone theer an' takken th' babby wi' her. Th' +rest o' th' childer is playin' out at th' front." + +He glanced out of the door. + +"Those--those are not all yours?" he said, thunderstruck. + +"Aye, they are--that. Eh!" drawing a long breath, "but is na there a lot +on 'em? Theer's eleven an' I've nussed 'em nigh ivvery one." + +He turned toward the door again. + +"There seems to be a great many of them," he remarked. "You must have +had a great deal to do." + +"That I ha'. I've wished mony a time I'd been a rich lady. Theer's that +daughter o' Ffrench's now. Eh! I'd like to ha' bin her." + +"I never heard of her before," he answered. "Who is she, and why do you +choose her?" + +"Cos she's so hansum. She's that theer grand she looks loike she thowt +ivvery body else wur dirt. I've seen women as wur bigger, an' wore more +cloas at onct, but I nivver seed none as grand as she is. I nivver seed +her but onct. She coom here wi' her feyther fer two or three week' afore +he went to furrin parts, an' she wur caught i' th' rain one day an' +stopped in here a bit. She dropped her hankcher an' mother's getten it +yet. It's nigh aw lace. Would yo' loike to see it?" hospitably. + +"Yes," feeling his lack of enthusiasm something of a fault. "I--dare say +I should." + +From the depths of a drawer which she opened with a vigorous effort and +some skill in retaining her balance, she produced something pinned up in +a fragment of old linen. This she bore to her guest and unpinning it, +displayed the handkerchief. + +"Tha can tak' it in thy hond an' smell it," she said graciously. "It's +getten scent on it." + +Murdoch took it in his hand, scarcely knowing what else to do. He knew +nothing of women and their finery. He regarded the fragrant bit of lace +and cambric seriously, and read in one corner the name "Rachel Ffrench," +written in delicate letters. Then he returned it to Janey. + +"Thank you," he said, "it is very nice." + +Janey bore it back perhaps with some slight inward misgivings as to the +warmth of its reception, but also with a tempering recollection of the +ways of "men-foak." When she came back to her stool, she changed the +subject. + +"We've bin havin' trouble lately," she said. "Eh! but I've seed a lot o' +trouble i' my day." + +"What is the trouble now?" Murdoch asked. + +"Feyther. It's allus him. He's getten in wi' a bad lot an' he's drinkin' +agen. Seems loike neyther mother nor me con keep him straight fur aw we +told him Haworth'll turn him off. Haworth's not goin' to stand his drink +an' th' lot he goes wi'. I would na stand it mysen." + +"What lot does he go with?" + +"Eh!" impatiently, "a lot o' foo's as stands round th' publics an' +grumbles at th' mesters an' th' wages they get. An' feyther's one o' +these soft uns as believes aw they hears an' has na' getten gumption to +think fur his sen. I've looked after him ivver sin' I wur three." + +She became even garrulous in her lack of patience, and was in full flow +when her mother entered returning from the chapel, with a fagged face, +and a large baby on her hip. + +"Here, tak' him, Jane Ann," she said; "but tak' off thy apron furst, or +tha'lt tumble ower it an' dirty his clean bishop wi' th' muck tha's +getten on it. Eh! I _am_ tired. Who's this here?" signifying Murdoch. + +"It's Mester Murdoch," said Janey, dropping the apron and taking the +child, who made her look top-heavy. "Sit thee down, mother. Yo' needn't +moind him. He's a workin' mon hissen." + +When Murdoch took his departure, both accompanied him to the door. + +"Coom in sometime when th' mester's here," said Mrs. Briarley. "Happen +yo' could keep him in a neet an' that ud be summat." + +Half way up the lane he met Haworth in his gig, which he stopped. + +"Wheer hast tha been?" he asked, dropping into dialect, as he was prone +to do. + +"To Briarley's cottage, talking to the little girl." + +Haworth stared at him a moment, and then burst into a laugh. + +"Tha'rt a queer chap," he said. "I can no more than half make thee out. +If thy head was not so level, I should think tha wert a bit soft." + +"I don't see why," answered Murdoch, undisturbed. "The child interests +me. I am not a Lancashire man, remember, and she is a new species." + +"Get in," said Haworth, making room for him on the seat. + +Murdoch got in, and as they drove on it occurred to him to ask a +question. + +"Who's Ffrench?" + +"Ffrench?" said Haworth. "Oh, Ffrench is one o' th' nobs here. He's a +chap with a fancy for being a gentleman-manufacturer. He's spent his +brass on his notions, until he has been obliged to draw in his horns a +bit. He's never lived much in Broxton, though he's got a pretty big +place here. The Continent's the style for him, but he'll turn up here +again some day when he's hard up enow. There's his place now." + +And as he spoke they drove sharply by a house standing closed among the +trees and having an air of desolateness, in spite of the sun-light. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE "WHO'D HA' THOWT IT?" + + +"It's th' queerest thing i' th' world," said Mrs. Briarley to her +neighbors, in speaking of her visitor,--"it's th' queerest thing i' th' +world as he should be a workin' mon. I should ha' thowt he'd ha' wanted +to get behind th' counter i' a draper's shop or summat genteel. He'd be +a well-lookin' young chap i' a shiny cloth coat an' wi' a blue neck-tie +on. Seems loike he does na think enow o' hissen. He'll coom to our house +an' set down an' listen to our Janey talkin', an' tell her things out o' +books, as simple as if he thowt it wur nowt but what ony chap could do. +Theer's wheer he's a bit soft. He knows nowt o' settin' hissen up." + +From Mrs. Briarley Murdoch heard numberless stories of Haworth, +presenting him in a somewhat startling light. + +"Eh! but he's a rare un, is Haworth," said the good woman. "He does na +care fur mon nor devil. The carryin's on as he has up at th' big house +ud mak' a decent body's hair stond o' eend. Afore he built th' house, he +used to go to Lunnon an' Manchester fur his sprees, but he has 'em here +now, an' theer's drink an' riotin' an' finery and foak as owt to be +shamt o' theirsens. I wonder he is na feart to stay on th' place alone +after they're gone." + +But for one reason or another the house was quiet enough for the first +six months of Murdoch's acquaintance with its master. Haworth gave +himself up to the management of the Works. He perfected plans he had +laid at a time when the power had not been in his own hands. He kept his +eye on his own interests sharply. The most confirmed shirkers on the +place found themselves obliged to fall to work, however reluctantly. His +bold strokes of business enterprise began to give him wide reputation. +In the lapse of its first half year, "Haworth's" gained for itself a +name. + +At the end of this time, Murdoch arrived at the Works one morning to +find a general tone of conviviality reigning. A devil-may-care air +showed itself among all the graceless. There was a hint of +demoralization in the very atmosphere. + +"Where's Haworth?" he asked Floxham, who did not seem to share the +general hilarity. "I've not seen him." + +"No," was the engineer's answer, "nor tha will na see him yet a bit. A +lot o' foo's coom fro' Lunnon last neet. He's on one o' his sprees, an' +a nice doment they'll ha' on it afore they're done." + +The next morning Haworth dashed down to the Works early in his gig, and +spent a short time in his room. Before he left he went to the +engine-room, and spoke to Murdoch. + +"Is there aught you want from the house--aught in the way o' books, I +mean?" he said, with a touch of rough bravado in his manner. + +"No," Murdoch answered. + +"All right," he returned. "Then keep away, lad, for a day or two." + +During the "day or two," Broxton existed in a state of ferment. +Gradually an air of disreputable festivity began to manifest itself +among all those whose virtue was assailable. There were open "sprees" +among these, and their wives, with the inevitable baby in their arms, +stood upon their door-steps bewailing their fate, and retailing gossip +with no slight zest. + +"Silks an' satins, bless yo'," they said. "An' paint an' feathers; th' +brazent things, I wonder they are na shamt to show their faces! A noice +mester Haworth is to ha' men under him!" + +Having occasion to go out late one evening, Murdoch encountered Janey, +clad in the big bonnet and shawl, and hurrying along the street. + +"Wheer am I goin'?" she echoed sharply in reply to his query. "Why, I'm +goin' round to th' publics to look fur feyther--_theer's_ wheer I'm +goin'. I hannot seed him sin' dayleet this mornin', an' he's getten th' +rent an' th' buryin'-club money wi' him." + +"I'll go with you," said Murdoch. + +He went with her, making the round of half the public-houses in the +village, finally ending at a jovial establishment bearing upon its +whitened window the ambiguous title "WHO'D HA' THOWT IT?" + +There was a sound of argument accompanied by a fiddle, and an odor of +beer supplemented by tobacco. Janey pushed open the door and made her +way in, followed by her companion. + +An uncleanly, and loud-voiced fellow stood unsteadily at a table, +flourishing a clay pipe and making a speech. + +"Th' workin' mon," he said. "Theer's too much talk o' th' workin' mon. +Is na it bad enow to _be_ a workin' mon, wi'out havin' th' gentry +remindin' yo' on it fro' year eend to year eend? Le's ha' less jaw-work +an' more paw-work fro' th' gentry. Le's ha' fewer liberys an' +athyne-ums, an' more wage--an' holidays--an'--an' beer. Le's +_pro_-gress--tha's wha' I say--an' I'm a workin' mon." + +"Ee-er! Ee-er!" cried the chorus. "Ee-er!" + +In the midst of the pause following these acclamations, a voice broke in +suddenly with startling loudness. + +"Ee-er! Ee-er!" it said. + +It was Mr. Briarley, who had unexpectedly awakened from a beery nap, +and, though much surprised to find out where he was, felt called upon to +express his approbation. + +Janey hitched her shawl into a manageable length and approached him. + +"Tha'rt here?" she said. "I knowed tha would be. Tha'lt worrit th' loife +out on us afore tha'rt done. Coom on home wi' me afore tha'st spent +ivvery ha'penny we've getten." + +Mr. Briarley roused himself so far as to smile at her blandly. + +"It's Zhaney," he said, "it's Zhaney. Don' intrup th' meetin', Zhaney. +I'll be home dreckly. Mus' na intrup th' workin' mon. He's th' backbone +'n' sinoo o' th' country. Le's ha' a sup more beer." + +Murdoch bent over and touched his shoulder. + +"You had better come home," he said. + +The man looked round at him blankly, but the next moment an exaggerated +expression of enlightenment showed itself on his face. + +"Iss th' 'Merican," he said. "Iss Murdoch." And then, with sudden +bibulous delight: "Gi' us a speech 'bout 'Merica." + +In a moment there was a clamor all over the room. The last words had +been spoken loudly enough to be heard, and the idea presented itself to +the members of the assembly as a happy one. + +"Aye," they cried. "Le's ha' a speech fro' th' 'Merican. Le's hear +summat fro' 'Merica. Theer's wheer th's laborin' mon has his dues." + +Murdoch turned about and faced the company. + +"You all know enough of me to know whether I am a speech-making man or +not," he said. "I have nothing to say about America, and if I had I +should not say it here. You are not doing yourselves any good. The least +fellow among you has brains enough to tell him that." + +There was at once a new clamor, this time one of dissatisfaction. The +speech-maker with the long clay, who was plainly the leader, expressed +himself with heat and scorn. + +"He's a noice chap--he is," he cried. "He'll ha' nowt to do wi' us. He's +th' soart o' workin' mon to ha' abowt, to play th' pianny an' do +paintin' i' velvet. 'Merica be danged! He's more o' th' gentry koind +to-day than Haworth. Haworth _does_ tak' a decent spree now an' then; +but this heer un---- Ax him to tak' a glass o' beer an' see what he'll +say." + +Disgust was written upon every countenance, but no one proffered the +hospitality mentioned. Mr. Briarley had fallen asleep again, murmuring +suggestively, "Aye, le's hear summat fro' 'Merica. Le's _go_ to 'Merica. +Pu-r on thy bonnet, lass, pur--it on." + +With her companion's assistance, Janey got him out of the place and led +him home. + +"Haaf th' rent's gone," she said, when she turned out his pockets, as he +sat by the fire. "An' wheer's th' buryin' money to coom fro'?" + +Mr. Briarley shook his head mournfully. + +"Th' buryin' money," he said. "Aye, i'deed. A noice thing it is fur a +poor chap to ha' to cut off his beer to pay fur his coffin by th' +week,--wastin' good brass on summat he may nivver need as long as he +lives. I dunnot loike th' thowt on it, eyther. It's bad enow to ha' to +get into th' thing at th' eend, wi'out ha'in' it lugged up to th' door +ivvery Saturday, an' payin' fur th' ornymentin' on it by inches." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +MR. FFRENCH. + + +It was a week before affairs assumed their accustomed aspect. Not that +the Works had been neglected, however. Each morning Haworth had driven +down early and spent an hour in his office and about the place, reading +letters, issuing orders and keeping a keen look-out generally. + +"I'll have no spreeing here among _you_ chaps," he announced. "Spree as +much as you like when th' work's done, but you don't spree in _my_ time. +Look sharp after 'em, Kendal." + +The day after his guests left him he appeared at his usual time, and +sent at once for Murdoch. + +On his arriving he greeted him, leaning back in his chair, his hands +thrust into his pockets. + +"Well, lad," he said, "it's over." + +Almost unconsciously, Murdoch thrust his hands into _his_ pockets also, +but the action had rather a reflective than a defiant expression. + +"It's lasted a pretty long time, hasn't it?" he remarked. + +Haworth answered him with a laugh. + +"Egad! You take it cool enough," he said. + +Suddenly he got up and began to walk about, his air a mixture of +excitement and braggadocio. After a turn or two he wheeled about. + +"Why don't you say summat?" he demanded, sardonically. "Summat moral. +You don't mean to tell me you've not got pluck enow?" + +"I don't see," said Murdoch, deliberately,--"I don't see that there's +anything to say. Do you?" + +The man stared at him, reddening. Then he turned about and flung himself +into his chair again. + +"No," he answered. "By George! I don't." + +They discussed the matter no further. It seemed to dispose of itself. +Their acquaintance went on in the old way, but there were moments +afterward when Murdoch felt that the man regarded him with something +that might have been restrained or secret fear--a something which held +him back and made him silent and unready of speech. Once, in the midst +of a conversation taking a more confidential tone than usual, to his +companion's astonishment he stopped and spoke bluntly: + +"If I say aught as goes against the grain with you," he said, "speak up, +lad. Blast it!" striking his fist hard against his palm, "I'd like to +show my clean side to you." + +It was at this time that he spoke first of his mother. + +"When I run away from the poor-house," he said, "I left her there. She's +a soft-hearted body--a good one too. As soon as I earned my first +fifteen shillin' a week, I gave her a house of her own--and I lived hard +to do it. She lives like a lady now, though she's as simple as ever. She +knows naught of the world, and she knows naught of me beyond what she +sees of me when I go down to the little country-place in Kent with a new +silk gown and a lace cap for her. She scarce ever wears 'em, but she's +as fond on 'em as if she got 'em from Buckingham Palace. She thinks I'm +a lad yet, and say my prayers every night and the catechism on Sundays. +She'll never know aught else, if I can help it. That's why I keep her +where she is." + +When he said that he intended to make "Haworth's" second to no place in +England, he had not spoken idly. His pride in the place was a passion. +He spent money lavishly but shrewdly; he paid his men well, but ruled +them with an iron hand. Those of his fellow-manufacturers who were less +bold and also less keen-sighted, regarded him with no small disfavor. + +"He'll have trouble yet, that Haworth fellow," they said. + +But "Haworth's" flourished and grew. The original works were added to, +and new hands, being called for, flocked into Broxton with their +families. It was Jem Haworth who built the rows of cottages to hold +them, and he built them well and substantially, but as a sharp business +investment and a matter of pride rather than from any weakness of +regarding them from a moral stand-point. + +"I'll have no poor jobs done on my place," he announced. "I'll leave +that to the gentlemen manufacturers." + +It was while in the midst of this work that he received a letter from +Gerard Ffrench, who was still abroad. + +Going into his room one day Murdoch found him reading it and looking +excited. + +"Here's a chap as would be the chap for me," he said, "if brass were +iron--that chap Ffrench." + +"What does he want?" Murdoch asked. + +"Naught much," grimly. "He's got a notion of coming back here, and he'd +like to go into partnership with me. That's what he's drivin' at. He'd +like to be a partner with Jem Haworth." + +"What has he to offer?" + +"Cheek, and plenty on it. He says his name's well known, and he's got +influence as well as practical knowledge. I'd like to have a bit of a +talk with him." + +Suddenly he struck his fist on the table before him. + +"I've got a name that's enow for me," he said. "The day's to come yet +when I ask any chap for name or money or aught else. Partner be damned! +This here's 'Haworth's!'" + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +"NOT FOR ONE HOUR." + + +The meetings of the malcontents continued to be held at the "Who'd ha' +thowt it," and were loud voiced and frequent, but notwithstanding their +frequency and noisiness resulted principally in a disproportionate +consumption of beer and tobacco and in some differences of opinion, +decided in a gentlemanly manner with the assistance of "backers" and a +ring. + +Having been rescued from these surroundings by Murdoch on several +convivial occasions, Briarley began to anticipate his appearance with +resignation if not cheerfulness, and to make preparations accordingly. + +"I mun lay a sup in reet at th' start," he would say. "Theer's no +knowin' how soon he'll turn up if he drops in to see th' women. Gi' me a +glass afore these chaps, Mary. They con wait a bit." + +"Why does tha stand it, tha foo'?" some independent spirit would +comment. "Con th' chap _carry_ thee whoam if tha does na want to go?" + +But Briarley never rebelled. Resistance was not his forte. If it were +possible to become comfortably drunk before he was sought out and led +away he felt it a matter for mild self-gratulation, but he bore defeat +amiably. + +"Th' missis wants me," he would say unsteadily but with beaming +countenance, on catching sight of Murdoch or Janey. "Th' missis has +sent to ax me to go an'--an' set wi' her a bit. I mun go, chaps. A man +munna negleck his fam'ly." + +In response to Mrs. Briarley's ratings and Janey's querulous appeals, it +was his habit to shed tears copiously and with a touch of ostentation. + +"I'm a poor chap, missus," he would say. "I'm a poor chap. Yo' munnot be +hard on me. I nivver wur good enow fur a woman loike yoursen. I should +na wonder if I had to join th' teetotals after aw. Tha knows it allus +rains o' Whit-Saturday, when they ha' their walk, an' that theer looks +as if th' Almoighty wur on th' teetotal soide. It's noan loike he'd go +to so mich trouble if he were na." + +At such crises as these "th' women foak," as he called his wife and +Janey, derived their greatest consolation from much going to chapel. + +"If it wur na fur th' bit o' comfort I get theer," said the poor woman, +"I should na know whether I wur standin' on my head or my heels--betwixt +him, an' th' work, an' th' childer." + +"Happen ye'd loike to go wi' us," said Janey to Murdoch, one day. "Yo'll +be sure to hear a good sermont." + +Murdoch went with them, and sat in a corner of their free seat--a hard +one, with a straight and unrelenting back. But he was not prevented by +the seat from being interested and even absorbed by the doctrine. He had +an absent-minded way of absorbing impressions, and the unemotional tenor +of his life had left him singularly impartial. He did not finally decide +that the sermon was good, bad, or indifferent, but he pondered on it and +its probable effects deeply, and with no little curiosity. It was a long +sermon, and one which "hit straight from the shoulder." It displayed a +florid heaven and a burning hell. It was literal, and well garnished +with telling and scriptural quotations. Once or twice during its +delivery Murdoch glanced at Janey and Mrs. Briarley. The woman, during +intervals of eager pacifying of the big baby, lifted her pale face and +listened devoutly. Janey sat respectable and rigorous, her eyes fixed +upon the pulpit, her huge shawl folded about her, her bonnet slipping +backward at intervals, and requiring to be repeatedly rearranged by a +smart hustling somewhere in the region of the crown. + +The night was very quiet when they came out into the open air. The +smoke-clouds of the day had been driven away by a light breeze, and the +sky was bright with stars. Mrs. Briarley and the ubiquitous baby joined +a neighbor and hastened home, but Murdoch and Janey lingered a little. + +"My father is buried here," Murdoch had said, and Janey had answered +with sharp curiousness,-- + +"Wheer's th' place? I'd loike to see it. Has tha getten a big head-stone +up?" + +She was somewhat disappointed to find there was none, and that nothing +but the sod covered the long mound, but she appeared to comprehend the +state of affairs at once. + +"I s'pose tha'lt ha' one after a bit," she said, "when tha'rt not so +short as tha art now. Ivverybody's short i' these toimes." + +She seated herself upon the stone coping of the next grave, her elbow on +her knee, a small, weird figure in the uncertain light. + +"I allus did loike a big head-stone," she remarked, reflectively. +"Theer's summat noice about a big white un wi' black letters on it. I +loike a white un th' best, an' ha' th' letters cut deep, an' th' name +big, an' a bit o' poitry at th' eend: + + + 'Stranger, a moment linger near, + An' hark to th' one as moulders here; + Thy bones, loike mine, shall rot i' th' ground, + Until th' last awful trumpet's sound; + Thy flesh, loike mine, fa' to decay, + For mon is made to pass away.' + + +Summat loike that. But yo' see it ud be loike to cost so much. What wi' +th' stone an' paint an' cuttin', I should na wonder if it would na coom +to th' matter o' two pound--an' then theer's th' funeral." + +She ended with a sigh, and sank for a moment into a depressed reverie, +but in the course of a few moments she roused herself again. + +"Tell me summat about thy feyther," she demanded. + +Murdoch bent down and plucked a blade of grass with a rather uncertain +grasp. + +"There isn't much to tell," he answered. "He was unfortunate, and had a +hard life--and died." + +Janey looked at his lowered face with a sharp, unchildish twinkle in her +eye. + +"Would tha moind me axin thee summat?" she said. + +"No." + +But she hesitated a little before she put the question. + +"Is it--wur it true--as he wur na aw theer--as he wur a bit--a bit soft +i' th' yed?" + +"No, that is not true." + +"I'm glad it is na," she responded. "Art tha loike him?" + +"I don't know." + +"I hope tha art na, if he did na ha' luck. Theer's a great deal i' +luck." Then, with a quick change of subject,--"How did tha loike th' +sermont?" + +"I am not sure," he answered, "that I know that either. How did you like +it yourself?" + +"Ay," with an air of elderly approval, "it wur a good un. Mester Hixon +allus gi'es us a good un. He owts wi' what he's getten to say. I loike a +preacher as owts wi' it." + +A few moments later, when they rose to go home, her mind seemed suddenly +to revert to a former train of thought. + +"Wur theer money i' that thing thy feyther wur tryin' at?" she asked. + +"Not for him, it seemed." + +"Ay; but theer mought be fur thee. Tha mayst ha' more in thee than he +had, an' mought mak' summat on it. I'd nivver let owt go as had money i' +it. Tha'dst mak' a better rich mon than Haworth." + +After leaving her Murdoch did not go home. He turned his back upon the +village again, and walked rapidly away from it, out on the country road +and across field paths, and did not turn until he was miles from +Broxton. + +Of late he had been more than usually abstracted. He had been restless, +and at times nervously unstrung. He had slept ill, and spent his days in +a half-conscious mood. More than once, as they walked together, Floxham +had spoken to him amazed. + +"What's up wi' thee, lad?" he had said. "Art dazed, or hast tha takken a +turn an' been on a spree?" + +One night, when they were together, Haworth had picked up from the floor +a rough but intricate-looking drawing, and, on handing it to him, had +been bewildered by his sudden change of expression. + +"Is it aught of yours?" he had asked. + +"Yes," the young fellow had answered; "it's mine." + +But, instead of replacing it in his pocket, he had torn it slowly into +strips, and thrown it, piece by piece, into the fire, watching it as it +burned. + +It was not Janey's eminently practical observations which had stirred +him to-night. He had been drifting toward this feverish crisis of +feeling for months, and had contested its approach inch by inch. There +were hours when he was overpowered by the force of what he battled +against, and this was one of them. + +It was nearly midnight when he returned, and his mother met him at the +door with an anxious look. It was a look he had seen upon her face all +his life; but its effect upon himself had never lessened from the day he +had first recognized it, as a child. + +"I did not think you would wait for me," he said. "It is later than I +thought." + +"I am not tired," she answered. + +She had aged a little since her husband's death, but otherwise she had +not changed. She looked up at her son just as she had looked at his +father,--watchfully, but saying little. + +"Are you going to bed?" + +"I am going upstairs," he replied. But he did not say that he was going +to bed. + +He bade her good-night shortly afterward, and went to his room. It was +the one his father had used before his death, and the trunk containing +his belongings stood in one corner of it. + +For a short time after entering the room he paced the floor restlessly +and irregularly. Sometimes he walked quickly, sometimes slowly; once or +twice he stopped short, checking himself as he veered toward the corner +in which stood the unused trunk. + +"I'm in a queer humor," he said aloud. "I'm thinking of it as if--as if +it were a temptation to sin. Why should I?" + +He made a sudden resolute movement forward. He knelt down, and, turning +the key in the lock, flung the trunk-lid backward. + +There was only one thing he wanted, and he knew where to find it. It lay +buried at the bottom, under the unused garments, which gave forth a +faint, damp odor as he moved them. When he rose from his knees he held +the wooden case in his hand. After he had carried it to the table and +opened it, and the model stood again before him he sat down and stared +at it with a numb sense of fascination. + +"I thought I had seen the last of it," he said; "and here it is." + +Even as he spoke he felt his blood warm within him, and flush his cheek. +His hand trembled as he put it forth to touch and move the frame-work +before him. He felt as if it were a living creature. His eye kindled, +and he bent forward. + +"There's something to be done with it yet," he said. "It's _not_ a +blunder, I'll swear!" + +He was hot with eagerness and excitement. The thing had haunted him day +and night for weeks. He had struggled to shake off its influence, but in +vain. He had told himself that the temptation to go back to it and +ponder over it was the working of a morbid taint in his blood. He had +remembered the curse it had been, and had tried to think of that only; +but it had come back to him again and again, and--here it was. + +He spent an hour over it, and in the end his passionate eagerness had +grown rather than diminished. He put his hand up to his forehead and +brushed away drops of moisture, his throat was dry, and his eyes +strained. + +"There's something to be brought out of it yet," he said, as he had said +before. "It _can_ be done, I swear!" + +The words had scarcely left his lips before he heard behind him a low, +but sharp cry--a miserable ejaculation, half uttered. + +He had not heard the door open, nor the entering footsteps; but he knew +what the cry meant the moment he heard it. He turned about and saw his +mother standing on the threshold. If he had been detected in the +commission of a crime, he could not have felt a sharper pang than he +did. He almost staggered against the wall and did not utter a word. For +a moment they looked at each other in a dead silence. Each wore in the +eyes of the other a new aspect. She pointed to the model. + +"It has come back," she said. "I knew it would." + +The young fellow turned and looked at it a little stupidly. + +"I--didn't mean to hurt you with the sight of it," he said. "I took it +out because--because----" + +She stopped him with a movement of her head. + +"Yes, I know," she said. "You took it out because it has haunted you and +tempted you. You could not withstand it. It is in your blood." + +He had known her through all his life as a patient creature, whose very +pains had bent themselves and held themselves in check, lest they should +seem for an hour to stand in the way of the end to be accomplished. +That she had, even in the deepest secrecy, rebelled against fate, he +had never dreamed. + +She came to the table and struck the model aside with one angry blow. + +"Shall I tell you the truth?" she cried, panting. "_I have never +believed in it for an hour--not for one hour!_" + +He could only stammer out a few halting words. + +"This is all new to me," he said. "I did not know----" + +"No, you did not know," she answered. "How should you, when I lived my +whole life to hide it? I have been stronger than you thought. I bore +with him, as I should have borne with him if he had been maimed or +blind--or worse than that. _I_ did not hurt him--he had hurt enough. I +knew what the end would be. He would have been a happy man and I a happy +woman, if it had not been for _that_, and there it is again. I tell +you," passionately, "there is a curse on it!" + +"And you think," he said, "that it has fallen upon me?" + +She burst into wild tears. + +"I have told myself it would," she said. "I have tried to prepare myself +for its coming some day; but I did not think it would show itself so +soon as this." + +"I don't know why," he said slowly. "I don't know--what there is in _me_ +that I should think I might do what he left undone. There seems a kind +of vanity in it." + +"It is not vanity," she said; "it is worse. It is what has grown out of +my misery and his. I tell you it is in your blood." + +A flush rose to his face, and a stubborn look settled upon him. + +"Perhaps it is," he answered. "I have told myself that, too." + +She held her closed hand upon her heart, as if to crush down its +passionate heavings. + +"Begin as he began," she cried, "and the end will come to you as it came +to him. Give it up now--now!" + +"Give it up!" he repeated after her. + +"Give it up," she answered, "or give up your whole life, your youth, +your hope,--all that belongs to it." + +She held out her hands to him in a wild, unconsciously theatrical +gesture. The whole scene had been theatrical through its very +incongruousness, and Murdoch had seen this vaguely, and been more shaken +by it than anything else. + +Before she knew what he meant to do, he approached the table, and +replaced the model in its box, the touch of stubborn desperateness on +him yet. He carried the case back to the trunk, and shut it in once +more. + +"I'll let it rest a while," he said; "I'll promise you that. If it is +ever to be finished by me, the time will come when it will see the light +again, in spite of us both." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +CHRISTIAN MURDOCH. + + +As he was turning into the gate of the Works the next morning, a little +lad touched him upon the elbow. + +"Mester," he said, "sithee, Mester,--stop a bit." + +He was out of breath, as if he had been running, and he held in his hand +a slip of paper. + +"I thowt I should na ketch thee," he said, "tha'rt so long-legged. A +woman sent thee that," and he gave him the slip of paper. + +Murdoch opened and read the words written upon it. + + + "If you are Stephen Murdoch's son, I must see you. Come with the + child." + + +There was no signature--only these words, written irregularly and +weakly. He had never met with an adventure in his life, and this was +like an episode in a romance. + +"If you are Stephen Murdoch's son, I must see you." + +He could scarcely realize that he was standing in the narrow, up-hill +street, jostled by the hands shouting and laughing as they streamed past +him through the gates to their work. + +And yet, somehow he found himself taking it more coolly than seemed +exactly natural. This morning, emotion and event appeared less startling +than they would have done even the day before. The strange scene of the +past night had, in a manner, prepared him for anything which might +happen. + +"Who sent it?" he asked of the boy. + +"Th' woman as lodges i' our house. She's been theer three days, an' +she's getten to th' last, mother says. Con tha coom? She's promist me a +shillin' if I browt thee." + +"Wait here a minute," said Murdoch. + +He passed into the works and went to Floxham. + +"I've had a message that calls me away," he said. "If you can spare me +for an hour----" + +"I'll mak' out," said the engineer. + +The lad at the gate looked up with an encouraging grin when he saw his +charge returning. + +"I'd loike to mak' th' shillin'," he said. + +Murdoch followed him in silence. He was thinking of what was going to +happen to himself scarcely as much as of the dead man in whose name he +was called upon. He was brought near to him again as if it were by a +fate. "If you are Stephen Murdoch's son," had moved him strongly. + +Their destination was soon reached. It was a house in a narrow but +respectable street occupied chiefly by a decent class of workmen and +their families. A week before he had seen in the window of this same +house a card bearing the legend "Lodgings to Let," and now it was gone. +A clean, motherly woman opened the door for them. + +"Tha'st earnt thy shillin', has tha, tha young nowt?" she said to the +lad, with friendly severity. "Coom in, Mester. I wur feart he'd get off +on some of his marocks an' forget aw about th' paper. She's i' a bad +way, poor lady, an' th' lass is na o' mich use. Coom up-stairs." + +She led the way to the second floor, and her knock being answered by a +voice inside, she opened the door. The room was comfortable and of good +size, a fire burned on the grate, and before it sat a girl with her +hands clasped upon her knee. + +She was a girl of nineteen, dark of face and slight of figure to +thinness. When she turned her head slowly to look at him, Murdoch was +struck at once with the peculiar steadiness of her large black eyes. + +"She is asleep," she said in a low, cold voice. + +There was a sound as of movement in the bed. + +"I am awake," some one said. "If it is Stephen Murdoch's son, let him +come here." + +Murdoch went to the bedside and stood looking down at the woman who +returned his gaze. She was a woman whose last hours upon earth were +passing rapidly. Her beauty was now only something terrible to see; her +breath came fast and short; her eyes met his with a look of anguish. + +"Send the girl away," she said to him. + +Low as her voice was, the girl heard it. She rose without turning to +right or left and went out of the room. + +Until the door closed the woman still lay looking up into her visitor's +face, but as soon as it was shut she spoke laboriously. + +"What is your name?" she asked. + +He told her. + +"You are like your father," she said, and then closed her eyes and lay +so for a moment. "It is a mad thing I am doing," she said, knitting her +brows with weak fretfulness, and still lying with closed eyes. "I--I do +not know--why I should have done it--only that it is the last thing. It +is not that I am fond of the girl--or that she is fond of me," she +opened her eyes with a start. "Is the door shut?" she said. "Keep her +out of the room." + +"She is not here," he answered, "and the door is closed." + +The sight of his face seemed to help her to recover herself. + +"What am I saying?" she said. "I have not told you who I am." + +"No," he replied, "not yet." + +"My name was Janet Murdoch," she said. "I was your father's cousin. Once +he was very fond of me." + +She drew from under her pillow a few old letters. + +"Look at them," she said; "he wrote them." + +But he only glanced at the superscription and laid them down again. + +"I did not know," she panted, "that he was dead. I hoped he would be +here. I knew that he must have lived a quiet life. I always thought of +him as living here in the old way." + +"He was away from here for thirty years," said Murdoch. "He only came +back to die." + +"He!" she said, "I never thought of that. It--seems very strange. I +could not imagine his going from place to place--or living a busy +life--or suffering much. He was so simple and so quiet." + +"I thought of him," she went on, "because he was a good man--a good +man--and there was no one else in the world. As the end came I grew +restless--I wanted to--to try----" + +But there her eyes closed and she forgot herself again. + +"What was it you wanted to try to do?" he asked gently. + +She roused herself, as before, with a start. + +"To try," she said,--"to try to do something for the girl." + +He did not understand what she meant until she had dragged herself up +upon the pillow and leaned forward touching him with her hand; she had +gathered all her strength for the effort. + +"I am an outcast," she said,--"an outcast!" + +The simple and bare words were so terrible that he could scarcely bear +them, but he controlled himself by a strong effort. + +A faint color crept up on her cheek. + +"You don't understand," she said. + +"Yes," he answered slowly, "I think I do." + +She fell back upon her pillows. + +"I wont tell you the whole story," she said. "It is an ugly one, and she +will be ready enough with it when her turn comes. She has understood all +her life. She has never been a child. She seemed to fasten her eyes upon +me from the hour of her birth, and I have felt them ever since. Keep her +away," with a shudder. "Don't let her come in." + +A sudden passion of excitement seized upon her. + +"I don't know why I should care," she cried. "There is no reason why she +should not live as I have lived--but she will not--she will not. I have +reached the end and she knows it. She sits and looks on and says +nothing, but her eyes force me to speak. They forced me to come here--to +try--to make a last effort. If Stephen Murdoch had lived----" + +She stopped a moment. + +"You are a poor man," she said. + +"Yes," he answered. "I am a mechanic." + +"Then--you cannot--do it." + +She spoke helplessly, wildly. + +"There is nothing to be done. There is no one else. She will be all +alone." + +Then he comprehended her meaning fully. + +"No," he said, "I am not so poor as that. I am not a poorer man than my +father was, and I can do what he would have done had he lived. My mother +will care for the girl, if that is what you wish." + +"What I wish!" she echoed. "I wish for nothing--but I must do something +for her--before--before--before----" + +She broke off, but began again. + +"You are like your father. You make things seem simple. You speak as if +you were undertaking nothing." + +"It is not much to do," he answered, "and we could not do less. I will +go to my mother and tell her that she is needed here. She will come to +you." + +She turned her eyes on him in terror. + +"You think," she whispered, "that I shall die soon--_soon_!" + +He did not answer her. He could not. She wrung her hands and dashed them +open upon the bed, panting. + +"Oh," she cried, "my God! It is over! I have come to the end of it--the +end! To have only one life--and to have done with it--and lie here! To +have lived--and loved--and triumphed, and to know it is over! One may +defy all the rest, the whole world, but not this. It is _done_!" + +Then she turned to him again, desperately. + +"Go to your mother," she said. "Tell her to come. I want some one in the +room with me. I wont be left alone with _her_. I cannot bear it." + +On going out he found the girl sitting at the head of the stairs. She +rose and stood aside to let him pass, looking at him unflinchingly. + +"Are you coming back?" she demanded. + +"Yes," he answered, "I am coming back." + +In half an hour he re-ascended the staircase, bringing his mother with +him. When they entered the room in which the dying woman lay, Mrs. +Murdoch went to the bed and bent over her. + +"My son has brought me to do what I can for you," she said, "and to tell +you that he will keep his promise." + +The woman looked up. For a moment it seemed that she had forgotten. A +change had come upon her even in the intervening half-hour. + +"His promise," she said. "Yes, he will keep it." + +At midnight she died. Mother and son were in the room, the girl sat in a +chair at the bedside. Her hands were clasped upon her knee; she sat +without motion. At a few minutes before the stroke of twelve, the woman +awoke from the heavy sleep in which she had lain. She awoke with a start +and a cry, and lay staring at the girl, whose steady eyes were fixed +upon her. Her lips moved, and at last she spoke. + +"Forgive me!" she cried. "Forgive me!" + +Murdoch and his mother rose, but the girl did not stir. + +"For what?" she asked. + +"For--" panted the woman, "for----" + +But the sentence remained unfinished. The girl did not utter a word. She +sat looking at the dying woman in silence--only looking at her, not once +moving her eyes from the face which, a moment later, was merely a mask +of stone which lay upon the pillow, gazing back at her with a fixed +stare. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +MISS FFRENCH RETURNS. + + +They took the girl home with them, and three days later the Ffrenchs +returned. They came entirely unheralded, and it was Janey who brought +the news of their arrival to the Works. + +"They've coom," she said, in passing Murdoch on her way to her father. +"Mester Ffrench an' _her_. They rode through th' town this mornin' i' a +kerridge. Nobody knowed about it till they seed 'em." + +The news was the principal topic of conversation through the day, and +the comments made were numerous and varied. The most general opinions +were that Ffrench was in a "tight place," or had "getten some crank i' +hond." + +"He's noan fond enow o' th' place to ha' coom back fur nowt," said +Floxham. "He's a bit harder up than common, that's it." + +In the course of the morning Haworth came in. Murdoch was struck with +his unsettled and restless air; he came in awkwardly, and looking as if +he had something to say, but though he loitered about some time, he did +not say it. + +"Come up to the house to-night," he broke out at last. "I want company." + +It occurred to Murdoch that he wished to say more, but, after lingering +for a few minutes, he went away. As he crossed the threshold, however, +he paused uneasily. + +"I say," he said, "Ffrench has come back." + +"So I heard," Murdoch answered. + +When he presented himself at the house in the evening, Haworth was alone +as usual. Wines were on the table, and he seemed to have drunk deeply. +He was flushed, and showed still the touch of uneasiness and excitement +he had betrayed in the morning. + +"I'm glad you've come," he said. "I'm out of sorts--or something." + +He ended with a short laugh, and turned about to pour out a glass of +wine. In doing so his hand trembled so that a few drops fell upon it. He +shook them off angrily. + +"What's up with me?" he said. + +He drained the glass at a draught, and filled it again. + +"I saw Ffrench to-day," he said. "I saw them both." + +"Both!" repeated Murdoch, wondering at him. + +"Yes. She is with him." + +"She!" and then remembering the episode of the handkerchief, he added, +rather slowly, "You mean Miss Ffrench?" + +Haworth nodded. + +He was pushing his glass to and fro with shaking hands, his voice was +hoarse and uncertain. + +"I passed the carriage on the road," he said, "and Ffrench stopped it to +speak to me. He's not much altered. I never saw her before. She's a +woman now--and a handsome woman, by George!" + +The last words broke from him as if he could not control them. He looked +up at Murdoch, and as their eyes met he seemed to let himself loose. + +"I may as well make a clean breast of it," he said. "I'm--I'm hard hit. +I'm hard hit." + +Murdoch flinched. He would rather not have heard the rest. He had had +emotion enough during the last few days, and this was of a kind so novel +that he was overwhelmed by it. But Haworth went on. + +"It's a queer thing," he said. "I can't quite make it out. I--I feel as +if I must talk--about it--and yet there's naught to say. I've seen a +woman that's--that's taken hold on me." + +He passed his hands across his lips, which were parched and stiff. + +"You know the kind of a fellow I've been," he said. "I've known women +enough, and too many; but there's never been one like this. There's +always been plenty like the rest. I sat and stared at this one like a +blockhead. She set me trembling. It came over me all at once. I don't +know what Ffrench thought. I said to myself, 'Here's the first woman +that ever held me back.' She's one of your high kind, that's hard to get +nigh. She's got a way to set a man mad. She'll be hard to get at, by +George!" + +Murdoch felt his pulse start. The man's emotion had communicated itself +to him, so far at least. + +"I don't know much of women," he said. "I've not been thrown among them; +I----" + +"No," said Haworth roughly, "they're not in your line, lad. If they +were, happen I shouldn't be so ready to speak out." + +Then he began and told his story more minutely, relating how, as he +drove to the Works, he had met the carriage, and Ffrench had caught +sight of him and ordered the servant to stop; how he had presented his +daughter, and spoken as if she had heard of him often before; how she +had smiled a little, but had said nothing. + +"She's got a way which makes a man feel as if she was keeping something +back, and sets him to wondering what it is. She's not likely to be +forgot soon; she gives a chap something to think over." + +He talked fast and heatedly, and sometimes seemed to lose himself. Now +and then he stopped, and sat brooding a moment in silence, and then +roused himself with a start, and drank more wine and grew more flushed +and excited. After one of these fitful reveries, he broke out afresh. + +"I--wonder what folk'll say to her of me. They wont give me an over good +name, I'll warrant. What a fool I've been! What a d---- fool I've been +all my life! Let them say what they like. They'll make me black enough; +but there is plenty would like to stand in Jem Haworth's shoes. I've +never been beat yet. I've stood up and held my own,--and women _like_ +that. And as to th' name," with rough banter, "it's not chaps like you +they fancy, after all." + +"As to that," said Murdoch coldly, "I've told you I know nothing of +women." + +He felt restive without knowing why. He was glad when he could free +himself and get out into the fresh night air; it seemed all the fresher +after the atmosphere he had breathed in-doors. + +The night was bright and mild. After cold, un-springlike weather had +come an ephemeral balminess. The moon was at full, and he stepped across +the threshold into a light as clear as day. + +He walked rapidly, scarcely noting the road he passed over until he had +reached the house which stood alone among its trees,--the house Haworth +had pointed out a few months before. It was lighted now, and its lights +attracted his attention. + +"It's a brighter-looking place than it was then," he said. + +He never afterward could exactly recall how it was that at this moment +he started, turned, and for a breath's space came to a full stop. + +He had passed out of the shadow of the high boundary wall into the broad +moonlight which flooded the gate-way. The iron gates were open, and a +white figure stood in the light--the figure of a tall young woman who +did not move. + +He was so near that her dress almost touched him. In another moment he +was hurrying along the road again, not having spoken, and scarcely +understanding the momentary shock he had received. + +"That," he said to himself,--"that was she!" + + +When he reached home and opened the door of the little parlor, Christian +Murdoch was sitting alone by the dying fire in the grate. She turned and +looked at him. + +"Something," she said, "has happened to you. What is it?" + +"I don't know," he answered, "that anything has happened to me--anything +of importance." + +She turned to the fire again and sat gazing at it, rubbing the back of +one hand slowly with the palm of the other, as it lay on her knee. + +"Something has happened to _me_," she said. "To-day I have seen some one +I know." + +"Some one you know?" he echoed. "Here?" + +She nodded her head. + +"Some one I know," she repeated, "though I do not know her name. I +should like to know it." + +"_Her_ name," he said. "Then it is a woman?" + +"Yes, a woman--a young woman. I saw her abroad--four--five times." + +She began to check off the number of times on her fingers. + +"In Florence once," she said. "In Munich twice; in Paris--yes, in Paris +twice again." + +"When and how?" he asked. + +As he spoke, he thought of the unruffled serenity of the face he had +just seen. + +"Years ago, the first time," she answered, without the least change of +tone, "in a church in Florence. I went in because I was wet and cold and +hungry, and it was light and warm there. I was a little thing, and left +to ramble in the streets. I liked the streets better than my mother's +room. I was standing in the church, looking at the people and trying to +feel warm, when a girl came in with a servant. She was handsome and well +dressed, and looked almost like a woman. When she saw me, she laughed. I +was such a little thing, and so draggled and forlorn. That was why she +laughed. The next year I saw her again, at Munich. Her room was across +the street and opposite mine, and she sat at the window, amusing herself +by playing with her dog and staring at me. She had forgotten me, but I +had not forgotten her; and she laughed at me again. In Paris it was the +same thing. Our windows were opposite each other again. It was five +years after, but that time she knew me, though she pretended she did +not. She drove past the house to-day, and I saw her. I should like to +know her name." + +"I think I can tell you what it is," he said. "She is a Miss Ffrench. +Her father is a Broxton man. They have a place here." + +"Have they?" she asked. "Will they live here?" + +"I believe so," he answered. + +She sat for a moment, rubbing her hand slowly as before, and then she +spoke. + +"So much the worse," she said,--"so much the worse for me." + +She went up to her room when she left him. It was a little room in the +second story, and she had become fond of it. She often sat alone there. +She had been sitting at its window when Rachel Ffrench had driven by in +the afternoon. The window was still open she saw as she entered, and a +gust of wind passing through it had scattered several light articles +about the floor. She went to pick them up. They were principally loose +papers, and as she bent to raise the first one she discovered that it +was yellow with age and covered with a rough drawing of some mechanical +appliance. Another and another presented the same plan--drawn again and +again, elaborately and with great pains at times, and then hastily as if +some new thought had suggested itself. On several were written dates, +and on others a few words. + +She was endeavoring to decipher some of these faintly written words when +a fresh gust of rising wind rushed past her as she stood, and +immediately there fell upon her ear a slight ghostly rustle. Near her +was a small unused closet whose door had been thrown open, and as she +turned toward it there fluttered from one of the shelves a sheet of +paper yellower than the rest. She picked it up and read the words +written upon the back of the drawing. They had been written twenty-six +years before. + +"To-day the child was born. It is a boy. By the time he is a year old my +work will be done." + +The girl's heart began to beat quickly. The papers rustled again, and a +kind of fear took possession of her. + +"_He_ wrote it," she said aloud. "The man who is dead--who is _dead_; +and it was not finished at all." + +She closed the window, eager to shut out the wind; then she closed the +door and went back to the papers. Her fancies concerning Stephen Murdoch +had taken very definite shape from the first. She knew two things of +him; that he had been gentle and unworldly, and that he had cherished +throughout his life a hope which had eluded him until death had come +between him and his patient and unflagging labor. + +The sight of the yellow faded papers moved her to powerful feeling. She +had never had a friend; she had stood alone from her earliest childhood, +and here was a creature who had been desolate too--who must have been +desolate, since he had been impelled to write the simple outcome of his +thoughts again and again upon the paper he wrought on, as if no human +being had been near to hear. It was this which touched her most of all. +There was scarcely a sheet upon which some few words were not written. +Each new plan bore its date, and some hopeful or weary thought. He had +been tired often, but never faithless to his belief. The end was never +very far off. A few days, one more touch, would bring it,--and then he +had forgotten all the past. + +"I can afford to forget it," he said once. "It only seems strange now +that it should have lasted so long when so few steps remain to be +taken." + +These words had been written on his leaving America. He was ready for +his departure. They were the last record. When she had read them, +Christian pushed the papers away and sat gazing into space with dilated +eyes. + +"He died," she said. "He is _dead_. Nothing can bring him back; and it +is forgotten." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +GRANNY DIXON. + + +The next time Janey brought her father's dinner to the Yard she sought +out Murdoch in a dejected mood. She found him reading over his lunch in +the sunshine, and she sat down opposite to him, folding her arms on her +lap. + +"We're i' trouble again at our house," she said. "We're allus i' +trouble. If it is na one thing, it's another." + +Murdoch shut his book and leaned back upon his pile of lumber to listen. +He always listened. + +"What is it this time?" + +"This toime?" querulously. "This is th' worst o' th' lot. Granny Dixon's +come back." + +"Granny Dixon?" + +Janey shook her head. + +"Tha knows nowt about her," she said. "I nivver towd thee nowt. She's my +feyther's grandmother an' she's ower ninety years owd, an' she's getten +money. If it wur na fur that no one ud stond her, but"--with a +sigh--"foak conna turn away brass." + +Having relieved herself of this sentiment she plunged into the subject +with fresh asperity. + +"Theer's no knowin' how to tak' her," she said. "Yo' mun shout at th' +top o' yore voice to mak' her hear. An' she wunnot let nowt go by. She +mun hear aw as is goin'. She's out wi' Mester Hixon at th' chapel +because she says she conna hear him an' he does it a-purpose. When she +wur out wi' ivverybody else she used to say she wur goin' to leave her +brass to him, an' she invited him to tea ivvery neet fur a week, an' had +him set by her chair an' talk. It wur summer toime an' I've seed him set +an' shout wi' th' sweat a-pourin' down his face an' his neck-tie aw o' +one soide, an' at th' eend o' a week he had a quinsy, as wur nigh bein' +th' eend o' him. An' she nivver forgive him. She said as he wur an +impident chap as thowt hissen too good fur his betters." + +Murdoch expressed his sympathy promptly. + +"I wish tha'd coom up an' talk to her some day thysen," said Janey. "It +ud rest us a bit," candidly. "Yo'n getten th' kind o' voice to mak' folk +hear, though yo' dunnot speak so loud, an' if yo' get close up to her +ear an' say things slow, yo'd get used to it i' toime." + +"I'll come some day," answered Murdoch, speculating with some doubt as +to the possible result of the visit. + +Her mind relieved, Janey rose to take her departure. Suddenly, however, +a new idea presented itself to her active mind. + +"Has tha seen Miss Ffrench yet?" she asked. + +"Yes," he answered. + +"What does tha think on her?" + +He picked up his book and re-opened it. + +"I only saw her for an instant," he said. "I hadn't time to think +anything." + +On his way from his work a few days later, he stopped at the Briarley +cottage. It was swept and garnished; there were no traces of the +children about. Before he reached the house, there had been borne to him +the sound of a voice reading at its highest and shrillest pitch, and he +had recognized it as Janey's. + +As he entered, that young person rose panting from her seat, in her +eagerness almost dropping the graphically illustrated paper she held in +her hand. + +"Eh!" she exclaimed. "I _am_ glad to see thee! I could na ha' stood it +mich longer. She would ha' me read the 'To-be-continyerd' one, an' I've +bin at it nigh an hour." + +Granny Dixon turned on her sharply. + +"What art tha stoppin' fur?" she demanded. "What's th' matter wi' thee?" + +Murdoch gave a slight start. The sound was so tremendous that it seemed +almost impossible that it should proceed from the small and shriveled +figure in the armchair. + +"What art tha stoppin' fur?" she repeated. "Get on wi' thee." + +Janey drew near and spoke in her ear. + +"It's Mester Murdoch," she proclaimed; "him as I towd yo' on." + +The little bent figure turned slowly and Murdoch felt himself transfixed +by the gaze of a pair of large keen eyes. They had been handsome eyes +half a century before, and the wrinkled and seamed face had had its +comeliness too. + +"Tha said he wur a workin' mon," she cried, after a pause. "What did tha +tell me that theer fur?" + +"He _is_ a workin' mon," said Janey. "He's getten his work-cloas on now. +Does na tha see 'em?" + +"Cloas!" announced the Voice again. "Cloas i'deed! A mon is na made out +o' cloas. I've seed workin' men afore i' my day, an' I know 'em." + +Then she extended her hand, crooking the forefinger like a claw, in a +beckoning gesture. + +"Coom tha here," she commanded, "an set thysen down to talk to me." + +She gave the order in the manner of a female potentate, and Murdoch +obeyed her with a sense of overpowering fascination. + +"Wheer art tha fro'?" she demanded. + +He made his reply, "From America," as distinct as possible, and was +relieved to find that it reached her at once. + +"'Merica?" she repeated. "I've heerd o' 'Merica often enow. That's wheer +th' blacks live, an' th' Indians. I knowed a young chap as went theer, +an' th' Indians scalped him. He went theer because I would na ha' him. +It wur when I wur a lass." + +She paused a moment and then said the last words over again, nodding her +head with a touch of grim satisfaction. + +"He went theer because I would na ha' him. It wur when I wur a lass." + +He was watching her so intently that he was quite startled a second time +when she turned her eyes upon him and spoke again, still nodding. + +"I wur a han'some lass," she said. "I wur a han'some lass--seventy year' +ago." + +It was quite plain that she had been. The thing which was least pleasant +about her now was a certain dead and withered suggestion of a beauty of +a not altogether sinless order. + +The recollection of the fact seemed to enliven her so far that she was +inspired to conducting the greater part of the conversation herself. Her +voice grew louder and louder, a dull red began to show itself on her +cheeks, and her eyes sparkled. She had been "a han'some lass, seventy +year' ago, an' had had her day--as theer wur dead folk could tell." + +"She'll go on i' that rood aw neet, if summat dunnot tak' her off it," +said Janey. "She loikes to talk about that theer better than owt else." + +But something did happen "to tak' her off it." + +"Tha'st getten some reason i' thee," she announced. "Tha does na oppen +tha mouth as if tha wanted to swally folk when tha says what tha'st +getten to say. Theer's no workin' men's ways about thee--cloas or no +cloas." + +"That's th' way she goes on," said Janey. "She canna bide folk to look +soft when they're shoutin' to her. That was one o' th' things she had +agen Mester Hixon. She said he getten so red i' th' face it put her out +o' patience." + +"I loike a mon as is na a foo'," proclaimed Granny Dixon. But there her +voice changed and grew sharp and tremulous. "Wheer's that flower?" she +cried. "Who's getten it?" + +Janey turned toward the door and uttered a shrill little cry of +excitement. + +"It's Miss Ffrench," she said. "She's--she's stondin' at th' door." + +It would have been impossible to judge from her expression how long she +had been there. She stood upon the threshold with a faint smile on her +lips, and spoke to Janey. + +"I want to see your mother," she said. + +"I'll--I'll go and tell her," the child faltered. "Will yo' coom in?" + +She hesitated a second and then came in. Murdoch had arisen. She did +not seem to see him as she passed before him to reach the chair in which +she sat down. In fact she expressed scarcely a shadow of recognition of +her surroundings. But upon Granny Dixon had fallen a sudden feverish +tremor. + +"Who did she say yo' wur?" she cried. "I did na hear her." + +The visitor turned and confronted her. + +"I am Rachel Ffrench," she answered in a clear, high voice. + +The dull red deepened upon the old woman's cheeks, and her eyes gained +new fire. + +"Yo're a good un to mak' a body hear," she said. "An' I know yo'." + +Miss Ffrench made no reply. She smiled incredulously at the fire. + +The old woman moved restlessly. + +"Ay, but I do," she cried. "I know yo'. Yo're Ffrench fro' head to foot. +Wheer did yo' get that?" + +She was pointing to a flower at Miss Ffrench's throat--a white, strongly +fragrant, hot-house flower. Miss Ffrench cast a downward glance at it. + +"There are plenty to be had," she said. "I got it from home." + +"I've seen 'em before," said Granny Dixon. "_He_ used to wear 'em i' his +button-hole." + +Miss Ffrench made no reply and she went on, her tones increasing in +volume with her excitement. + +"I'm talkin' o' Will Ffrench," she said. "He wur thy gran'feyther. He +wur dead afore yo' wur born." + +Miss Ffrench seemed scarcely interested, but Granny Dixon had not +finished. + +"He wur a bad un!" she cried. "He wur a devil! He wur a devil out an' +out. I knowed him an' he knowed me." + +Then she bent forward and touched Miss Ffrench's arm. + +"Theer wur na a worse un nor a bigger devil nowheer," she said. "An' +yo're th' very moral on him." + +[Illustration: "YO'RE TH' VERY MORAL ON HIM."] + +Miss Ffrench got up and turned toward the door to speak to Mrs. +Briarley, who that moment arrived in great haste carrying the baby, out +of breath, and stumbling in her tremor at receiving gentle folk company. + +"Your visitor has been talking to me," she remarked, her little smile +showing itself again. "She says my grandfather was a devil." + +She answered all Mrs. Briarley's terrified apologies with the same +little smile. She had been passing by and had remembered that the +housekeeper needed assistance in some matter and it had occurred to her +to come in. That was all, and having explained herself, she went away as +she had come. + +"Eh!" fretted Mrs. Briarley, "to think o' that theer owd besom talkin' +i' that rood to a lady. That's allus th' way wi' her. She'd mak' trouble +anywheer. She made trouble enow when she wur young. She wur na no better +than she should be then, an' she's nowt so mich better now." + +"What's that tha'rt saying?" demanded the Voice. "A noice way that wur +fur a lady to go out wi'out so mich as sayin' good-day to a body. She's +as loike him as two peas--an' he _wur_ a devil. Here," to Murdoch, "pick +up that theer flower she's dropped." + +Murdoch turned to the place she pointed out. The white flower lay upon +the flagged floor. He picked it up and handed it to her with a vague +recognition of the powerfulness of its fragrance. She took it and sat +mumbling over it. + +"It's th' very same," she muttered. "He used to wear 'em i' his +button-hole when he coom. An' she's th' very moral on him." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +MR. FFRENCH VISITS THE WORKS. + + +There were few men in Broxton or the country surrounding it who were +better known than Gerard Ffrench. In the first place, he belonged, as it +were, to Broxton, and his family for several generations back had +belonged to it. His great-grandfather had come to the place a rich man +and had built a huge house outside the village, and as the village had +become a town the Ffrenchs had held their heads high. They had confined +themselves to Broxton until Gerard Ffrench took his place. They had +spent their lives there and their money. Those who lived to remember the +youth and manhood of the present Ffrench's father had, like Granny +Dixon, their stories to tell. His son, however, was a man of a different +mold. There were no evil stories of him. He was a well-bred and +agreeable person and lived a refined life. But he was a man with tastes +which scarcely belonged to his degree. + +"I ought to have been born in the lower classes and have had my way to +make," he had been heard to say. + +Unfortunately, however, he had been born a gentleman of leisure and +educated as one. But this did not prevent him from indulging in his +proclivities. He had made more than one wild business venture which had +electrified his neighbors. Once he had been on the verge of a great +success and again he had overstepped the verge of a great loss. He had +lost money, but he had never lost confidence in his business ability. + +"I have gained experience," he said. "I shall know better next time." + +His wife had died early and his daughter had spent her girlhood with a +relative abroad. She had developed into beauty so faultless that it had +been said that its order belonged rather to the world of pedestals and +catalogues than to ordinary young womanhood. + +But the truth was that she was not an ordinary young woman at all. + +"I suppose," she said at dinner on the evening of her visit to the +Briarley cottage,--"I suppose these work-people are very radical in +their views." + +"Why?" asked her father. + +"I went into a cottage this afternoon and found a young workman there in +his working clothes, and instead of leaving the room he remained in it +as if that was the most natural thing to do. It struck me that he must +belong to the class of people we read of." + +"I don't know much of the political state of affairs now," said Mr. +Ffrench. "Some of these fellows are always bad enough, and this Haworth +rose from the ranks. He was a foundry lad himself." + +"I met Mr. Haworth, too," said Miss Ffrench. "He stopped in the street +to stand looking after the carriage. He is a very big person." + +"He is a very successful fellow," with something like a sigh. "A man who +has made of himself what he has through sheer power of will and business +capacity is a genius." + +"What has he made of himself?" inquired Miss Ffrench. + +"Well," replied her father, "the man is actually a millionaire. He is +at the head of his branch of the trade; he leads the other +manufacturers; he is a kind of king in the place. People may ignore him +if they choose. He does not care, and there is no reason why he should." + +Mr. Ffrench became rather excited. He flushed and spoke uneasily. + +"There are plenty of gentlemen," he said. "We have gentlemen enough and +to spare, but we have few men who can make a path through the world for +themselves as he has done. For my part, I admire the man. He has the +kind of force which moves me to admiration." + +"I dare say," said Miss Ffrench, slowly, "that you would have admired +the young workman I saw. It struck me at the time that you would." + +"By the bye," her father asked with a new interest, "what kind of a +young fellow was he? Perhaps it was the young fellow who is half +American and----" + +"He did not look like an Englishman," she interrupted. "He was too dark +and tall and unconscious of himself, in spite of his awkwardness. He did +not know that he was out of place." + +"I have no doubt it was this Murdoch. He is a peculiar fellow, and I am +as much interested in him as in Haworth. His father was a Lancashire +man,--a half-crazy inventor who died leaving an unfinished model which +was to have made his fortune. I have heard a great deal of the son. I +wish I had seen him." + +Rachel Ffrench made no reply. She had heard this kind of thing before. +There had been a young man from Cumberland who had been on the point of +inventing a new propelling power, but had, somehow or other, not done +it; there had been a machinist from Manchester who had created an +entirely new order of loom--which had not worked; and there had been +half a dozen smaller lights whose inventions, though less involved, +would still have made fortunes--if they had been quite practical. But +Mr. Ffrench had mounted his hobby, which always stood saddled and +bridled. He talked of Haworth and Haworth's success, the Works and their +machinery. He calculated the expenses and the returns of the business. +He even took out his tablets to get at the profits more accurately, and +got down the possible cost of various improvements which had suggested +themselves. + +"He has done so much," he said, "that it would be easy for him to do +more. He could accomplish anything if he were a better educated man--or +had an educated man as partner. They say," he remarked afterward, "that +this Murdoch is not an ignoramus by any means. I hear that he has a +positive passion for books and that he has made several quite remarkable +improvements and additions to the machinery at the Works. It would be an +odd thing," biting the end of his pencil with a thoughtful air, "it +would be a _dramatic_ sort of thing if he should make a success of the +idea the poor fellow, his father, left incomplete." + +Indeed Miss Ffrench was quite prepared for his after-statement that he +intended to pay a visit to the Works and their owner the next morning, +though she could not altogether account for the slight hint of secret +embarrassment which she fancied displayed itself when he made the +announcement. + +"It's true the man is rough and high-handed enough," he said. "He has +not been too civil in his behavior to me in times gone by, but I should +like to know more of him in spite of it. He is worth cultivating." + +He appeared at the Works the following morning, awakening thereby some +interest among the shrewder spirits who knew him of old. + +"What's he up to now?" they said to each other. "He's getten some crank +i' his yed or he would na be here." + +Not being at any time specially shrewd in the study of human nature, it +must be confessed that Mr. Ffrench was not prepared for the reception he +met with in the owner's room. In his previous rare interviews with Jem +Haworth he had been accorded but slight respect. His advances had been +met in a manner savoring of rough contempt, his ephemeral hobbies +disposed of with the amiable candor of the practical and not too +polished mind; he knew he had been jeered at openly at times, and now +the man who had regarded him lightly and as if he felt that he held the +upper hand, received him almost with a confused, self-conscious air. He +even flushed when he got up and awkwardly shook hands. "Perhaps," said +his visitor to himself, "events have taught him to feel the lack in +himself after all." + +"I looked forward, before my return, to calling upon you," he said +aloud. "And I am glad to have the opportunity at last." + +Haworth reseated himself after giving him a chair, and answered with a +nod and a somewhat incoherent welcome. + +Ffrench settled himself with an agreeable consciousness of being less at +a loss before the man than he had ever been in his life. + +"What I have seen abroad," he said, "has added to the interest I have +always felt in our own manufactures. You know that is a thing I have +always cared for most. People have called it my hobby, though I don't +think that is quite the right name for it. You have done a great deal +since I went away." + +"I shall do more yet," said Haworth with effort, "before I've done with +the thing." + +"You've done a good deal for Broxton. The place has grown wonderfully. +Those cottages of yours are good work." + +Haworth warmed up. His hand fell upon the table before him heavily. + +"It's not Broxton I'm aimin' at," he said. "Broxton's naught to me. I'll +have good work or none. It's this place here I'm at work on. I've said +I'd set 'Haworth's' above 'em all, and I'll do it." + +"You've done it already," answered Ffrench. + +"Ay, but I tell you I'll set it higher yet. I've got the money and I've +got the will. There's none on 'em can back down Jem Haworth." + +"No," said Ffrench, suddenly and unaccountably conscious of a weakness +in himself and his position. He did not quite understand the man. His +heat was a little confusing. + +"This," he decided mentally, "is _his_ hobby." + +He sat and listened with real excitement as Haworth launched out more +freely and with a stronger touch of braggadocio. + +He had set out in his own line and he meant to follow it in spite of all +the gentlemen manufacturers in England. He had asked help from none of +them, and they had given him none. He'd brought up the trade and he'd +made money. There wasn't a bigger place in the country than "Haworth's," +nor a place that did the work it did. He'd have naught cheap and he'd +have no fancy prices. The chaps that worked for him knew their business +and knew they'd lose naught by sticking to it. They knew, too, they'd +got a master who looked sharp after 'em and stood no cheek nor no slack +dodges. + +"I've got the best lot in the trade under me," he said. "I've got a +young chap in the engine-room as knows more about machinery than half +the top-sawyers in England. By George! I wish I knew as much. He's a +quiet chap and he's young; but if he knew how to look a bit sharper +after himself, he'd make his fortune. The trouble is he's too quiet and +a bit too much of a gentleman without knowing it. By George! he _is_ a +gentleman, if he is naught but Jem Haworth's engineer." + +"He is proud of the fellow," thought Ffrench. "_Proud_ of him, because +he _is_ a gentleman." + +"He knows what's worth knowing," Haworth went on. "And he keeps it to +himself till the time comes to use it. He's a chap that keeps his mouth +shut. He comes up to my house and reads my books. I've not been brought +up to books myself, but there's none of 'em _he_ can't tackle. He's +welcome to use aught I've got. I'm not such a fool as to grudge him what +all my brass won't buy me." + +"I think I've heard of him," said Ffrench. "You mean Murdoch." + +"Ay," Haworth answered, "I mean Murdoch; and there's not many chaps like +him. He's the only one of the sort I ever run up against." + +"I should like to see him," said Ffrench. "My daughter saw him yesterday +in one of the workmen's cottages and," with a faint smile, "he struck +her as having rather the air of a radical. It was one of her feminine +fancies." + +There was a moment's halt and then Haworth made his reply as forcibly +as ever. + +"Radical be hanged," he said. "He's got work o' his own to attend to. +He's one of the kind as leaves th' radicals alone. He's a +straightforward chap that cares more for his books than aught else. I +won't say," a trifle grudgingly, "that he's not a bit too straight in +some things." + +There was a halt again here which Ffrench rather wondered at; then +Haworth spoke again, bluntly and yet lagging a little. + +"I--I saw her, Miss Ffrench, myself yesterday. I was walking down the +street when her carriage passed." + +Ffrench looked at him with an inward start. It was his turn to flush +now. + +"I think," he said, "that she mentioned it to me." + +He appeared a trifle pre-occupied for some minutes afterward, and when +he roused himself laughed and spoke nervously. The color did not die out +of his face during the remainder of his visit; even after he had made +the tour of the Works and looked at the machinery and given a good deal +of information concerning the manner in which things were done on the +Continent, it was still there and perhaps it deepened slightly as he +spoke his parting words. + +"Then," he said, "I--we shall have the pleasure of seeing you at dinner +to-morrow evening?" + +"Yes," Haworth answered, "I'll be there." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +NEARLY AN ACCIDENT. + + +It was Rachel Ffrench who received her father's guest the following +evening. Mr. Ffrench had been delayed in his return from town and was +still in his dressing-room. Accordingly when Haworth was announced, the +doors of the drawing-room being flung open revealed to him the figure of +his host's daughter alone. + +The room was long and stately, and after she had risen from her seat it +took Miss Ffrench some little time to make her way from one end to the +other. Haworth had unconsciously halted after crossing the threshold, +and it was not until she was half-way down the room that he bestirred +himself to advance to meet her. He did not know why he had paused at +first, and his sudden knowledge that he had done so roused him to a +momentary savage anger. + +"Dang it!" he said to himself. "Why did I stand there like a fool?" + +The reason could not be explained briefly. His own house was a far more +splendid affair than Ffrench's, and among his visitors from London and +Manchester there were costumes far more gorgeous than that of Miss +Ffrench. He was used to the flash of jewels and the gloss of brilliant +colors. Miss Ffrench wore no ornaments at all, and her dark purple dress +was simple and close-clinging. + +A couple of paces from him she stopped and held out her hand. + +"My father will be glad to see you," she said. "He was, unfortunately, +detained this evening by business. He will be down stairs in a few +moments." + +His sense of being at a disadvantage when, after she had led him back to +the fire, they were seated, was overwhelming. A great heat rushed over +him; the hush of the room, broken only by the light ticking of the +clock, was misery. His eye traveled stealthily from the hem of her dark +purple gown to the crowning waves of her fair hair, but he had not a +word to utter. It made him feel almost brutal. + +"But the day'll come _yet_," he protested inwardly, feeling his weakness +as he thought it, "when I'll hold my own. I've done it before, and I'll +do it again." + +Miss Ffrench regarded him with a clear and direct gaze. She did not look +away from him at all; she was not in the least embarrassed, and though +she did not smile, the calmness of her face was quite as perfect in +expression. + +"My father told me of his visit to your place," she said. "He interested +me very much. I should like to see the Works, if you admit visitors. I +know nothing of such things." + +"Any time you choose to come," he answered, "I'll show you round--and be +glad to do it. It's a pretty big place of the kind." + +He was glad she had chosen this subject. If she would only go on, it +would not be so bad. He would be in his own groove. And she did go on. + +"I've seen very little of Broxton," she proceeded. "I spent a few weeks +here before going abroad again with my father, and I cannot say I have +been very fond of it. I do not like England, and on the Continent one +hears unpleasant things of English manufacturing towns. I think," +smiling a little for the first time, "that one always associates them +with 'strikes' and squalid people." + +"There is not much danger of strikes here," he replied. "I give my chaps +fair play and let 'em know who's master." + +"But they have radical clubs," she said, "and talk politics and get +angry when they are not sober. I've heard that much already." + +"They don't talk 'em in _my_ place," he answered, dogmatically. + +He was not quite sure whether it relieved him or not when Ffrench +entered at this moment and interrupted them. He was more at his ease +with Ffrench, and yet he felt himself at a disadvantage still. He +scarcely knew how the night passed. A feverish unrest was upon him. +Sometimes he hardly heard what his entertainer said, and Mr. Ffrench was +in one of his most voluble and diffuse moods. He displayed his knowledge +of trade and mechanics with gentlemanly ostentation; he talked of +"Trades' Unions" and the master's difficulties; he introduced +manufacturer's politics and expatiated on Continental weaknesses. He +weighed the question of demand and supply and touched on "protective +tariff." + +"Blast him," said Haworth, growing bitter mentally, "he thinks I'm up to +naught else, and he's right." + +As her father talked Miss Ffrench joined in but seldom. She listened and +looked on in a manner of which Haworth was conscious from first to last. +The thought made its way into his mind, finally, that she looked on as +if these matters did not touch her at all and she was only faintly +curious about them. Her eyes rested on him with a secret air of watchful +interest; he met them more than once as he looked up and she did not +turn them away. He sat through it all, full of vengeful resentment, and +was at once wretched and happy, in spite of it and himself. + +When, at her father's request, she played and sang, he sat apart moody +and yet full of clumsy rapture. He knew nothing of the music, but his +passion found a tongue in it, nevertheless. If she had played badly he +would have taken the lack of harmony for granted, but as she played well +he experienced a pleasure, while he did not comprehend. + +When it was all over and he found himself out alone in the road in the +dark, he was feverish still. + +"I don't seem to have made naught at th' first sight," he said. Then he +added with dogged exultation, "But I don't look for smooth sailing. I +know enough for that. I've seen her and been nigh her, and that's worth +setting down--with a chap like me." + +At the end of the week a carriage drove up to the gate-way of the Works, +and Mr. Ffrench and his daughter descended from it. Mr. Ffrench was in +the best of humors; he was in his element as he expatiated upon the size +and appointments of the place. He had been expatiating upon them during +the whole of the drive. + +On their being joined by Haworth himself, Miss Ffrench decided inwardly +that here upon his own domain he was not so wholly objectionable as she +had fancied at first--even that he was deserving of a certain degree of +approval. Despite the signs of elated excitement, her quick eye detected +at once that he was more at his ease. His big frame did not look out of +place; he moved as if he was at home, and upon the whole his rough air +of authority and the promptness with which his commands were obeyed did +not displease her. + +"He is master," she said to herself. + +She was fond of power and liked the evidence of it in others. She did +not object to the looks the men, who were at work, cast upon her as she +went from one department to another. Her beauty had never yet failed to +command masculine homage from all ranks. The great black fellows at the +furnaces exchanged comments as she passed. They would have paused in +their work to look at her if they had dared. The object of their +admiration bore it calmly; it neither confounded nor touched her; it did +not move her at all. + +Mr. Ffrench commented, examined and explained with delightful eloquence. + +"We are fortunate in timing our visit so well," he said to his daughter. +"They are filling an immense order for the most important railroad in +the country. On my honor, I would rather be at the head of such a +gigantic establishment than sit on the throne of England! But where is +this _protégé_ of yours?" he said to Haworth at last. "I should like +above all things to see him." + +"Murdoch?" answered Haworth. "Oh, we're coming to _him_ after a bit. +He's in among the engines." + +When they reached the engine-rooms Haworth presented him with little +ceremony, and explained the purpose of their visit. They wanted to see +the engines and he was the man to make the most of them. + +Mr. Ffrench's interest was awakened readily. The mechanic from +Cumberland had been a pretentious ignoramus; the young man from +Manchester had dropped his aspirates and worn loud plaids and flaming +neck-ties, but this was a less objectionable form of genius. + +Mr. Ffrench began to ask questions and make himself agreeable, and in a +short time was very well entertained indeed. + +Miss Ffrench listened with but slight demonstrations of interest. She +did not understand the conversation which was being carried on between +her father and Murdoch, and she made no pretense of doing so. + +"It is all very clear to _them_" she said to Haworth as they stood near +each other. + +"It's all clear enough to him," said Haworth, signifying Murdoch with a +gesture. + +Upon which Miss Ffrench smiled a little. She was not sensitive upon the +subject of her father's hobbies, and the coarse frankness of the remark +amused her. + +But notwithstanding her lack of interest she drew nearer to the engine +finally and stood looking at it, feeling at once fascinated and +unpleasantly overpowered by its heavy, invariable motion. + +It was as she stood in this way a little later that Murdoch's glance +fell upon her. The next instant, with the simultaneous cry of terror +which broke from the others, he had thrown himself forward and dragged +her back by main force, and among the thunderous wheels and rods and +shafts there was slowly twisted and torn and ground into shreds a +fragment of the delicate fabric of her dress. It was scarcely the work +of a second. Her father staggered toward them white and trembling. + +"Good God!" he cried. "Good God! What----" the words died upon his +bloodless lips. + +She freed herself from Murdoch's grasp and stood upright. She did not +look at him at all, she looked at her father and lightly brushed with +her hand her sleeve at the wrist. Despite her pallor it was difficult to +realize that she only held herself erect by a terrible effort of +self-control. + +"Why"--she said--"why did he touch me--in that manner?" + +Haworth uttered a smothered oath; Murdoch turned about and strode out of +the room. He did not care to remain to hear the explanation. + +As he went out into the open air a fellow-workman, passing by, stopped +to stare at him. + +"What's up wi' thee?" he asked. "Has tha been punsin Haworth o'er +again?" The incident referred to being always remembered as a savory and +delectable piece of humor. + +Murdoch turned to him with a dazed look. + +"I--" he stammered. "We--have very nearly had an accident." And went on +his way without further explanation. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +"IT WOULD BE A GOOD THING." + + +Exciting events were not so common in Broxton and its vicinity that this +one could remain in the background. It furnished a topic of conversation +for the dinner and tea-tables of every family within ten miles of the +place. On Murdoch's next visit to the Briarleys', Granny Dixon insisted +on having the matter explained for the fortieth time and was manifestly +disgusted by the lack of dramatic incident connected with it. + +"Tha seed her dress catch i' th' wheel an' dragged her back," she +shouted. "Was na theer nowt else? Did na she swound away, nor nothin'?" + +"No," he answered. "She did not know what had happened at first." + +Granny Dixon gave him a shrewd glance of examination, and then favored +him with a confidential remark, presented at the top of her voice. + +"I conna bide her," she said. + +"What did Mr. Ffrench say to thee?" asked Janey. "Does tha think he'll +gie thee owt fur it?" + +"No," answered Murdoch. "He won't do that." + +"He owt to," said Janey fretfully. "An' tha owt to tak' it, if he does. +Tha does na think enow o' money an' th' loike. Yo'll nivver get on i' +th' world if yo' mak' light o' money an' let it slip by yo'." + +Floxham had told the story somewhat surlily to his friends, and his +friends had retailed it over their beer, and the particulars had thus +become common property. + +"What did she say?" Floxham had remarked at the first relation. "She +said nowt, that's what she said. She did na quoite mak' th' thing out at +first, an' she stood theer brushin' th' black off her sleeve. Happen," +sardonically, "she did na loike th' notion o' a working chap catchin' +howd on her wi'out apologizin'." + +Haworth asked Murdoch to spend an evening with him, and sat moody and +silent through the greater part of it. At last he said: + +"You think you've been devilish badly treated," he said. "But, by the +Lord! I wish I was in your place." + +"You wish," repeated Murdoch, "that you were in my place? I don't know +that it's a particularly pleasant place to be in." + +Haworth leaned forward upon the table and stared across at him gloomily. + +"Look here," he said. "You know naught about her. She's hard to get at; +but she'll remember what's happened; cool as she took it, she'll +remember it." + +"I don't want her to remember it," returned Murdoch. "Why should it +matter? It's a thing of yesterday. It was nothing but chance. Let it +go." + +"Confound it!" said Haworth, with a restive moroseness. "I tell you I +wish I'd been in your place--at twice the risk." + +The same day Mr. Ffrench had made a visit to the Works for the purpose +of setting his mind at rest and expressing his gratitude in a graceful +manner. In fact he was rather glad of the opportunity to present himself +upon the ground so soon again. But on confronting the hero of the hour, +he found that somehow the affair dwindled and assumed an altogether +incidental and unheroic aspect. His rather high-flown phrases modified +themselves and took a different tone. + +"He is either very reserved or very shy," he said afterward to his +daughter. "It is not easy to reach him at the outset. There seems a lack +of enthusiasm about him, so to speak." + +"Will he come to the house?" asked Miss Ffrench. + +"Oh yes. I suppose he will come, but it was very plain that he would +rather have stayed away. He had too much good taste to refuse +point-blank to let you speak to him." + +"Good taste!" repeated Miss Ffrench. + +Her father turned upon her with manifest irritation. + +"Good taste!" he repeated petulantly. "Cannot you see that the poor +fellow is a gentleman? I wish you would show less of this nonsensical +caste prejudice, Rachel." + +"I suppose one necessarily dispenses with a good deal of it in a place +like this," she answered. "In making friends with Mr. Haworth, for +instance----" + +Mr. Ffrench drew nearer to her and rested his elbow upon the mantel with +rather an embarrassed expression. + +"I wish you to--to behave well to Haworth," he said faltering. "I--a +great deal may--may depend upon it." + +She looked up at him at once, lifting her eyes in a serene glance. + +"Do you want to go into the iron trade?" she asked relentlessly. + +He blushed scarlet, but she did not move her eyes from his face on that +account. + +"What--what Haworth needs," he stammered, "is a--a man of education +to--to assist him. A man who had studied the scientific features of--of +things, might suggest valuable ideas to him. There is an--an immense +field open to a rich, enterprising fellow such as he is--a man who is +fearless and--and who has the means to carry out his ventures." + +"You mean a man who will try to do new things," she remarked. "Do you +think he would?" + +"The trouble has been," floundering more hopelessly than ever, "that his +lack of cultivation has--well, has forced him to act in a single groove. +If--if he had a--a partner who--knew the ropes, so to speak--his +business would be doubled--trebled." + +She repeated aloud one of his words. + +"A partner," she said. + +He ran his hand through his hair and stared at her, wishing that he +could think of something decided to say. + +"Does he know you would like to be his partner?" she asked next. + +"N--no," he faltered, "not exactly." + +She sat a moment looking at the fire. + +"I do not believe he would do it," she said at last. "He is too proud of +having done everything single-handed." + +Then she looked at her father again. + +"If he would," she said, "and there were no rash ventures made, it would +be a good thing." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +"A POOR CHAP AS IS ALLUS I' TROUBLE." + + +"It was nothing but a chance, after all," Murdoch said to Miss Ffrench, +just as he had said to Haworth. "It happened that I was the first to see +the danger." + +She stood opposite to him upon the hearth in her father's house. Neither +of them had sat down. She rested her arm upon the low mantel and played +with a flower she held in her hand. She looked at the flower as she made +the reply. + +"You think of it very lightly," she said with rather cold +deliberateness. He did not regard her furtively as Haworth had done. +Raising her eyes suddenly, after she had said this, she met his, which +were fixed upon her. + +"No," he answered. "Not lightly at all. It was a horrible thing. I shall +never forget it." + +She shuddered. + +"Nor I," she said. + +Then she added, rather in the tone of one reluctantly making a +confession: + +"I have not slept easily through one night since." + +"That is very natural," he returned; "but the feeling will wear away." + +He would have left her then, but she stopped him with a gesture. + +"Wait a moment," she said. "There is something else." + +He paused as she bade him. A slight color rose to her cheek. + +"When I spoke," she said, "I did not understand at all what had +happened--not at all. I was stunned and angry. I thought that if I was +too near you, you might have spoken instead of doing as you did." Then +with studied coldness and meeting his gaze fully, "It would have been a +vile thing to have said--if I had understood." + +"Yes," he answered. "It would have been a vile thing, if you had +understood; but you did not, and I realized that when I had time to +think over it coolly." + +"Then at first," she put it to him, "it made you angry?" + +"Yes. I had run some risk, you know, and had had the luck to save your +life." + +The interview ended here, and it was some time before they met again. + +But Murdoch heard of her often; so often indeed that she was kept pretty +constantly before him. He heard of her from Haworth, from the Briarleys, +from numberless sources indeed. + +It became her caprice to make a kind of study of the people around her +and to find entertainment in it. When she drove through the streets of +the little town, past the workmen's cottages, and the Works themselves, +she was stared at and commented upon. Her beauty, her dress, her manners +roused the beholders either to lavish or grudging acknowledgment. Dirty +children sometimes followed her carriage, and on its stopping at any +point a small crowd gathered about it. + +"She's been here again," shouted Granny Dixon one evening as Murdoch +took a seat near her chair. + +"Who?" he asked. + +"Her. That lass o' Ffrench's--th' one I conna bide. She mak's out she's +ta'en a fancy to our Janey. I dunnot believe her," at a louder pitch and +with vigorous nods. + +"Tha nasty tempert owd body!" cried Mrs. Briarley _sotto voce_. "Get out +wi' thee!" + +"What art tha sayin'?" demanded her guest. "Dunnot tell me tha wur +sayin' nowt. I saw thee." + +"I--I wur sayin' it wur a bad day fur th' wash," faltered the criminal, +"an' fur them as had rheumatiz. How's--how's thine, Misses?" + +"Tha'rt tellin' a lee," was the rejoinder. "Tha wert sayin' summat ill +o' me. I caught thee at it." + +Then going back to the subject and turning to Murdoch: + +"I dunnot believe her! She cares nowt fur nowt at th' top o' th' earth +but hersen. She set here to-day gettin' em to mak' foo's o' theersens +because it happen't to suit her. She's getten nowt better to do an' she +wants to pass th' toime--if theer's nowt else at th' back on it. She's +Will Ffrench ower again. She conna mak' a foo' o' me." + +"He made foo' enow o' thee i' his day," commented Mrs. Briarley, +cautiously. + +Granny Dixon favored her with a sharper glance than before. + +"Tha'rt sayin' summat ill again," she cried. "Howd thy tongue!" + +"Eh!" whimpered the poor woman. "A body dare na say theer soul's theer +own when hoo's about--hoo's that sharp an' ill-farrant." + +A few minutes after, Briarley came in. Janey piloted him and he entered +with a smile at once apologetic and encouraging. + +"He wur theer," said Janey. "But he had na had nowt." + +Briarley sidled forward and seated himself upon the edge of a chair; his +smile broadened steadily, but he was in a tremendous minority. Granny +Dixon transfixed him with her baleful eye, and under its influence the +smile was graduated from exhilarated friendliness to gravity, from +gravity to gentle melancholy, from melancholy to deepest gloom. But at +this stage a happy thought struck him and he beamed again. + +"How--how art tha doin', Misses?" he quavered. "I hope tha'rt makin' +thysen comfortable." + +The reception this polite anxiety met with was not encouraging. Granny +Dixon's eye assumed an expression still more baleful. + +"Tha'st been at it again," she shouted. "Tha'st been at it again. Tha'll +neer git none o' my brass to spend at th' ale-house. Mak' sure o' that." + +Mr. Briarley turned his attention to the fire again. Melancholy was upon +the point of marking him for her own, when the most delicate of tact +came to his rescue. + +"It is na thy brass we want, Misses," he proclaimed. "It's--it's thy +comp'ny." And then clenched the matter by adding still more feebly, "Ay, +to be sure it's thy comp'ny, is na it, Sararann?" + +"Ay," faltered Mrs. Briarley, "_to_ be sure." + +"It's nowt o' th' soart," answered Granny Dixon, in the tone of the last +trump. "An' dunnot yo' threep me down as it is." + +Mr. Briarley's countenance fell. Mrs. Briarley shed a few natural tears +under cover of the baby; discretion and delicacy forbade either to +retort. Their venerable guest having badgered them into submission +glared at the fire with the air of one who detected its feeble cunning +and defied it. + +It was Mr. Briarley who first attempted to recover cheerfulness. + +"Tha'st had quality to see thee, Sararann," he ventured. "Our Jane towd +me." + +"Ay," answered Mrs. Briarley, tearfully. + +Mr. Briarley fell into indiscreet reverie. + +"The chap as gets her," he said, "'ll get a han'some lass. I would na +moind," modestly, "I would na moind bein' i' his shoes mysen." + +Mrs. Briarley's smothered wrongs broke forth. + +"Thee!" she cried out. "Tha brazant nowt! I wonder tha'rt na sham't o' +thy face--talkin' i' that rood about a lady, an' afore thy own wife! I +wonder tha art na sham't." + +Mr. Briarley's courage forsook him. He sought refuge in submissive +penitence almost lachrymose. + +"I did na mean nowt, Sararann," he protested meekly. "It wur a slip o' +th' tongue, lass. I'm--I'm not th' build as a young woman o' that soart +ud be loike to tak' up wi'." + +"Yo' wur good enow fur me onct," replied Mrs. Briarley, sharply. "A +noice un yo' are settin' yore wedded wife below other people--as if she +wur dirt." + +"Ay, Sararann," the criminal faltered, "I wur good enow fur yo' +but--but--yo----" + +But at this point he dropped his head upon his hand, shaking it in +mournful contrition. + +"I'm a poor chap," he said. "I'm nowt but a poor chap as is allus i' +trouble. I'm not th' man yo' ought to ha' had, Sararann." + +"Nay," retorted Mrs. Briarley. "That tha'rt not, an' it's a pity tha did +na foind that theer out thirteen year ago." + +Mr. Briarley shook his head with a still deeper depression. + +"Ay, Sararann," he answered, "seems loike it is." + +He did not recover himself until Murdoch took his departure, and then he +followed him deprecatingly to the door. + +"Does tha think," he asked, "as that theer's true?" + +"That what is true?" + +"That theer th' chaps has been talkin' ower." + +"I don't know," answered Murdoch, "what they have been talking over." + +"They're gettin' it goin' among 'em as Haworth's goin' to tak' Ffrench +in partner." + +Murdoch looked up the road for a few seconds before he replied. He was +thinking over the events of the past week. + +"I do not think it is true," he said, after this pause. "I don't think +it can be. Haworth is not the man to do it." + +But the idea was such a startling one, presented in this form, that it +gave him a kind of shock; and as he went on his way naturally thinking +over the matter, he derived some consolation from repeating aloud his +last words: + +"No, it is not likely. Haworth is not the man to do it." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +A FLOWER. + + +But at last it was evident that the acquaintance between Haworth and +Ffrench had advanced with great rapidity. Ffrench appeared at the Works, +on an average, three or four times a week, and it had become a common +affair for Haworth to spend an evening with him and his daughter. He was +more comfortable in his position of guest in these days. Custom had +given him greater ease and self-possession. After two visits he had +begun to give himself up to the feverish enjoyment of the hour. His +glances were no longer furtive and embarrassed. At times he reached a +desperate boldness. + +"There's something about her," he said to Murdoch, "that draws a fellow +on and holds him off both at the same time. Sometimes I nigh lose my +head when I'm with her." + +He was moody and resentful at times, but he went again and again, and +held his own after a manner. On the occasion of the first dinner Mr. +Ffrench gave to his old friends, no small excitement was created by +Haworth's presence among the guests. The first man who, entering the +room with his wife and daughters, caught sight of his brawny frame and +rather dogged face, faltered and grew nervous, and would have turned +back if he had possessed the courage to be the first to protest. +Everybody else lacked the same courage, it appeared, for nobody did +protest openly, though there were comments enough made in private, and +as much coldness of manner as good breeding would allow. + +Miss Ffrench herself was neither depressed nor ill at ease. It was +reluctantly admitted that she had never appeared to a greater advantage +nor in better spirits. + +Before the evening was half over it was evident to all that she was not +resenting the presence of her father's new found friend. She listened to +his attempts at conversation with an attentive and suave little smile. +If she was amusing herself at his expense, she was at the same time +amusing herself at the expense of those who looked on, and was +delicately defying their opinion. + +Jem Haworth went home that night excited and exultant. He lay awake +through the night, and went down to the Works early. + +"I didn't get the worst of it, after all," he said to Murdoch. "Let 'em +grin and sert if they will--'them laughs that wins.' She--she never was +as handsome in her life as she was last night, and she never treated me +as well. She never says much. She only _lets_ a fellow come nigh and +talk; but she treated me well--in her way." + +"I'm going to send for my mother," he said afterward, somewhat +shamefacedly. "I'm goin' to begin a straight life; I want naught to +stand agin me. And if she's here they'll come to see her. I want all the +chances I can get." + +He wrote the letter to his mother the same day. + +"The old lady will be glad enough to come," he said, when he had +finished it. "The finery about her will trouble her a bit at first, but +she'll get over it." + +His day's work over, Murdoch did not return home at once. His restless +habit of taking long rambles across the country had asserted itself with +unusual strength, of late. He spent little time in the house. To-night +he was later than usual. He came in fagged and mud-splashed. Christian +was leaving the room as he entered it, but she stopped with her hand +upon the door. + +"We have had visitors," she said. + +"Who?" he asked. + +"Mr. Ffrench and his daughter. Mr. Ffrench wanted to see you. _She_ did +not come in, but sat in the carriage outside." + +She shut the door and came back to the hearth. + +"She despises us all!" she said. "She despises us all!" + +He had flung himself into a chair and lay back, clasping his hands +behind his head and looking gloomily before him. + +"Sometimes I think she does," he said. "But what of that?" + +She answered without looking at him. + +"To be sure," she said. "What of that?" + +After a little she spoke again. + +"There is something I have thought of saying to you," she said. "It is +this. I am happier here than I ever was before." + +"I am very glad," he answered. + +"I never thought of being happy," she went on, "or like other women in +anything. I--I was different." + +She said the words with perfect coldness. + +"I was different." + +"Different!" he echoed absently, and then checked himself. "Don't say +that," he said. "Don't think it. It won't do. Why shouldn't you be as +good and happy as any woman who ever lived?" + +She remained silent. But her silence only stirred him afresh. + +"It is a bad beginning," he said. "I know it is because I have tried it. +I have said to myself that I was different from other men, too." + +He ended with an impatient movement and a sound half like a groan. + +"Here I am," he cried, "telling myself it is better to battle against +the strongest feeling of my life because I am 'different'--because there +is a kind of taint in my blood. I don't begin as other men do by hoping. +I begin by despairing, and yet I can't give up. How it will end, God +knows!" + +"I understand you better than you think," she said. + +Something in her voice startled him. + +"What!" he exclaimed. "Has my mother----" + +He stopped and gazed at her, wondering. Some powerful emotion he could +not comprehend expressed itself in her face. + +"She does not speak of it often," she said. "She thinks of it always." + +"Yes," he answered. "I know that. She is afraid. She is haunted by her +dread of it--and," his voice dropping, "so am I." + +He felt it almost unnatural that he should speak so freely. He had found +it rather difficult to accustom himself to her presence in the house, +sometimes he had even been repelled by it, and yet, just at this moment, +he felt somehow as if they stood upon the same platform and were near +each other. + +"It will break loose some day," he cried. "And the day is not far off. I +shall run the risk and either win or lose. I fight hard for every day of +dull quiet I gain. When I look back over the past I feel that perhaps I +am holding a chained devil; but when I look forward I forget, and doubt +seems folly." + +"In your place," she said, "I would risk my _life_ upon it!" + +The passion in her voice amazed him. He comprehended even less clearly +than before. + +"_I_ know what it has cost," she said. "No one better. I am afraid to +pass the door of the room where it lies, in the dark. It is like a dead +thing, always there. Sometimes I fancy it is not alone and that the door +might open and show me some one with it." + +"What do you mean?" he said. "You speak as if----" + +"You would not understand if I should tell you," she answered a little +bitterly. "We are not very good friends--perhaps we never shall be--but +I will tell you this again, that in your place I would never give it +up--never! I would be true to _him_, if all the world were against me!" + +She went away and shortly afterward he left the room himself, intending +to go upstairs. + +As he reached the bottom of the staircase, a light from above fell upon +his face and caused him to raise it. The narrow passage itself was dark, +but on the topmost stair his mother stood holding a lamp whose light +struck upon him. She did not advance, but waited as he came upward, +looking down at him, not speaking. Then they passed each other, going +their separate ways. + + +The next day Ffrench appeared in the engine-room itself. He had come to +see Murdoch, and having seen him went away in most excellent humor. + +"What's he after?" inquired Floxham, when he was gone. + +"He wants me at his house," said Murdoch. "He says he needs my opinion +in some matter." + +He went to the house the same evening, and gave his opinion upon the +matter in question, and upon several others also. In fact, Mr. Ffrench +took possession of him as he had taken possession of the young man from +Manchester, and the Cumberland mechanic, though in this case he had +different metal to work upon. He was amiable, generous and talkative. He +exhibited his minerals, his plans for improved factories and workmen's +dwelling-houses, his little collection of models which had proved +impracticable, and his books on mechanics and manufactures. He was as +generous as Haworth himself in the matter of his library; it was at his +visitor's service whenever he chose. + +As they talked Rachel Ffrench remained in the room. During the evening +she went to the piano and sitting down played and sung softly as if for +no other ears than her own. Once, on her father's leaving the room, she +turned and spoke to Murdoch. + +"You were right in saying I should outlive my terror of what happened to +me," she said. "It has almost entirely worn away." + +"I am glad," he answered. + +She held in her belt a flower like the one which had attracted Granny +Dixon's attention. As she crossed the room shortly afterward it fell +upon the floor. She picked it up but, instead of replacing it, laid it +carelessly upon the table at Murdoch's side. + +After he had risen from his chair, when on the point of leaving, he +stood near this table and almost unconsciously took the flower up, and +when he went out of the house he held it in his fingers. + +The night was dark and his mood was preoccupied. He scarcely thought of +the path before him at all, and on passing through the gate he came, +without any warning, upon a figure standing before it. He drew back and +would have spoken had he been given the time. + +"Hush," said Haworth's voice. "It's me, lad." + +"What are you doing here?" asked Murdoch. "Are you going in?" + +"No," surlily, "I'm not." + +Murdoch said no more. Haworth turned with him and strode along by his +side. But he got over his ill-temper sufficiently to speak after a few +minutes. + +"It's the old tale," he said. "I'm making a fool of myself. I can't keep +away. I was there last night, and to-night the fit came upon me so +strong that I was bound to go. But when I got there I'd had time to +think it over and I couldn't make up my mind to go in. I knew I'd better +give her a rest. What did Ffrench want of you?" + +Murdoch explained. + +"Did you see--her?" + +"Yes." + +"Well," restlessly, "have you naught to say about her?" + +"No," coldly. "What should I have to say of her? It's no business of +mine to talk her over." + +"You'd talk her over if you were in my place," said Haworth. "You'd be +glad enow to do it. You'd think of her night and day, and grow hot and +cold at the thought of her. You--you don't know her as I do--if you +did----" + +They had reached the turn of the lane, and the light of the lamp which +stood there fell upon them. Haworth broke off his words and stopped +under the blaze. Murdoch saw his face darken with bitter passion. + +"Curse you!" he said. "Where did you get it?" + +Without comprehending him Murdoch looked down at his own hand at which +the man was pointing, and saw in it the flower he had forgotten he held. + +"This?" he said, and though he did not know why, the blood leaped to his +face. + +"Ay," said Haworth. "You know well enow what I mean. Where did you get +it? Do you think I don't know the look on it?" + +"You may, or you may not," answered Murdoch. "That is nothing to me. I +took it up without thinking of it. If I had thought of it I should have +left it where it was. I have no right to it--nor you either." + +Haworth drew near to him. + +"Give it here!" he demanded, hoarsely. + +They stood and looked each other in the eye. Externally Murdoch was the +calmer of the two, but he held in check a fiercer heat than he had felt +for many a day. + +"No," he answered. "Not I. Think over what you are doing. You will not +like to remember it to-morrow. It is not mine to give nor yours to take. +I have done with my share of it--there it is." And he crushed it in his +hand, and flung it, exhaling its fragrance, upon the ground; then turned +and went his way. He had not intended to glance backward, but he was not +as strong as he thought. He did look backward before he had gone ten +yards, and doing so saw Haworth bending down and gathering the bruised +petals from the earth. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +"HAWORTH & CO." + + +The next day, when he descended from his gig at the gates, instead of +going to his office, Haworth went to the engine-room. + +"Leave your work a bit and come into my place," he said to Murdoch. "I +want you." + +His tone was off-hand but not ill-humored. There was a hint of +embarrassment in it. Murdoch followed him without any words. Having led +the way into his office, Haworth shut the door and faced him. + +"Can tha guess what I want?" he demanded. + +"No," Murdoch answered. + +"Well, it's easy told. You said I'd be cooler to-day, and I am. A night +gives a man time to face a thing straight. I'd been making a fool of +myself before you came up, but I made a bigger fool of myself afterward. +There's the end on it." + +"I suppose," said Murdoch, "that it was natural enough you should look +at the thing differently just then. Perhaps I made a fool of myself +too." + +"You!" said Haworth, roughly. "You were cool enow." + +Later Ffrench came in, and spent an hour with him, and after his +departure Haworth made the rounds of the place in one of the worst of +his moods. + +"Aye," said Floxham to his companion, "that's allus th' road when he +shows hissen." + +The same day Janey Briarley presented herself to Mr. Ffrench's +housekeeper, with a message from her mother. Having delivered the +message, she was on her way from the housekeeper's room, when Miss +Ffrench, who sat in the drawing-room, spoke through the open door to the +servant. + +"If that is the child," she said, "bring her here to me." + +Janey entered the great room, awe-stricken and overpowered by its +grandeur. Miss Ffrench, who sat near the fire, addressed her, turning +her head over her shoulder. + +"Come here," she commanded. + +Janey advanced with something approaching tremor. Miss Ffrench was +awe-inspiring anywhere, but Miss Ffrench amid the marvels of her own +drawing-room, leaning back in her chair and regarding her confusion with +a suggestion of friendly notice, was terrible. + +"Sit down," she said, "and talk to me." + +[Illustration: "SIT DOWN," SHE SAID, "AND TALK TO ME."] + +But here the practical mind rebelled and asserted itself, in spite of +abasement of spirit. + +"I haven't getten nowt to talk about," said Janey, stoutly. "What mun I +say?" + +"Anything you like," responded Miss Ffrench. "I am not particular. +There's a chair." + +Janey seated herself in it. It was a large one, in which her small form +was lost. Her parcel was a big one, but Miss Ffrench did not tell her to +put it down, so she held it on her knee and was almost hidden behind it, +presenting somewhat the appearance of a huge newspaper package, clasped +by arms and surmounted by a small, sharp face and an immense bonnet, +with a curious appendage of short legs and big shoes. + +"I dunnot see," the girl was saying mentally, and with some distaste +for her position, "what she wants wi' me." + +But as she stared over the top of her parcel, she gradually softened. +The child found Miss Ffrench well worth looking at. + +"Eh!" she announced, with admiring candor. "Eh! but tha art han'some!" + +"Am I?" said Rachel Ffrench. "Thank you." + +"Aye," answered Janey, "tha art. I nivver seed no lady loike thee afore, +let alone a young woman. I've said so mony a toime to Mester Murdoch." + +"Have you?" + +"Aye, I'm allus talkin' to him about thee." + +"That's kind," said Rachel Ffrench. "I dare say he enjoys it. Who is +he?" + +"Him!" exclaimed Janey. "Dost na tha know him? Him as was at our house +th' day yo' coom th' first toime. Him as dragged thee out o' th' +engine." + +"Oh!" said Miss Ffrench, "the engineer." + +"Aye," in a tone of some discomfiture. "He's a engineer, but he is na +th' common workin' soart. Granny Dixon says he's getten gentlefolks' +ways." + +"I should think," remarked Miss Ffrench, "that Mrs. Dixon knew." + +"Aye, she's used to gentlefolk. They've takken notice on her i' her +young days. She knowed thy grandfeyther." + +"She gave me to understand as much," responded Miss Ffrench, smiling at +the recollection this brought to her mind. + +"Yo' see mother an' me thinks a deal o' Mester Murdoch, because he is na +one o' th' drinkin' soart," proceeded Janey. "He's th' steady koind as +is fond o' books an' th' loike. He does na mak' much at his trade, but +he knows more than yo'd think for, to look at him." + +"That is good news," said Miss Ffrench, cheerfully. + +Janey rested her chin upon her parcel, warming to the subject. + +"I should na wonder if he getten to be a rich mon some o' these days," +she went on. "He's getten th' makin's on it in him, if he has th' luck +an' looks sharp about him. I often tell him he mun look sharp." + +She became so communicative indeed, that Miss Ffrench found herself well +entertained. She heard the details of Haworth's history, the reports of +his prosperity and growing wealth, the comments his hands had made upon +herself, and much interesting news concerning the religious condition of +Broxton and "th' chapel." + +It was growing dusk when the interview ended, and when she went away +Janey carried an additional bundle. + +"Does tha allus dress i' this road?" she had asked her hostess, and the +question suggested to Miss Ffrench a whimsical idea. She took the child +upstairs and gave her maid orders to produce all the cast-off finery she +could find, and then stood by and looked on as Janey made her choice. + +"She stood theer laughin' while I picked th' things out," said Janey +afterward. "I dunnot know what she wur laughin' at. Yo' nivver know +whether she's makin' game on you or not." + +"I dunnot see as theer wur owt to laugh at," said Mrs. Briarley, +indignantly. + +"Nay," said Janey, "nor me neyther, but she does na laugh when theer's +owt to laugh at--that's th' queer part o' it. She said as I could ha' +more things when I coom again, I would na go if it wur na fur that." + +Even his hands found out at this time that Haworth was ill at ease. His +worst side showed itself in his intercourse with them. He was +overbearing and difficult to please. He found fault and lost his temper +over trifles, and showed a restless, angry desire to assert himself. + +"I'll show you who's master here, my lads," he would say. "I'll ha' no +dodges. It's Haworth that's th' head o' this concern. Whoever comes in +or out, this here's 'Haworth's.' Clap that i' your pipes and smoke it." + +"Summat's up," said Floxham. "Summat's up. Mark yo' that." + +Murdoch looked on with no inconsiderable anxiety. The intercourse +between himself and Haworth had been broken in upon. It had received its +first check months before, and in these days neither was in the exact +mood for a renewal of it. Haworth wore a forbidding air. His rough +good-fellowship was a thing of the past. He made no more boisterous +jokes, no more loud boasts. At times his silence was almost morose. He +was not over civil even to Ffrench, who came oftener than ever, and +whose manner was cheerful to buoyancy. + +Matters had remained in this condition for a couple of months, when, on +his way home late one night, Murdoch's attention was arrested by a light +burning in the room used by the master of the Works as his office. + +He stopped in the road to look up at it. He could scarcely, at first, +believe the evidence of his senses. The place had been closed and locked +hours before, when Haworth had left it with Ffrench, with whom he was to +dine. It was nearly midnight, and certainly an unlawful hour for such a +light to show itself, but there it burned steadily amid the darkness of +the night. + +"It doesn't seem likely that those who had reason to conceal themselves +would set a light _blazing_," Murdoch thought. "But if there's mischief +at work there's no time to waste." + +There was only one thing to do, and he did it, making the best of his +way to the spot. + +The gate was thrown open, and the door of entrance yielded to his hand. +Inside, the darkness was profound, but when he found the passage leading +to Haworth's room he saw that the door was ajar and that the light still +burned. On reaching this door he stopped short. There was no need to go +in. It was Haworth himself who was in the room--Haworth, who lay with +arms folded on the table, and his head resting upon them. + +Murdoch turned away, and as he did so the man heard him for the first +time. He lifted his head and looked round. + +"Who's there?" he demanded. + +There was no help for it. Murdoch pushed the door open and stood before +him. + +"Murdoch," he said. "I saw the light, and it brought me up." + +Haworth gave him a grudging look. + +"Come in," he said. + +"Do you want me?" Murdoch asked. + +"Aye," he answered, dully, "I think I do." + +Murdoch stood and looked at him. He did not sit down. A mysterious sense +of embarrassment held him in check. + +"What is wrong?" he asked, in a lowered voice. He hardly knew it for his +own. + +"Wrong?" echoed Haworth. "Naught. I've--been taking leave of the place. +That's all." + +"You have been doing _what_?" said Murdoch. + +"Taking leave of the place. I've given it up." + +His visitor uttered a passionate ejaculation. + +"You are mad!" he said. + +"Aye," bitterly. "Mad enow." + +The next instant a strange sound burst from him,--a terrible sound, +forced back at its birth. His struggle to suppress it shook him from +head to foot; his hands clinched themselves as if each were a vise. +Murdoch turned aside. + +When it was over, and the man raised his face, he was trembling still, +and white with a kind of raging shame. + +"Blast you!" he cried, "if there's ever aught in your face that minds me +o' this, I'll--I'll kill you!" + +This Murdoch did not answer at all. There was enough to say. + +"You are going to share it with Ffrench?" he said. + +"Aye, with that fool. He's been at me from the start. Naught would do +him but he must have his try at it. Let him. He shall play second +fiddle, by the Lord Harry!" + +He began plucking at some torn scraps of paper, and did not let them +rest while he spoke. + +"I've been over th' place from top to bottom," he said. "I held out +until to-night. To-night I give in, and as soon as I left 'em I came +here. Ten minutes after it was done I'd have undone it if I could--I'd +have undone it. But it's done, and there's an end on it." + +He threw the scraps of paper aside and clenched his hand, speaking +through his teeth. + +"She's never given me a word to hang on," he said, "and I've done it for +her. I've give up what I worked for and boasted on, just to be brought +nigher to her. She knows I've done it,--she _knows_ it, though she's +never owned it by a look,--and I'll make that enough." + +"If you make your way with her," said Murdoch, "you have earned all you +won." + +"Aye," was the grim answer. "I've earned it." + +And soon after the light in the window went out, and they parted outside +and went their separate ways in the dark. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. + + +Before the week's end, all Broxton had heard the news. In the Works, +before and after working hours, groups gathered together to talk it +over. Haworth was going to 'tak' Ffrench in partner.' It was hard to +believe it, and the general opinion expressed was neither favorable nor +complimentary. "Haworth and Ffrench!" said Floxham, in sarcastic mood. +"Haworth and Co.,--an' a noice chap Co. is to ha' i' a place. We'n ha' +patent silver-mounted back-action puddlin'-rakes afore long, lads, if +Co. gets his way." + +Upon the occasion of the installation of the new partner, however, there +was a natural tendency to conviviality. Not that the ceremony in +question was attended with any special manifestation on the part of the +individuals most concerned. Ffrench's appearance at the Works was its +chief feature, but, the day's labor being at an end, several gentlemen +engaged in the various departments scorning to neglect an opportunity, +retired to the "Who'd 'a' Thowt it," and promptly rendered themselves +insensible through the medium of beer, assisted by patriotic and +somewhat involved speeches. + +Mr. Briarley, returning to the bosom of his family at a late hour, sat +down by his fireside and wept copiously. + +"I'm a poor chap, Sararann," he remarked. "I shall ne'er get took in +partner by nobody. I'm not i' luck loike some--an' I nivver wur, +'ceptin' when I getten thee." + +"If tha'd keep thy nose out o' th' beer-mug tha'd do well enow," said +Mrs. Briarley. + +But this did not dispel Mr. Briarley's despondency. He only wept afresh. + +"Nay, Sararann," he said, "it is na beer, it's misforchin. I allus wur +misforchnit--'ceptin' when I getten thee." + +"Things is i' a bad way," he proceeded, afterward. "Things is i' a bad +way. I nivver seed 'em i' th' reet leet till I heerd Foxy Gibbs mak' his +speech to-neet. Th' more beer he getten th' eleyquenter he wur. Theer'll +be trouble wi' th' backbone an' sinoo, if theer is na summat done." + +"What art tha drivin' at?" fretted his wife. "I canna mak' no sense out +o' thee." + +"Canna tha?" he responded. "Canna thee, Sararann? Well, I dunnot wonder. +It wur a good bit afore I straightened it out mysen. Happen I hannot +getten things as they mout be yet. Theer wur a good deal o' talk an' a +good deal o' beer, an' a man as has been misforchnit is loike to be +slow." + +After which he fell into a deep and untroubled slumber, and it being +found impossible to rouse him, he spent the remainder of the night in +Granny Dixon's chair by the fire, occasionally startling the echoes of +the silent room by a loud and encouraging "Eer-eer!" + + +During the following two weeks, Haworth did not go to the Ffrench's. He +spent his nights at his own house in dull and sullen mood. At the Works, +he kept his word as regarded Ffrench. That gentleman's lines had +scarcely fallen in pleasant places. His partner was gruff and +authoritative, and not given to enthusiasm. There were times when only +his good-breeding preserved the outward smoothness of affairs. + +"But," he said to his daughter, "one does not expect good manners of a +man like that. They are not his _forte_." + +At the end of the two weeks there came one afternoon a message to +Haworth in his room. Murdoch was with him when it arrived. He read it, +and, crushing it in his hand, threw it into the fire. + +"They're a nice lot," he said with a short laugh, "coming down on a +fellow like that." + +And then an oath broke from him. + +"I've give up two or three things," he said, "and they're among 'em. +It's th' last time, and----" + +He took down his overcoat and began to put it on. + +"Tell 'em," he said to Murdoch as he went out,--"tell 'em I'm gone home, +and sha'n't be back till morning. Keep the rest to yourself." + +He went out, shutting the door with a bang. Murdoch stood at the window +and watched him drive away in his gig. + +He was scarcely out of sight before a carriage appeared, moving at a +very moderate pace. It was a bright though cold day, and the top of the +carriage was thrown back, giving the occupant the benefit of the +sunshine. The occupant in question was Rachel Ffrench, who looked up and +bestowed upon the figure at the window a slight gesture of recognition. + +Murdoch turned away with an impatient movement after she had passed. +"Pooh!" he said, angrily. "He's a fool." + +By midnight of the same day Haworth had had time to half forget his +scruples. He had said to his visitors what he had said to Murdoch, with +his usual frankness. + +"It's the last time. We've done with each other after this, you know. +It's the last time. Make the most on it." + +There was a kind of desperate exultation in his humor. If he had dared, +he would have liked to fling aside every barrier of restraint and show +himself at his worst, defying the world; but fear held him in check, as +nothing else would have done,--an abject fear of consequences. + +By midnight the festivities were at their height. He himself was +boisterous with wine and excitement. He had stood up at the head of his +table and made a blatant speech and roared a loud song, and had been +laughed at and applauded. + +"Make the most on it," he kept saying. "It'll be over by cock-crow. It's +a bit like a chap's funeral." + +He had just seated himself after this, and was pouring out a great glass +of wine, when a servant entered the room and spoke to him in a low tone. + +"A lady, sir, as come in a cab, and----" And then the door opened again, +and every one turned to look at the woman who stood upon the threshold. +She was a small woman, dressed in plain country fashion; she had white +hair, and a fresh bloom on her cheeks, and her eyes were bright with +timorous excitement and joy. + +"Jem," she faltered, "it's me, my dear." + +Haworth stared at her as if stunned. At first his brain was not clear +enough to take in the meaning of her presence, but as she approached him +and laid her basket down and took his hand, the truth revealed itself to +him. + +"It's me, my dear," she repeated, "accordin' to promise I didn't know +you had comp'ny." + +She turned to those who sat about the table and made a little rustic +courtesy. A dead calm seemed to take possession of one and all. They did +not glance at each other, but looked at her as she stood by Haworth, +holding his hand, waiting for him to kiss her. + +"He's so took by surprise," she said, "he doesn't know what to say. He +wasn't expecting me so soon," laughing proudly. "That's it. I'm his +mother, ladies and gentlemen." + +Haworth made a sign to the servant who waited. + +"Bring a plate here," he said. "She'll sit down with us." + +The order was obeyed, and she sat down at his right hand, fluttered and +beaming. + +"You're very good not to mind me," she said. "I didn't think of there +bein' comp'ny--and gentry, too." + +She turned to a brightly dressed girl at her side and spoke to her. + +"He's my only son, Miss, and me a widder, an' he's allers been just what +you see him now. He was good from the time he was a infant. He's been a +pride an' a comfort to me since the day he were born." + +The girl stared at her with a look which was almost a look of fear. She +answered her in a hushed voice. + +"Yes, ma'am," she said. + +"Yes, Miss," happily. "There's not many mothers as can say what I can. +He's never been ashamed of me, hasn't Jem. If I'd been a lady born, he +couldn't have showed me more respect than he has, nor been more kinder." + +The girl did not answer this time. She looked down at her plate, and her +hand trembled as she pretended to occupy herself with the fruit upon it. +Then she stole a glance at the rest,--a glance at once guilty, and +defiant of the smile she expected to see. But the smile was not there. + +The only smile to be seen was upon the face of the little country woman +who regarded them all with innocent reverence, and was in such bright +good spirits that she did not even notice their silence. + +"I've had a long journey," she said, "an' I've been pretty flustered, +through not bein' used to travel. I don't know how I'd have bore up at +first--bein' flustered so--if it hadn't have been for everybody bein' so +good to me. I'd mention my son when I had to ask anything, an' they'd +smile as good-natured as could be, an' tell me in a minute." + +The multiplicity of new dishes and rare wine bewildered her, but she sat +through the repast simple and unabashed. + +"There's some as wouldn't like me bein' so ignorant," she said, "but Jem +doesn't mind." + +The subject of her son's virtues was an inexhaustible one. The silence +about her only gave her courage and eloquence. His childish strength and +precocity, his bravery, his good temper, his generous ways, were her +themes. + +"He come to me in time of trouble," she said, "an' he made it +lighter--an' he's been makin' it lighter ever since. Who'd have thought +that a simple body like me would ever have a grand home like this--and +it earned and bought by my own son? I beg your pardon, ladies and +gentlemen," looking round with happy tears. "I didn't go to do it, an' +there's no reason for it, except me bein' took a little by surprise +through not bein' exactly prepared for such a grand place an' +gentlefolk's comp'ny, as is so good an' understands a mother's +feelin's." + +When the repast was at an end, she got up and made her little courtesy +to them all again. If the gentlefolk would excuse her, she would bid +them good-night. She was tired and not used to late hours. + +To the girl who had sat at her side she gave an admiring smile of +farewell. + +"You're very pretty, my dear," she said, "if I may take the liberty, +bein' a old woman. Good-night! God bless you!" + +When she was gone, the girl lay forward, her face hidden upon her arms +on the table. For a few seconds no one spoke; then Haworth looked up +from his plate, on which he had kept his eyes fixed, and broke the +stillness. + +"If there'd been a fellow among you that had dared to show his teeth," +he said, "I'd have wrung his cursed neck!" + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +MISS FFRENCH MAKES A CALL. + + +The following Sunday morning, the congregation of Broxton Chapel was +thrown into a state of repressed excitement. Haworth's carriage, with a +couple of servants, brought his mother to enjoy Brother Hixon's +eloquence. To the presence of the carriage and servants Haworth had held +firm. Upon the whole, he would have preferred that she should have +presented herself at the door of Broxton Old Church, which was under the +patronage of the county families and honored by their presence; but the +little woman had exhibited such uneasiness at the unfolding of his plan +of securing the largest and handsomest pew for her that he had yielded +the point. + +"I've always been a chapel-goin' woman, Jem," she had said, "an' I +wouldn't like to change. An' I should feel freer where there's not so +many gentlefolk." + +The carriage and the attending servants she had submitted to with simple +obedience. There were no rented pews in Broxton Chapel, and she took her +seat among the rest, innocently unconscious of the sensation her +appearance created. Every matron of the place had had time to learn who +she was, and to be filled with curiosity concerning her. + +Janey Briarley, by whose side she chanced to sit, knew more than all +the rest, and took her under her protection at once. + +"Tha'st getten th' wrong hymn-book," she whispered audibly, having +glanced at the volume the servant handed to her. "We dunnot use Wesley +aw th' toime. We use Mester Hixon's 'Songs o' Grace.' Tha can look on +wi' me." + +Her delicate attentions and experience quite won Dame Haworth's motherly +heart. + +"I never see a sharper little thing," she said, admiringly, afterward, +"nor a old-fashioneder. There wasn't a tex' as she didn't find +immediate, nor yet a hymn." + +"Bless us!" said Mrs. Briarley, laboriously lugging the baby homeward. +"An' to think o' her bein' th' mistress o' that big house, wi' aw them +chaps i' livery at her beck an' call. Why, she's nowt but a common body, +Jane Ann. She thanked thee as simple as ony other woman mought ha' done! +She's noan quality. She'd getten a silk gown on, but it wur a black un, +an' not so mich as a feather i' her bonnet. I'd ha' had a feather, if +I'd ha' been her--a feather sets a body off. But that's allus th' road +wi' folk as has brass--they nivver know how to spend it." + +"Nay," said Janey, "she is na quality; but she's getten a noice way wi' +her. Haworth is na quality hissen." + +"She wur a noice-spoken owd body," commented Mrs. Briarley. "Seemt loike +she took a fancy to thee." + +Janey turned the matter over mentally, with serious thrift. + +"I should na moind it if she did," she replied. "She'll ha' plenty to +gi' away." + +It was not long before they knew her well. She was a cheerful and +neighborly little soul, and through the years of her prosperity had +been given to busy and kindly charities. + +In her steadfast and loving determination to please her son, she gave up +her rustic habit of waiting upon herself, and wore her best gown every +day, in spite of pangs of conscience. She rode instead of walked, and +made courageous efforts to become accustomed to the size and +magnificence of the big rooms, but, notwithstanding her faithfulness, +she was a little restless. + +"Not bein' used to it," she said, "I get a little lonesome or +so--sometimes, though not often, my dear." + +She had plenty of time to feel at a loss. Her leisure was not occupied +by visitors. Broxton discussed her and smiled at her, rather +good-naturedly than otherwise. It was not possible to suspect her of any +ill, but it was scarcely to be anticipated that people would go to see +her. One person came, however, facing public opinion with her usual +calmness,--Rachel Ffrench, who presented herself one day and made her a +rather long call. + +On hearing the name announced, the little woman rose tremulously. She +was tremulous because she was afraid that she could not play her part as +mistress of her son's household to his honor. When Miss Ffrench +advanced, holding out her gloved hand, she gave her a startled upward +glance and dropped a little courtesy. + +For a moment, she forgot to ask her to be seated. When she recollected +herself, and they sat down opposite to each other, she could at first +only look at her visitor in silence. + +But Miss Ffrench was wholly at ease. She enjoyed the rapturous wonder +she had excited with all her heart. She was very glad she had come. + +"It must be very pleasant for Mr. Haworth to have you here," she said. + +The woman started. A flush of joy rose upon her withered face. Her +comprehension of her son's prosperity had been a limited one. Somehow +she had never thought of this. Here was a beautiful, high-bred woman to +whom he must be in a manner near, since she spoke of him in this way--as +if he had been a gentleman born. + +"Jem?" she faltered, innocently. "Yes, ma'am. I hope so. He's--he's told +me so." + +Then she added, in some hurry: + +"Not that I can be much comp'ny to him--it isn't that; if he hadn't been +what he is, and had the friends he has, I couldn't be much comp'ny for +him. An' as it is, it's not likely he can need a old woman as much as +his goodness makes him say he does." + +Rachel Ffrench regarded her with interest. + +"He is very good," she remarked, "and has a great many friends, I dare +say. My father admires him greatly." + +"Thank you, ma'am," brightly, "though there's no one could help it. His +goodness to me is more than I can tell, an' it's no wonder that others +sees it in him an' is fond of him accordin'." + +"No, it's no wonder," in a tone of gentle encouragement. + +The flush upon the withered cheek deepened, and the old eyes lit up. + +"He's thirty-two year old, Miss," said the loving creature, "an' the +time's to come yet when he's done a wrong or said a harsh word. He was +honest an' good as a child, an' he's honest an' good as a man. His old +mother can say it from the bottom of her full heart." + +"It's a very pleasant thing to be able to say," remarked her visitor. + +"It's the grateful pride of my life that I can say it," with fresh +tenderness. "An' to think that prosperity goes with it too. I've said to +myself that I wasn't worthy of it, because I couldn't never be grateful +enough. He might have been prosperous, and not what he is. Many a better +woman than me has had that grief to bear, an' I've been spared it." + +When Miss Ffrench returned to her carriage she wore a reflective look. +When she had seated herself comfortably, she spoke aloud: + +"No, there are ten chances to one that she will never see the other side +at all. There is not a man or woman in Broxton who would dare to tell +her. I would not do it myself." + +When Haworth returned at night he heard the particulars of the visit, as +he had known he should when Ffrench told him that it was his daughter's +intention to call that day. + +"The beautifulest young lady my old eyes ever saw, my dear," his mother +said again and again. "An' to think of her comin' to see me, as if I'd +been a lady like herself." + +Haworth spoke but little. He seldom said much in these days. He sat at +the table drinking his after-dinner wine, and putting a question now and +then. + +"What did she say?" he asked. + +She stopped to think. + +"P'raps it was me that said most," she answered, "though I didn't think +so then. She asked a question or so an' seemed to like to listen. I was +tellin' her what a son you'd been to me, an' how happy I was an' how +thankful I was." + +"She's not one that says much," he said, without looking up from the +glass on which his eyes had been fixed. "That's her way." + +She replied with a question, put timidly. + +"You've knowed her a good bit, I dare say, my dear?" + +"No," uneasily. "A six-month or so, that's all." + +"But it's been long enough for her to find out that what I said to her +was true. I didn't tell her what was new to her, my dear. I see that by +her smile, an' the kind way she listened. She's got a beautiful smile, +Jem, an' a beautiful sweet face." + +When they parted for the night, he drew from his pocket a bank-note and +handed it to her. + +"I've been thinking," he said, awkwardly, "that it would be in your line +to give summat now and then to some o' the poor lot that's so thick +here. There's plenty on 'em, an' p'r'aps it wouldn't be a bad thing. +There's not many that's fond of givin'. Let's set the gentry a fashion." + +"Jem!" she said. "My dear! there isn't nothin' that would make me no +happier--nothin' in the world." + +"It won't do overmuch good, may be," he returned. "More than half on 'em +don't deserve it, but give it to 'em if you've a fancy for it. I don't +grudge it." + +There were tears of joy in her eyes. She took his hand and held it, +fondling it. + +"I might have knowed it," she said, "an' I don't deserve it for holdin' +back an' feelin' a bit timid, as I have done. I've thought of it again +and again, when I've been a trifle lonesome with you away. There's many +a poor woman as is hard-worked that I might help, and children too, may +be, me bein' so fond of 'em." + +She drew nearer still and laid her hand on his arm. + +"I always was fond of 'em," she said, "always--an' I've thought that, +sometimes, my dear, there might be little things here as I might help +to care for, an' as would be fond of me. + +"If there was children," she went on, "I should get used to it quick. +They'd take away the--the bigness, an' make me forget it." + +But he did not answer nor look at her, though she felt his arm tremble. + +"I think they'd be fond of me," she said, "them an'--an' her too, +whomsoever she might be. She'd be a lady, Jem, but she wouldn't mind my +ways, I dare say, an' I'd do my best with all my heart. I'd welcome her, +an' give up my place here to her, joyful. It's a place fitter for a lady +such as she would be--God bless her!--than for me." And she patted his +sleeve and bent her face that she might kiss his hand. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +IN WHICH MRS. BRIARLEY'S POSITION IS DELICATE. + + +So the poor and hard-worked of the town came to know her well, and it +must also be confessed that others less deserving learned to know her +also, and proceeded, with much thrift and dexterity, to make hay while +the sun shone. Haworth held to his bargain, even going to the length of +lavishness. + +"Haworth gives it to her?" was said with marked incredulity at the +outset. "Nay, lad, tha canna mak' me believe that." + +Mrs. Haworth's earliest visit was made to the Briarley cottage. She came +attired in her simplest gown, the week after her appearance at the +Chapel, and her entrance into the household created such an excitement +as somewhat disturbed her. The children were scattered with wild +hustling and scurry, while Janey dragged off her apron in the temporary +seclusion offered by the door. Mrs. Briarley, wiping the soap-suds from +her arms, hurried forward with apologetic nervousness. She dropped a +courtesy, scarcely knowing what words of welcome would be appropriate +for the occasion, and secretly speculating on possible results. + +But her visitor's demeanor was not overpowering. She dropped a courtesy +herself,--a kindly and rustic obeisance. She even looked somewhat timid. + +"I'm Mr. Haworth's mother, ma'am," she faltered, "an'--an' thank you +kindly," taking the seat offered. "Don't put yourself out, ma'am, for +me. There wasn't no need to send the children away,--not at all, me +bein' partial to 'em, an' also used." + +The next instant she gave a timid start. + +"Gi' me my best cap!" cried a stentorian voice. "Gi' me my best cap! +Wheer is it? Gi' me my best cap!" + +Granny Dixon's high basket-backed chair had been placed in the shadow of +the chimney-corner for the better enjoyment of her midday nap, and, +suddenly aroused by some unknown cause, she had promptly become +conscious of the presence of a visitor and the dire need of some +addition to her toilet. She sat up, her small-boned figure trembling +with wrath, her large eyes shining. + +"Gi' me my best cap!" she demanded. "Gi' it me!" + +Mrs. Briarley disappeared into the adjacent room, and came out with the +article required in her hand. It was a smart cap, with a lace border and +blue bows on it. + +"Put it on!" shouted Mrs. Dixon. "An' put it on straight!" + +Mrs. Briarley obeyed nervously. + +"She's my mester's grandmother," she exclaimed, plaintively. "Yo' munnot +moind her, missus." + +Granny Dixon fixed her eyes upon the stranger. + +"She getten it," she proclaimed. "I did na. I'd nivver ha' bowt th' +thing i' th' world. Blue nivver wur becomin' to me. She getten it. She +nivver had no taste." + +"Aye," said Mrs. Briarley, "I did get it fur thee, tha nasty owd piece, +but tha'lt nivver catch me at th' loike again,--givin' thee presents, +when I hannot a bit o' finery to my name." + +"It allus set me off--red did," cried Mrs. Dixon. "It wur my fav'rite +color when I wur a lass,--an' I wur a good-lookin' lass, too, seventy +year ago." + +"I'm sure you was, ma'am," responded Mrs. Haworth. "I've no doubt on +it." + +"She canna hear thee," said Mrs. Briarley. "She's as deaf as a post--th' +ill-tempert owd besom," and proceeded to give a free translation at the +top of her lungs. + +"She says tha mun ha' been han'some. She says ony-body could see that to +look at thee." + +"Aye," sharply. "She's reet, too. I wur, seventy year ago. Who is she?" + +"She's Mester Haworth's mother." + +"Mester Haworth's mother?" promptly. "Did na tha tell me he wur a rich +mon?" + +"Aye, I did." + +"Well, then, what does she dress i' that road fur? She's noan quality. +She does na look much better nor thee." + +"Eh! bless us!" protested Mrs. Briarley. "What's a body to do wi' her?" + +"Don't mind her, ma'am," said Mrs. Haworth. "It don't do no harm. A old +person's often sing'lar. It don't trouble me." + +Then Janey, issuing from her retirement in comparatively full dress, was +presented with due ceremony. + +"It wur her as fun thy place i' th' hymn-book," said Mrs. Briarley. +"She's a good bit o' help to me, is Jane Ann." + +It seemed an easy thing afterward to pour forth her troubles, and she +found herself so far encouraged by her visitor's naïve friendliness +that she was even more eloquent than usual. + +"Theer's trouble ivvery wheer," she said, "an' I dare say tha has thy +share, missus, fur aw thy brass." + +Politeness forbade a more definite reference to the "goin's-on" which +had called forth so much virtuous indignation on the part of the Broxton +matrons. She felt it but hospitable to wait until her guest told her own +story of tribulation. + +But Mrs. Haworth sat smiling placidly. + +"I've seen it in my day," she said; "an' it were heavy enough too, my +dear, an' seemed heavier than it were, p'r'aps, through me bein' a young +thing an' helpless, but I should be a ungrateful woman if I didn't try +to forget now as it had ever been. A woman as has such a son as I +have--one that's prospered an' lived a pure, good life an' never done a +willful wrong, an' has won friends an' respect everywhere--has enough +happiness to help her forget troubles that's past an' gone." + +Mrs. Briarley stopped half-way to the ground in the act of picking up +Granny Dixon's discarded head-gear. Her eyes were wide open, her jaw +fell a little. But her visitor went on without noticing her. + +"Though, for the matter of that," she said, "I dare say there's not one +on you as doesn't know his ways, an' couldn't tell me of some of his +goodness as I should never find out from him." + +"Wheer art tha puttin' my cap?" shouted Granny Dixon. "What art tha +doin' wi' my cap? Does tha think because I've got a bit o' brass, I can +hot th' bake-oven wi' head-dresses?" + +Mrs. Briarley had picked up the cap, and was only rescued by this timely +warning from the fatal imprudence of putting it in the fire and +stirring it violently with the poker. + +"Art tha dazeder than common?" shrieked the old woman. "Has tha gone +daft? What art tha starin' at?" + +"I am na starin' at nowt," said Mrs. Briarley, with a start. "I--I wur +hearkenin' to the lady here, an' I did na think o' what I wur doin'." + +She did not fully recover herself during the whole of her visitor's +stay, and, in fact, several times lapsed into the same meditative +condition. When Haworth's charitable intentions were made known to her, +she stopped jolting the baby and sat in wild confusion. + +"Did tha say as he wur goin' to gi' thee money?" she exclaimed,--"money +to gi' away?" + +"He said he'd give it without a grudge," said his mother, proudly. +"Without a grudge, if it pleased me. That's his way, my dear. It were +his way from the time he were a boy, an' worked so hard to give me a +comfortable home. He give it, he said, without a grudge." + +"Jane Ann," said Mrs. Briarley, standing at the door to watch her out of +sight,--"Jane Ann, what dost tha think o' that theer?" + +She said it helplessly, clutching at the child on her hip with a +despairing grasp. + +"Did tha hear her?" she demanded. "She wur talkin' o' Haworth, an' she +wur pridin' hersen on th' son he'd been to her, an'--an' th' way he'd +lived. Th' cold sweat broke out aw over me. No wonder I wur for puttin' +th' cap i' th' fire. Lord ha' mercy on us!" + +But Janey regarded the matter from a more practical stand-point. + +"He has na treated _her_ ill," she said. "Happen he is na so bad after +aw. Did tha hear what she said about th' money?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +AGAIN. + + +"Theer's a chap," it was said of Murdoch with some disdain among the +malcontents,--"theer's a chap as coom here to work for his fifteen bob a +week, an' now he's hand i' glove wi' th' mesters an's getten a shop o' +his own." + +The "shop" in question had, however, been only a very simple result of +circumstances. In times of emergency it had been discovered that "th' +'Merican chap" was an individual of resources. Floxham had discovered +this early, and, afterward, the heads of other departments. If a machine +or tool was out of order, "Tak' it to th' 'Merican chap an' he'll fettle +it," said one or another. And the time had never been when the necessary +"fettling" had not been accomplished. In his few leisure moments, +Murdoch would go from room to room, asking questions or looking on in +silence at the work being carried on. Often his apparently hap-hazard +and desultory examinations finally resulted in some suggestion which +simplified things astonishingly. He had a fancy for simplifying and +improving the appliances he saw in use, and this, too, without any waste +of words. + +But gradually rough models of these trifles and hastily made drawings +collected in the corner of the common work-room which had fallen to +Murdoch, and Haworth's attention was drawn toward them. + +"What wi' moddles o' this an' moddles o' that," Floxham remarked, "we'll +ha' to mak' a flittin' afore long. Theer'll be no room fur us, nor th' +engines neyther." + +Haworth turned to the things and looked them over one by one, touching +some of them dubiously, some carelessly, some without much +comprehension. + +"Look here," he said to Murdoch, "there's a room nigh mine that's not in +use. I don't like to be at close quarters with every chap, but you can +bring your traps up there. It'll be a place to stow 'em an' do your bits +o' jobs when you're in the humor." + +The same day the change was made, and before leaving the Works, Haworth +came in to look around. Throwing himself into a chair, he glanced about +him with a touch of curiosity. + +"They're all your own notions, these?" he said. + +Murdoch assented. + +"They are of not much consequence," he answered. "They are only odds and +ends that fell into my hands somehow when they needed attention. I like +that kind of work, you know." + +"Aye," responded Haworth, "I dare say. But most chaps would have had +more to say about doin' 'em than you have." + +Not long after Ffrench's advent a change was made. + +"If you'll give up your old job, and take to looking sharp after the +machinery and keeping the chaps that run it up to their work," said +Haworth, "you can do it. It'll be a better shop than the other and give +you more time. And it'll be a saving to the place in the end." + +So the small room containing his nondescript collection became his +headquarters, and Murdoch's position was a more responsible one. He +found plenty of work, but he had more time, as Haworth had prophesied, +and he had also more liberty. + +"Yo're getten on," said Janey Briarley. "Yo're getten more wage an' less +work, an' yo're one o' th' mesters, i' a way. Yo' go wi' th' gentlefolk +a good bit, too. Feyther says Ffrench mak's hissen as thick wi' yo' as +if yo' wur a gentleman yorsen. Yo' had yore supper up theer last neet. +Did she set i' th' room an' talk wi' yo'?" + +"Yes," he answered. It was not necessary to explain who "she" was. + +"Well," said Janey, "she would na do that if she did na think more o' +yo' nor if yo' were a common chap. She's pretty grand i' her ways. What +did yo' talk about?" + +"It would be hard to tell now," he replied. "We talked of several +things." + +"Aye, but what I wanted to know wur whether she talked to thee loike +she'd talk to a gentlemon,--whether she made free wi' thee or not." + +"I have never seen her talk to a gentleman," he said. + +"How does she talk to Haworth?" + +"I have never seen her talk to him either. We have never been there at +the same time." + +This was true. It had somehow chanced that they had never met at the +house. Perhaps Rachel Ffrench knew why. She had found Broxton dull +enough to give her an interest in any novelty of emotion or experience. +She disliked the ugly town, with its population of hard-worked and +unpicturesque people. She hated the quiet, well regulated, well-bred +county families with candor and vivacity. She had no hesitation in +announcing her distaste and weariness. + +"I detest them all," she once said calmly to Murdoch. "I detest them." + +She made the best of the opportunities for enlivenment which lay within +her grasp. She was not averse to Haworth's presenting himself again and +again, sitting in restless misery in the room with her, watching her +every movement, drinking in her voice, struggling to hold himself in +check, and failing and growing sullen and silent, and going away, +carrying his wretchedness with him. She never encouraged him to advance +by any word or look, but he always returned again, to go through the +same self-torture and humiliation, and she always knew he would. She +even derived some unexciting entertainment from her father's plans for +the future. He had already new methods and processes to discuss. He had +a fancy for establishing a bank in the town, and argued the advisability +of the scheme with much fervor and brilliancy. Without a bank in which +the "hands" could deposit their earnings, and which should make the town +a sort of center, and add importance to its business ventures, Broxton +was nothing. + +The place was growing, and the people of the surrounding villages were +drawn toward it when they had business to transact. They were beginning +to buy and sell in its market, and to look to its increasing population +for support. The farmers would deposit their funds, the shop-keepers +theirs, the "hands" would follow their example, and in all likelihood it +would prove, in the end, a gigantic success. + +Haworth met his enthusiasms with stolid indifference. Sometimes he did +not listen at all, sometimes he laughed a short, heavy laugh, sometimes +he flung him off with a rough speech. But in spite of this, there were +changes gradually made in the Works,--trifling changes, of which Haworth +was either not conscious, or which he disdained to notice. He lost +something of his old masterful thoroughness; he was less regular in his +business habits; he was prone to be tyrannical by fits and starts. + +"Go to Ffrench," he said, roughly, to one of the "hands," on one +occasion: and though before he had reached the door he was called back, +the man did not forget the incident. + +Miss Ffrench looked on at all of this with a great deal of interest. + +"He does not care for the place as he did," she said to Murdoch. "He +does not like to share his power with another man. It is a nightmare to +him." + +By this time, she had seen Murdoch the oftener of the two. Mr. Ffrench's +fancy for him was more enthusiastic than his fancy for the young man +from Manchester or the Cumberland mechanic. He also found him useful, +and was not chary of utilizing him. In time, the servants of the house +ceased to regard him as an outsider, and were surprised when he was +absent for a few days. + +"We have a fellow at our place whom you will hear of some of these +days," Ffrench said to his friends. "He spends his evenings with me +often." + +"Ffrench has taken a great fancy to thee, lad," Haworth said, drily. "He +says you're goin' to astonish us some o' these days." + +"Does he?" Murdoch answered. + +"Aye. He's got a notion that you're holding on to summat on the quiet, +and that it'll come out when we're not expecting it." + +They were in the little work-room together, and Murdoch, leaning back +in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head, looked before him +without replying, except by a slight knitting of his brows. + +Haworth laughed harshly. + +"Confound him for a fool!" he said. "I'm sick of the chap, with his +talk. He'll stir me up some o' these days." + +Then he looked up at his companion. + +"He has you up there every night or so," he said. "What does he want of +you?" + +"Never the same thing twice," said Murdoch. + +"Do you--always see her?" + +"Yes." + +The man moved in his seat, a sullen red rising to his forehead. + +"What--has she to say?" he asked. + +Murdoch turned about to confront him. He spoke in a low voice, and +slowly. + +"Do you want to know," he said, "whether she treats me as she would +treat another man? Is that it?" + +"Aye," was the grim answer, "summat o' that sort, lad." + +Murdoch left his chair. He uttered half a dozen words hoarsely. + +"Come up to the house some night and judge for yourself," he said. + +He went out of the room without looking back. It was Saturday noon, and +he had the half-day of leisure before him, but he did not turn homeward. +He made his way to the high road and struck out upon it. He had no +definite end in view, at first, except the working off of his passionate +excitement, but when, after twenty minutes' walk he came within sight +of Broxton Chapel and its grave-yard his steps slackened, and when he +reached the gate, he stopped a moment and pushed it open and turned in. + +It was a quiet little place, with an almost rustic air, of which even +the small, ugly chapel could not rob it. The grass grew long upon the +mounds of earth and swayed softly in the warm wind. Only common folk lay +there, and there were no monuments and even few slabs. Murdoch glanced +across the sun-lit space to the grass-covered mound of which he had +thought when he stopped at the gateway. + +He had not thought of meeting any one, and at the first moment the sight +of a figure standing at the grave-side in the sunshine was something of +a shock to him. He went forward more slowly, even with some reluctance, +though he had recognized at once that the figure was that of Christian +Murdoch. + +She stood quite still, looking down, not hearing him until he was close +upon her. She seemed startled when she saw him. + +"Why did you come here?" she asked. + +"I don't know," he answered. "I needed quiet, I suppose, and the place +has a quiet look. Why did you come?" + +"It is not the first time I have been," she said. "I come here often." + +"You!" he said. "Why?" + +She pointed to the mound at her feet. + +"Because _he_ is here," she said, "and I have learned to care for him." + +She knelt down and laid her hand upon the grass, and he remembered her +emotion in the strange scene which had occurred before. + +"I know him very well," she said. "I _know_ him." + +"You told me that I would not understand," he said. "It is true that I +don't yet----" + +Suddenly there were tears in her eyes and in her voice. + +"He does not seem a dead man to me," she said. "He never will." + +"I do not think," he answered, heavily, "that his life seems at an end +to any of us." + +"Not to me," she repeated. "I have thought of him until I have seemed to +grow near to him, and to know what his burden was, and how patiently he +bore it. I have never been patient. I have rebelled always, and so it +has gone to my heart all the more." + +Murdoch looked down upon the covering sod with a pang. + +"He did bear it patiently," he said, "at the bitterest and worst." + +"I know that," she replied. "I have been sure of it." + +"I found some papers in my room when I first came," she went on. "Some +of them were plans he had drawn thirty years ago. He had been very +patient and constant with them. He had drawn the same thing again and +again. Often he had written a few words upon them, and they helped me to +understand. After I had looked them over I could not forget. They +haunted me and came back to me. I began to care for him, and put things +together until all was real." + +Then she added, slowly and in a lowered voice: + +"I have even thought that if he had lived he would have been fond of me. +I don't know why, but I have thought that perhaps he would." + +For the first time in his knowledge of her, Murdoch saw in her the youth +he had always missed. Her dark and bitter young face was softened; for +the moment she seemed almost a child,--even though a child whose life +had been clouded by the shadow of sin and wrong. + +"I think--he would," he said, slowly. + +"And I have got into the habit of coming here when I was lonely or--at +my worst." + +"You are lonely often, I dare say," he returned, wearily. "I wish it +could be helped." + +"It is nothing new," she replied, with something of her old manner, "and +there is no help for it." + +But her touch upon the grass was a caress. She smoothed it softly, and +moved with singular gentleness a few dead leaves which had dropped upon +it. + +"When I come here I am--better," she said, "and--less hard. Things do +not seem to matter so much--or to look so shameful." + +A pause followed, which she herself broke in upon. + +"I have thought a great deal of--what he left unfinished," she said. "I +have wished that I might see it. It would be almost as if I had seen +him." + +"I can show it to you," Murdoch answered. "It is a little thing to have +caused so great pain." + +They said but little else until they rose to go. As he sat watching the +long grass wave under the warm wind, Murdoch felt that his excitement +had calmed down. He was in a cooler mood when they got up at last. But +before they turned away the girl lingered for a moment, as if she wished +to speak. + +"Sometimes," she faltered,--"sometimes I have thought you had half +forgotten." + +"Nay," he answered, "never that, God knows!" + +"I could not bear to believe it," she said, passionately. "It would make +me hate you!" + +When they reached home he took her upstairs to his room. He had locked +the door when he left it in the morning. He unlocked it, and they went +in. A cloth covered something standing upon the table. He drew it aside +with an unsteady hand. + +"Look at it," he said. "It has been there since last night. You see it +haunts me too." + +"What!" she said, "you brought it out yourself--again!" + +"Yes," he answered, "again." + +She drew nearer, and sat down in the chair before the table. + +"He used to sit here?" she said. + +"Yes." + +"If it had been finished," she said, as if speaking to herself, "Death +would have seemed a little thing to him. Even if it should be finished +now, I think he would forget the rest." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +"TEN SHILLINGS' WORTH." + + +The same evening Mr. Briarley, having partaken of an early tea and some +vigorous advice from his wife, had suddenly, during a lull in the storm, +vanished from the domestic circle, possibly called therefrom by the +recollection of a previous engagement. Mrs. Briarley had gone out to do +her "Sunday shoppin'," the younger children had been put to bed, the +older ones were disporting themselves in the streets and by-ways, and +consequently Janey was left alone, uncheered save by the presence of +Granny Dixon, who had fallen asleep in her chair with her cap +unbecomingly disarranged. + +Janey sat down upon her stool at a discreet distance from the hearth. +She had taken down from its place her last book of "memoirs,"--a volume +of a more than usually orthodox and peppery flavor. She held it within +range of the light of the fire and began to read in a subdued tone with +much unction. + +But she had only mastered the interesting circumstance that "James +Joseph William was born November 8th," when her attention was called to +the fact that wheels had stopped before the gate and she paused to +listen. + +"Bless us!" she said. "Some un's comin' in." + +The person in question was Haworth, who so far dispensed with ceremony +as to walk up to the firelight without even knocking at the door, which +stood open. + +"Where's your father?" he demanded. + +"He's takken hissen off to th' beer-house," said Janey, "as he allus +does o' Saturday neet,--an' ivvery other neet too, as he gets th' +chance." + +A chair stood near and Haworth took it. + +"I'll sit down and wait for him," he replied. + +"Tha'lt ha' to wait a good bit then," said Miss Briarley. "He'll noan be +whoam till midneet." + +She stood in no awe of her visitor. She had heard him discussed too +freely and too often. Of late years she had not unfrequently assisted in +the discussions herself. She was familiar with his sins and +short-comings and regarded him with due severity. + +"He'll noan be whoam till midneet," she repeated as she seated herself +on her stool. + +But Haworth did not move. He was in a mysterious humor, it was plain. In +a minute more his young companion began to stare at him with open eyes. +She saw something in his face which bewildered her. + +"He's getten more than's good fur him," she was about to decide +shrewdly, when he leaned forward and touched her with the handle of the +whip he held. + +"You're a sharp little lass, I warrant," he said. + +Janey regarded him with some impatience. He was flushed and somewhat +disheveled and spoke awkwardly. + +"You're a sharp little lass, I'll warrant," he said again. + +"I ha' to be," she responded, tartly. "Tha'd be sharp thysen if tha had +as mich to look after as I ha'." + +"I dare say," he answered. "I dare say." Then added even more awkwardly +still, "I've heard Murdoch say you were--Murdoch." + +The disfavor with which she had examined him began to be mingled with +distrust. She hitched her stool a few inches backward. + +"Mester Murdoch!" she echoed. "Aye, I know him well enow." + +"He comes here every day or so?" + +"Aye, him an' me's good friends." + +"He's got a good many friends," he said. + +"Aye," she answered. "He's a noice chap. Most o' folk tak' to him. +Theer's Mr. Ffrench now and _her_." + +"He goes there pretty often?" + +"Aye, oftener than he goes any wheer else. They mak' as mich o' him as +if he wur a gentleman." + +"Did _he_ tell you that?" + +"Nay," she answered. "He does na talk mich about it. I've fun it out +fro' them as knows." + +Then a new idea presented itself to her. + +"What does tha want to know fur?" she demanded with unceremonious +candor. + +He did not tell her why. He gave no notice to her question save by +turning away from the fire suddenly and asking her another. + +"What does he say about _her_?" + +He spoke in such a manner that she pushed her stool still farther back, +and sat staring at him blankly and with some indignation. + +"He does na say _nowt_ about her," she exclaimed "What's up wi' thee?" + +The next moment she uttered an ejaculation and the book of memoirs fell +upon the floor. A flame shot up from the fire and showed her his face. +He drew forth his purse and, opening it, took out a coin. The light fell +upon that too and showed her what it was. + +"Do you see that?" he asked. + +"Aye," she answered, "it's a half-sov'rin." + +"I'll give it to you," he said, "if you'll tell me what he says and what +he does. You're sharp enow to have seen summat, and I'll give it you if +you'll tell me." + +He did not care what impression he made on her or how he entangled +himself. He only thought of one thing. + +"Tell me what he says and what he does," he repeated, "and I'll give it +to you." + +Janey rose from her stool in such a hurry that it lost its balance and +fell over. + +"I--I dunnot want it!" she cried. "I dunnot want it. I can na mak' thee +out!" + +"You're not as sharp as I took you for, if you don't want it," he +answered. "You'll not earn another as easy, my lass." + +Only stern common sense rescued her from the weakness of backing out of +the room into the next apartment. + +"I dunnot know what tha'rt drivin' at," she said. "I tell thee--I dunnot +know nowt." + +"Does he never say," he put it to her, "that he's been there--and that +he's seen her--and that she's sat and talked--and that he's looked at +her--and listened--and thought over it afterward?" + +This was the last straw. Bewilderment turned to contempt. + +"_That_ would na be worth ten shillin'," she said. "Tha knows he's been +theer, an' tha knows he's seen her, an' tha knows he could na see her +wi'out lookin' at her. I dunnot see as theer's owt i' lookin' at her, or +i' listenin' neyther. Wheer's th' use o' givin ten shillin' to hear +summat yo' know yo'rsen? There's nowt i' that!" + +"Has he ever said it?" he persisted. + +"No," she answered, "he has na. He nivver wur much give ter talk, an' +he says less than ivver i' these days." + +"Has he never said that she treated him well, and--was easier to please +than he'd thought; has he never said nowt like that?" + +"Nay, that he has na!" with vigor. "Nowt o' th' soart." + +He got up as unceremoniously and abruptly as he had sat down. + +"I was an accursed fool for coming," she heard him mutter. + +He threw the half-sovereign toward her, and it fell on the floor. + +"Art tha goin' to gi' it me?" she asked. + +"Yes," he answered, and he strode through the door-way into the +darkness, leaving her staring at it. + +She went to the fire and, bending down, examined it closely and rubbed +it with a corner of her apron. Then she tried its ring upon the flagged +floor. + +"Aye," she said, "it's a good un, sure enow! It's a good un!" + +She had quite lost her breath. She sat down upon her stool again, +forgetting the memoirs altogether. + +"I nivver heard so mich doment made over nowt i' aw my days," she said. +"I conna see now what he wur up to, axin' questions as if he wur i' +drink. He mun ha' been i' drink or he'd nivver ha' gi'en it to me." + +And on the mother's return she explained the affair to her upon this +sound and common-sense basis. + +"Mester Haworth's been here," she said, "an' he wur i' drink an' give me +ten shillin'. I could na mak' out what he wur drivin' at. He wur askin' +questions as put me out o' patience. Eh! what foo's men is when they've +getten too much." + +When he left the house, Haworth sprang into his gig with an oath. Since +the morning he had had time to think over things slowly. He had worked +himself up into a desperate, headlong mood. His blood burned in his +veins, his pulses throbbed. He went home to his dinner, but ate nothing. +He drank heavily, and sat at the table wearing such a look that his +mother was stricken with wonder. + +"I'm out o' humor, old lady," he said to her. "Stick to your dinner, and +don't mind me. A chap with a place like mine on his mind can't always be +up to the mark." + +"If you ain't ill, Jem," she said, "it don't matter your not talkin'. +You mustn't think o' me, my dear! I'm used to havin' lived alone so +long." + +After dinner he went out again, but before he left the room he went to +her and kissed her. + +"There's nowt wrong wi' me," he said. "You've no need to trouble +yourself about that. I'm right enow, never fear." + +"There's nothin' else could trouble me," she said, "nothin', so long as +you're well an' happy." + +"There's nowt to go agen me bein' happy," he said, a little grimly. "Not +yet, as I know on. I don't let things go agen me easy." + +About half an hour later, he stood in the road before his partner's +house. The night was warm, and the windows of the drawing-room were +thrown open. He stood and looked up at them for a minute and then spoke +aloud. + +"Aye," he said, "he's there, by George!" + +He could see inside plainly, and the things he saw best were Rachel +Ffrench and Murdoch. Ffrench himself sat in a large chair, reading. +Miss Ffrench stood upon the hearth. She rested an arm upon the low +mantel, and talked to Murdoch, who stood opposite to her. The man who +watched uttered an oath at the sight of her. + +"Him!" he said. "Him--damn him!" and grew hot and cold by turns. + +He kept his stand for full ten minutes, and then crossed the road. + +The servant who answered his summons at the door regarded him with +amazement. + +"I know they're in," he said, making his way past him. "I saw 'em +through the window." + +Those in the drawing-room heard his heavy feet as he mounted the +staircase. It is possible that each recognized the sound. Ffrench rose +hurriedly, and, it must be owned, with some slight trepidation. Rachel +merely turned her face toward the door. She did not change her position +otherwise at all. Murdoch did not move. + +"My dear fellow," said Ffrench, with misplaced enthusiasm. "I am glad to +see you." + +But Haworth passed him over with a nod. His eyes were fixed on Murdoch. +He gave him a nod also and spoke to him. + +"What, you're here, are you?" he said. "That's a good thing." + +"We think so," said Mr. Ffrench, with fresh fervor. "My dear fellow, sit +down." + +He took the chair offered him, but still looked at Murdoch and spoke to +him. + +"I've been to Briarley's," he said. "I've had a talk with that little +lass of his. She gave me the notion you'd be here. She's a sharp little +un, by George!" + +"They're all sharp," said Mr. Ffrench. "The precocity one finds in +these manufacturing towns is something astonishing--astonishing." + +He launched at once into a dissertation upon the causes of precocity in +a manufacturing town, and became so absorbed in his theme that it +mattered very little that Haworth paid no attention to him. He was +leaning back in his chair with his hands in his pockets, not moving his +eyes from Murdoch. + +Mr. Ffrench was in the middle of his dissertation when, half an hour +afterward, Haworth got up without ceremony. Murdoch was going. + +"I'll go with you," he said to him. + +They went out of the room and down the staircase together without +speaking. They did not even look at each other. + +When they were fairly out of the room Mr. Ffrench glanced somewhat +uneasily at his daughter. + +"Really," he said, "he is not always a pleasant fellow to deal with. One +is never sure of reaching him." And then, as he received no answer, he +returned in some embarrassment to his book. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +AT AN END. + + +When they stood in the road, Haworth laid his hand upon his companion's +shoulder heavily. + +"Come up to the Works, lad," he said, "and let's have a bit of a talk." + +His voice and his touch had something in common. Murdoch understood them +both. There was no need for clearer speech. + +"Why there?" he asked. + +"It's quiet there. I've a fancy for it." + +"I have no fancy against it. As well there as anywhere else." + +"Aye," said Haworth. "Not only as well, but better." + + +He led the way into his own room and struck a light. He flung his keys +upon the table; they struck it with a heavy clang. Then he spoke his +first words since they had turned from the gate-way. + +"Aye," he said, "not only as well, but better. I'm at home here, if I'm +out everywhere else. The place knows me and I know it. I'm best man +here, by----! if I'm out everywhere else." + +He sat down at the table and rested his chin upon his hand. His hand +shook, and his forehead was clammy. + +Murdoch threw himself into the chair opposite to him. + +"Go on," he said. "Say what you have to say." + +Haworth bent forward a little. + +"You've got on better than I'd have thought, lad," he said,--"better +than I'd have thought." + +"What!" hoarsely. "Does she treat me as she treats other men?" + +"Nay," said Haworth, "not as she treats me--by the Lord Harry!" + +The deadly bitterness which possessed him was terrible; he was livid +with it. + +"I've thought of a good many," he said. "I've looked on at 'em as they +stood round her--chaps of her own sort, with money and the rest of it; +but I never thought of you--not once." + +"No," said Murdoch, "I dare say not." + +"No--not once," the man repeated. "Get up, and let's take a look at +you," he said. "Happen I've not had the right notion on you." + +"Don't say anything you'll repent," said Murdoch. "It's bad enough as it +is." + +But his words were like chaff before the wind. + +"You!" cried the man. "You were the chap that knew naught of women's +ways. You'd scarce look one on 'em in the face. _You're_ not the build I +thought they took to." + +"You told me that once before," said Murdoch, with a bitter laugh. "I've +not forgotten it." + +Haworth's clenched fist fell upon the table with a force which made the +keys ring. + +"Blast you!" he said. "You're nigher to her now than me--_now_!" + +"Then," Murdoch answered, "you may give up." + +"Give up!" was the reply. "Nay, not that, my lad. I've not come to that +yet." + +Then his rage broke forth again. + +"_You_ to be going there on the quiet!" he cried. "_You_ to be making +way with her, and finding her easy to please, and priding yourself on +it!" + +"_I_ please her!" said Murdoch. "_I_ pride myself!" + +He got up and began to pace the floor. + +"You're mad!" he said. "Mad!" + +Haworth checked himself to stare at him. + +"What did you go for," he asked, "if it wasn't for that?" + +Murdoch stopped in his walk. He turned himself about. + +"I don't know," he said, "I don't know." + +"Do you think," he said, in a hushed voice, after the pause which +followed,--"do you think I expect anything? Do you think I look forward +or backward? Can you understand that it is enough as it stands--enough?" + +Haworth still stared at him dully. + +"Nay," he returned, "that I cannot." + +"_I_ to stand before her as a man with a best side which might win her +favor! What is there in _me_, that she should give me a thought when I +am not near her? What have I done? What has my life been worth? It may +be nothing in the end! Good God! nothing!" + +He said it almost as if stunned. For the moment he was overwhelmed, and +had forgotten. + +"You're nigher to her than I am," said Haworth. "You think because +you're one o' the gentleman sort----" + +"Gentleman!" said Murdoch, speculatively. "I a gentleman?" + +"Aye, damn you," said Haworth, bitterly, "and you know it." + +The very words seemed to rouse him. He shook his clenched hand. + +"That's it!" he cried. "There's where it is. You've got it in you, and +you know it--and she knows it too!" + +"I have never asked myself whether I was or not," said Murdoch. "I have +not cared. What did it matter? What you said just now was true, after +all. I know nothing of women. I know little enough of men. I have been a +dull fellow, I think, and slow to learn. I can only take what comes." + +He came back to the table, and threw himself into his chair. + +"Does either of us know what we came here for?" he asked. + +"We came to talk it over," was Haworth's answer, "and we've done it." + +"Then, if we have done it, let us go our ways." + +"Nay, not yet. I've summat more to say." + +"Say it," Murdoch replied, "and let us have it over." + +"It's this," he returned. "You're a different chap from what I took you +for--a different chap. I never thought of you--not once." + +"You've said that before." + +"Aye," grimly, "I've said it before. Like enough I shall say it again. +It sticks to me. We've been good friends, after a manner, and that makes +it stick to me. I don't say you're to blame. I haven't quite made the +thing out yet. We're of a different build, and--there's been times +before when I haven't quite been up to you. But we've been friends, +after a manner, and now th' time's come when we're done with that." + +"Done with it!" repeated Murdoch, mechanically. + +"Aye," meeting his glance fully, "done with it! We'll begin fair and +square, lad. It's done with. Do you think," with deadly coolness, "I'd +stop at aught if th' time come?" + +He rose a little from his seat, bending forward. + +"Naught's never come in my way, yet, that's stopped me," he said. +"Things has gone agen me and I've got th' best on 'em in one way or +another. I've not minded how. I've gone on till I've reached this. +Naught's stopped me--naught never shall!" + +He fell back in his chair and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead +with his handkerchief. + +"I wish," he said, "it had been another chap. I never thought of +you--not once." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +"I SHALL NOT TURN BACK." + + +Murdoch went out into the night alone. When he found himself outside the +iron gate he stood still for a moment. + +"I will not go home yet," he said; "not yet." + +He knew this time where he was going when he turned his steps upon the +road again. He had only left the place a few hours before. + +The moonlight gave it almost a desolate look, he thought, as he passed +through the entrance. The wind still swayed the grass upon the mounds +fitfully, and the headstones cast darker shadows upon them. There was no +shadow upon the one under which Stephen Murdoch rested. It lay in the +broad moonlight. Murdoch noticed this as he stopped beside it. He sat +down upon the grass, just as he had done in the afternoon. + +"Better not go home, just yet," he said again. "There is time enough." + +Suddenly an almost unnatural calmness had fallen upon him. His passions +and uncertainties of the past few months seemed small things. He had +reached a climax and for a moment there seemed time enough. He thought +of the past almost coldly--going over the ground mentally, step by +step. It was as if he thought of the doings of another man--one who was +younger and simpler and whose life was now over. + +"There are a good many things that are done with," he said mechanically, +recalling Haworth's words. + +He thought of the model standing in its old place in the empty room. It +was a living thing awaiting his coming. The end might be +anything--calamity, failure, death!--but to-night he had taken his first +step toward that end. + +"To-night I shall begin as he began," he thought; "to-night." + +He threw himself full length upon the grass, clasping his hands beneath +his head, his face turned upward to the vast clearness and depth above +him. He had known it would come some day, but he never thought of its +coming in this way. The man who slept under the earth at his side had +begun with hope; he began as one who neither hoped nor feared, yielding +only to a force stronger than himself. + +He lay in this manner looking up for nearly an hour. Then he arose and +stood with bared head in the white light and stillness. + +"I shall not turn back," he said aloud at last, as if to some presence +near him. "I shall not turn back, at least. Do not fear it." + +And he turned away. + + +It was his mother who opened the door for him when he reached home. + +"Come in," he said to her, with a gesture toward the inner room. "I have +something to say to you." + +She followed him in silence. Her expression was cold and fixed. It +struck him that she, too, had lived past hope and dread. + +She did not sit down when she had closed the door, but stood upright, +facing him. + +He spoke hoarsely. + +"I am going upstairs," he said. "I told you once that some day it would +see the light again in spite of us both. You can guess what work I shall +do to-night." + +"Yes," she answered, "I can guess. I gave up long ago." + +She looked at him steadily; her eyes dilated a little as if with +slow-growing fear of him. + +"I knew it would end so," she went on. "I fought against my belief that +it would, but it grew stronger every day--every hour. There was no other +way." + +"No," he replied, "there was no other way." + +"I have seen it in your face," she said. "I have heard it in your voice. +It has never been absent from your thoughts a moment--nor mine." + +He did not speak. + +"At first, when he died----" + +Her voice faltered and broke, and then rose in a cry almost shrill. + +"He did not die!" she cried. "He is not dead. He lives now--_here_! +There is no death for him--not even death until it is done." + +She panted for breath; her thin chest rose and fell--and yet suddenly +she checked herself and stood before him with her first strained calm. + +"Go," she said. "I cannot hold you. If there is an end to be reached, +reach it for God's sake and let him rest." + +"Wish me God-speed," he said. "I--have more to bear than you think of." + +For answer she repeated steadily words which she had uttered before. + +"I do not believe in it; I have never believed for one hour." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +A REVOLUTION. + + +In a month's time the Broxton Bank was an established fact. It had +sprung into existence in a manner which astonished even its originator. +Haworth had come to him in cold blood and talked the matter over. He had +listened to the expounding of his views, and without being apparently +much moved by his eloquence, had still shown a disposition to weigh the +plan, and having given a few days to deliberation, he had returned a +favorable decision. + +"The thing sounds well," he said, "and it may be a sharp stroke that +way. When the rest on 'em hear on it, it'll set 'em thinkin'. Blast 'em! +I like to astonish 'em, an' give 'em summat to chew." + +Mr. Ffrench could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses. He had +been secretly conscious of playing a minor part in all business +transactions. His pet theories had been thrust aside as worthy of small +notice. His continental experience had been openly set at naught. When +he had gone to the trouble of explaining his ideas to the heads of the +various departments, he had been conscious of illuminating smiles on the +grimy countenances around him. His rather frail physique, his good +breeding, his well-modulated voice, had each been the subject of +derisive comment. + +"Gi' him a puddlin' rake an' let him puddle a bit," he had heard a +brawny fellow say, after one of his most practical dissertations. + +After his final interview with Haworth, he went home jubilant. At dinner +he could speak of nothing else. Miss Ffrench heard the details from +beginning to end, and enjoyed them in a manner peculiarly her own. + +At the "Who'd ha Thowt it" no little excitement prevailed when the +movement was discussed. + +"A bank!" said Foxy Gibbs. "An' wheer did he get th' money to set up a +bank wi'? Why, he getten it out o' th' workin' mon, an' th' sweat o' th' +workin' mon's brow. If theer wur na no banks, theer'd be more money to +put in 'em. I dunnot believe i' banks mysen. Let the brass +cerkylate--let it cerkylate." + +"Aye," said Mr. Briarley, who had reached his second quart, "let it +cerkylate, an' he'll ha' more comfort, will th' workin' mon. Theer's too +many on 'em," with natural emotion. "They're th' ruin o' th' country. +Theer's summat wrong wi' 'em. If they'd gi' a chap summat to put i' 'em +theer'd be some chance for him; but that's allus th' way. He has na no +chance, hasn't th' workin' mon--he has na no----" + +"Shut up!" said Foxy Gibbs. + +"Eh?" inquired the orator, weakly and uncertainly. + +"Shut up, till tha's getten less beer i' thee!" + +"Shut--" repeated Mr. Briarley, winking his eyes slowly,--"up?" + +He seized his beer mug and gazed into its depths in some confusion. A +deep sigh escaped him. + +"That's allus th' road," he faltered. "It's th' road wi' Sararann, an' +it's th' road wi' aw on 'em. He has no chance, has na a mon as is +misforchnit." And he happily disposed of the beer before Janey opened +the door and appeared to marshal him homeward. + +But the Broxton Bank was an established fact, and created no small +sensation. + +"He is a bold fellow, this Haworth," it was said among his rivals, "but +he will overstep himself one of these days." + +"He's set up a bank, has he?" shouted Granny Dixon, on Murdoch's first +visit after she had heard the story. + +"Yes," Murdoch answered. + +She sat glowering at the fire a few moments almost bent double, and +then, having deluded her audience into believing she had subsided, +suddenly started and came to life again with increased vigor. + +"I've getten my brass i' th' Manchester Savin's," she cried, "an' I'll +keep it theer." + +It seemed unnecessary to reply, and nobody made any remark upon this +statement of facts. But the venerable matron had not concluded. + +"I'll keep it theer!" she repeated--"keep it theer! I conna bide him, no +more than I can bide her." And then she returned to her fire, fixing her +great eyes upon it and mumbling with no small elation. + +"Th' thing'll break now, for sure," commented her much-tried hostess, +sardonically. "It conna stand up agen that, i' reason. Haworth ud better +sell th' Works at th' start afore it's too late." + +There had been some vague wonder in Murdoch's mind as to what the result +of Haworth's outburst against himself would be. + +The first time he found himself confronting him as he went to his +work-room he spoke to him: + +"You said once," he remarked, "that you had kept this room empty +because you did not care to be at close quarters with every man. +Now----" + +"Get thee in, my lad," he interrupted, dryly. "It suits me well enow to +ha' you nigh me. Never fear that." + +The only outward change made was in his manner. He went about his labor +with a deadly persistence. He came early and went home late. The +simplest "hand" saw that some powerful force was at work. He was silent +and harder in his rule of those under him. He made closer bargains and +more daring plans. Men who had been his rivals began to have a kind of +fear of him. All he took in hand throve. + +"He is a wonderful fellow," said Ffrench to his friends. +"Wonderful--wonderful!" + +Even the friends in question who were, some of them, county magnates of +great dignity, began to find their opinion of the man shaken. In these +days there was actually nothing to complain of. The simple little +country woman reigned in his household. She attended the Broxton Chapel +and dispensed her innocent charities on all sides. Finally a dowager of +high degree (the patroness of a charitable society), made the bold move +of calling upon her for a subscription. + +"It weren't as hard to talk to her, Jem, as I'd have thought," said Mrs. +Haworth afterward. "She began to tell me about the poor women as suffers +so, an' somehow I forgot about her bein' so grand. I couldn't think of +nothin' but the poor creturs an' their pain, an' when I come to sign my +name my 'and trembled so an' my eyes was that full I couldn't hardly +tell what I'd put down. To think of them poor things----" + +"How much did you give her?" asked Haworth. + +"I give her ten pound, my dear, an'----" + +He pulled out a bank-note and handed it to her. + +"Go to her to-morrow and give her that," he said. "Happen it'll be +summat new fur her to get fifty at a stroke." + +So it began to be understood that the master of "Haworth's" was a +bugbear with redeeming points after all. The Broxton Bank had its weight +too, and the new cottages which it was necessary to build. + +"It is to Haworth after all that you owe the fact that the place is +growing," said Ffrench. + +There came an evening, when on entering the drawing-room of a county +potentate with whom she and her father were to dine, Rachel Ffrench +found herself looking directly at Haworth, who stood in the center of a +group of guests. They were talking to him with an air of great interest +and listening to his off-hand replies with actual respect. Suddenly the +tide had turned. Before the evening had passed the man was a lion, and +all the more a lion because he had been so long tabooed. He went in to +dinner with the lady patroness, and she afterward announced her +intention of calling upon his mother in state. + +"There is a rough candor about the man, my dear," she said, "which one +must respect, and it appears that he has really reformed." + +There was no difficulty after this. Mrs. Haworth had visitors every day, +who came and examined her and wondered, and, somehow, were never +displeased by her tender credulity. She admired them all and believed in +them, and was always ready with tears and relief for their pensioners +and charities. + +"Don't thank me, ma'am," she would say. "Don't never thank me, for it's +not me that deserves it, but him that's so ready and generous to every +one that suffers. There never was such a kind heart before, it seems to +me, ma'am, nor such a lovin' one." + +Haworth's wealth, his success, his open-handedness, his past sins, were +the chief topics of conversation. To speak of Broxton was to speak of +the man who had made it what it was by his daring and his power, and who +was an absolute ruler over it and its inhabitants. + +Ffrench was a triumphant man. He was a potentate also; he could ride his +hobby to the sound of applause. When he expatiated upon "processes," he +could gain an audience which was attentive and appreciative. He had not +failed this time, at least, and was put down as a shrewd fellow after +all. + +In the festivities which seemed, somehow, the result of this sudden +revulsion of feeling, Rachel Ffrench was naturally a marked figure. +Among the women, with whom she was not exactly a favorite, it was still +conceded that she was not a young woman whom it was easy to ignore. Her +beauty--of which it was impossible to say that she was conscious--was of +a type not to be rivaled. When she entered a room, glancing neither to +right nor left, those who had seen her before unavoidably looked again, +and those who had not were silent as she passed. There was a delicate +suggestion of indifference in her manner, which might be real or might +not. Her demeanor toward Haworth never altered, even to the extent of +the finest shadow of change. + +When they were in a room together his eye followed her with stealthy +vigilance, and her knowledge of the fact was not a disturbing one. The +intensity of her consciousness was her great strength. She was never +unprepared. When he approached her she met him with her little +untranslatable smile. He might be bold, or awkward, or desperate, but +he never found her outwardly conscious or disturbed, or a shade colder +or warmer. + +It was only natural that it should not be long before others saw what +she, seeing, showed no knowledge of. It was easily seen that he made no +effort at concealment. His passion revealed itself in every look and +gesture. He could not have controlled it if he would, and would not if +he could. + +"Let 'em see," he said to himself. "It's naught to them. It's betwixt +her and me." He even bore himself with a sullen air of defiance at +times, knowing that he had gained one thing at least. He was nearer to +her in one way than any other man; he might come and go as he chose, he +saw her day after day, he knew her in-goings and out-comings. The +success which had restored her father's fortunes was his success. + +"I can make her like a queen among 'em," he said,--"like a queen, by +George,--and I'll do it." + +Every triumph which fell to him he regarded only as it would have weight +in her eyes. When society opened its doors to him, he said to himself, +"Now she'll see that I can stand up with the best of 'em, gentlemen or +no gentlemen!" + +When he suddenly found himself a prominent figure--a man deferred to and +talked of, he waited with secret feverishness to see what the effect +upon her would be. + +"It's what women like," he said. "It's what _she_ likes more than most +on 'em. It'll be bound to tell in the end." + +He labored as he had never labored before; his ambitions were boundless; +he strove and planned and ventured, lying awake through long hours of +the night, pondering and building, his daring growing with his success. + +There occurred one thing, however, which he had not bargained for. In +his laudable enthusiasm Mr. Ffrench could not resist the temptation to +sound the praises of his _protégé_. His belief in him had increased +instead of diminished with time, as he had been forced regretfully to +acknowledge had been the case during the eras of the young man from +Manchester and his fellows. He had reason to suspect that a climax had +been reached and that his hopes might be realized. It is not every man +who keeps on hand a genius. Naturally his friends heard of Murdoch +often. Those who came to the Works were taken to his work-room as to a +point of interest. He became in time a feature, and was spoken of with a +mixture of curiosity and bewilderment. To each visitor Ffrench told, in +strict confidence, the story of his father with due effect. + +"And it's my impression," he always added, "that we shall hear more of +this invention one of these days. He is a singular fellow--reserved and +not easy to read--just the man to carry a purpose in his mind and say +nothing of it, and in the end startle the world by accomplishing what he +has held in view." + +Finally, upon one occasion, when his daughter was making her list of +invitations for a dinner party they were to give, he turned to her +suddenly, with some hesitation in his manner. + +"Oh--by the way," he said, "there's Murdoch, we've never had Murdoch." + +She wrote the name without comment. + +"Who next?" she asked after having done it. + +"You see," he went on, waveringly, "there is really nothing which could +be an obstacle in the way of our inviting him--really nothing. He is--he +is all that we could wish." + +The reply he received staggered him. + +"It is nonsense," she said, looking up calmly, "to talk of obstacles. I +should have invited him long ago." + +"You!" he exclaimed. "Would you--really?" + +"Yes," she answered. "Why not?" + +"Why--not?" he repeated, feebly. "I don't know why not. I thought that +perhaps----" and then he broke off. "I wish I had known as much before," +he added. + +When he received the invitation, Murdoch declined it. + +"I should only be out of place," he said, candidly to Miss Ffrench. "I +should know nobody and nobody would know me. Why should I come?" + +"There is a very good reason why you should come," answered the young +woman with perfect composure. "_I_ am the reason." + +There was no further discussion of the point. He was present and Haworth +sat opposite to him at the table. + +"It's the first time for _him_?" said Haworth to Miss Ffrench afterward. + +"It is the first time he has dined here with other people," she +answered. "Have you a reason for asking?" + +He held his coffee-cup in his hand and glanced over it across the room. + +"He is not like the rest on 'em," he said, "but he stands it pretty +well, by George!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +THE BEGINNING. + + +For some time there had hung over the conduct of Mr. Briarley an air of +deep mystery. The boon of his society had been granted to his family +even less frequently than ever. His habit of sudden and apparently +unaccountable disappearance from the home circle after or even in the +midst of an argument had become more than usually pronounced. He went +out every night and invariably returned under the influence of malt +liquor. + +"Wheer he gets th' brass bangs me," said Mrs. Briarley. "He does na tak' +it out o' his wage, that's certain, fur he has na been a ha'penny short +fur three week, an' he does na get it o' tick, _that_ I know. Bannett at +th' 'Public' is na a foo'. Wheer does he get th' brass fro'?" + +But this was not easily explained. On being catechised Mr. Briarley +either shed tears of penitence or shook his head with deep solemnity of +meaning. At times when he began to shake it--if the hour was late and +his condition specially foggy--he was with difficulty induced to stop +shaking it, but frequently continued to do so with protracted fervor and +significance gradually decreasing until he fell asleep. When he was +sober he was timorous and abstracted. He started at the sound of the +opening door, and apparently existed in a state of secret expectation +and alarm. + +"I conna tell thee, Sararann," he would say. "At least," with some +tremor, "I wunnot tell thee just yet. Thou'lt know i' toime." + +He did not patronize the "Who'd ha' Thowt it" as much as formerly, in +these days, Janey discovered. He evidently got the beer elsewhere, and +at somebody's expense. His explanation of this was a brilliant and happy +one, but it was only offered once, in consequence of the mode of its +reception by his hearers. He presented it suddenly one night after some +moments of silence and mental research. + +"Theer's a gentlemon as is a friend o' moine," he said, "as has had +uncommon luck. His heirs has deed an' left him a forchin, an' he's come +into it, an' he's very mich tuk wi' me. I dunnot know as I ivver seed +ony one as mich tuk wi' me, Sararann--an' his heirs deein' an' leavin' +him a forchin--that theer's how it is, Sararann,--that theer's how it +is." + +"Tha brazant leer!" cried Mrs. Briarley, aghast. "Tha brazant leer! Get +out wi' thee!" in an outburst of indignation. "Thee an' thy forchins an' +heirs deein'--as if it wur na bad enow at th' start. A noice chap tha +art to set thysen up to know gentlefolks wi' heirs to dee an' leave 'em +brass. Eh! Bless us! what art tha comin' to?" + +The result was not satisfactory, as Mr. Briarley felt keenly. + +"Tha hast getten no confydence i' me, Sararann," he said in weak +protest. "Tha has na no faith--nor yet," following the train of thought +with manifest uncertainty,--"nor yet no works." + +The situation was so painful, however, that he made no further effort of +the imagination to elucidate the matter, and it remained temporarily +obscured in mystery. + +Only temporarily, however. A few weeks afterward Ffrench came down to +the Works in great excitement. He went to Haworth's room, and finding +him there, shut the door and almost dropped into a chair. + +"What's up?" demanded Haworth, with some impatience. "What's up, man?" + +"You haven't heard the report?" Ffrench answered, tremulously. "It +hasn't reached you yet?" + +"I've heard nowt to upset me. Out with it! What's up?" + +He was plainly startled, and lost a shade of color, but he held himself +boldly. Ffrench explained himself with trepidation. + +"The hands in Marfort and Molton and Howton are on the strike, and those +in Dillup and Burton are plainly about to follow suit. I've just got a +Manchester paper, which says the lookout is bad all over the country. +Meetings have been going on in secret for some time." + +He stopped and sat staring at his partner. Haworth was deathly pale. He +seemed, for a moment, to lack breath, and then suddenly the dark color +rushed to his face again. + +"By----" he began, and stopped with the oath upon his lips. + +"Don't swear, for pity's sake," broke forth Ffrench, finding courage for +protest in his very desperation. "It's not the time for it. Let's look +the thing in the face." + +"Look it in the face," Haworth repeated. "Aye, let's." + +He said the words with a fierce sneer. + +"Aye, look it in the face, man," he said again. "That's th' thing to +do." + +He bent forward, extending his hand across the table. + +"Let's see th' paper," he demanded. + +Ffrench gave it to him, and he read the paragraphs referred to in +silence. When he had finished them, he folded the paper again +mechanically. + +"They might have done it last year and welcome, blast 'em!" he said. + +Ffrench began to tremble. + +"You've ventured a good deal of late, Haworth," he said, weakly. "You've +done some pretty daring things, you know--and----" + +Haworth turned on him. + +"If I lose all I've made," he said, hoarsely, "shall I lose aught of +yours, lad?" + +Ffrench did not reply. He sat playing with his watch-chain nervously. He +had cause for anxiousness on his own score, and his soul quaked within +him. + +"What is to be done?" he ventured at last. + +"There's only one thing to be done," Haworth answered, pushing his chair +back. "Stop it here--at th' start." + +"Stop it?" Ffrench echoed, in amazement. + +"Aye, stop it." + +He got up and took his hat down and put it on. + +"I'm going round th' place and about th' yards and into th' town," he +said. "There's naught for you to do but keep quiet. Th' quieter you keep +th' better for us. Go on as if you'd heard naught. Stay here a bit, and +then walk over to th' bank. Look alive, man!" + +He went out and left Ffrench alone. In the passage he came upon a couple +of men who were talking together in low voices. They started at sight of +him and walked away slowly. + +He went first to the engine-room. There he found Floxham and Murdoch +talking also. The old engineer wore an irritable air, and was plainly in +a testy mood. Murdoch looked fagged and pale. Of late he was often so. +As Haworth entered he turned toward him, uttering an exclamation. + +"He is here now," he said. "That is well enough." + +Floxham gave him a glance from under his bent, bushy brows. + +"Aye," he answered. "We may as well out wi' it." + +He touched his cap clumsily. + +"Tell him," he said to Murdoch, "an' ha' it over." + +Murdoch spoke in a cool, low voice. + +"I have found out," he said, "that there is trouble on foot. I began to +suspect it a week ago. Some rough fellows from Manchester and Molton +have been holding secret meetings at a low place here. Some of the hands +have been attending them. Last night a worse and larger gang came and +remained in the town. They are here now. They mean mischief at least, +and there are reports afloat that strikes are breaking out on all +sides." + +Haworth turned abruptly to Floxham. + +"Where do you stand?" he asked roughly. + +The old fellow laid his grimy hand upon his engine. + +"I stand here, my lad," he answered. "That's wheer-an' I'll stick to it, +unions or no unions." + +[Illustration: "I STAND HERE, MY LAD," HE ANSWERED.] + +"That's the worst side of the trouble," said Murdoch. "Those who would +hold themselves aloof from the rest will be afraid of the trades unions. +If worst comes to worst, their very lives will be in danger. They know +that, and so do we." + +"Aye, lad," said Floxham, "an' tha'rt reet theer." + +Haworth ground his teeth and swore under his breath. Then he spoke to +Murdoch. + +"How is it going on here?" he asked. + +"Badly enough, in a quiet way. You had better go and see for yourself." + +He went out, walking from room to room, through the yards and wherever +men were at work. Here and there a place was vacant. Where the work went +on, it went on dully; he saw dogged faces and subdued ones; those who +looked up as he passed wore an almost deprecatory air; those who did not +look up at all, bent over their tasks with an expression which was at +least negatively defiant. His keen eye discovered favorable symptoms, +however; those who were in evil mood were his worst workmen--men who had +their off days of drunken stupor and idleness, and the heads of +departments were plainly making an effort to stir briskly and ignore the +presence of any cloud upon their labor. + +By the time he had made the rounds he had grasped the situation fully. +The strait was desperate, but not as bad as it might have been. + +"I _may_ hold 'em," he said to himself, between his teeth. "And by the +Lord Harry I'll try hard for it." + +He went over to the bank and found Ffrench in his private room, pale and +out of all courage. + +"There will be a run on us by this time to-morrow," he said. "I see +signs of it already." + +"Will there?" said Haworth. "We'll see about that. Wait a bit, my lad!" + +He went into the town and spent an hour or so taking a sharp lookout. +Nothing escaped him. There were more idlers than usual about the ale +houses, and more than once he passed two or three women talking together +with anxious faces and in undertones. As he was passing one such group +one of the women saw him and started. + +"Theer he is!" she said, and her companion turned with her and they +both stopped talking to look after him. + +Before returning he went up to his partner's house. He asked for Miss +Ffrench and was shown into the room where she sat writing letters. She +neither looked pleased nor displeased when she saw him, but rose to +greet him at once. She gave him a rather long look. + +"What is the matter?" she asked. + +Suddenly he felt less bold. The heat of his excitement failed to sustain +him. He was all unstrung. + +"I've come to tell you not to go out," he said. "There's trouble +afoot--in the trade. There's no knowing how it'll turn out. There's a +lot of chaps in th' town who are not in th' mood to see aught that'll +fret 'em. They're ready for mischief, and have got drink in 'em. Stay +you here until we see which way th' thing's going." + +"Do you mean," she demanded, "that there are signs of a strike?" + +"There's more than signs of it," he answered, sullenly. "Before night +the whole place will be astir." + +She moved across the room and pulled the bell. A servant answered the +summons instantly. + +"I want the carriage," she said. + +Then she turned to Haworth with a smile of actual triumph. + +"_Nothing_ would keep me at home," she said. "I shall drive through the +town and back again. Do you think I will let them fancy that _I_ am +afraid of them?" + +"You're not afraid?" he said, almost in a whisper. + +"I afraid?" she answered, "_I_?" + +"Wait here," she added. She left the room, and in less than ten minutes +returned. He had never before seen in her the fire he saw then. There +was a spark of light in her eyes, a color on her cheek. She had chosen +her dress with distinct care for its luxurious richness. His +exclamation, as she entered buttoning her long, delicate glove, was a +repressed oath. He exulted in her. His fear for her was gone, and only +this exultation remained. + +"You've made up your mind to that?" he said. He wanted to make her say +more. + +"I am going to see your mother," she answered. "That will take me +outside of the town, then I shall drive back again--slowly. They shall +understand me at least." + +She let him lead her out to the carriage, which by this time was +waiting. After she was seated in it, she bent forward and spoke to him. + +"Tell my father where I am going and why," she said. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +A SPEECH. + + +"When he returned to the Works the noon-bell was ringing, and the hands +were crowding through the gates on their way to their midday meal. Among +those going out he met Floxham, who spoke to him as he passed. + +"Theer's some o' them chaps," he said, "as wunnot show their faces +again." + +"Aye," said Haworth, "I see that." + +Ffrench had left the bank and was pacing up and down his room +panic-stricken. + +"What have you heard?" he exclaimed, turning as Haworth entered. "Is +it--is it as bad as you expected?" + +"Aye," said Haworth, "worse and better too." + +"Better?" he faltered. + +Haworth flung himself into a chair. He wore a look of dogged triumph. + +"Leave 'em to me," he answered. "I'm in th' mood fur 'em _now_." + +But it was not until some time afterward that he delivered the message +Rachel Ffrench had intrusted to him. + +On hearing it her father appeared to rally a little. + +"It seems a rather dangerous thing to do," he said, "but--it is like +her. And perhaps, after all, there is something in--in showing no fear." + +And for a few moments after having thought the incident over he became +comparatively sanguine and cheerful. + +As Floxham had predicted, when the work-bell called the hands together +again there were still other places vacant. Mr. Briarley, it may be +observed, had been absent all day, and by this time was listening with +affectionate interest and spasmodic attacks of inopportune enthusiasm to +various inflammatory speeches which were being made at a beer house. + +Toward evening the work lagged so that the over-lookers could no longer +keep up the semblance of ignorance. A kind of gloom settled upon them +also, and they went about with depressed faces. + +"It'll be all up to-morrow," said one, "if there's nothing done." + +But something was done. + +Suddenly--just before time for the last bell to ring--Haworth appeared +at the door of the principal room. + +"Lads!" he shouted, "them on you as wants a speech from Jem Haworth +gather in th' yard in five minutes from now." + +There was no more work done. The bell began to ring; implements were +thrown down and a shout went up from the crowd. Then there was a rush +into the yard, and in less than the five minutes the out-pouring of the +place thronged about its chief doorway where Jem Haworth stood on the +topmost step, looking down, facing them all, boldly--with the air of a +man who felt his victory more than half won. + +"Let's hear what tha'st getten to say," cried some one well hidden by +the crowd. "Out wi' it." + +"It's not much," Haworth shouted back. "It's this to start with. I'm +here to find out where you chaps stand." + +But there was no answer to this. He knew there would be none and went +on. + +"I've been through th' place this morning," he said, "and through th' +town, and I know how th' wind blows as well as any on you. Th' lads at +Marfort and Molton and Dillup are on th' strike. There's a bad lookout +in many a place besides them. There's a lot of fools laying in beer and +making speeches down in Broxton; there were some here this morning as +didn't show this afternoon. How many on you's going to follow them?" + +Then there was a murmur which was not easy to understand. It was a +mixture of sounds defiant and conciliatory. Haworth moved forward. He +knew them better than they knew him. + +"_I'm_ not one o' the model soart," he called out. "I've not set up soup +kitchens nor given you flannel petticoats. I've looked sharp after you, +and I should have been a fool if I hadn't. I've let you alone out of +work hours, and I've not grudged you your sprees, when they didn't stand +in my way. I've done the square thing by you, and I've done it by +myself. Th' places I've built let no water in, and I let 'em to you as +easy as I could and make no loss. I didn't build 'em for benevolent +purposes, but I've not heard one of you chaps complain of 'em yet. I've +given you your dues and stood by you--and I'll do it again, by----" + +There was a silence--a significant breathless one. + +"Have I done it," he said, "or haven't I?" + +Suddenly the silence was broken. + +"Aye," there was a shout, "aye, lad, yo' ha'." + +"Then," he shouted, "them as Jem Haworth has stood by, let 'em stand by +Jem Haworth!" + +And he struck his big fist upon his open palm with a fierce blow, and +stood before them breathing hard. + +He had the best metal on his side somehow, and the best metal carried +the day. The boldness of his move, the fact that he had not waited, but +had taken the lead, were things all for him. Even those who wavered +toward the enemy were stirred to something like admiration. + +"But what about th' Union?" said a timorous voice in the rear. "Theer'll +be trouble with th' Unions as sure as we stand out, Mester." + +Haworth made a movement none of them understood. He put his hand behind +him and drew from his hip-pocket an object which caused every man of +them to give a little start and gasp. They were used to simple and +always convenient modes of defense. The little object he produced would +not have startled an American, but it startled a Lancashire, audience. +It was of shining steel and rose-wood, and its bright barrels glittered +significantly. He held it out and patted it lightly. + +"That's for the Union, lads," he said. "And more like it." + +A few of the black sheep moved restlessly and with manifest tremor. This +was a new aspect of affairs. One of them suddenly cried out with much +feebleness: + +"Th--three cheers for Haworth." + +"Let the chaps as are on the other side go to their lot now," said +Haworth. + +But no one moved. + +"There's some here that'll go when th' time comes," he announced. "Let +'em tell what they've heard. Now lads, the rest on you up with your +hands." + +The whole place was in a tumult. They held up their hands and clenched +and shook them and shouted, and here and there swore with fluency and +enthusiasm. There were not six among them who were not fired with the +general friendly excitement. + +"To-morrow morning there'll be papers posted up, writ in Jem Haworth's +hand and signed with his name," cried Haworth. "Read 'em as you come +along, lads, and when you reach here I'll be ready for you." + +"Is it about th' pistols?" faltered the timorous voice. + +"Aye," Haworth answered, "about th' pistols. Now go home." + +He turned to mount the step, flushed and breathing fast and with +high-beating pulses, when suddenly he stopped. Before the iron gate a +carriage had stopped. A servant in livery got down and opened the door, +and Rachel Ffrench stepped out. The hands checked their shouting to look +at her. She came up the yard slowly and with the setting sun shining +upon her. It was natural that they should gaze at her as she approached, +though she did not look at any of them--only at Haworth, who waited. +They made a pathway for her and she passed through it and went up the +step. Her rich dress touched more than one man as she swept by. + +"I thought," they heard her say, "that I would call for my father." + +Then for the first time she looked at the men. She turned at the top of +the step and looked down--the sun on her dress and face. + +There was not a man among them who did not feel the look. At first a +murmur arose and then an incoherent cry and then a shout, and they threw +up their caps and shouted until they were hoarse. + +In the midst of it she turned aside and went in with a smile on her +lips. + +In Haworth's room they found her father standing behind the door with a +startled air. + +"What are they shouting for?" he asked. "What is the matter now?" + +"I think _I_ am the matter," Miss Ffrench answered, "though I scarcely +know why. Ah," giving him a quiet glance, "you are afraid!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +"SARARANN." + + +The next morning there was an uproar in the town. The strikers from +Molton and Marfort no longer remained in the shade. They presented +themselves openly to the community in their true characters. At first +they lounged about in groups at the corners and before the ale-houses, +smoking, talking, gesticulating, or wearing sullen faces. But this +negative state of affairs did not last long. By eight o'clock the +discovery was made that something had happened in the night. + +In a score of prominent places,--on walls and posts,--there appeared +papers upon which was written, in a large, bold hand, the following +announcement: + + + "Haworth's lads will stand by him. The chaps that have aught to say + against this, let them remember that to every man there's six + barrels well loaded, and to Jem Haworth twelve. Those that want + their brass out of Broxton Bank, let them come and get it. + + "Writ and signed by + "JEM HAWORTH." + + +The first man who saw it swore aloud and ran to call others. Soon a +select party stood before the place on which the card was posted, +confronting it in different moods. Some were scientifically profane, +some raged loudly, some were silent, one or two grinned. + +"He staid up aw neet to do that theer," remarked one of these. "He's +getten a gizzard o' his own, has Haworth. He's done it wi' his own +hands." + +One gentleman neither grinned nor swore. His countenance fell with +singular rapidity. This was Mr. Briarley, who had come up in the rear. +He held in one hand a pewter pot which was half empty. He had caught it +up in the heat of the moment, from the table at which he had been +sitting when the news came. + +"What's in th' barrils?" he inquired. + +The man he spoke to turned to him roughly. + +"Powder," he answered, "an' lead, tha domned foo'!" + +Mr. Briarley looked at his mug regretfully. + +"I thowt," he said, "as happen it mought ha' bin beer." + +Having reflected a moment, he was on the point of raising the mug to his +lips when a thought struck him. He stopped short. + +"What's he goin' to do wi' em?" he quavered. + +"Ax him," was the grim answer. "Ax him, lad. He dunnot say." + +"He is na--" in manifest trepidation, "he is na--goin' to--to fire 'em +off!" + +"He'll fire 'em off, if he comes across thee," was the reply. "Mak' sure +o' that. An' I should na blame him, neyther." + +Mr. Briarley reflected again for a few seconds--reflected deeply. Then +he moved aside a little. + +"I hannot seen Sararann sin' yesterday," he said, softly, "nor yet +Janey, nor yet--th' owd missus. I--I mun go and see 'em." + +Haworth kept his word. The next day there was not a man who went to and +from the Works who could not have defended himself if he had been +attacked. But no one was attacked. His course was one so unheard of, so +unexpected, that it produced a shock. There was a lull in the movement, +at least. The number of his enemies increased and were more violent, but +they were forced to content themselves with violence of speech. Somehow, +it scarcely seemed safe to use ordinary measures against Jem Haworth. He +slept in his room at the Works, and shared watches with the force he had +on guard. He drove through the town boldly, and carried a grim, alert +face. He was here, and there, and everywhere; in the Works, going from +room to room; at the bank, ready for emergencies. + +"When this here's over," he said, "I'll give you chaps a spree you won't +get over in a bit, by George!" + +Those who presented themselves at the bank the morning the placards were +to be seen got their money. By noon the number arriving diminished +perceptibly. In a day or two a few came back, and would have handed over +their savings again willingly, but the bank refused to take them. + +"Carry it to Manchester," were Haworth's words. "They'll take it +there--I won't." + +Those of his hands who had deserted him came out of their respective +"sprees" in a week's time, with chop-fallen countenances. They had not +gained anything, and were somehow not in great favor among the outside +strikers. In their most pronounced moods, they had been neither useful +nor ornamental to their party. They were not eloquent, nor even violent; +they were simply idle vagabonds, who were no great loss to Haworth and +no great gain to his enemies. In their own families they were in deep +and dire disgrace, and loud were the ratings they received from their +feminine relatives. + +The lot of Mr. Briarley was melancholy indeed. Among the malcontents his +portion was derision and contumely; at home he was received with +bewailings and scathing severity. + +"An' that theer was what tha wur up to, was it?" cried Mrs. Briarley, +the day he found himself compelled by circumstances to reveal the true +state of affairs. "Tha'st j'ined th' strikers, has tha?" + +"Aye, Sararann, I've j'ined 'em--an'--an' we're go'n' to set things +straight, bless yo'--that's what we're goin' to do. We--we're goin' to +bring the mesters down a bit, an'--an' get our dues. That's what we're +goin' to do, Sararann." + +It was dinner-time, and in the yard and about the street at the front +the young members of the family disported themselves with vigor. Without +Janey and the baby, who were in the house, there were ten of them. Mrs. +Briarley went to the door and called them. Housed to frantic +demonstrations of joy by the immediate prospect of dinner, they appeared +in a body, tumbling over one another, shrieking, filling the room to +overflowing. + +Generally they were disposed of in relays, for convenience' sake. It was +some time since Mr. Briarley had beheld the whole array. He sat upright +and stared at them. Mrs. Briarley sat down confronting him. + +"What art tha goin' to do wi' _them_ while tha bring th' mesters down?" +she inquired. + +Mr. Briarley regarded the assembly with _naïve_ bewilderment. A natural +depression of spirit set in. + +"Theer--theer seems a good many on 'em, Sararann," he said, with an air +of meek protestation. "They seem to ha'--to ha' cumylated!" + +"Theer's twelve on 'em," answered Mrs. Briarley, dryly, "an' they've aw +getten mouths, as tha sees. An' their feyther's goin' to bring th' +mesters down a bit!" + +Twelve pairs of eyes stolidly regarded their immediate progenitor, as if +desirous of discovering his intentions. Mr. Briarley was embarrassed. + +"Sararann," he faltered, "send 'em out to play 'em. Send 'em out into +th' open air. It's good fur 'em, th' open air is, an' they set a mon +back." + +Mrs. Briarley burst into lamentations, covering her face with her apron +and rocking to and fro. + +"Aye," cried she, "send 'em out in th' air--happen they'll fatten on it. +It's aw they'll get, poor childer. Let 'em mak' th' most on it." + + +In these days Haworth was more of a lion than ever. He might have dined +in state with a social potentate each day if he had been so minded. The +bolder spirits visited him at the Works, and would have had him talk the +matter over. But he was in the humor for neither festivities nor talk. +He knew what foundation his safety rested upon, and spent many a +sleepless and feverish night. He was bitter enough at heart against +those he had temporarily baffled. + +"Wait till tha'rt out o' th' woods," he said to Ffrench, when he was +betrayed into expressing his sense of relief. + +Oddly enough, the feeling against Ffrench was disproportionately +violent. He was regarded as an alien and a usurper of the rights of +others. There existed a large disgust for his gentle birth and +breeding, and a sardonic contempt for his incapacity and lack of +experience. He had no prestige of success and daring, he had not shown +himself in the hour of danger, he took all and gave nothing. + +"I should not be surprised," said Miss Ffrench to Murdoch, "if we have +trouble yet." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +MRS. HAWORTH AND GRANNY DIXON. + + +About this time a change appeared in little Mrs. Haworth. Sometimes when +they sat together, Haworth found himself looking up suddenly and feeling +that her eyes were fixed upon him, and at such times she invariably met +his glance with a timid, startled expression, and released herself from +it as soon as she had the power. + +She had never been so tender and lavish with her innocent caresses, but +there was continuously a tremulous watchfulness in her manner, which was +almost suggestive of fear. It was not fear of him, however. She clung to +him with all the strength of her love. At night when he returned home, +however late, he was sure of finding her waiting patiently for him, and +in the morning when he left the house he was never so early that she was +not at his service. The man began to quail before her, and grow restless +in secret, and be haunted, when he awakened in the night, by his +remembrance of her. + +"She is on the lookout for something," he said to himself, fearfully. +"What have they been saying to her?" + +On her part, when she sat alone, she used to try and think the matter +out, and set it straight and account for it. + +"It's the strikes," she said, "as has set them agen him and made 'em +hard an' forgetful of all he's done. They'd never have spoke so if +they'd been theirselves." + +She could scarcely have told what she had heard, or how the first blow +had struck home. She only knew that here and there she had heard at +first a rough jeer and then a terrible outspoken story, which, in spite +of her disbelief, filled her with dread. The man who first flung the +ill-favored story at her stopped half-way through it, the words dying on +his lips at the sight of her face. + +It happened in one of her pensioners' cottages, and she rose from her +chair trembling. + +"I didn't think," she said, with unconscious pathos, "as the world could +be so ignorant and wicked." + +But as the ill-feeling became more violent, she met with the same story +again and again, and often with new and worse versions in forms she +could not combat. She began to be haunted by vague memories of things +she had not comprehended. A sense of pain followed her. She was afraid, +at times, to go to the cottages, lest she should be confronted with +something which would overwhelm her. Then she began to search her son's +face with a sense of finding some strangeness in it. She watched him +wistfully when he had so far forgotten her presence as to be almost +unaware of it. One night, having thrown himself upon a sofa and fallen +into a weary sleep, he suddenly started up from it to find her standing +close by him, looking down, her face pale, her locked fingers moving +nervously. + +"What is it?" he exclaimed. "What ails you?" + +He was startled by her falling upon her knees at his side, crying, and +laying her shaking hand upon his shoulder. + +"You was having a bad dream, my dear," she said,--"a bad dream. I--I +scarcely knowed your face, Jem--it was so altered." + +He sank back upon his cushions and stared at her. He knew he had been +having no bad dream. His dreams were not half so evil and bitter when he +slept as they were in these days when he wakened. + +"You always had such a good face, Jem," she said, "and such a kind one. +When you was a boy----" + +He stopped her almost sullenly. + +"I'm not a boy now," he said. "That's put away and done with." + +"No," she answered, "that's true, my dear; but you've lived an innocent +life, an'--an' never done no wrong--no more than you did when you was +one. And your face was so altered." + +Her voice died away into a silence which, somehow, neither of them could +break. + +It was Granny Dixon who revealed the truth in its barest form. Perhaps +no man nor woman in Broxton knew more of it than this respectable +ancient matron. Haworth and his iniquities had been the spice of her +later life. The fact that his name was being mentioned in a conversation +never escaped her; she discovered it as if by magic and invariably +commanded that the incident under discussion be repeated at the top of +the reciter's voice for her benefit, occasionally somewhat to the +confusion of the honest matron in question. + +How it had happened that she had not betrayed all to Mrs. Haworth at +once was a mystery to remain unsolved. During the little woman's visits +to the cottage, Mrs. Briarley existed in a chronic condition of fear and +trembling. + +"She'll be out wi' it some o' these days, mark me," she would quaver to +Janey. "An' th' Lord knows, I would na' be theer fur nowt when she +does." + +But she did not do it at first. Mrs. Briarley had a secret conviction +that the fact that she did not do so was due entirely to iniquity. She +had seen her sit peering from under her brows at their guest as the +simple creature poured forth her loving praise of her son, and at such +times it was always Mrs. Briarley's province to repeat the conversation +for her benefit. + +"Aye," Mrs. Dixon would comment with an evil smile, "that's him! That's +Haworth! He's a noice chap--is Haworth. _I_ know him." + +Mrs. Haworth learned in time to fear her and to speak timidly in her +presence, rarely referring to the subject of her boy's benefactions. + +"Only as it wouldn't be nat'ral," she said once to Mrs. Briarley, "I +should think she was set agen him." + +"Eh! bless us," was Mrs. Briarley's answer. "Yo' need na moind _her_. +She's set agen ivverybody. She's th' nowtest owd piece i' Christendom." + +A few days after Haworth had awakened to find his mother standing near +him, Mrs. Haworth paid a visit to the Briarleys. She took with her a +basket, which the poor of Broxton had long since learned to know. In +this case it contained stockings for the little Briarleys and a dress or +so for the baby. + +When she had bestowed her gifts and seated herself, she turned to Granny +Dixon with some tremor of manner. + +"I hope you're well, ma'am," she said. + +Granny Dixon made no reply. She sat bent over in her chair, regarding +her for a few seconds with unblinking gaze. Then she slowly pointed with +her thin, crooked finger to the little presents. + +"He sent 'em, did he?" she trumpeted forth. "Haworth?" + +Mrs. Haworth quailed before her. + +"Yes, ma'am," she answered, "leastways----" + +Granny Dixon stopped her. + +"He did nowt o' th' soart," she cried. "Tha'rt leein'!" + +The little woman made an effort to rise, turned pale, and sat down +again. + +"Ma'am----" she began. + +Granny Dixon's eyes sparkled. + +"Tha'rt leein'," she repeated. "He's th' worst chap i' England, and aw +Broxton knows it." + +Her victim uttered a low cry of pain. Mrs. Briarley had left the room, +and there was no one to help her. All the hints and jeers she had heard +rushed back to her, but she struggled to stand up against them. + +"It ain't true," she said. "It ain't--true." + +Granny Dixon was just beginning to enjoy herself. A difference of +opinion with Mrs. Briarley, which had occurred a short time before, had +prepared her for the occasion. She knew that nothing would so much +demoralize her relative and hostess as this iniquitous outbreak. + +"They've been warnin' me to keep quiet an' not tell thee," she answered, +"but I towd 'em I'd tell thee when I wur i' th' humor, an' I'm i' th' +humor now. Will Ffrench wur a devil, but _he's_ a bigger one yet. He +kep' thee away because he did na want thee to know. He set aw th' place +by th' ears. A decent woman would na cross his door-step, nor a decent +mon, fur aw his brass--afore tha coom. Th' lot as he used to ha' down +fro' Lunnon an' Manchester wur a shame to th' town. _I've_ seed +'em--women in paint an' feathers, an' men as decent lasses hide fro'. A +good un, wur he? Aye, he wur a good un, for sure." + +She sat and chuckled a moment, thinking of Sararann's coming terror and +confusion. She had no objection to Haworth's moral lapses, herself, but +she meant to make the most of them while she was at it. She saw nothing +of the anguish in the face from which all the fresh, almost girlish +color had faded. + +"An' yo' did na know as they wur na gentlefolk," she proclaimed again. +"Tha thowt they wur ladies an' gentlemen when tha coom in on 'em th' +fust night tha set foot i' th' house. A noice batch o' ladies they wur! +An he passed 'em off on thee! He wur sharp enow fur that, trust him. +Ladies, bless us! _I_ heard tell on it--an' so did aw Broxton!" + +The wounded creature gathered all her strength to rise from her chair. +She stood pressing her hands against her heart, swaying and deadly pale. + +"He has been a good son to me," she said. "A good son--an' I can't +believe it. You wouldn't yourself if--you was his mother, an' knew him +as--as I do." + +She made her way to the door just as Mrs. Briarley came in. One glance +told that excellent matron that the long-dreaded calamity had arrived. + +"What's she been up to?" she demanded. "Lord ha' mercy! what's she been +up to now?" + +"She's been tellin' me," faltered the departing guest, "that my son's a +bad man an' a shame to me. Let me go, ma'am--for I've never heard talk +like this before--an' it's made me a bit weak an'--queer." + +And she slipped past and was gone. + +Mrs. Briarley's patience deserted her. A full sense of what Granny +Dixon's worst might be burst in upon her; a remembrance of her own +manifold wrongs and humiliations added itself to this sense; for the +moment, discretion ceased to appear the better part of valor. + +"What has tha been sayin'?" she cried. "What has tha been sayin'? Out +wi' it." + +"I've been telling her what tha wur afeared to tell her," chuckled Mrs. +Dixon with exultation. "I towd thee I would an' I've done it." + +Mrs. Briarley made no more ado. She set the baby down upon an adjacent +chair with a resonant sound, and then fell upon the miserable old woman +and seizing her by the shoulders shook her until her cap flew off and +danced upon her back and her mouth opened and shut as if worked by a +spring. + +"Tha brazent, hard-hearted besom, tha!" she cried as she shook. "Tha +ill-farrant nowt, tha! as nivver did no good i' thy days an canna bear +as no one else should. I dunnot care if I nivver see thy brass as long +as I live. If tha wur noine i'stead o' ninety-five I'd give thee a +hidin', tha brazent, hard-hearted owd piece!" + +Her strength failed her and she loosened her hold and sat down and wept +aloud behind the baby, and Mrs. Dixon fell back in her chair, an +unpleasant heap, without breath to speak a word or strength to do +anything but clutch wildly at her cap, and so remained shrunken and +staring. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +HAWORTH'S DEFENDER. + + +Mrs. Haworth made her way along the streets with weak and lagging steps. +She had been a brisk walker in the days of her country life, and even +now was fonder of going here and there on foot than of riding in state, +as her son would have preferred. But now the way before her seemed long. +She knew where she was going. + +"There's one of 'em as knows an' will tell me," she said to herself. +"She can't have no cruel feeling against him, bein' a lady, an' knowin' +him so well. An' if it's true--not as I believe it, Jem, my dear, for I +don't--she'll break it to me gentle." + +"Not as I believe, Jem, my dear, for I don't," she said to herself again +and again. + +Her mind went back to the first hour of his life, when he lay, a +strong-limbed child, on her weak arm, the one comfort given to her out +of her wretched marriage. She thought of him again as a lad, growing and +thriving in spite of hunger and cold, growing and thriving in spite of +cruelty and wrong which broke her health and threw her helpless upon +charity. He had been sharper and bolder than other boys, and always +steadfast to his determination. + +"He was always good to me," she said. "Child an' man he's never forgot +me, or been unmindful. If there'd have been wrong in his life, who'd +have been liker to see it than me?" + +It was to Rachel Ffrench she was going, and when at last she reached the +end of her journey, and was walking up the pathway to the house, Rachel +Ffrench, who stood at the window, saw her, and was moved to wonder by +her pallor and feebleness. + +The spring sunshine was so bright outside that the room seemed quite +dark when she came into it, and even after she had seated herself the +only light in it seemed to emanate from the figure of Miss Ffrench +herself, who stood opposite her in a dress of some thin white stuff and +with strongly fragrant yellow hyacinths at her neck and in her hand. + +"You are tired," she said. "You should not have walked." + +The woman looked up at her timidly. + +"It isn't that," she answered. "It's somethin' else." + +She suddenly stretched forth her hands into the light. + +"I've come here to hear about my boy," she said. "I want to hear from +one as knows the truth, an'--will tell me." + +Miss Ffrench was not of a sympathetic nature. Few young women possessed +more nerve and self-poise at trying times, and she had not at any +previous period been specially touched by Mrs. Haworth; but just now she +was singularly distressed. + +"What do you want to know," she asked, "that I can tell you?" + +She was not prepared for what happened next, and lost a little placidity +through it. The simple, loving creature fell at her feet and caught hold +of her dress, sobbing. + +"He's thirty-three years old," she cried, "an' I've never seen the day +when he's give me a hurt. He's been the pride of my life an' the hope of +it. I've looked up to him and prayed for him an' believed in him--an' +they say he's black with shameful sin--an' I don't know him, nor never +did, for he's deceived me from first to last." + +The yellow hyacinths fell from Miss Ffrench's hand on the carpet, and +she looked down at them instead of at the upturned face. + +"Who said it?" she asked. + +But she was not answered. + +"If it's true--not that I believe it, for I don't--if it's true, what is +there left for me, as loved and honored him--where's my son as paid me +for all I bore? He's never been--he's never been at all. I've never been +his mother nor he's never been my son. If it's true--not as I believe +it, for I don't--where is he?" + +Miss Ffrench bent down and picked up her hyacinths. She wondered, as she +bent down, what her reply would be. + +"Will you believe _me_?" she asked, as she rose up again. + +"Yes, ma'am," she was answered, "I know I may do it--thank God!" + +"Yes, you may," said Miss Ffrench, without flinching in the least. "I +can have no feeling for or against him. I can have no end to serve, one +way or the other. It is not true. It is a lie. He is all you have +believed." + +She helped her to rise, and made her sit down again in an easy-chair, +and then herself withdrew a little, and stood leaning against the window +looking at her. + +"He has done more good in Broxton than any other man who lives," she +said. "He has made it what it is. The people who hate him and speak ill +of him are those he has benefited most. It is the way of their class, I +have heard before, and now I believe it to be true. They have said worse +things of men who deserve them as little as he does. He has enemies whom +he has conquered, and they will never forgive him." + +She discovered a good many things to say, having once begun, and she +actually found a kind of epicurean enjoyment in saying them in a manner +the most telling. She always liked to do a thing very well. + +But, notwithstanding this, the time seemed rather long before she was +left alone to think the matter over. + +Before she had said many words her visitor was another woman. Life's +color came back to her, and she sat crying softly, tears of sheer joy +and relief. + +"I knowed it couldn't be true," she said. "I knowed it, an' oh! thank +you, ma'am, with all a mother's heart! + +"To think," she said, smiling and sobbing, "as I should have been so +wicked as to let it weigh on me, when I knowed so well as it couldn't +never be. I should be almost 'shamed to look him in the face if I didn't +know how good he was, an' how ready he'd be to forgive me." + +When at last she was gone, Miss Ffrench threw herself into the chair she +had left, rather languidly. She was positively tired. + +As she did so she heard a sound. She rose hastily and turned toward the +folding-doors leading into the adjoining room. They had been partially +closed, and as she turned they were pushed aside and some one came +through them. + +It was Jem Haworth. + +He was haggard and disheveled, and as he approached her he walked +unsteadily. + +"I was in there through it all," he said, "and I heard every word." + +She was herself again, at once. She knew she had not been herself ten +minutes before. + +"Well," she said. + +He came up and stood near her--and almost abject tremor upon him. + +"Will you listen to what I have got to say?" he said. + +She made a cold gesture of assent. + +"If she'd gone to some and heard what they had to tell," he said, "it +would have killed her. It's well she came here." + +She saw the dark color rush to his face and knew what was coming. + +"It's all true, by----" he burst out, "every word of it!" + +"When I was in there," he went on, with a gesture toward the other room, +"I swore I'd tell you. Make the best and the worst of it. It's all +true--that and more." + +He sat down in a chair and rested his forehead on his hands. + +"Things has begun to go agen me," he said. "They never did before. I've +been used to tell myself there was a kind of luck in keeping it hid from +her. Th' day it comes on her, full force, I'm done for. I said in there +you should know, at least. It's all true." + +"I knew it was true," remarked Miss Ffrench, "all the time." + +"_You_ knew!" he cried out. "_You!_" + +"I have known it from the first," she answered. "Did you think it was a +secret?" + +He turned hot and cold as he looked at her. + +"Then, by George, you'd a reason for saying what you did. What was it?" + +She remained silent, looking out of the open window across the +flower-bright garden. She watched a couple of yellow butterflies eddying +above a purple hyacinth for several seconds before she spoke, and then +did so slowly and absently. + +"I don't know the reason," she said. "It was a strange thing for _me_ to +do." + +"It wasn't to save _me_ aught," he returned. "That's plain enough." + +"No," she answered, "it was not to save you. I am not given to pitying +people, but I think that for the time I wanted to save _her_. It was a +strange thing," she said, softly, "for _me_ to do." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +CHRISTIAN MURDOCH. + + +Christian had never spoken to Murdoch openly of his secret labor. He was +always aware that she knew and understood; he had seen her knowledge in +her face almost from the first, but they had exchanged no words on the +subject. He had never wavered from his resolve since he had made it. +Whatever his tasks had been in the day, or however late his return was +at night, he did not rest until he had given a certain number of hours +to this work. Often Christian and his mother, wakening long after +midnight, heard him moving about in his closed room. He grew gaunt and +hollow-eyed, but he did not speak of what he was doing, and they never +knew whether he was hopeful or despairing. + +Without seeing very much of the two women, he still found himself led to +think of them constantly. He was vaguely conscious that since their +interview in the grave-yard, he had never felt free from Christian +Murdoch. More than once her mother's words came back to him with +startling force. "She sits and looks on and says nothing. She asks +nothing, but her eyes force me to speak." + +He knew that she was constantly watching him. Often he looked up and met +her glance, and somehow it was always a kind of shock to him. He knew +that she was wondering and asking herself questions she could not ask +him. + +"If I gave it up or flagged," he told himself, "she would know without +my saying a word." + +There had grown in her a beauty of a dark, foreign type. The delicate +olive of her skin and the dense blackness of her eyes and hair caused +her to be considered a novelty worth commenting upon by the men of +Broxton society, which was of a highly critical nature. She went out a +great deal as the spring advanced and began to know the place and people +better. She developed a pathetic eagerness to make friends and +understand those around her. One day, she went alone to Broxton Chapel +and after sitting through one of Mr. Hixon's most sulphurous sermons, +came home in a brooding mood. + +"Why did you go?" Murdoch was roused to ask. + +"I thought," she answered, "it might make me better. I thought I would +try." + +Not long afterward, when he had gone out of the house and she was left +sitting with Mrs. Murdoch, she suddenly looked up from the carpet on +which her eyes had been fixed and asked her a question. + +"Is it true that I am beginning to be very handsome?" she demanded. + +"Yes," Mrs. Murdoch answered, "it is true." + +A dark cloud settled upon her face and her eyes fell again. + +"I heard some men in the street speak aloud to each other about it," she +said. "Do they speak so of _all_ women who are handsome?" + +"I don't know," her companion replied, surveying her critically and with +some anxiety. + +"They used to speak so of--_her_," she said, slowly. "_She_ was a +beautiful woman. They were always telling her of it again and again, and +I used to go and look at myself in the glass and be glad that I was thin +and dark and ugly and that they laughed at me. I wanted to be hideous. +Once, when I was a child, a man said: 'Never mind, she will be a beauty +some day--like her mother!' and I flew at him and struck him, and then I +ran away to my room and fell down upon my knees and said the first +prayer I ever said in my life. I said, 'O God!--if there is a +God--strike me dead! O God!--if there is a God--strike me dead!'" + +The woman who listened shuddered. + +"_Am_ I like--anybody?" she said next. + +"I do not know," was the answer. + +"I could not tell myself, if I were," she said. "I have watched for it +for so long that I should not see it if it had come. I look every day. +Perhaps I am and do not know. Perhaps that is why they look at me in the +street, and speak of me loud as I go by." + +Her voice fell into a whisper. She threw herself upon her knees and laid +her head upon the woman's lap. + +"Cover me with your arms," she said. "Cover me so that you may not see +my face." + +She was constantly moved to these strange outbursts of feeling in these +days. A few nights later, as he sat at work after midnight, Murdoch +fancied that he heard a sound outside his door. He went to it and opened +it and found himself confronting the girl as she sat crouched upon the +lowest step of the stairway. + +"What are you doing here?" he asked. + +"I could not go to sleep," she answered. "I could not stop thinking of +what you were doing. It seemed as if I should have a little share in it +if I were here. Are you,"--almost timidly,--"are you tired?" + +"Yes," he answered, "I am tired." + +"Are you--any nearer?" + +"Sometimes I think so,--but so did he." + +She rose slowly. + +"I will go away," she said. "It would only disturb you to know I was +here." + +She moved a step upward and then paused uncertainly. + +"You told me once," she said, "that there was no reason why I should not +be as good and happy as any other woman. Are you sure of what you said?" + +"For God's sake, do not doubt in that way," he said. + +She stood looking down at him, one hand resting upon the balustrade, her +dark eyes wild with some strange emotion. + +"I lie awake at night a great deal," she said, "and I am always thinking +of what has gone by. Sometimes--lately--I have wished that--I had +forgiven her." + +"I have wished so too," he answered. + +"I know that," she returned. "But I did not and it is too late. +Everything is over for her and it is too late. For a long time I was +glad, but now--I suppose I am repenting. She did not repent. She +suffered, but she did not repent. I think I am repenting." + +When he returned to his room he found he could not settle down to work +again. He walked up and down restlessly for some time, and at last threw +himself upon the bed and lay wide awake thinking in the darkness. + +It always cost him a struggle to shut out the world and life and +concentrate himself upon his labor in those days. A year before it would +have been different, now there was always a battle to be fought. There +were dreams to be held at bay and memories which his youth and passion +made overwhelming forces. + +But to-night, somehow, it was Christian Murdoch who disturbed him. There +had been a terrible wistfulness in her voice--a wistfulness mingled with +long-repressed fear, which had touched him more than all. And so, when +sleep came to him, it happened that her figure stood out alone from all +others before him, and was his last thought. + +Among those whom Christian Murdoch learned to know was Janey Briarley. +She saw her first in the streets, and again in Mrs. Murdoch's kitchen, +where she occasionally presented herself, attired in the huge apron, to +assist in a professional capacity upon "cleanin' days." The baby having +learned to walk, and Mr. Briarley being still an inactive member of the +household, it fell upon Janey and her mother to endeavor to add, by such +efforts as lay in their power, to their means for providing for the +eleven. With the assistance of the apron, Janey was enabled to make +herself generally useful upon all active occasions. + +"Hoo's a little thing, but hoo's a sharp un," Mrs. Briarley was wont to +say. "Hoo can work like a woman. I dunnot know what I'd ha' done wi'out +her. Yo' try her, Missus, an' see." + +She spent each Saturday afternoon in Mrs. Murdoch's kitchen, and it was +not long before Christian drifted into an acquaintance with her. The +first time she saw her on her knees before the fire-place, surrounded by +black-lead brushes, bath-brick, and "pipe-clay" and vigorously polishing +the fender, she stopped short to look at her. + +"How old are you?" she asked, after a little while. + +"I'm twelve, goin' on thirteen," was the reply, without any cessation of +the rubbing. + +The girl leaned against the side of the mantel and surveyed her +critically. + +"You don't look that old," she said. + +"Aye, but I do," returned the child, "i' tha looks at my face. I'm +stunted wi' nussin', that's what mak's me so little." + +She gave her face a sharp turn upward, that it might be seen. + +"I've had enow to mak' me look owd, I con tell thee," she remarked. + +The interest she saw in her countenance inspired her. She became +comparatively garrulous upon the subject of the family anxieties. +"Feyther" figured in his usual unenviable rôle, and Granny Dixon was +presented in strong colors, but finally she pulled herself up and +changed the subject with startling suddenness. + +"I've seed thee mony a toime afore," she said, "an' I've heerd folk talk +about thee. I nivver heerd _him_ say owt about thee, though." + +"Whom do you mean?" asked Christian, with a little frown. + +"Mester Murdoch. We used to see a good deal on him at th' start, but we +dunnot see him so often i' these days. He's getten other places to go +to. Th' quality mak' a good deal on him." + +She paused and sat up, polishing brush in hand. + +"I dunnot wonder as they say yo're han'some," she volunteered. + +"Who says so?" coldly. + +"Th' men in th' Works an' th' foak as sees yo' i' th' street. Some on +'em says you're han'somer than her--an' that's sayin' a good bit, yo' +know." + +"'Her' is Miss Ffrench?" + +"Aye. Yo' dunnot dress as foine, an' yo're dark-skinned, but theer's +summat noice about yo'. I dunnot wonder as they say yo're han'some." + +"Never mind talking about that. Tell me about something else." + +The termination of the interview left them on sufficiently good terms. + +Janey went home with a story to tell. + +"She's crossed th' seas," she said, "an' lived i' furrin parts. She's +getten queer ways an' she stares at a body--but I loike her fur aw +that." + +"Been i' furrin parts!" exclaimed Mrs. Briarley. "Bless us! No wonder +th' poor thing's a bit heathenish. Hast tha ivver seed her at Chapel, +Jane Ann?" + +The fact that she had not been seen at chapel awakened grave misgivings +as to the possible presence of popery and the "scarlet woman," which +objectionable female figured largely and in most unpleasant guise in the +discourses of Brother Hixon. + +"Theer's no knowin' what th' poor lass has been browt up to," said the +good matron, "livin' reet under th' Pope's nose an' nivver darin' to say +her soul's her own. I nivver had no notion o' them furrin parts mysen. +Gie me Lancashire." + +But the next week the girl made her visit to the chapel and sat +throughout the sermon with her steadfast black eyes fixed upon the +Reverend Mr. Hixon. Once, during a moment of inflammatory eloquence, +that gentleman, suddenly becoming conscious of her gaze, stopped with a +start and with difficulty regained his equilibrium, though Christian did +not flinch at all, or seem to observe his alarm and confusion. + +She cultivated Janey with an odd persistence after this. She asked her +questions concerning her life and experiences, and always seemed to find +her interesting. Often Janey was conscious of the fact that she stood +and looked at her for some time with an air of curiosity. + +"Do you," she asked her suddenly one day, "do you believe all that man +says to you?" + +Janey started into a sitting posture, as was her custom when roused in +the midst of her labors. + +"Eh! bless us! Yes," she exclaimed. "Dunnot yo'?" + +"No.". + +Recollections of the "scarlet woman" flashed across her young hearer's +mind. + +"Art tha a Papist?" she gasped. + +"No--not yet." + +"Art tha," Janey asked, breathlessly,--"art tha goin' to be?" + +"I don't know." + +"An' tha--tha does na believe what Mester Hixon says?" + +"No--not yet." + +"What does tha believe?" + +She stared up at the dark young face aghast. It was quite unmoved. The +girl's eyes were fixed on space. + +"Nothing." + +"Wheer--wheer does tha expect to go when tha dees?" + +"I don't know," she said, coldly; "very often I don't care." + +Janey dropped her brush and forgot to pick it up. + +"Why, bless thee!" she exclaimed with some sharpness, and also with the +manner of one presenting the only practical solution of a difficulty, +"tha'lt go to hell, i' tha does na repent!" + +The girl turned her eyes upon her. + +"Does it all depend on that?" she demanded. + +"Aye, to be sure," she replied, testily. "Does na tha know that?" + +"Then," said Christian, slowly, "I shall not go to hell for I am +repenting." + +And she turned about and walked away. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +A SEED SOWN. + + +There had been, as it seemed, a lull in the storm. The idlers did not +come over from Molton and Dillup as often as at first. The strikes had +extended until they were in full blast throughout the country, but +"Haworth's," so far, had held its own. Haworth himself was regarded as a +kind of demi-god. He might have done almost anything he pleased. It was +a source of some surprise to his admirers that he chose to do so little +and showed no elation. One or two observing outsiders saw that his +struggle had left its mark upon him. There were deep lines in his face; +he had lost flesh and something of his air of bravado; at times he was +almost haggard. As things became quieter he began to take sudden +mysterious journeys to London and Manchester and various other towns. +Ffrench did not know why he went; in fact Ffrench knew very little of +him but that his humors were frequently trying and always more morose +after such absences. He himself had alternately blown hot and cold. Of +late the fruit of his efforts had rather the flavor of ashes. He was of +even less importance than before in the Works, and he continually heard +unpleasant comments and reports outside. As surely as his spirits rose +to a jubilant height some untoward circumstance occurred to dash them. + +"I should have thought," he said fretfully to his daughter, "that as a +Broxton man and--and a gentleman, the people would have been with me, +but they are not." + +"No," said Miss Ffrench, "they are not." + +She knew far more than he did himself. She was in the habit of not +allowing any sign to escape her. When she took her frequent drives she +kept her eyes open to all that happened. + +"If they dared, there are a good many of them who would be insolent to +me." + +"Why should they not dare?" asked her father with increased irritation. + +"Because they know I am not afraid of them--because I set them at +defiance; and for another reason." + +The other reason which she did not state had nothing to do with their +daring. It was the strong one that in the splendor of her beauty she had +her greatest power. Ordinary womanhood would scarcely in itself have +appealed to the chivalric sentiment of Broxton, Molton and Dillup, but +Rachel Ffrench driving slowly through the streets and past the +"beer-house" doors, and turning her perfect, unmoved face for criticism +to the crowd collected thereat, created a natural diversion. Those who +had previously been in a sarcastic mood, lapsed into silence, the most +inveterate 'bacco consumers took their pipes out of their mouths, +feeling it necessary to suspend all action that they might look after +her with a clearer appreciation. They were neither touched nor softened, +but they were certainly roused to an active admiration which, after a +manner, held them in check. + +"Theer is na another loike her i' England," was once remarked rather +sullenly by one. "Not i' England, let aloan Lancashire--an' be dom'd to +her,"--this last added with a shade of delicate significance. + +But there was one man who saw her with eyes different from the rest. If +he had not so seen her, existence would have been another matter. He +seemed to live a simple, monotonous life. He held his place in the +Works, and did well what he had to do. He was not very thoroughly +understood by his fellows, but there existed a vague feeling of respect +for him among them. They had become used to his silence and +absent-mindedness and the tasks which seemed to them eccentricities. His +responsibilities had increased, but he shouldered them without making +any fuss and worked among the rest just as he had been wont to do when +he had been Floxham's right hand in the engine-room. In more select +circles he was regarded, somewhat to his distaste, with no +inconsiderable interest. He was talked of privately as a young man with +a future before him, though the idea of what that future was to be, +being gathered from Ffrench, was somewhat indefinite. His own reserve +upon the subject was rather resented, but still was forgiven on the +score of eccentricity. For the rest, he lived, as it were, in a dream. +The days came and went, but at the close of each there were at least a +few hours of happiness. + +And yet it was not happiness of a very tangible form. Sometimes, when he +left the house and stepped into the cool darkness of the night outside, +he found himself stopped for a moment with a sense of bewilderment. +Haworth, who sat talking to his partner and following Rachel Ffrench's +figure with devouring eyes, had gained as much as he himself. She had +not spoken often, perhaps, and had turned from one to the other with the +same glance and tone, but one man left her with anger and misery in his +breast, and the other wondered at his own rapture. + +"I have done nothing and gained nothing," he would often say to himself +as he sat at the work-table afterward, "but--I am madly happy." + +And then he would lie forward with his head upon his folded arms, going +over the incidents of the night again and again--living the seconds +over, one by one. + +Haworth watched him closely in these days. As he passed him on his way +to his work-room, he would look up and follow him with a glance until he +turned in at its door. He found ways of hearing of his life outside and +of his doings in the Works. + +One morning, as he was driving down the road toward the town, he saw in +the distance the graceful figure of Mr. Briarley, who was slouching +along in the somewhat muddled condition consequent upon the excitement +of an agreeably convivial evening at the "Who'd ha' Thowt it." + +He gave him a critical glance and the next moment whipped up his horse, +uttering an exclamation. + +"There's th' chap," he said, "by th' Lord Harry!" + +In a few seconds more he pulled up alongside of him. + +"Stop a bit, lad," he said. + +Mr. Briarley hesitated and then obeyed with some suddenness. A +delicately suggestive recollection of "th' barrels" induced him to do +so. He ducked his head with a feeble smile, whose effect was somewhat +obscured by a temporary cloud of natural embarrassment. He had not been +brought into immediate contact with Haworth since the strikes began. + +"Th' same," he faltered, with illusive cheerfulness,--"th' same to yo' +an'--an' mony on 'em." + +Then he paused and stood holding his hat in his hand, endeavoring +painfully to preserve the smile in all its pristine beauty of +expression. + +Haworth leaned forward in his gig. + +"You're a nice chap," he said. "You're a nice chap." + +A general vague condition of mind betrayed Mr. Briarley into the +momentary weakness of receiving this compliment literally. He brightened +perceptibly, and his countenance became suffused with the roseate blush +of manly modesty. + +"My best days is ower," he replied. "I've been misforchnit, Mester--but +theer wur a toime as th' opposite sect ha' said th' same--though that +theer's a thing," reflecting deeply and shaking his head, "as I nivver +remoind Sararann on." + +The next moment he fell back in some trepidation. Haworth looked down at +him coolly. + +"You're a pretty chap," he said, "goin' on th' strike an' leaving your +wife and children to starve at home while you lay in your beer and make +an ass of yourself." + +"Eh!" exclaimed Mr. Briarley. + +"And make an ass of yourself," repeated Haworth, unmovedly. "You'd +better be drawin' your wages, my lad." + +Mr. Briarley's expression changed. From bewilderment he passed into +comparative gloom. + +"It is na drawin' 'em I've getten owt agen," he remarked. "It is na +drawin' 'em. It's earnin' 'em,--an' ha'in' 'em took away an'--an' spent +i' luxuries--berryin'-clubs an' th' loike. Brass as ud buy th' +nessycerries." + +"If we'd left you alone," said Haworth, "where would your wife and +children be now, you scoundrel? Who's fed 'em and clothed 'em while +you've been on th' spree? Jem Haworth, blast you!--Jem Haworth." + +He put his hand in his pocket, and, drawing forth a few jingling silver +coins, tossed them to him. + +"Take these," he said, "an' go an' spend 'em on th' 'nessycerries,' as +you call 'em. You'll do it, I know well enow. You'll be in a worse box +than you are now, before long. We'll have done with you chaps when +Murdoch's finished the job he's got on hand." + +"What's that?" faltered Briarley. "I ha' na heerd on it." + +Haworth laughed and picked up his whip and reins. + +"Ask him," he answered. "He can tell you better than I can. He's at work +on a thing that'll set the masters a good bit freer than they are now. +That's all I know. There won't be any need o' so many o' you lads. +You'll have to make your brass out of a new trade." + +He bent a little to settle a strap. + +"Go and tell the rest on 'em," he said. "You'll do it when you're drunk +enow, I dare say." + +Briarley fumbled with his coins. His air became speculative. + +"What are you thinkin' on?" demanded Haworth. "It's a bad lookout, isn't +it?" + +Mr. Briarley drew a step nearer the gig's side. He appeared somewhat +pale, and spoke in a whisper. Muddled as he was, he had an idea or so +left. + +"It'll be a bad lookout for him," he said. "Bless yo'! They'd tear him +to pieces. They're in th' humor for it. They've been carryin' a grudge +so long they're ready fur owt. They've nivver thowt mich o' him, though, +but start 'em on that an' they wouldn't leave a shred o' it +together--nor a shred o' him, eyther, if they got the chance." + +Haworth laughed again. + +"Wouldn't they?" he said. "Let 'em try. He'd have plenty to stand by +him. Th' masters are on his side, my lad." + +He touched his horse, and it began to move. Suddenly he checked it and +looked back, speaking again. + +"Keep it to yourself, then," he said, "if there's danger, and keep my +name out of it, by George, if you want to be safe!" + +Just as he drove up to the gates of the yard Murdoch passed him and +entered them. Until then--since he had left Briarley--he had not spoken. +He had driven rapidly on his way with a grim, steady face. As Murdoch +went by he got down from his gig, and went to the horse's head. He stood +close to it, knotting the reins. + +"Nor of him either," he said. "Nor of him either, by----" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +A CLIMAX. + + +The same night Mr. Briarley came home in a condition more muddled and +disheveled than usual. He looked as if he had been hustled about and +somewhat unceremoniously treated. He had lost his hat, and was tremulous +and excited. He came in without the trifling ceremony of opening the +door. In fact, he fell up against it and ran in, and making an erratic +dive at a chair, sat down. Granny Dixon, who had been dozing in her +usual seat, was roused by the concussion and wakened and sat up, glaring +excitedly. + +"He's been at it again!" she shouted. "At it again! He'll nivver ha' +none o' my brass to mak' way wi'. He's been at----" + +Mrs. Briarley turned upon her. + +"Keep thy mouth shut" she said. + +The command was effective in one sense, though not in another. Mrs. +Dixon stopped in the midst of the word "at" with her mouth wide open, +and so sat for some seconds, with the aspect of an ancient beldam +ordinarily going by machinery and suddenly having had her works stopped. + +She would probably have presented this appearance for the remainder of +the evening if Mrs. Briarley had not addressed her again. + +"Shut thy mouth!" she said. + +The works were set temporarily in motion, and her countenance slowly +resumed its natural lines. She appeared to settle down all over and sink +and become smaller, though, as she crouched nearer the fire, she had +rather an evil look, which seemed to take its red glow into her +confidence and secretly rage at it. + +"What's tha been doin'?" Mrs. Briarley demanded of her better half. "Out +wi' it!" + +Mr. Briarley had already fallen into his favorite position. He had +placed an elbow upon each knee and carefully supported his disheveled +head upon his hands. He had also already begun to shed tears, which +dropped and made disproportionately large circles upon the pipe-clayed +floor. + +"I'm a misforchnit chap," he said. "I'm a misforchnit chap, Sararann, as +nivver had no luck." + +"What's tha been doin'?" repeated Mrs. Briarley, with even greater +sharpness than before; "out wi' it!" + +"Nay," said Mr. Briarley, "that theer's what I've getten mysen i' +trouble wi'. I wunnot do it again." + +"Theer's summat i' beer," he proceeded, mournfully, "as goes agen a man. +He towd me not to say nowt an' I did na mean to, but," with fresh +pathos, "theer's summat i' beer as winds--as winds a chap up. I'm not +mich o' th' speakin' loine, Sararann, but afore I knowed it, I wur +a-makin' a speech--an' when I bethowt me an' wanted to set down--they +wur bound to mak' me--go on to th' eend--an' when I would na--theer wur +a good bit--o' public opinion igspressed--an' I did na stop--to bid 'em +good-neet. Theer wur too much agoin' on." + +"What wur it aw about?" asked Mrs. Briarley. + +But Mr. Briarley's voice had been gradually becoming lower and lower, +and his words more incoherent. He was sinking into slumber. When she +repeated her question, he awakened with a violent start. + +"I'm a misforchnit chap," he murmured, "an' I dunnot know. 'Scaped me, +Sararann--owin' to misforchins." + +"Eh!" remarked Mrs. Briarley, regarding him with connubial irony, "but +tha art a graidely foo'! I'd gie summat to see a graidelier un!" + +But he was so far gone by this time that there was no prospect of a +clear solution of the cause of his excitement. And so she turned to +Granny Dixon. + +"It's toime fur thee to be i' bed," she shouted. + +Granny Dixon gave a sharp, stealthy move round, and a sharp, stealthy +glance up at her. + +"I--dunnot want to go," she quavered shrilly. + +"Aye, but tha does," was the answer. "An' tha'rt goin' too. Get up, +Missus." + +And singularly enough, Mrs. Dixon fumbled until she found her stick, and +gathering herself up and leaning upon it, made her rambling way out of +the room carrying her evil look with her. + +"Bless us!" Mrs. Briarley had said in confidence to a neighbor a few +days before. "I wur nivver more feart i' my life than when I'd done it, +an' th' owd besom set theer wi' her cap o' one side an' her breath gone. +I did na know but I'd put an eend to her. I nivver should ha' touched +her i' th' world if I had na been that theer upset as I did na know what +I wur doin'. I thowt she'd be up an' out i' th' street as soon as she'd +getten her breath an', happen, ca' on th' porlice. An' to think it's +been th' settlin' on her! It feart me to see it at th' first, but I wur +na goin' to lose th' chance an' th' next day I give it to her up an' +down--tremblin' i' my shoes aw th' toime. I says, 'Tha may leave thy +brass to who tha loikes, but tha'lt behave thysen while tha stays here +or Sararann Briarley'll see about it. So mak' up thy moind.' An' I've +nivver had a bit o' trouble wi' her fro' then till now. She conna bide +th' soight o' me, but she dare na go agen me fur her life." + + +The next day Haworth went away upon one of his mysterious journeys. + +"To Leeds or Manchester, or perhaps London," said Ffrench. "I don't know +where." + +The day after was Saturday, and in the afternoon Janey Briarley +presented herself to Mrs. Murdoch at an early hour, and evidently with +something on her mind. + +"I mun get through wi' th' cleanin' an' go whoam soon," she said. "Th' +stroikers is over fro' Molton an' Dillup again. Theer's summat up among +'em." + +"We dunnot know nowt about it," she answered, when further questioned. +"We on'y know they're here an' i' a ill way about summat they've fun +out. Feyther, he's aw upset, but he dare na say nowt fur fear o' th' +Union. Mother thinks they've getten summat agen Ffrench." + +"Does Mr. Ffrench know that?" Mrs. Murdoch asked. + +"He'll know it soon enow, if he does na," dryly. "They'll noan stand +back at tellin' him if they're i' th' humor--but he's loiker to know +than not. He's too feart on 'em not to be on th' watch." + +It was plain enough before many hours had passed that some disturbance +was on foot. The strikers gathered about the streets in groups, or +lounged here and there sullenly. They were a worse-looking lot than they +had been at the outset. Idleness and ill-feeling and dissipation had +left their marks. Clothes were shabbier, faces more brutal and habits +plainly more vicious. + +At one o'clock Mr. Ffrench disappeared from his room at the bank, no one +knew exactly how or when. All the morning he had spent in vacillating +between his desk and a window looking into the street. There was a rumor +among the clerks that he had been seen vanishing through a side door +leading into a deserted little back street. + +An hour later he appeared in the parlor in which his daughter sat. He +was hot and flurried and out of breath. + +"Those scoundrels are in the town again," he said. "And there is no +knowing what they are up to. It was an insane thing for Haworth to go +away at such a time. By night there will be an uproar." + +"If there is an uproar," said Miss Ffrench, "they will come here. They +know they can do nothing at the Works. He is always ready for them +there--and they are angrier with you than they are with him." + +"There is no reason why they should be," Ffrench protested. "_I_ took no +measures against them, heaven knows." + +"I think," returned Rachel, "that is the reason. You have been afraid of +them." + +He colored to the roots of his hair. + +"You are saying a deuced unpleasant thing, my dear," he broke forth. + +"It is true," she answered. "What would be the use in _not_ saying it?" + +He had no reply to make. The trouble was that he never had a reply to +make to these deadly simple statements of hers. + +He began to walk up and down the room. + +"The people we invited to dine with us," she said, "will not come. They +will hear what is going on and will be afraid. It is very stupid." + +"I wonder," he faltered, "if Murdoch will fail us. He never did before." + +"No," she answered. "_He_ will not stay away." + +The afternoon dragged its unpleasant length along. As it passed Ffrench +found in every hour fresh cause for nervousness and excitement. The +servant who had been out brought disagreeable enough tidings. The small +police force of the town had its hands full in attending to its business +of keeping order. + +"If we had had time to send to Manchester for some assistance," said Mr. +Ffrench. + +"That would have been reason enough for being attacked," said Rachel. +"It would have shown them that we felt we needed protection." + +"We _may_ need it, before all is quiet again," retorted her father. + +"We may," she answered, "or we may not." + +By night several arrests had been made, and there was a good deal of +disorder in the town. A goodly quantity of beer had been drunk and there +had been a friendly fight or so among the strikers themselves. + +Rachel left her father in the drawing-room and went upstairs to prepare +for dinner. When she returned an hour afterward he turned to her with an +impatient start. + +"Why did you dress yourself in that manner?" he exclaimed. "You said +yourself our guests would not come." + +"It occurred to me," she answered, "that we might have visitors after +all." + +But it was as she had prophesied,--the guests they had expected did not +come. They were discreet and well-regulated elderly people who had lived +long in the manufacturing districts, and had passed through little +unpleasantnesses before. They knew that under existing circumstances it +would be wiser to remain at home than to run the risk of exposing +themselves to spasmodic criticism and its results. + +But they had visitors. + +The dinner hour passed and they were still alone. Even Murdoch had not +come. A dead silence reigned in the room. Ffrench was trying to read and +not succeeding very well. Miss Ffrench stood by the window looking out. +It was a clear night and the moon was at full; it was easy to see far up +the road upon whose whiteness the trees cast black shadows. She was +looking up this road toward the town. She had been watching it steadily +for some time. Once her father had turned to her restlessly, saying: + +"Why do you stand there? You--you might be expecting something to +happen." + +She did not make any reply and still retained her position. But about +half an hour afterward, she turned suddenly and spoke in a low, clear +tone. + +"If you are afraid, you had better go away," she said. "They are +coming." + +It was evident that she at least felt no alarm, though there was a +thrill of excitement in her voice. Mr. Ffrench sprang up from his seat. + +"They are coming!" he echoed. "Good God! What do you mean?" + +It was not necessary that she should enter into an explanation. A clamor +of voices in the road told its own story. There were shouts and riotous +cries which, in a moment more, were no longer outside the gates but +within them. An uproarious crowd of men and boys poured into the garden, +trampling the lawn and flower-beds beneath their feet as they rushed and +stumbled over them. + +"Wheer is he?" they shouted. "Bring the chap out, an' let's tak' a look +at him. Bring him out!" + +Ffrench moved toward the door of the room, and then, checked by some +recollection, turned back again. + +"Good Heaven!" he said, "they are at their worst, and here we are +utterly alone. Why did Haworth go away? Why----" + +His daughter interrupted him. + +"There is no use in your staying," she said. "It will do no good. You +may go if you like. There is the back way. None of them are near it." + +"I--I can't leave you here," he stammered. "Haworth was mad! Why, in +Heaven's name----" + +"There is no use asking why again," she replied. "I cannot tell you. I +think you had better go." + +Her icy coldness would have been a pretty hard thing to bear if he had +been less terror-stricken; but he saw that the hand with which she held +the window-curtain was shaking. + +He did not know, however, that it was not shaking with fear, but with +the power of the excitement which stirred her. + +It is scarcely possible that he would have left her, notwithstanding his +panic, though, for a second, it nearly seemed that he had so far lost +self-control as to be wavering; but as he stood, pale and breathless, +there arose a fresh yell. + +"Wheer is he? Bring him out! Murdoch, th' 'Merican chap! We're coom to +see him!" + +"What's that?" he asked. "Who is it they want?" + +"Murdoch! Murdoch!" was shouted again. "Let's ha' a word wi' Murdoch! We +lads ha' summat to say to him!" + +"It is not I they want," he said. "It is Murdoch. It is not I at all!" + +She dashed the window-curtain aside and turned on him. He was stunned by +the mere sight of her face. Every drop of blood seemed driven from it. + +"You are a coward!" she cried, panting. "A coward! It is a relief to +you!" + +He stood staring at her. + +"A--a relief!" he stammered. "I--don't understand you. What is the +matter?" + +She had recovered herself almost before he had begun to speak. It was +over in a second. He had not had time to realize the situation before +she was moving toward the window. + +"They shall see _me_," she said. "Let us see what they will have to say +to _me_." + +He would have stopped her, but she did not pay the slightest attention +to his exclamation. The window was a French one, opening upon a terrace. +She flung it backward, and stepped out and stood before the rioters. + +For a second there was not a sound. + +They had been expecting to see a man,--perhaps Ffrench, perhaps Murdoch, +perhaps even a representative of the small police force, looking as if +he felt himself one too many in the gathering, or not quite enough,--and +here was simply a tall young woman in a dazzling dress of some rich +white stuff, and with something sparkling upon her hands and arms and in +her high-dressed blonde hair. + +The moonlight struck full upon her, and she stood in it serene and bore +unmoved the stupid stare of all their eyes. It was she who spoke first, +and then they knew her, and the spell which held them dumb was broken. + +"What do you want?" she demanded. "I should like to hear." + +Then they began to shout again. + +"We want Murdoch!" they said. "We ha' summat to say to him." + +"He is not here," she said. "He has not been here." + +"That's a lee," remarked a gentleman on the outskirts of the crowd. "A +dom'd un." + +She made no answer, and, singularly enough, nobody laughed. + +"Why do you want him?" she said next. + +"We want to hear about that contrapshun o' his as is goin' to mak' th' +mesters indypendent. He knows what we want him fur. We've just been to +his house and brokken th' winders. He's getten wind on us comin', an' he +made off wi' th' machine. He'll be here afore long if he is na here now, +an' we're bound to see him." + +"He'll be up to see thee," put in the gentleman on the outskirts, "an' I +dunnot blame him. I'm glad I coom mysen. Tha's worth th' trip--an' I'm a +Dillup chap, moind yo'." + +She stood quite still as before and let them look at her, to see what +effect the words had produced. It seemed as if they had produced none. + +"If you have come to see him," she said, after a few seconds, "you may +go away again. He is not here. I know where he is, and you cannot reach +him. If there has not been some blunder, he is far enough away." + +She told the lie without flinching in the least, and with a clever +coolness which led her to think in a flash beforehand even of the clause +which would save her dignity if he should chance to come in the midst of +her words. + +"If you want to break windows," she went on, "break them here. They can +be replaced afterward, and there is no one here to interfere with you. +If you would like to vent your anger upon a woman, vent it upon _me_. +_I_ am not afraid of you. Look at me!" + +She took half a step forward and presented herself to them--motionless. +Not a fellow among them but felt that she would not have stirred if they +had rushed upon her bodily. The effect of her supreme beauty and the +cold defiance which had in it a touch of delicate insolence, was +indescribable. This was not in accordance with their ideas of women of +her class; they were used to seeing them discreetly keeping themselves +in the shade in time of disorder. Here was one--"one of the nobs," as +they said--who flung their threats to the wind and scorned them. + +What they would have done when they recovered themselves is uncertain. +The scale might have turned either way; but, just in the intervening +moment which would have decided it, there arose a tumult in their midst. +A man pushed his way with mad haste through the crowd and sprang upon +the terrace at her side, amid yells and hoots from those who had guessed +who he was. + +An instant later they all knew him, though his dress was disordered, his +head was bare, and his whole face and figure seemed altered by his +excitement. + +"Dom him!" they yelled. "Theer he is, by----!" + +"I towd thee he'd coom," shouted the cynic. "He did na get th' +tellygraph, tha sees." + +He turned on them, panting and white with rage. + +"You devils!" he cried. "You are here too! Haven't you done enough? +Isn't bullying and frightening two women enough for you, that you must +come here?" + +"That's reet," commented the cynic. "Stond up fur th' young woman, +Murdoch. I'd do it mysen i' I wur o' that soide. Allus stond up fur th' +sect!" + +Murdoch spoke to Rachel Ffrench. + +"You must go in," he said. "There is no knowing what they will do." + +"I shall stay here," she answered. + +She made an impatient gesture. She was shuddering from head to foot. + +"Don't look at or speak to me," she said. "You--you make me a coward." + +"They will stand at nothing," he protested. + +"I will not turn my back upon them," she said. "Let them do their +worst." + +He turned to the crowd again. Her life itself was in danger, and he knew +he could not move her. He was shuddering himself. + +"Who is your leader?" he said to the men. "I suppose you have one." + +The man known as Foxy Gibbs responded to their cries of his name by +pushing his way to the front. He was a big, resolute, hulking scamp who +had never been known to do an honest day's work, and was yet always in +funds and at liberty to make incendiary speeches where beer and tobacco +were plentiful. + +"What do you want of me?" demanded Murdoch. "Speak out." + +The fellow was ready enough with his words, and forcible too. + +"We've heard tell o' summat goin' on we're not goin' to stond," he +said. "We've heerd tell o' a chap 'at's contrivin' summat to do away wi' +them as does th' work now an' mak's theer bread by it. We've heerd as +th' mesters is proidin' theersens on it an' laughin' in their sleeves. +We've heerd tell as theer's a chap makkin' what'll eend i' mischief--an' +yo're th' chap." + +"Who told you?" + +"Nivver moind who. A foo' let it out, an' we wur na in th' humor to let +it pass. We're goin' to sift th' thing to th' bottom. Yo're th' chap as +was nam't. What ha' yo' getten to say?" + +"Just one thing," he answered. "It's a lie from first to last--an +accursed lie!" + +"Lee or not, we're goin' to smash th' thing, whatever it is. We're noan +particular about th' lee. We'll mak' th' thing safe first, an' then +settle about th' lee." + +Murdoch thrust his hands in his pockets and eyed them with his first +approach to his usual _sang-froid_. + +"It's where you won't find it," he said. "I've made sure of that." + +It was a mad speech to have made, but he had lost self-control and +balance. He was too terribly conscious of Rachel Ffrench's perilous +nearness to be in the mood to weigh his words. He saw his mistake in a +second. There was a shout and a surging movement of the mob toward him, +and Rachel Ffrench, with an indescribable swiftness, had thrown herself +before him and was struck by a stone which came whizzing through the +air. + +She staggered under the stroke but stood upright in a breadth's time. + +"My God!" Murdoch cried out. "They have struck you. They have struck +you!" + +He was half mad with his anguish and horror. The sight of the little +stream of blood which trickled from her temple turned him sick with +rage. + +"You devils!" he raved, "do you see what you have done?" + +But the play was over. Before he had finished his outcry there was a +shout of "th' coppers! th' coppers!" and a rush and skurry and tumble of +undignified retreat. The police force with a band of anti-strikers +behind them had appeared upon the scene in the full glory of the uniform +of the corporation, and such was the result of habit and the majesty of +the law that those who were not taken into custody incontinently took to +their heels and scattered in every direction, uttering curses loud and +deep, since they were not yet prepared to resist an attack more +formally. + + +In half an hour the trampled grass and flower-beds and broken shrubs +were the only signs of the tumult. Mr. Ffrench was walking up and down +the dreary room in as nervous a condition as ever. + +"Good heavens, Rachel!" he said. "You must have been mad--mad." + +She had persistently refused to lie down and sat in an easy-chair, +looking rather colorless and languid. When they were left alone, Murdoch +came and stood near her. He was paler than she, and haggard and worn. +Before she knew what he was about to do he fell upon his knees, and +covered her hands with kisses. + +"If any harm had come to you," he cried--"if any harm had come to +you----" + +She tried to drag her hands away with an angry face, but he clung to +them. And then quite suddenly all her resistance ceased and her eyes +fixed themselves upon him as if with a kind of dread. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +"I AM NOT READY FOR IT YET." + + +In expectation of something very serious happening, the constabulary +re-enforced itself the day following and assumed a more imposing aspect, +and was prepared to be very severe indeed upon all short-comings or +symptoms of approaching disorder. But somewhat to its private +disappointment, an unlooked-for quiet prevailed--an almost suspicious +quiet, indeed. There were rumors that a secret meeting had been held by +the strikers the night before, and the result of it was that in the +morning there appeared to have been a sudden dispersing, and only those +remained behind who were unavoidably detained by the rather unfortunate +circumstance of having before them the prospect of spending a few weeks +in the comparative retirement of the county jail. These gentlemen +peremptorily refused to give any definite explanation of their +eccentricities of conduct of the night before and were altogether very +unsatisfactory indeed, one of them even going so far, under the +influence of temporary excitement, as to be guilty of the indiscretion +of announcing his intention of "doin' fur" one or two enemies of his +cause when his term expired, on account of which amiable statement three +months were added to said term upon the spot. + +It was Janey Briarley who gave Murdoch his warning upon the night of +the riot. Just before he left the Works she had come into the yard, +saying she had a message for Haworth, and on being told that he was +away, had asked for Murdoch. + +"He'll do if I canna see th' mester," she remarked. + +But when she reached Murdoch's room she stepped across the threshold and +shut the door cautiously. + +"Con anybody hear?" she demanded, with an uneasy glance round. + +"No," he answered. + +"Then cut thy stick as fast as tha con an' get thee whoam an' hoid away +that thing tha'rt makkin. Th' stroikers is after it. Nivver moind how I +fun' out. Cut an' run. I axt fur Haworth to throw 'em off th' scent. I +knowed he wurna here. Haste thee!" + +Her manifest alarm convinced him that there was foundation enough for +her errand, and that she had run some risk in venturing it. + +"Thank you," he said. "You may have saved me a great deal. Let us go out +quietly as if nothing was in hand. Come along." + +And so they went, he talking aloud as they passed through the gates, and +as it was already dusk he was out on the Broxton road in less than half +an hour, and when he returned the mob had been to his mother's house and +broken a few windows in their rage at his having escaped them, and had +gone off shouting that they would go to Ffrench's. + +"He'll be fun theer," some one said--possibly the cynic. "Th' young +woman is a sweetheart o' his an' yo'll be loike to hear o' th' cat wheer +th' cream stonds." + +His mother met him on the threshold with the news of the outbreak and +the direction it had taken. A few brief sentences told him all, and at +the end of them he left the house at once. + +"I am going there to show myself to them," he said. "They will not +return here. You are safe enough now. The worst is over here, but there +is no knowing what they may do there when they find themselves baffled." + +It was after midnight when he came back, and then it was Christian who +opened the door for him. + +He came into the little dark passage with a slow, unsteady step. For a +second he did not seem to see her at all. His face was white, his eyes +were shining and his brow was slightly knit in lines which might have +meant intense pain. + +"Are you hurt?" she asked. + +It was as if her voice wakened him from a trance. He looked at her for +the first time. + +"Hurt!" he echoed. "No--not hurt." + +He went into the sitting-room and she followed him. The narrow +horse-hair sofa upon which his father had lain so often stood in its old +place. He threw himself full length upon it and lay looking straight +before him. + +"Are you--are you sure you are not hurt?" she faltered. + +He echoed her words again. + +"Am I sure I am not hurt?" he repeated dreamily. "Yes, I am sure of it." + +And then he turned slightly toward her and she saw that the look his +face wore was not one of pain, but of strange rapture. + +"I am not hurt," he said quite slowly. "I am madly happy." + +Then she understood. She was as ignorant of many things as she was +bitterly wise in others, but she had not been blind and she understood +quite clearly. She sat down upon a low seat, from which she could see +him, her hands clasped on her knee. + +"I knew," she said at last, "that it would come some day--I _knew_ that +it would." + +"Did you?" he answered in the same dreamy way. "I did not. I did not +even hope for it. I do not comprehend it even now." + +"I do," she returned, "quite well." + +He scarcely seemed to hear her. + +"I hoped for nothing," he said. "And now--I am madly happy." + +There was nothing more for her to say. She had a fancy that perhaps in +the morning he would have forgotten that he had spoken. It seemed as if +even yet he was hardly conscious of her presence. But before she went +away she asked him a question. + +"Where did you put the model?" + +He gave a feverish start. + +"Where?" And falling back into his previous manner--"I took it to the +chapel yard. I knew they would not go there. There was space enough +behind the--the head-stone and the old wall for it to stand, and the +grass grew long and thick. I left it there." + +"It was a safe place," she answered. "When shall you bring it back?" + +He sighed impatiently. + +"Not yet," he said. "Not just yet. Let it stay there a while. I am +not--ready for it. Let it stay." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +SETTLING AN ACCOUNT. + + +It was not until the week following that Haworth returned, and then he +came without having given any previous warning of his intention. +Ffrench, sitting in his office in a rather dejected mood one morning, +was startled by his entering with even less than his usual small +ceremony. + +"My dear Haworth," he exclaimed. "Is it possible!" + +His first intention had been to hold out his hand, but he did not do so. +In fact he sat down again a little suddenly and uneasily. Haworth sat +down too, confronting him squarely. + +"What have you been up to?" he demanded. "What is this row about?" + +"About!" echoed Ffrench. "It's the most extraordinary combination of +nonsense and misunderstanding I ever heard of in my life. How it arose +there is no knowing. The fellows are mad!" + +"Aye," angrily, "mad enow, but you can't stop 'em now they've got agate. +It's a devilish lookout for us. I've heard it all over the country, and +the more you say agen it the worse it is. They're set on it all through +Lancashire that there's a plot agen 'em, and they're fur fettlin' it +their own fashion." + +"You--you don't think it will be worse for us?" his partner suggested +weakly. "It's struck me that--in the end--it mightn't be a bad +thing--that it would change the direction of their mood." + +"Wait until the end comes. It's not here yet. Tell me how it happened." + +Upon the whole, Mr. Ffrench made a good story of it. He depicted the +anxieties and dangers of the occasion very graphically. He had lost a +good deal of his enthusiasm on the subject of the uncultivated virtues +and sturdy determination of the manufacturing laboring classes, and he +was always fluent, as has been before mentioned. He was very fluent now, +and especially so in describing the incident of his daughter's +presenting herself to the mob and the result of her daring. + +"She might have lost her life," he said at one point. "It was an insane +thing to have done--an insane thing. She surprised them at first, but +she could not hold them in check after Murdoch came. She will bear the +mark of the stone for many a day." + +"They threw a stone, blast 'em, did they?" said Haworth, setting his +teeth. + +"Yes--but not at her. Perhaps they would hardly have dared that after +all. It was thrown at Murdoch." + +"And he stepped out of the way?" + +"Oh no. He did not see the man raise his arm, but she did, and was too +much alarmed to reflect, I suppose--and--in fact threw herself before +him." + +He moved back disturbedly the next instant. Haworth burst forth with a +string of oaths. The veins stood out like cords on his forehead; he +ground his teeth. When the outbreak was over he asked an embarrassing +question. + +"Where were you?" + +"I?"--with some uncertainty of tone. "I--had not gone out. I--I did not +wish to infuriate them. It seemed to me that--that--that a great deal +depended upon their not being infuriated." + +"Aye," said Haworth, "a good deal." + +He asked a good many questions Ffrench did not quite understand. He +seemed in a questioning humor and went over the ground step by step. He +asked what the mob had said and done and even how they had looked. + +"It's a bad lookout for Murdoch," he said. "They'll have a spite again' +him. They're lyin' quiet a bit now, because it's safest, but they'll +carry their spite." + +At Ffrench's invitation he went up to the house with him to dinner. As +they passed into the grounds, Murdoch passed out. He was walking quickly +and scarcely seemed to see them until Ffrench spoke. + +"It's a queer time of day for him to be here," said Haworth, when he was +gone. + +Ffrench's reply held a touch of embarrassment. + +"He is not usually here so early," he said. "He has probably been doing +some little errand for Rachel." + +The truth was that he had been with her for an hour, and that, on seeing +Haworth coming down the road with her father, she had sent him away. + +"I want to be alone when he comes," she had said. + +And when Murdoch said "Why?" she had answered, "Because it will be +easier." + +When they came in, she was sitting with the right side of her face +toward them. They could see nothing of the mark upon her left temple. It +was not a large mark nor a disfiguring one, but there were traces of its +presence in her pallor. She did not rise, and would have kept this side +of her face out of view, but Haworth came and took his seat before her. +It would not have been easy for her to move or change her position--and +he looked directly at the significant little bruise. His glance turned +upon it again and again as he talked to her or her father; if it +wandered off it came back and rested there. During dinner she felt that, +place herself as she would, in a few seconds she would be conscious +again that he had baffled her. For the first time in his experience, it +was he who had the advantage. + +But when they returned to the parlor she held herself in check. She +placed herself opposite to him and turned her face toward him, and let +him look without flinching. It was as if suddenly she wished that he +should see, and had a secret defiant reason for the wish. It seemed a +long evening, but she did not lose an inch of ground after this. When he +was going away she rose and stood before him. Her father had gone to the +other end of the room, and was fussing unnecessarily over some +memoranda. As they waited together, Haworth took his last look at the +mark upon her temple. + +"If it had been _me_ you wore it for," he said, "I'd have had my hands +on the throat of the chap that did it before now. It _wasn't_ me, but +I'll find him and pay him for it yet, by George!" + +She had no time to answer him. Her father came toward them with the +papers in his hands. Haworth listened to his wordy explanation without +moving a line of his face. He did not hear it, and Ffrench was dimly +aware of the fact. + + +About half an hour after, the door of the bar-parlor of the "Who'd ha' +Thowt it" was flung open. + +"Where's Briarley?" a voice demanded. "Send him out here. I want +him--Haworth." + +Mr. Briarley arose in even more than his usual trepidation. He looked +from side to side, quaking. + +"Wheer is he?" he asked. + +Haworth stood on the threshold. + +"Here," he answered. "Come out!" + +Mr. Briarley obeyed. At the door Haworth collared him and led him down +the sanded passage and into the road outside. + +A few yards from the house there was a pump. He piloted him to it and +set him against it, and began to swear at him fluently. + +"You blasted scoundrel!" he said. "You let it out, did you?" + +Mr. Briarley was covered with confusion as with a garment. + +"I'm a misforchnit chap as is allus i' trouble," he said. "Theer's +summat i' ivverythin' I lay hond on as seems to go agen me. I dunnot see +how it is. Happen theer's summat i' me a-bein' a dom'd foo', or happen +it's nowt but misforchin. Sararann----" + +Haworth stopped him by swearing again, something more sulphurously than +before--so sulphurously, indeed, that Mr. Briarley listened with eyes +distended and mouth agape. + +"Let's hear what you know about th' thing," Haworth ended. + +Mr. Briarley shut his mouth. He would have kept it shut if he had dared. + +"I dunnot know nowt," he answered, with patient mendacity. "I wur na wi' +em." + +"You know plenty," said Haworth. "Out with it, if you don't want to get +yourself into trouble. Who was the chap that threw the stone?" + +"I--I dunnot know." + +"If you don't tell me," said Haworth, through his clenched teeth, "it'll +be worse for you. It was you I let the truth slip to; you were the first +chap that heard it, and you were the first chap that started the row and +egged it on." + +"I did na egg it on," protested Mr. Briarley. "It did na need no eggin' +on. They pounced on it like cats on a bird. I did na mean to tell 'em +owt about it. I'm a dom'd foo'. I'm th' dom'dest foo' fro here to +Dillup." + +"Aye," said Haworth, sardonically, "that's like enow. Who was the chap +that threw the stone?" + +He returned to the charge so swiftly and with such fell determination +that Mr. Briarley began fairly to whimper. + +"I dare na tell," he said. "They'd mak' quick work o' me if they fun me +out." + +"Who was it?" persisted Haworth. "They'll make quicker work of you at +the 'Old Bailey,' if you don't." + +Mr. Briarley turned his disreputable, battered cap round and round in +his nervous hands. He was mortally afraid of Haworth. + +"A man's getten to think o' his family," he argued. "If he dunnot think +o' hissen, he mun think o' his family. I've getten a mortal big +un--twelve on 'em an' Sararann, as ud be left on th' world if owt wur to +happen--twelve on 'em as ud be left wi'out no one to stand by 'em an' +pervide fur 'em. Theer's nowt a fam'ly misses so mich as th' head. The +head should na run no risks. It's th' head's duty to tak' care o' hissen +an' keep o' th' safe soide." + +"Who threw the stone?" said Haworth. + +Mr. Briarley gave him one cowed glance and broke down. + +"It wur Tummas Reddy," he burst forth helplessly. "Lord ha' mercy on +me!" + +"Where is he?" + +"He's i' theer," jerking his cap toward the bar-room, "an' I'm i' th' +worst mess I ivver wur i' i' my loife. I'm fettlit now, by th' Lord +Harry!" + +"Which way does he go home?" + +"Straight along the road here, if I _mun_ get up to my neck--an'--an' be +dom'd to him!--if I may tak' th' liberty." + +"Settle yourself to stand here till he comes out, and then tell me which +is him." + +"Eh!" + +"When he comes out say the word, and stay here till he does. I've got a +bit o' summat to settle with him." + +"Will ta--will ta promise tha will na let out who did it? If tha does, +th' bury in' club'll ha' brass to pay out afore a week's over." + +"You're safe enow," Haworth answered, "if you'll keep your mouth shut. +They'll hear nowt from me." + +A gleam of hope--a faint one--illumined Mr. Briarley's countenance. + +"I would na ha' no objections to tha settlin' wi' him," he said. "I ha' +not nowt agen that. He's a chap as I am na fond on, an' he's getten more +cheek than belongs to him. I'd ha' settled wi' him mysen if I had na +been a fam'ly man. Ha'in' a fam'ly to think on howds a man back. +Theer--I hear 'em comin' now. Would yo,'" in some hurry, "ha' owt agen +me gettin' behind th' pump?" + +"Get behind it," answered Haworth, "and be damned to you!" + +He got behind it with alacrity, and, as it was not a large pump, was +driven by necessity to narrowing himself to its compass, as it were, and +taking up very little room. Haworth himself drew back somewhat, and yet +kept within hearing. + +Four or five men came out and went their different ways, and Mr. +Briarley made no sign; but as the sixth, a powerful, clumsy fellow, +passed, he uttered a cautious "Theer he is!" + +Haworth did not stir. It was a dark, cloudy night, and he was far enough +from the road to be safe from discovery. The man went on at a leisurely +pace. + +Mr. Briarley re-appeared, breathing shortly. + +"I mun go whoam," he said. "Sararann----" and scarcely waiting for +Haworth's signal of dismissal, he departed as if he had been shot from a +string-bow, and fled forth into the shadows. + + +Mr. Reddy went at a leisurely pace, as has been before observed. He +usually went at a leisurely pace when he was on his way home. He was a +"bad lot" altogether, and his home was a squalid place, and his wife +more frequently than not had a black eye or a bruised face, and was +haggard with hunger and full of miserable plaints and reproaches. +Consequently he did not approach the scenes of his domestic joys with +any haste. + +He was in a worse humor than usual to-night from various causes, the +chief one, perhaps, being that he had only had enough spirituous liquor +to make him savage and to cause him to enliven his way with blasphemy. + +Suddenly, however, at the corner of a lane which crossed the road he +paused. He heard behind him the sound of heavy feet nearing him with a +quick tramp which somehow presented to his mind the idea of a purpose, +and for some reason, not exactly clear to himself, he turned about and +waited. + +"Who's that theer?" he asked. + +"It's me," he was answered. "Stand up and take thy thrashin', my lad." + +The next instant he was struggling in the darkness with an assailant, +and the air was hot with oaths, and they were writhing together and +panting, and striking blinding blows. Sometimes it was one man and then +the other who was uppermost, but at last it was Haworth, and he had his +man in his grasp. + +"This is because you hit the wrong mark, my lad," he said. "Because luck +went agen you, and because it's gone agen me." + +When he had done Mr. Reddy lay beaten into seeming insensibility. He had +sworn and gnashed his teeth and beaten back in vain. + +"Who is it, by----?" he panted. "Who is it?" + +"It's Haworth," he was answered. "Jem Haworth, my lad." + +And he was left there lying in the dark while Haworth walked away, his +heavy breathing a living presence in the air until he was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +A SUMMER AFTERNOON. + + +"Let it stay there a while," Murdoch had said. "I am not ready for it +yet." And it staid there between the head-stone and the old stone wall +covered with the long grass and closed in by it. He was not ready for +it--yet. The days were not long enough for him as it was. His mother and +Christian rarely saw him, but at such times as they did each recognized +in him a new look and understood it. He began to live a strange, excited +life. Rachel Ffrench did nothing by halves. He was seen with her +constantly. It continually happened that where she was invited he was +invited also. He forgot that he dreaded to meet strangers and had always +held aloof from crowds. There were no strangers now and no crowds; in +any gathering there was only one presence and this was enough for him. +When people would have cultivated him and drawn him out, he did not see +their efforts; when men and women spoke to him they found that he +scarcely heard them and that even as they talked he had unconsciously +veered toward another point. He did things sometimes which made them +stare at him. + +"The fellow is like a ghost," a man said of him once. + +The simile was not a bad one. He did not think of what he might be +winning or losing--for the time being mere existence was +all-sufficient. At night he scarcely slept at all. Often he got up and +rambled over the country in the darkness, not knowing where he was going +or why he walked. He went through the routine of the day in haste and +impatience, doing more work than was necessary and frequently amazing +those around him by losing his temper and missing his mark. Ffrench +began to regard him with wonder. Divers things were a source of wonder +to Ffrench, in these days. He understood Rachel less than ever and found +her less satisfactory. He could not comprehend her motives. He had +become accustomed to feeling that she always had a motive in the +background, and he made the natural mistake of supposing that she had +one now. But she had none. She had suddenly given way to a mysterious +impulse which overmastered her and she let herself go, as it were. It +did not matter to her that the time came when her course was discussed +and marveled at; upon the whole, she felt a secret pleasure in defying +public comment as usual, and going steadily in her own path. + +She did strange things too. She began to go among the people who knew +Murdoch best,--visiting the families of the men who worked under him, +and leading them on to speak of him and his way of life. It cannot be +said that the honest matrons she honored by her visits were very fond of +her or exactly rejoiced when she appeared. They felt terribly out of +place and awe-stricken when she sat down on their wooden chairs with her +rich dress lying upon the pipe-clayed floors. Her beauty and her +grandeur stunned them, however much they admired both. + +"I tell yo' she's a lady," they said. "She knows nowt about poor folk, +bless yo', but she's getten brass to gie away--an' she gies it wi'out +makin' a doment. I mun say it puts me out a bit to see her coom in, but +she does na go out wi'out leavin' summat." + +She made no pretense of bringing sympathy and consolation; she merely +gave money, and money was an equivalent, and after all it was something +of an event to have her carriage stop before the gate and to see her +descend and enter in all her splendor. The general vague idea which +prevailed was that she meant to be charitable after the manner of her +order,--but that was a mistake too. + +It happened at last that one day her carriage drew up before the house +at whose window Murdoch's mother and Christian sat at work. + +It was Saturday, and Janey Briarley, in her "cleanin' up" apparel opened +the door for her. + +"They're in th' parlor," she answered in reply to her question. "Art tha +coom to see 'em?" + +When she was ushered into the parlor in question, Mrs. Murdoch rose with +her work in her hand; Christian rose also and stood in the shadow. They +had never had a visitor before, and had not expected such a one as this. + +They thought at first that she had come upon some errand, but she had +not. She gave no reason for her presence other than she would have given +in making any call of ceremony. + +As she sat on the narrow sofa, she saw all the room and its +meagerness,--its smallness, its scant, plain furnishing; its ugly carpet +and walls; the straight, black dress of the older woman, the dark beauty +of the girl who did not sit down but stood behind her chair, watching. +This beauty was the only thing which relieved the monotony of the place, +but it was the most grating thing she saw, to Rachel Ffrench. It roused +within her a slow anger. She resented it and felt that she would like +to revenge herself upon it quietly. She had merely meant to try the +effect of these people and their surroundings upon herself as a fine +experiment, but the effect was stronger than she had anticipated. When +she went away Christian accompanied her to the door. + +In the narrow passage Rachel Ffrench turned and looked at her--giving +her a glance from head to foot. + +"I think I have seen you before," she said. + +"You _know_ you have seen me," the girl answered. + +"I have seen you on the Continent. Your apartment was opposite to ours +in Paris--when you were with your mother. I used to watch the people go +in and out. You are very like your mother." + +And she left her, not looking back once,--as if there was no living +creature behind, or as if she had forgotten that there was one. + +Christian went back to the room within. She sat down but did not take up +her work again. + +"Do you know why she came?" she asked. + +"Yes." + +"Why?" + +"She came to look at us--to see what manner of people we were--to see +how we lived--to measure the distance between our life and hers. As she +went away," she went on, "she remembered that she had seen me before. +She told me that I was very like my mother." + +She leaned forward, her hands clasped palm to palm between her knees. + +"There was a man who did my mother a great wrong once," she said. "They +had loved each other in a mad sort of way for a long time, but in the +end, I suppose, he got tired, for suddenly he went away. When he was +gone, my mother did not speak of him and it was as if he had never +lived, but she grew haggard and dreadful and lost her beauty. I was a +little child and she took me with her and began to travel from one place +to another. I did not know why at first, but I found out afterward. She +was following him. She found him in Paris, at last, after two years. One +foggy night she took me to a narrow street near one of the theaters, and +after we got there I knew she was waiting for some one, because she +walked to and fro between two of the street lamps dragging me by the +hand. She walked so for half an hour, and then the man came, not knowing +we were there. She went to him, dragging me with her, and when she stood +in front of him, threw back her veil and let the light shine upon her. +She lifted her hand and struck him--struck him full upon the face, +panting for breath. 'I am a woman,' she said. 'I am a woman and I have +_struck_ you! Remember it to your last hour as I shall!' I thought that +he would strike her back, but he did not. His hands fell at his sides, +and he stood before her pale and helpless. I think it was even more +terrible than she had meant it to be----" + +Mrs. Murdoch stopped her, almost angrily. + +"Why do you go back to it?" she demanded. "Why should you think of such +a story now?" + +"It came to me," she answered. "I was thinking that it is true that I am +like her,--I bear a grudge such a long time, and it will not die out. It +is her blood which is strong in me. She spoke the truth." + +Early in the afternoon Rachel Ffrench, sauntering about the garden in +the sun, saw Murdoch coming down the road toward the house,--not until +he had first seen her, however. His eyes were fixed upon her when she +turned, and it seemed as if he found it impossible to remove them, even +for a breath's time. Since his glance had first caught the pale blue of +her dress he had not once looked away from it. All the morning, in the +midst of the smoke and din of the workrooms, he had been thinking of the +hours to come. The rest of the day lay before him. The weather was +dazzling; the heat of summer was in the air; the garden was ablaze with +flowers whose brightness seemed never to have been there before; there +was here and there the drone of a bee, and now and again a stir of +leaves. The day before had been of another color and so might the morrow +be, but to-day left nothing to be believed in except its own sun and +beauty. + +When at last he was quite near her, he seemed for a little while to see +nothing but the faint pale blue of her dress. He never forgot it +afterward, and never remembered it without a sense of summer heat and +languor. He could not have told what he said to her, or if he at first +spoke at all. Soon she began to move down the path and he followed +her,--simply followed her,--stopping when she stopped to break a flower +from its stem. + +It was as she bent forward once that she told him of what she had done. + +"This morning," she said, "I went to see your mother." + +"She told me so," he answered. + +She broke the stem of the flower and stood upright, holding it in her +hand. + +"You do not ask me why I went." + +"Why?" he asked. + +Their eyes met, and she was silent for a moment. Then she said, with +perfect deliberateness: + +"I have known nothing of the life you live. I wanted to see it for +myself. I wanted--to bring it near." + +He drew quite close to her, his face pale, his eyes burning. + +"Near!" he repeated. "To bring it near. Do you--do you know what you +have said?" + +"To bring it near," she said again, with no less deliberateness than +before, but with a strange softness. + +Just for to-day, she had told herself, she would try the sensation of +being swept onward by the stream. But she weighed herself as she spoke, +and weighed him and his passion, and her power against its force. + +But he came no closer to her. He did not attempt to touch even her hand +or her dress. His own hands fell helplessly at his sides, and he stood +still before her. + +"Oh, God!" he said in a hushed voice, "How happy I am!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +"GOD BLESS YOU!" + + +Late the same night, Mrs. Haworth, who had been watching for her son +alone in the grand, desolate room in which it was her lot to sit, rose +to her feet on hearing him enter the house. + +The first object which met his eye when he came in was her little figure +and her patient face turned toward the door. As he crossed the +threshold, she took a few steps as if to meet him, and then stopped. + +"Jem!" she exclaimed. "Jem!" + +Her voice was tremulous and her eyes bright with the indefinable feeling +which seized upon her the moment she saw his face. Her utterance of his +name was a cry of anxiousness and fear. + +"What!" he said. "Are you here yet?" + +He came to her and laid a hand upon her shoulder in a rough caress. + +"You'd better go to bed," he said to her. "It's late, and I've got work +to do." + +"I felt," she answered, "as if I'd like to wait an' see you. I knowed I +should sleep better for it--I always do." + +There was a moment's pause in which she stroked his sleeve with her +withered hand. Then he spoke. + +"Sleep better!" he said. "That's a queer notion. You've got queer +fancies, you women--some on you." + +Then he stooped and kissed her awkwardly. He always did it with more or +less awkwardness and lack of ease, but it never failed to make her +happy. + +"Now you've done it," he said. "You'd better go, old lady, and leave me +to finish what I've got to do." + +"It's late for work, Jem," she answered. "You oughtn't to try yourself +so much." + +"It ain't work so much," he said, "as thinking. There's summat I've got +to think out." + +For the moment he seemed quite to forget her. He stood with his hands +thrust into his pockets and his feet apart, staring at the carpet. He +did not stir when she moved away, and was still standing so when she +turned at the door to look at him. + +What she saw brought her back, hurried and tearful. + +"Let me stay!" she cried. "Let me stay. There's trouble in your face, +Jem, for I see it. Don't keep it from me--for the sake of what we've +been through together in times that's past." + +He bestirred himself and looked up at her. + +"Trouble!" he repeated. "That's not the word. It's not trouble, old +lady, and it's naught that can be helped. There's me and it to fight it +out. Go and get your sleep and leave us to it." + +She went slowly and sadly. She always obeyed him, whatever his wish +might be. + +When the last sound of her faltering feet had died away upon the stairs, +he went to the side-board and poured out a glass of raw brandy and drank +it. + +"I want summat to steady me," he said,--"and to warm me." + +But it did not steady him, at least. When he sat down at the table, the +hand he laid upon it shook. + +He looked at it curiously, clinching and unclinching it. + +"I'm pretty well done for when it goes like that," he said. "I'm farther +gone than I thought. It's all over me--over and through me. I'm shaking +like a fool." + +He broke out with a torrent of curses. + +"Is it me that's sitting here," he cried, "or some other chap? Is it me +that luck's gone agen on every side or a chap that's useder to it?" + +Among all his pangs of humiliation and baffled passion there was not one +so subtle and terrible in its influence upon him as his momentary sense +of physical weakness. He understood it less than all the rest, and raged +against it more. His body had never failed him once, and now for the +first time he felt that its power faltered. He was faint and cold, and +trembled not merely from excitement but from loss of strength. + +Opposite to him, at the other side of the room, was a full-length +mirror. Accidentally raising his eyes toward it he caught sight of his +own face. He started back and unconsciously glanced behind him. + +"Who----!" he began. + +And then he stopped, knowing the face for his own--white-lipped, damp +with cold sweat, lined with harsh furrows--evil to see. He got up, +shaking his fist at it, crying out through his shut teeth. + +"Blast her!" he said. "Who's to blame but her?" + +He had given up all for her, his ambition, which had swept all before +it, his greatest strength, his very sins and coarseness, and half an +hour ago he had passed the open door of a room and had seen Murdoch +standing motionless, not uttering a word, but with his face fairly +transfigured by his ecstasy, and with her hand crushed against his +breast. + +He had gone in to see Ffrench, and had remained with him for an hour in +one of the parlors, knowing that the two were alone in the other. He had +heard their voices now and then, and had known that once they went upon +the terrace and talked there. He had grown burning hot and deadly cold, +and strained his ears for every sound, but never caught more than a word +or low laugh coming from Rachel Ffrench. At last he had left his +partner, and on his way out passed the open door. They had come back to +the room, and Murdoch was saying his good-night. He held Rachel +Ffrench's hand, and she made no effort to withdraw it, but gave it to +his caress. She did not move nor speak, but her eyes rested upon his +rapt face with an expression not easy to understand. Haworth did not +understand it, but the rage which seized and shook him was the most +brutal emotion he had ever felt in his life. It was a madness which left +him weak. He staggered down the stairs and out into the night blindly, +blaspheming as he went. He did not know how he reached home. The sight +his mother had seen, and which had drawn a cry from her and checked her +midway in the room had been cause enough for tremor in her. Nothing but +the most violent effort had saved him from an outbreak in her presence. +He was weaker for the struggle when she was gone. + +He could think of nothing but of Rachel Ffrench's untranslatable face +and of Murdoch's close clasp of her surrendered hand. + +"What has she ever give me?" he cried. "_Me_, that's played the fool for +her! What's he done that he should stand there and fondle her as if he'd +bought and paid for her? I'm the chap that paid for her! She's mine, +body and soul, by George, if every man had his rights!" + +And then, remembering all that had gone by, he turned from hot to cold +again. + +"I've stood up agen her a long time," he said, "and what have I got? I +swore I'd make my way with her, and how far have I gone? She's never +give me a word, by George, or a look that'd be what another woman would +have give. She's not even played with me--most on 'em would have done +that--but she's not. She's gone on her way and let me go on mine. She's +turned neither right nor left for me--I wasn't man enough." + +He wore himself out in the end and went to the brandy again, and drank +of it deeply. It sent him upstairs with heated blood and feverish brain. +It was after midnight when he went to his room, but not to sleep. He lay +upon his pillow in the darkness thinking of the things he had done in +the past few months, and of the fruit the first seed he had sown might +bring forth. + +"There's things that may happen to any on us, my lad," he said, "and +some on 'em might happen to you. If it's Jem Haworth that's to lose, the +other sha'n't gain, by George!" + +He had put the light out and lay in the darkness, and was so lying with +this mood at work upon him when there came a timid summons on the door, +and it opened and some one came in softly. + +He knew who it was, even before she spoke. + +"Jem," she said, "Jem, you're not asleep, my dear." + +"No," he answered. + +She came to the bed-side and stood there. + +"I--I couldn't sleep," she said. "Something's a little wrong with me. +I'm gettin' foolish, an'--an' fearful. I felt as if you wasn't quite +safe. I thought I'd come and speak to you." + +"You're out o' sorts," he answered. "You'll have to be looked after." + +"It's nothing but my foolish way," she replied. "You're very good to +me--an' me so full of fancies. Would you--would you mind me a-kneelin' +down an' sayin' a prayer here to myself as I used to when you was a boy, +Jem? I think it'd do me good. Would you mind it?" + +"No," he answered hoarsely. "Kneel down." + +And she knelt and grasped for his hand and held it, and he heard her +whispering in the dark as he had been wont to hear her nearly thirty +years before. + +And when it was over, she got up and kissed him on the forehead. + +"God bless you, my dear!" she said. "God bless you!" and went away. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +"IT IS DONE WITH." + + +After the departure of Haworth and Murdoch, Mr. Ffrench waited for some +time for his daughter's appearance. He picked up a pamphlet and turned +over its leaves uneasily, trying to read here and there, and making no +great success of the effort. He was in a disturbed and nervous mood, the +evening had been a trial to him, more especially the latter part of it +during which Haworth sat on the other side of the table in his usual +awkwardly free and easy posture, his hands in his pockets, his feet +thrust out before him. His silence and the expression he wore had not +been of a kind to relieve his companion of any tithe of the burden which +had gradually accumulated upon his not too muscular shoulders. At the +outset Ffrench had been simply bewildered, then somewhat anxious and +annoyed, but to-day he had been stunned. Haworth's departure was an +immense relief to him. It was often a relief to him in these days. Then +he heard Murdoch descend the stairs and leave the house, and he waited +with mingled dread and anxiousness for Rachel's coming. But she did not +make her appearance. He heard her walk across the room after Murdoch +left her, and then she did not seem to move again. + +After the lapse of half an hour he laid his pamphlet aside and rose +himself. He coughed two or three times and paced the floor a +little--gradually he edged toward the folding doors leading into the +front room and passed through them. + +Rachel stood at one of the windows, which was thrown open. She was +leaning against its side and looking out into the night. When she turned +toward him something in her manner caused in Ffrench an increase of +nervousness amounting to irritation. + +"You wish to say something to me," she remarked. "What is it?" + +"Yes," he answered. "I wish to say something to you." + +He could not make up his mind to say it for a moment or so. He found +himself returning her undisturbed glance with an excited and bewildered +one. + +"I--the fact is"--he broke forth, desperately, "I--I do not understand +you." + +"That is not at all singular," she replied. "You have often said so +before." + +He began to lose his temper and to walk about the room. + +"You have often chosen to seem incomprehensible," he said, "but _this_ +is the most extraordinary thing you have done yet. You--you must know +that it looks very bad--that people are discussing you openly--_you_ of +all women!" + +Suddenly he wheeled about and stopped, staring at her with more +uncertainty and bewilderment than ever. + +"I ought to know you better," he said, "I do know you better than to +think you capable of any weakness of--of that kind. You are _not_ +capable of it. You are too proud and too fond of yourself, and yet"---- + +"And yet what?" she demanded, in a peculiar, low voice. + +He faltered visibly. + +"And yet you are permitting yourself to--to be talked over +and--misunderstood." + +"Do you think," she asked, in the same voice, "that I care for being +'talked over?'" + +"You would care if you knew what is said," he responded. "You do not +know." + +"I can guess," she replied, "easily." + +But she was deadly pale and he saw it, and her humiliation was that she +_knew_ he saw it. + +"What you do," he continued, "is of more consequence than what most +women do. You are not popular. You have held yourself very high and have +set people at defiance. If you should be guilty of a romantic folly, it +would go harder with you than with others." + +"I know that," she answered him, "far better than you do." + +She held herself quite erect and kept her eyes steadily upon him. + +"What is the romantic folly?" she put it to him. + +He could not have put it into words just then if his life had depended +upon his power to do it. + +"You will not commit it," he said. "It is not in you to do it, but you +have put yourself in a false position, and it is very unpleasant for +both of us." + +She stopped him. + +"You are very much afraid of speaking plainly," she said. "Be more +definite." + +He flushed to the roots of his hair in his confusion and uneasiness. +There was no way out of the difficulty. + +"You have adopted such a manner with the world generally," he +floundered, "that a concession from you means a great deal. You--you +have been making extraordinary concessions. It is easy to see that this +young fellow is madly enamored of you. He does not know how to conceal +it, and he does not try. You have not seemed to demand that he should. +You have let him follow you, and come and go as his passion and +simplicity prompted him. One might say you had encouraged him--though +encouraged seems hardly the word to use." + +"No," she interrupted, "it is not the word to use." + +"He has made himself conspicuous and you too, and you have never +protested by word or deed. When he was in danger you actually risked +your life for him." + +"Great heaven!" she ejaculated. + +The truth of what he said came upon her like a flash. Until this moment +she had only seen the night from one stand-point, and to see it from +this one was a deadly blow to her. She lost her balance. + +"How dare you?" she cried breathlessly. "I was mad with excitement. If I +had stopped to think----" + +"You usually do stop to think," he put in. "That was why I was amazed. +You did a thing without calculating its significance. You never did so +before in your life. You know that it is true. You pride yourself upon +it." + +He could have said nothing so bitter and terrible. For the moment they +had changed places. It was he who had presented a weakness to her. She +did pride herself upon her cool power of calculation. + +"Go on!" she exclaimed. + +"He has been here half the day," he proceeded, growing bolder. "You were +out in the garden together all the afternoon--he has only just left you. +When you contrast his position with yours is not _that_ an extraordinary +thing? What should you say if another woman had gone so far? Two years +ago, he was Haworth's engineer. He is a wonderful fellow and a genius, +and the world will hear of him yet. _I_ should never think of anything +but that if I were the only individual concerned, but you--you treated +him badly enough at first." + +She turned paler and paler. + +"You think that I--that I----" + +She had meant to daunt him with the most daring speech she could make, +but it would not complete itself. She faltered and broke down. + +"I don't know what to think," he answered desperately. "It seems +impossible. Good heavens! it is impossible!--you--it is not in your +nature." + +"No," she said, "it is not." + +Even in that brief space she had recovered herself wholly. She met his +glance just as she had met it before, even with more perfect _sang +froid_. + +"I will tell you what to think," she went on. "I have been very dull +here. I wished from the first that I had never come. I hate the people, +and I despise them more than I hate them. I must be amused and +interested, and they are less than nothing. The person you speak of was +different. I suppose what you say of him is true and he is a genius. I +care nothing for that in itself, but he has managed to interest me. At +first I thought him only absurd; he was of a low class and a common +workman, and he was so simple and ignorant of the world that he did not +feel his position or did not care. That amused me and I led him on to +revealing himself. Then I found out that there was a difference between +him and the rest of his class, and I began to study him. I have no +sentimental notions about his honor and good qualities. Those things do +not affect me, but I have been interested and the time has passed more +easily. Now the matter will end just as it began,--not because I am +tired of him or because I care for what people say, but because I think +it is time,--and I choose that it should. It is done with from +to-night." + +"Good heaven!" he cried. "You are not going to drop the poor fellow like +that?" + +"You may call it what you please," she returned. "I have gone as far as +I choose to go, and it is done with from to-night." + +Mr. Ffrench's excitement became something painful to see. Between his +embarrassment as a weak nature before a strong one,--an embarrassment +which was founded upon secret fear of unpleasant results,--between this +and the natural compunctions arising from tendencies toward a certain +refined and amiable sense of fairness, he well-nigh lost all control +over himself and became courageous. He grew heated and flushed and burst +forth into protest. + +"My dear," he said, "I must say it's a--a deuced ungentlemanly +business!" + +Her lack of response absolutely inspired him. + +"It's a deuced ill-bred business," he added, "from first to last." + +She did not reply even to that, so he went on, growing warmer and +warmer. + +"You have taunted me with being afraid of you," he said, "though you +have never put it into so many words. Perhaps I have been afraid of you. +You can make yourself confoundedly unpleasant at times,--and I may have +shrunk from saying what would rouse you,--but I must speak my mind about +this, and say it is a deucedly cruel and unfair thing, and is unworthy +of you. A less well-bred woman might have done it." + +A little color rose to her cheek and remained there, but she did not +answer still. + +"He is an innocent fellow," he proceeded, "an unworldly fellow; he has +lived in his books and his work, and he knows nothing of women. His +passion for you is a pure, romantic one; he would lay his world at your +feet. Call it folly, if you will,--it _is_ folly,--but allow me to tell +you it is worthy of a better object." + +He was so astonished at his own daring that he stopped to see what +effect it had produced. + +She replied by asking a simple but utterly confounding question. + +"What," she said, "would you wish me to do?" + +"What would I wish you to do?" he stammered. "What? I--I hardly know." + +And after regarding her helplessly a little longer, he turned about and +left the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +"LOOK OUT!" + + +The next morning Ffrench rather surprised Murdoch by walking into his +cell with the evident intention of paying him a somewhat prolonged +visit. It was not, however, the fact of his appearing there which was +unusual enough to excite wonder, but a certain degree of mingled +constraint and effusiveness in his manner. It was as if he was troubled +with some mental compunctions which he was desirous of setting at rest. +At times he talked very fast and in a comparatively light and jocular +vein, and again he was silent for some minutes, invariably rousing +himself from his abstraction with a sudden effort. Several times Murdoch +found that he was regarding him with a disturbed air of anxiety. + +Before going away he made an erratic and indecisive tour of the little +room, glancing at drawings and picking up first one thing and then +another. + +"You have a good many things here," he said, "of one kind and another." + +"Yes," Murdoch answered, absently. + +Ffrench glanced around at the jumble of mechanical odds and ends, the +plans and models in various stages of neglect or completion. + +"It's a queer place," he commented, "and it has an air of significance. +It's crammed with ideas--of one kind and another." + +"Yes," Murdoch answered, as before. + +Ffrench approached him and laid his hand weakly on his shoulder. + +"You are a fellow of ideas," he said, "and you have a good deal before +you. Whatever disappointments you might meet with, you would always have +a great deal before you. You have ideas. I," with apparent +inconsequence, "I haven't, you know." + +Murdoch looked somewhat puzzled, but he did not contradict him, so he +repeated his statement. + +"I haven't, you know. I wish I had." + +Then he dropped his hand and looked indefinite again. + +"I should like you to always remember that I am your friend," he said. +"I wish I could have been of more service to you. You are a fine fellow, +Murdoch. I have admired you--I have liked you. Don't forget it." + +And he went away carrying the burden of his indecision and embarrassment +and good intention with much amiable awkwardness. + +That day Murdoch did not see Rachel Ffrench. Circumstances occurred +which kept him at work until a late hour. The next day it was the same +story, and the next also. A series of incidents seemed to combine +against him, and the end of each day found him worn out and fretted. But +on the fourth he was free again, and early in the evening found himself +within sight of the iron gates. Every pulse in his body throbbed as he +passed through them. He was full of intense expectation. He could +scarcely bear to think of what was before him. His desperate happiness +was a kind of pain. One of his chief longings was that he might find her +wearing the pale blue dress again and that when he entered she might be +standing in the centre of the room as he had left her. Then it would +seem as if there had been no nights and days between the last terribly +happy moment and this. The thought which flashed across his mind that +there might possibly be some one else in the room was a shock to him. + +"If she is not alone," he said to himself, "it will be unbearable." + +As he passed up the walk, he came upon a tall white lily blooming on one +of the border beds. He was in a sufficiently mystical and emotional mood +to be stopped by it. + +"It is like her," he said. And he gathered it and took it with him to +the house. + + +The first thing upon which his eye rested when he stood upon the +threshold of the room was the pale blue color, and she was standing just +as he had left her, it seemed to him upon the very same spot upon which +they had parted. His wish had been realized so far at least. + +He was obliged to pause a moment to regain his self-control. It was an +actual truth that he could not have trusted himself so far as to go in +at once. + +It was best that he did not. The next instant she turned and spoke to a +third person at the other side of the room, and even as she did so +caught sight of him and stopped. + +"Here is Mr. Murdoch," she said, and paused, waiting for him to come +forward. She did not advance to meet him, did not stir until he was +scarcely more than a pace from her. She simply waited, watching him as +he moved toward her, as if she were a little curious to see what he +would do. Then she gave him her hand, and he took it with a feeling that +something unnatural had happened, or that he was suddenly awakening from +a delusion. + +He did not even speak. It was she who spoke, turning toward the person +whom she had addressed before he entered. + +"You have heard us speak of Mr. Murdoch," she said; and then to himself, +"This is M. Saint Méran." + +M. Saint Méran rose and bowed profoundly. He presented, as his best +points, long, graceful limbs and a pair of clear gray eyes, which seemed +to hold their opinions in check. He regarded Murdoch with an expression +of suave interest and made a well-bred speech of greeting. + +Murdoch said nothing. He could think of nothing to say. He was never +very ready of speech. He bowed with an uncertain air, and almost +immediately wandered off to the other end of the room, holding his lily +in his hand. He began to turn over the pages of a book of engravings, +seeing none of them. After a little while a peculiar perfume close to +him attracted his attention, and he looked downward vacantly and saw the +lily. Then he laid it down and moved farther away. + +Afterward--he did not know how long afterward--Ffrench came in. He +seemed in a very feverish state of mind, talking a great deal and rather +inanely, and forcing Murdoch to reply and join in the conversation. + +M. Saint Méran held himself with a graceful air of security and +self-poise, and made gentle efforts at scientific remark which should +also have an interest for genius of a mechanical and inventive turn. But +Murdoch's replies were vague. His glance followed Rachel Ffrench. He +devoured her with his eyes--a violence which she bore very well. At +last--he had not been in the house an hour--he left his chair and went +to her. + +"I am going away," he said in an undertone. "Good-night!" + +She did not seem to hear him. She was speaking to Saint Méran. + +"Good night!" he repeated, in the same tone, not raising it at all, only +giving it an intense, concentrated sound. + +She turned her face toward him. + +"Good-night!" she answered. + +[Illustration: SHE TURNED HER FACE TOWARD HIM. "GOOD-NIGHT," SHE +ANSWERED.] + +And he went away, Ffrench following him to the door with erratic and +profuse regrets, which he did not hear at all. + +When he got outside, he struck out across the country. The strength with +which he held himself in check was a wonder to him. It seemed as if he +was not thinking at all--that he did not allow himself to think. He +walked fast, it might even be said, violently; the exertion made his +head throb and his blood rush through his veins. He walked until at last +his heart beat so suffocatingly that he was forced to stop. He threw +himself down--almost fell down upon the grass at the wayside and lay +with shut eyes. He was giddy and exhausted, and panted for breath. He +could not have thought then, if he would; he had gained so much at +least. He did not leave the place for an hour. When he did so, it was to +walk home by another route, slowly, almost weakly. This route led him by +the Briarley cottage, and, as he neared it, he was seized with a fancy +for going in. The door was ajar and a light burned in the living-room, +and this drew him toward it. + +Upon the table stood a basket filled with purchases, and near the +basket lay a shawl which Janey wore upon all occasions requiring a +toilet. She had just come in from her shopping, and sat on a stool in +her usual posture, not having yet removed the large bonnet which spread +its brim around her small face, a respectable and steady-going aureole +enlivened with bunches of flowers which in their better days had +rejoiced Mrs. Briarley's heart with exceeding great joy. + +She looked up as he came in, but she did not rise. + +"Eh! it's thee, is it?" she remarked. "I thowt it wur toime tha wur +comin'. Tha'st not been here fur nigh a month." + +"I have been--doing a great deal." + +"Aye," she answered. "I suppose so." + +She jerked her thumb toward Granny Dixon's basket chair, which stood +empty. + +"She's takken down," she said. "She wur takken down a week sin', an' a +noice toime we're ha'in' nursin' her. None on us can do anything wi' her +but mother--_she_ can settle her, thank th' Amoighty." + +She rested her sharp little elbows upon her knees and her chin upon both +palms and surveyed him with interest. + +"Has tha seed him?" she demanded suddenly. + +"Who?" he asked. + +"Him," with a nod of her head. "Th' furriner as is stayin' at Mester +Ffrench's. Yo' mun ha' seen him. He's been theer three days." + +"I saw him this evening." + +"I thowt tha mun ha' seed him. He coom o' Monday. He coom fro' France. I +should na," with a tone of serious speculation,--"I should na ha' thowt +she'd ha' had a Frenchman." + +She moved her feet and settled herself more conveniently without moving +her eyes from his face. + +"I dunnot think much o' Frenchmen mysen," she proceeded. "An' neyther +does mother, but they say as this is a rich un an' a grand un. She's +lived i' France a good bit, an' happen she does na' moind their ways. +She's knowed him afore." + +"When?" he asked. + +"When she wur theer. She lived theer, yo' know." + +Yes, he remembered, she had lived there. He said nothing more, only sat +watching the little stunted figure and sharp small face with a sense of +mild fascination, wondering dully how much she knew and where she had +learned it all, and what she would say next. But she gave him no further +information--chiefly because she had no more on hand, there being a +limit even to her sagacity. She became suddenly interested in himself. + +"Yo're as pale as if yo'd had th' whoopin'-cough," she remarked. "What's +wrong wi' yo'?" + +"I am tired," he answered. "Worn out." + +That was true enough, but it did not satisfy her. Her matter of fact and +matronly mind arrived at a direct solution of the question. + +"Did yo' ivver think," she put it to him, "as she'd ha' yo'?" + +He had no answer to give her. He began to turn deathly white about the +lips. She surveyed him with increased interest and proceeded: + +"Mother an' me's talked it over," she said. "We tak? th' 'Ha'penny +Reader,' an' theer wur a tale in it as towd o' one o' th' nobility as +wed a workin' chap--an' mother she said as happen she wur loike her an' +ud do it, but I said she would na. Th' chap i' th' tale turnt out to be +a earl, as ud been kidnapped by th' gypsies, but yo' nivver wur +kidnapt, an' she's noan o' th' soft koind. Th' Lady Geral_dine_ wur a +difrient mak'. Theer wur na mich i' her to my moind. She wur allus +makkin' out as brass wur nowt, an' talkin' about 'humble virchew' as if +theer wur nowt loike it. Yo' would na ketch _her_ talkin' i' that road. +Mother she'd sit an' cry until th' babby's bishop wur wet through, but I +nivver seed nowt to cry about mysen. She getten th' chap i' th' eend, +an' he turnt out to be a earl after aw. But I towd mother as marryin' a +workin' man wur na i' _her_ loine." + +Murdoch burst into a harsh laugh and got up. + +"I've been pretty well talked over, it seems," he said. "I didn't know +that before." + +"Aye," replied Janey, coolly. "We've talked yo' ower a good bit. Are yo' +goin'?" + +"Yes," he answered, "I am going." + +He went out with an uncertain movement, leaving the door open behind +him. As he descended the steps, the light from the room, slanting out +into the darkness, struck athwart a face, the body pertaining to which +seemed to be leaning against the palings, grasping them with both hands. +It was the face of Mr. Briarley, who regarded him with a mingled +expression of anxiety and desire to propitiate. + +"Is it yo'?" he whispered, as Murdoch neared him. + +"Yes," he was answered, somewhat shortly. + +Mr. Briarley put out a hand and plucked him by the sleeve. + +"I've been waitin' fur yo'," he said in a sonorous whisper which only +failed to penetrate the innermost recesses of the dwelling through some +miracle. + +Murdoch turned out of the gate. + +"Why?" he asked. + +Mr. Briarley glanced toward the house uneasily, and also up and down the +road. + +"Le's get out o' th' way a bit," he remarked. + +Murdoch walked on, and he shuffled a few paces behind him. When they got +well into the shadow of the hedge, he stopped. Suddenly he dropped upon +his knees and crawling through a very small gap into the field behind, +remained there for a few seconds; then he re-appeared panting. + +"Theer's no one theer," he said. "I would na ha' risked theer bein' one +on 'em lyin' under th' hedge." + +"One of whom?" Murdoch inquired. + +"I did na say who," he answered. + +When he stood on his feet again, he took his companion by the button. + +"Theer's a friend o' moine," he said, "as ha' sent a messidge to yo'. +This here's it--'_Look out!_'" + +"What does it mean?" Murdoch asked. "Speak more plainly." + +Mr. Briarley became evidently disturbed. + +"Nay," he said, "that theer's plain enow fur me. It ud do _my_ business +i' quick toime if I----" + +He stopped and glanced about him again, and then, without warning, threw +himself, so to speak, on Murdoch's shoulder and began to pour a flood of +whispers into his ear. + +"Theer wur a chap as were a foo'," he said, "an' he was drawed into +bein' a bigger foo' than common. It wur him as getten yo' i' trouble wi' +th' stroikers. He did na mean no ill, an'--an' he ses, 'I'll tell him to +look out. I'll run th' risk.' He knowed what wur goin' on, an' he ses, +'I'll tell him to look out.'" + +"Who was he?" Murdoch interposed. + +Mr. Briarley fell back a pace, perspiring profusely, and dabbing at his +forehead with his cap. + +"He--he wur a friend o' moine," he stammered,--"a friend o' moine as has +getten a way o' gettin' hissen i' trouble, an' he ses, 'I'll tell him to +look out.'" + +"Tell him from me," said Murdoch, "that I am not afraid of anything that +may happen." + +It was a rash speech, but was not so defiant as it sounded. His only +feeling was one of cold carelessness. He wanted to get free and go away +and end his night in his silent room at home. But Mr. Briarley kept up +with him, edging toward him apologetically as he walked. + +"Yo're set agen th' chap fur bein' a foo'," he persisted, breathlessly, +"an' I dunnot blame yo'. He's set agen hissen. He's a misforchnit chap +as is allus i' trouble. It's set heavy on him, an' ses he, 'I'll tell +him to look out'." + +At a turn into a by-lane he stopped. + +"I'll go this road," he said, "an' I'll tell him as I've done it." + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + +"IT HAS ALL BEEN A LIE." + + +In a week's time Saint Méran had become a distinct element in the social +atmosphere of Broxton and vicinity. He fell into his place at Rachel +Ffrench's side with the naturalness of a man who felt he had some claim +upon his position. He was her father's guest; they had seen a great deal +of each other abroad. Any woman might have felt his well-bred homage a +delicate compliment. He was received as an agreeable addition to +society; he attended her upon all occasions. From the window of his +work-room Murdoch saw him drive by with her in her carriage, saw him +drop into the bank for a friendly chat with Ffrench, who regarded him +with a mixture of nervousness and admiration. + +Haworth, having gone away again, had not heard of him. Of late the Works +had seen little of its master. He made journeys hither and hither, and +on his return from such journeys invariably kept the place in hot water. +He drove the work on and tyrannized over the hands from foremen to +puddlers. At such times there was mysterious and covert rebellion and +some sharp guessing as to what was going on, but it generally ended in +this. Upon the whole the men were used to being bullied, and some of +them worked the better for it. + +Murdoch went about his work as usual, though there was not a decent man +on the place who did not gradually awaken to the fact that some singular +change was at work upon him. He concentrated all his mental powers upon +what he had to do during work hours, and so held himself in check, but +he spent all his leisure in a kind of apathy, sitting in his cell at his +work-table in his old posture, his forehead supported by his hands, his +fingers locked in his tumbled hair. Sometimes he was seized with fits of +nervous trembling which left him weak. When he left home in the morning +he did not return until night and he ate no midday meal. + +As yet he was only drifting here and there; he had arrived at no +conclusions; he did not believe in his own reasoning; the first blow had +simply stunned him. A man who had been less reserved and who had begun +upon a fair foundation of common knowledge would have understood; he +understood nothing but his passion, his past rapture, and that a +mysterious shock had fallen upon him. + +He lived in this way for more than a week, and then he roused himself to +make a struggle. One bright, sunny day, after sitting dumbly for half an +hour or so, he staggered to his feet and took up his hat. + +"I'll--try--again," he said, mechanically. "I'll try again. I don't know +what it means. It may have been my fault. I don't think it was--but it +may have been. Perhaps I expected too much." And he went out. + +After he had been absent some minutes, Ffrench came in from the bank. He +had been having a hard morning of it. The few apparently unimportant +indiscretions in the way of private speculation of which he had been +guilty were beginning to present themselves in divers unpleasant forms, +and to assume an air of importance he had not believed possible. His +best ventures had failed him, and things which he was extremely anxious +to keep from Haworth's ears were assuming a shape which would render it +difficult to manage them privately. He was badgered and baited on all +sides, and naturally began to see his own folly. His greatest fear was +not so much that he should lose the money he had risked as that Haworth +should discover his luckless weakness and confront and crush him with +it. As he stood in fear of his daughter, so he stood in fear of Haworth; +but his dread of Haworth was, perhaps, the stronger feeling of the two. +His very refinement added to it. Having gained the object of his +ambition, he had found it not exactly what he had pictured it. Haworth +had not spared him; the very hands had derided his enthusiastic and +strenuous efforts; he had secretly felt that his position was +ridiculous, and provocative of satire among the unscientific herd. When +he had done anything which should have brought him success and helped +him to assert himself, it had somehow always failed, and now----. + +He sat down in the managerial chair before Haworth's great table, strewn +with papers and bills. He had shut the door behind him and was glad to +be alone. + +"I am extremely unfortunate," he faltered aloud. "I don't know how to +account for it." And he glanced about him helplessly. Before the words +had fairly left his lips his privacy was broken in upon. The door was +flung open and Murdoch came in. He had evidently walked fast, for he was +breathing heavily, and he had plainly expected to find the room empty. +He looked at Ffrench, sat down and wiped his lips. + +"I want you," he began, with labored articulation, "I want you--to tell +me--what--I have done." + +Ffrench could only stare at him. + +"I went to the house," he said, "and asked for her." (He did not say for +whom, nor was it necessary that he should. Ffrench understood him +perfectly.) "I swear I saw her standing at the window as I went up the +path. She had a purple dress on--and a white flower in her hair--and +Saint Méran was at her side. Before, the man at the door never waited +for me to speak; this time he stood and looked at me. I said, 'I want to +see Miss Ffrench;' he answered, 'She is not at home.' 'Not at +home,'"--breaking into a rough laugh,--"'not at home' to _me_!" + +He clinched his fist and dashed it against the chair. + +"What does it mean?" he cried out. "What does it _mean_?" + +Ffrench quaked. + +"I--I don't know," he answered, and his own face gave him the lie. + +Murdoch caught his words up and flung them back at him. + +"You don't know!" he cried. "Then I will tell you. It means that she has +been playing me false from first to last." + +Ffrench felt his position becoming weaker and weaker. Here was a state +of affairs he had never seen before; here was a madness which concealed +nothing, which defied all, which flung all social presuppositions to the +winds. He ought to have been able to palter and equivocate, to profess a +well-bred surprise and some delicate indignation, to be dignified and +subtle; but he was not. He could only sit and wonder what would come +next, and feel uncomfortable and alarmed. The thing which came next he +had not expected any more than he had expected the rest of the outbreak. + +Suddenly a sullen calmness settled upon the young fellow--a calm which +spoke of some fierce determination. + +"I don't know why I should have broken out like this before you," he +said. "Seeing you here when I expected to fight it out alone, surprised +me into it. But there is one thing I am going to do. I'll hear the truth +from her own lips. When you go home I will go with you. They wont turn +me back then, and I'll see her face to face." + +"I----" began Ffrench, and then added, completely overwhelmed, +"Very--perhaps it would be--be best." + +"Best!" echoed Murdoch, with another laugh. "No, it won't be best; it +will be worst; but I'll do it for all that." + +And he dropped his head upon the arms he had folded on the chair's back, +and so sat in a forlorn, comfortless posture, not speaking, not +stirring, as if he did not know that there was any presence in the room +but his own. + +And he kept his word. As Ffrench was going out into the street at dusk +he felt a touch on his shoulder, and turning, found Murdoch close behind +him. + +"I'm ready," he said, "if you are." + +When they reached the house, the man who opened the door stared at them +blankly, which so irritated Ffrench that he found an excuse for +administering a sharp rebuke to him about some trifle. + +"They are always making some stupid blunder," he said to Murdoch as they +passed upstairs to the drawing-room. + +But Murdoch did not hear. + +It was one of the occasions on which Rachel Ffrench reached her highest +point of beauty. Her black velvet dress was almost severe in its +simplicity, and her one ornament was the jewelled star in her high +_coiffure_. M. St. Méran held his place at her side. He received Murdoch +with _empressement_ and exhibited much tact and good feeling. But +Murdoch would have none of him. He had neither tact nor experience. + +His time did not come until the evening was nearly over, and it would +never have come if he had not at last forced her to confront him by +making his way to her side with a daring which was so novel in him that +it would have mastered another woman. + +Near her he trembled a little, but he said what he had come to say. + +"To-day," he said, "when I called--your servant told me you were not at +home." + +She paused a moment before answering, but when she did answer he +trembled no more. + +"That was unfortunate," she said. + +"It was not true--I saw you at the window." + +She looked him quietly in the face, answering him in two words. + +"Did you?" + +He turned on his heel and walked away. His brain whirled; he did not +know how he got out of the room. He was scarcely conscious of existence +until he found himself out-of-doors. He got beyond the gate and into the +road, and to the end of the road, but there he stopped and turned back. +He went back until he found he was opposite the house again, looking up +at the lighted window, he did not know why. A sharp rain was falling, +but he did not feel it. He stood staring at the window, mechanically +plucking at the leaves on the hedge near him. He scarcely knew whether +it was a curse or a sob which fell from his lips and awakened him at +last. + +"Am I going mad?" he said. "Do men go mad through such things? God +forbid! It has all been a lie--a lie--a lie!!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + +"ANOTHER MAN!" + + +In two days Haworth returned. He came from the station one morning, not +having been home. He did not go to the Works, but to the bank and +straight into Ffrench's private room. + +The look this unhappy gentleman gave him when he saw him was a queer +mixture of anxiety, furtive query, and amiably frank welcome,--the frank +welcome a very faint element indeed, though it was brought to light by a +violent effort. Haworth shut the door and locked it, and then turned +upon him, his face black with rage. + +"Say summat!" he ground out through his teeth. "Say summat as'll keep me +from smashing every bone in your body!" + +Ffrench gave him one hopeless glance and wilted into a drooping, weakly +protesting, humiliated figure. + +"Don't--don't be so severe, Haworth," he said. "I--I----" + +"Blast you!" burst in Haworth, pitilessly. "You've ruined me!" + +He spoke under his breath. No one in the room beyond could hear a word, +but it was a thousand times more terrible than if he had roared at the +top of his voice, as was his custom when things went amiss. + +"You've ruined me!" he repeated. "_You!_ A chap that's played gentleman +manufacturer; a chap I've laughed at; a chap I took in to serve my own +ends--ruined me, by----" + +"Oh, no, no!" the culprit cried out. "My dear fellow, no! No, no!" + +Haworth strode up to him and struck his fist against the table. + +"Have I ever told you a word of what was going on?" he demanded. + +"No! No!" + +"Have I ever let you be aught but what I swore you should be at th' +first--a fellow to play second fiddle and do what he was told?" + +Ffrench turned pale. A less hard nature would have felt more sympathy +for him. + +"No," he answered, "you have not," and his chin dropped on his breast. + +Haworth shook his fist in his face. He was in a frenzy of rage and +despair. + +"It's been going from bad to worse for six months," he said; "but you +were not up to seeing it stare you in the face. Strikes are the things +for trade to thrive on! One place after another gone down and Jem +Haworth's stood up. Jem Haworth's outdone 'em all. I've not slept for +three month, my lad. I've fought it like a tiger! I've not left a stone +unturned. I've held my mouth shut and my eyes open,--aye, and held my +breath, too. I've swore every time I saw daylight that I'd hold it out +to the end and show 'em all what Haworth was made of, and how he stood +when th' nobs went down at the first drive. I'd sooner have hell than +what's bound to come now! And it's you that's done it. You've lost me +twenty thousand pound--twenty thousand, when ten's worth more to me +than a hundred was a twelvemonth since!" + +Ffrench quailed like a woman. + +"Are--are you going to murder me?" he said. "You look as if you were." + +Haworth turned on his heel. + +"You're not worth it," he answered, "or I'd do it, by the Lord Harry." + +Then he came back to him. + +"I've paid enow for what I've never had, by George," he said, with +bitter grimness. + +"For what you have----" Ffrench began. + +Haworth stopped him by flinging himself down in a chair near him--so +near that their faces were brought within uncomfortably close range of +each other. There was no avoiding his eye. + +"You know what," he sneered. "None better." + +"I----" Ffrench faltered. + +"Blast you!" said Haworth. "You played her like bait to a fish--in your +gentleman's fashion." + +Ffrench felt a little sick. It was not unnatural that he should. A man +of refined instincts likes less than any other man to be confronted +brutally with the fact that he has, however delicately, tampered with a +coarseness. + +Haworth went on. + +"You knew how to do it, and you did it--gentleman way. You knew me and +you knew I was hard hit and you knew I'd make a big throw. That was +between us two, though we never said a word. I'd never give up a thing +in my life before and I was mad for her. She knew how to hold me off and +gave me plenty to think of. What else had you, my lad? 'Haworth's' +didn't want a gentleman; 'Haworth's' didn't want brass, and you'd none +to give if it did. It wasn't _you_ who was took in partner; it was what +Jem Haworth was aiming at--and has missed, by----" + +He got up, and, pushing his chair back, made a stride toward the door. +Ffrench was sure he was going away without another word, but he suddenly +stopped and turned back. + +"I'd sooner take hell than what's comin'," he repeated in a hoarse +whisper. "And it's you that's brought it on me; but if I'd got what I +aimed at, it might have come and welcome." + +Then he went out. + +He went across to the Works, and, going into his room, he found Murdoch +standing at one of the windows gazing out at something in the street. He +was haggard and gaunt and had a vacant look. It occurred to Haworth that +some sudden physical ailment had attacked him. He went up to his side. + +"What have you found, lad?" he demanded. + +The next instant his own eyes discovered what it was. An open carriage +was just drawing up before the bank. Rachel Ffrench sat in it, and Saint +Méran was with her. + +He looked at them a second or so and then looked at Murdoch--at his +wretched face and his hollow eyes. An unsavory exclamation burst from +him. + +"What!" he cried out after it. "There's another man, is there? Is it +_that_?" + +"Yes," was Murdoch's monotonous reply. "There's another man." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + +"EVEN." + + +The same evening M. Saint Méran had the pleasure of meeting a person of +whom he had heard much, and in whom he was greatly interested. This +person was the master of "Haworth's," who came in after dinner. + +If he had found Murdoch a little trying and wearisome, M. Saint Méran +found Haworth astounding. He was not at all prepared for him. When he +walked into the room as if it were his own, gave a bare half-nod to +Ffrench, and carried himself aggressively to Miss Ffrench's side, Saint +Méran was transfixed with astonishment. He had heard faint rumors of +something like this before, but he never dreamed of seeing it. He +retreated within himself and proceeded to study minutely the manners and +characteristics of the successful manufacturers of Great Britain. + +"He is very large," he said, with soft sarcasm, to Miss Ffrench. "Very +large indeed." + +"That," replied Miss Ffrench, "is probably the result of the iron +trade." + +The truth was that he seemed to fill the room. The time had passed when +he was ill at ease in the house. Now he was cool to defiance. Ffrench +had never found him so embarrassing as he was upon this particular +evening. He spoke very little, sitting in his chair silent, with a +gloomy and brooding look. When he directed his attention upon any one, +it was upon Rachel. The prolonged gaze which he occasionally fixed upon +her was one of evil scrutiny, which stirred her usually cool blood not a +little. She never failed, however, to meet it with composure. At last +she did a daring thing. Under cover of a conversation between her father +and Saint Méran, she went to the table at his side and began to turn +over the books upon it. + +"I think," she said, in an undertone, "that you have something to say to +me." + +"Aye," he answered, "I have that, and the time'll come when I shall say +it, too." + +"You think I'm afraid to hear it," she continued. "Follow me into the +next room and see." + +Then she addressed her father, speaking aloud. + +"Your plans for the new bank are in the next room, I believe," she said. +"I wish to show them to Mr. Haworth." + +"Y--yes," he admitted, somewhat reluctantly. "They are on my table." + +She passed through the folding doors and Haworth followed her. She +stopped at one of the windows and waited for him to speak, and it was +during this moment in which she waited that he saw in her face what he +had not seen before--a faint pallor and a change which was not so much a +real change as the foreshadowing of one to come. He saw it now because +it chanced that the light struck full upon her. + +"Now," she said, "say your say. But let me tell you that I shall listen +not because I feel a shadow of interest in it, but because I _know_ you +thought I shrank from hearing it." + +He pushed open the French window and strode on to the terrace. + +"Step out here," he said. + +She went out. + +"This," he said, glancing about him, "this is th' place you stood on th' +night you showed yourself to the strikers." + +She made no answer. + +"It's as good a place as any," he went on. "I'm going to have it out +with you," he said, with bitter significance. + +Then, for the first time, it struck her that she had overstepped the +mark and done a dangerous thing, but she would have borne a great deal +sooner than turn back, and so she remained. + +"I've stood it a long time," he said, "and now I'm going to reckon up. +There's a good bit of reckoning up to be done betwixt you and me, for +all you've held me at arm's length." + +"I am glad," she put in, "that you acknowledge that I did hold you at +arm's length, and that you were not blind to it." + +"Oh," he answered, "I wasn't blind to it, no more than you were blind to +the other; and from first to last it's been my comfort to remember that +you weren't blind to the other--that you knew it as well as I did. I've +held to that." + +He came close to her. + +"When I give up what I'd worked twenty year to get, what did I give it +up for? For _you_. When I took Ffrench in partner, what did I run the +risk for? For _you_. What was to pay me? _You._" + +His close presence in the shadow was so intolerable to her that she +could have cried out, but she did not. + +"You made a poor bargain," she remarked. + +"Aye, a poor bargain; but you were one in it. You bore it in your mind, +and you've bore it there from then till now, and I've got a hold on you +through it that's worth summat to me, if I never came nigh nor touched +you. You knew it, and you let it be. No other chap can pay more for you +than Jem Haworth's paid. I've got that to think of." + +She made a gesture with her hand. + +"I--I--hush!" she cried. "I will not hear it!" + +"Stop it, if you can. Call 'em if you want, and let 'em hear--th' new +chap and all. You shall hear, if all Broxton comes. I've paid +twenty-five year of work and sweat and grime; I've paid 'Haworth's'--for +I'm a ruined chap as I stand here; and but for _you_ I'd have got +through." + +There was a shock in these last words; if they were true the blow would +fall on her too. + +"What," she faltered,--"what do you mean?" + +"Th' strikes begun it," he answered, laconically, "and," with a jerk of +his thumb toward the room in which her father sat, "he finished it. He +tried some of his gentleman pranks in a quiet way, and he lost money on +'em. He's lost it again and again, and tried to cover it with fresh +shifts, and it's 'Haworth's' that must pay for 'em. It'll come sooner or +later, and you may make up your mind to it." + +"What were you doing?" she demanded, sharply. "You might have known----" + +"Aye," he returned, "what was I doing? I used to be a sharp chap enow. +I've not been as sharp i' th' last twelvemonth, and he was up to it. He +thought it was his own brass, likely--he'd give summat for it as +belonged to him." + +He came nearer to the light and eyed her over. + +"You've had your day," he said. "You've made a worse chap of me than I +need have been. You--you lost me a friend; I hadn't counted that in. +You've done worse by him than you've done by me. He was th' finer mak' +of th' two, and it'll go harder with him. When I came in, he was hanging +about the road-side, looking up at the house. He didn't see me, but I +saw him. He'll be there many a night, I dare say. I'd be ready to swear +he's there now." + +"Whom do you mean?" + +"I mean--Murdoch!" + +The very sound of his own voice seemed to fire him with rage. She saw a +look in his eye which caused her to shrink back. But she was too late. +He caught her by the arm and dragged her toward him. + +A second later when he released her, she staggered to one of the rustic +seats and sank crouching into it, hiding her face in the folds of her +dress. She had not cried out, however, nor uttered a sound, and he had +known she would not. + +He stood looking down at her. + +"A gentleman wouldn't have done it," he said, hoarsely. "I'm not a +gentleman. You've held me off and trampled me under foot. That'll leave +us a bit even." + +And he turned on his heel and walked away into the darkness. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +"WHY DO YOU CRY FOR ME?" + + +When he said that he had seen Murdoch standing in the road before the +house, he had spoken the truth. It was also true that even as they stood +upon the terrace he was there still. + +He was there every night. Where he slept or when, or if at all, his +mother and Christian did not know; they only knew that he never spent a +night at home. They barely saw him from day to day. When he came home in +the morning and evening, it was to sit at the table, rarely speaking, +scarcely tasting food, only drinking greedily the cup of strong coffee +Christian always had in readiness for him. The girl was very good to him +in these days. She watched him in terror of his unnatural mood. He +hardly seemed to see them when they were in the room with him; his eyes +were hollow and burning bright; he grew thin and narrow-chested and +stooped; his hands were unsteady when he lifted anything. + +When she was alone, Christian said to herself again and again: + +"He will die. There is no help for it. He will die--or worse." + +One morning she came down to find him lying on the sofa with closed eyes +and such a deathly face that she almost cried out aloud. But she +restrained herself and went into the kitchen as if to perform her usual +tasks. Not long afterward she returned carrying a little tray with a cup +of hot coffee upon it. + +"Will you drink this for me?" she said to him. + +He opened his eyes a little impatiently, but he sat up and drank it. + +"It's very good," he said, as he fell back again into his old position, +"but you mustn't put yourself to trouble for me." + +Afterward the coffee was always ready for him when he came in, and he +got into the habit of drinking it mechanically. + +The books he had been accustomed to pore over at every leisure moment +lay unopened. He neither touched nor looked at them. + +The two women tried to live their lives as if nothing were happening. +They studiously avoided questioning or appearing to observe him. + +"We must not let him think that we talk of him," Christian said. + +She showed a wonderful gentleness and tact. Until long afterward, Mrs. +Murdoch scarcely knew what support and comfort she had in her. Her past +life had planted in her a readiness to despair. + +"He is like his father," she said once. "He was like him as a child. He +is very trusting and faithful, but when his belief is gone it is all +over. He has given up as his father did before he died. He will not try +to live." + +He did not try to live, but he did not think of death. He was too full +of other morbid thoughts. He could not follow any idea far. A thousand +of them came and went, and in the end were as nothing. + +"Why," he kept saying to himself weakly and wearily,--"_why_ was it? +What had I done? It was a strange thing to choose me out of so many. I +was hardly worth it. To have chosen another man would have served her +better." + +He did not know how the days passed at the Works. The men began to gaze +at him askance and mutter when he went by. + +"Th' feyther went daft," they said. "Is this chap goin' th' same way?" + +It was only the look of his face which made them say so. He got through +his work one way or another. But the days were his dread. The nights, +strange and dreadful enough, were better than the broad daylight, with +the scores of hands about him and the clangor of hammers and whir of +machinery. He fell into the habit of going to the engine-room and +standing staring at the engine, fascinated by it. Once he drew nearer +and nearer with such a look in his eye that Floxham began to regard him +stealthily. He went closer, pace by pace, and at last made a step which +brought a shout from Floxham, who sprang upon him and tore him away. + +"What art at, tha foo'?" he yelled. "Does tha want to go whoam on a +shutter?" + +Wakening, with a long breath, he said: + +"I forgot, that was it. I was thinking of another thing." + +The time came at length when he had altered so that when he went out his +mother and Christian often sat up together half the night trembling with +a fear neither of them would have put into words. As they sat trying to +talk, each would glance at the other stealthily, and when their eyes +met, each would start as if with some guilty thought. + +On one of the worst and most dreadful of nights, Christian suddenly +rose from her seat, crossed the hearth and threw herself upon her knees +before her companion. + +"I am going out," she said. "Don't--don't try to keep me." + +"It is midnight," said Mrs. Murdoch, "and--you don't know where to go." + +"Yes," the girl returned, "I do. For God's sake, let me go! I cannot +bear it." + +The woman gave her a long look, and then said a strange and cruel thing. + +"You had better stay where you are. It is not _you_ he wants." + +"No," she said bitterly, "it is not I he wants; but I can find him and +make sure--that--he will come back. And then you will go to sleep." She +left her in spite of her efforts to detain her. She was utterly +fearless, and went into the night as if there was no such thing as peril +on earth. + +She did know where to go and went there. Murdoch was standing opposite +the house in which Rachel Ffrench slept. She went to him and put her +hand on his arm. + +"What are you doing here?" she said, in a low voice. He turned and gave +her a cold, vacant look. He did not seem at all surprised at finding her +dark, beautiful young face at his very shoulder. + +"I don't know. Can you tell me?" + +"We have been waiting for you," she said. "We cannot rest when you are +away." + +"Do you want me to go home and go to bed decently and sleep?" he said. +"Do you suppose I would not, if I could? I always start from here and +come back here. I say to myself, 'It will take me an hour to reach the +place where I can see her window.' It is something to hold one's mind in +check with. This rambling--and--and forgetting what one has meant to +think about is a terrible thing." + +"Come home with me," she said. "We will not talk. You can lie on the +sofa and we will go away. I want your mother to sleep." + +Something in her presence began to influence him to a saner mood. + +"What are you doing here?" he asked. "It is midnight." + +"I am not afraid. I could not bear to stay in the house. We sit +there----" + +An idea seemed to strike him suddenly. He stopped her and asked +deliberately: + +"Did you come because you thought I might do myself harm?" + +She would not answer, and after waiting a second or so he went on +slowly: + +"I have thought I might myself--sometimes, but never for long. You have +no need to fear. I am always stopped by the thought that--perhaps--it is +not worth it after all. When things look clearer, I shall get over it. +Yes--I think I shall get over it--though now there seems to be no end. +But--some day--it will come--and I shall get over it. Don't be afraid +that I shall do myself harm. If I am not killed--before the end comes--I +shall not kill myself. I shall know it was not worth it after all." + +The tears had been running down her cheeks as she stood, but she bit her +lip and forced herself to breathe evenly, so that he might not find her +out. But just then, as he moved, a great drop fell upon the back of his +hand. He stopped and began to tremble. + +"Good heavens!" he cried. "You are crying. Why do you cry for me?" + +"Because I cannot help it," she said in a half-whisper. "I do not cry +often. I never cried for any one before." + +"I'll take you home," he said, moving slowly along at her side. "Don't +cry." + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + +"IT IS WORSE THAN I THOUGHT." + + +A week or so later Saint Méran went away. Ffrench informed his partner +of this fact with a secret hope of its producing upon him a somewhat +softening effect. But Haworth received the statement with coolness. + +"He'll come back again," he said. "Let him alone for that." + +The general impression was that he would return. The opinion most +popular in the more humble walks of Broxton society was that he had gone +"to get hissen ready an' ha' th' papers drawed up," and that he would +appear some fine day with an imposing retinue, settle an enormous +fortune upon Miss Ffrench, and, having been united to her with due +grandeur and solemnity, would disappear with her to indefinitely +"furrin" parts. + +There seemed to be little change in Rachel Ffrench's life and manner, +however. She began to pay rather more strict attention to her social +duties, and consequently went out oftener. This might possibly be +attributed to the fact that remaining in-doors was somewhat dull. +Haworth and Murdoch came no more, and after Saint Méran's departure a +sort of silence seemed to fall upon the house. Ffrench himself felt it +when he came in at night, and was naturally restless under it. Perhaps +Miss Ffrench felt it, too, though she did not say so. + +One morning, Janey Briarley, sitting nursing the baby in the door-way +of the cottage, glanced upward from her somewhat arduous task to find a +tall and graceful figure standing before her in the sun. She had been +too busily engaged to hear footsteps, and there had been no sound of +carriage-wheels, so the visitor had come upon her entirely unawares. + +It cannot be said she received her graciously. Her whilom admiration had +been much tempered by sharp distrust very early in her acquaintance with +its object. + +"Art tha coomin' in?" she asked unceremoniously. + +"Yes," said Miss Ffrench, "I am coming in." + +Janey got up and made room for her to pass, and when she had passed, +gave her a chair, very much overweighted by the baby as she did so. + +"Does tha want to see mother?" + +"If your mother is busy, you will serve every purpose. The housekeeper +told me that Mrs. Dixon was ill, and as I was passing I thought I would +come in." + +Janey's utter disbelief in this explanation was a sentiment not easily +concealed, even by an adept in controlling facial expression, and she +was not an adept. But Miss Ffrench was not at all embarrassed by any +demonstration of a lack of faith which she might have perceived. When +Janey resumed her seat, she broke the silence by an entirely unexpected +observation. She touched the baby delicately with the point of her +parasol--very delicately indeed. + +"I suppose," she remarked, "that this is an extremely handsome child." + +This with the air of one inquiring for information. + +"Nay, he is na," retorted Janey unrelentingly. "He's good enow, but he +nivver wur hurt wi' good looks. None on 'em wur, an' he's fou'est o' +th' lot. I should think tha could see that fur thysen." + +"Oh," replied Miss Ffrench, "then I suppose I am wrong. My idea was that +at that age children all looked alike." + +"Loike him?" said Janey dryly. "Did tha think as tha did?" + +As the young Briarley in question was of a stolid and unornamental type, +uncertain of feature and noticeable chiefly for a large and unusually +bald head of extraordinary phrenological development, this gave the +matter an entirely novel aspect. + +"Perhaps," said Miss Ffrench, "I scarcely regarded it from that point of +view." + +Then she changed the subject. + +"How is Mrs. Dixon?" she inquired. + +"She's neyther better nor worse," was the answer, "an' a mort o' +trouble." + +"That is unfortunate. Who cares for her?" + +"Mother. She's th' on'y one as can do owt wi' her." + +"Is there no one else she has a fancy for--your father, for instance?" +inquired Miss Ffrench. + +"She conna bide th' soight o' him, an' he's feart to go nigh her. Th' +ony man as she ivver looked at wur Murdoch," answered Janey. + +"I think I remember his saying she had made friends with him. Is she as +fond of him now?" + +"I dunnot know as I could ca' it bein' fond on him. She is na fond o' +nobody. But she says he's getten a bit more sense than th' common run." + +"It is rather good-natured on his part to come to see her----" + +"He does na coom to see her. He has na been nigh th' house fur a month. +He's been ill hissen or summat. He's up an' about, but he'd getten a +face loike Death th' last toime I seed him. Happen he's goin' off loike +his feyther." + +"How is that?" + +"Did na tha know," with some impatience, "as he went crazy over summat +he wur makkin', an' deed 'cause he could na mak' out to finish it? It's +th' very thing Murdoch took up hissen an' th' stroikers wur so set +ag'in." + +"I think I remember. There was a story about the father. Do you--think +he is really ill?" + +"Murdoch? Aye, I do.--Mak'less noise, Tummos Henry!" (This to the +child.) + +"That is a great pity. Ah, there is the carriage." + +One of her gloves had been lying upon her lap. When she stood up, it +dropped. She bent to pick it up, and as she did so something fell +tinkling upon the flag floor and rolled under a table. It was one of her +rings. Janey brought it back to her. + +"It mun ha' been too large fur thee," she said, "or tha'rt gettin' thin. +Seems loike tha'rt a bit different to what tha wur," with a glance at +her. + +"Never mind that," she answered sharply, as she handed her some money. +"Give this to your mother." + +And she dropped the ring into her purse instead of putting it on again, +and went out to her carriage. + +Janey stood and watched her. + +"She is a bit thinner, or summat," she remarked, "but she need na moind +that. It's genteel enow to be thin, an' I dunnot know as it ud hurt +her." + +Rachel Ffrench went home, and the same afternoon Murdoch came to her for +the last time. + +He had not intended to come. In his wildest moments he had never +thought of going to her again, but as he passed along the road, +intending to spend the afternoon in wandering across the country, he +looked up at the windows of the house, and a strange fancy seized upon +him. He would go in and ask her the question he had asked himself again +and again. It did not seem to him at the time a strange thing to do. It +looked wonderfully simple and natural in his strained and unnatural +mood. He turned in at the gate with only one feeling--that perhaps she +would tell him, and then it would be over. She saw him come up the path, +and wondered if the man at the door would remember the charge she had +given him. It chanced that he did not remember, or that he was thrown +off his guard. She heard feet on the stairs in a few seconds, and almost +immediately Murdoch was in the room. What she thought when, being +brought thus near to him, she saw and recognized the dreadful change in +him, God knows. She supported herself with her hand upon the back of her +chair as she rose. There was a look in his face almost wolfish. He would +not sit down, and in three minutes broke through the barrier of her +effort at controlling him. It was impossible for her to control him as +she might have controlled another man. + +"I have only a few words to say," he said. "I have come to ask you a +question. I think that is all--only to ask you a question." + +"Will you tell me," he said, "what wrong I have done you?" + +She put her other hand on the chair and held it firmly. + +"Will you tell me," she said, almost in a whisper, "what wrong I have +done _you_?" + +She remained so, looking at him and he at her, with a terrible +helplessness, through a moment of dead silence. + +She dropped her face upon her hands as she held the chair, and so +stood. + +He fell back a pace, gazing at her still. + +"I have heard of women who fancied themselves injured," he said, +"planning to revenge themselves upon the men who had intentionally or +unintentionally wounded their pride. I remember such things in books I +have read, not in real life, and once or twice the thought has crossed +my mind that at some time in the past I might, in my poor ignorance, +have presumed--or--blundered in some way to--anger you--and that this +has been my punishment. It is only a wild thought, but it was a straw to +cling to, and I would rather believe it, wild as it is, than believe +that what you have done has been done wantonly. Can it be--is it true?" + +"No." + +But she did not lift her face. + +"It is not?" + +"No." + +"Then it is worse than I thought." + +He said the words slowly and clearly, and they were his last. Having +said them, he went away without a backward glance. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + +ONCE AGAIN. + + +In half an hour's time Murdoch had left Broxton far behind him. He left +the open road and rambled across fields and through lanes. The people in +the farm-houses, who knew him, saw him pass looking straight before him +and walking steadily like a man with an end in view. + +His mind was full of one purpose--the determination to control himself +and keep his brain clear. + +"_Now_," he said, "let me think it over--now let me look at it in cold +blood." + +The effort he made was something gigantic; it was a matter of physical +as well as mental force. He had wavered and been vague long enough. Now +the time had come to rouse himself through sheer power of will, or give +up the reins and drift with the current, a lost man. + +At dusk he reached Dillup, and roamed about the streets, half conscious +of his surroundings. The Saturday-night shopping was going on, and +squalid women hurrying past him with their baskets on their arms glanced +up, wondering at his dark face and preoccupied air. + +"He's noan Dillup," they said; one good woman going so far as to add +that "she did na loike th' looks on him neyther," with various +observations upon the moral character of foreigners in general. He saw +nothing of the sensation he created, however. He rambled about +erratically until he felt the need of rest, and then went into a clean +little shop and bought some simple food and ate it sitting upon the tall +stool before the counter, watched by the stout, white-aproned matron in +charge. + +"Tha looks poorly, mester," she said, as she handed him his change. + +He started a little on hearing her voice, but recovered himself readily. + +"Oh no," he said. "I'm right enough, I think. I'm an American, and I +suppose we are rather a gaunt-looking lot as a rule." + +"'Merikin, art tha?" she replied. "Well to be sure! Happen that's it" +(good naturedly). "I've allus heerd they wur a poor color. 'Merikin! +Well--sure-_ly_!" + +The fact of his being an American seemed to impress her deeply. She +received his thanks (she was not often thanked by her customers) as a +mysterious though not disagreeable result of his nationality, and as he +closed the door after him he heard, as an accompaniment to the tinkling +of the shop-bell, her amiably surprised ejaculation, "A 'Merikin! +Well--sure-_ly_!" + +A few miles from Broxton there was a substantial little stone bridge +upon which he had often sat. In passing it again and again it had +gradually become a sort of resting place for him. It was at a quiet +point of the road, and sitting upon it he had thought out many a +problem. When he reached it on his way back he stopped and took his +usual seat, looking down into the slow little stream beneath, and +resting against the low buttress. He had not come to work out a problem +now; he felt that he had worked his problem out in the past six hours. + +"It was not worth it," he said. "No--it was not worth it after all." + +When he went on his way again he was very tired, and he wondered +drearily whether, when he came near the old miserable stopping place, he +should not falter and feel the fascination strong upon him again. He had +an annoying fear of the mere possibility of such a thing. When he saw +the light striking slantwise upon the trees it might draw him toward it +as it had done so often before--even in spite of his determination and +struggles. + +Half a mile above the house a great heat ran over him, and then a deadly +chill, but he went on steadily. There was this for him, that for the +first time he could think clearly and not lose himself. + +He came nearer to it and nearer, and it grew in brightness. He fancied +he had never seen it so bright before. He looked up at it and then away. +He was glad that having once looked he could turn away; there had been +many a night when he could not. Then he was under the shadow of the +trees and knew that his dread had been only a fancy, and that he was a +saner man than he had thought. And the light was left behind him and he +did not look back, but went on. + +When he reached home the house was utterly silent. He entered with his +latch-key and finding all dark went upstairs noiselessly. + +The door of his own room was closed, and when he opened it he found +darkness there also. He struck a match and turned on the light. For a +moment its sudden glare blinded him, and then he turned involuntarily +toward the farther corner of the room. Why he did so, he did not know at +the time,--the movement was the result of an uncontrollable +impulse,--but after he had looked he knew. + +The light shone upon the empty chair in its old place--and upon the +table and upon the model standing on it! + +He did not utter any exclamation; strangely enough, he did not at first +feel any shock or surprise. He advanced toward it slowly. But when at +last he stood near it, the shock came. His heart beat as if it would +burst. + +"What falseness is there in me," he cried, "that I should have +_forgotten_ it?" + +He was stricken with burning shame. He did not ask himself how it was +that it stood there in its place. He thought of nothing but the lack in +himself which was so deep a humiliation. Everything else was swept away. +He sank into the chair and sat staring at it. + +"I had forgotten it," he said,--"_forgotten_ it." + +And then he put out his hand and touched and moved it--and drew it +toward him. + + +About an hour afterward he was obliged to go downstairs for something he +needed. It was to the sitting-room he went, and when he pushed the door +open he found a dim light burning and saw that some one was lying upon +the sofa. His first thought was that it was his mother who had waited +for him, but it was not she--it was Christian Murdoch, fast asleep with +her face upon her arm. + +Her hat and gloves were thrown upon the table and she still wore a long +gray cloak which was stained and damp about the hem. He saw this as soon +as he saw her face, and no sooner saw than he understood. + +He went to the sofa and stood a moment looking down at her, and, though +he did not speak or stir, she awakened. + +She sat up and pushed her cloak aside, and he spoke to her. + +"It was you who brought it back," he said. + +"Yes," she answered quietly. "I thought that if you saw it in the old +place again, you would remember." + +"_You_ did not forget it." + +"I had nothing else to think of," was her simple reply. + +"I must seem a poor sort of fellow to you," he said wearily. "I _am_ a +poor sort of fellow." + +"No," she said "or I should not have thought it worth while to bring it +back." + +He glanced down at her dress and then up at her face. + +"You had better go upstairs to bed," he said. "The dew has made your +dress and cloak damp. Thank you for what you have done." + +She got up and turned away. + +"Good-night," she said. + +"Good-night," he answered, and watched her out of the room. + +Then he found what he required and went back to his work; only, more +than once as he bent over it, he thought again of the innocent look of +her face as it had rested upon her arm while she slept. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + +A FOOTSTEP. + + +He went out no more at night. From the moment he laid his hand upon the +model again he was safer than he knew. Gradually the old fascination +re-asserted itself. There were hours of lassitude and weariness to be +borne, and moments of unutterable bitterness and disgust for life, in +which he had to fight sharp battles against the poorer side of his +nature; but always at the worst there was something which made itself a +point to fix thought upon. He could force himself to think of this when, +if he had had no purpose in view, he would have been a lost man. The +keen sense of treachery to his own resolve stung him, but it was a spur +after all. The strength of the reaction had its physical effect upon +him, and sometimes he suddenly found himself weak to exhaustion,--so +weak that any exertion was impossible, and he was obliged to leave his +post at the Works and return home for rest. At such times he lay for +hours upon the narrow sofa in the dull little room, as his father had +done long before, and wore a look so like him that, one day, his mother +coming into the room not knowing he was there, cried out aloud and +staggered backward, clutching at her breast. + +Her manner toward him softened greatly in these days. It was more what +it had been in his boyhood, when she had watched over him with patient +and unfailing fondness. Once he awakened to see her standing a few +paces from his side, seeming to have been there some moments. + +"If--I have seemed hard to you in your trouble," she said, "forgive me." + +She spoke without any prelude, and did not seem to expect any answer, +turning away and going about her work at once, but he felt that he need +feel restless and chilled in her presence no longer. + +He did not pursue his task at home, but took the model down to the Works +and found a place for it in his little work-cell. + +The day he did so he was favored by a visit from Haworth. It was the +first since the rupture between them. Since then they had worked day +after day with only the door between them, they had known each other's +incomings and outgoings, but had been as far apart as if a world +separated them. Haworth had known more of Murdoch than Murdoch had known +of him. No change in him had escaped his eye. He had seen him struggle +and reach his climax at last. He had jeered at him as a poor enough +fellow with fine, white-livered fancies, and a woman's way of bearing +himself. He had raged at and cursed him, and now and then had been lost +in wonder at him, but he had never fathomed him from first to last. + +But within the last few weeks his mood had changed,--slowly, it is true, +but it had changed. His bearing had changed, too. Murdoch himself +gradually awakened to a recognition of this fact, in no small wonder. He +was less dogged and aggressive, and showed less ill-will. + +That he should appear suddenly, almost in his old way, was a somewhat +startling state of affairs, but he crossed the threshold coolly. + +He sat down and folded his arms on the table. + +"You brought summat down with you this morning," he said. "What was +it?" + +Murdoch pointed to the wooden case, which stood on a shelf a few feet +from him. + +"It was that," he answered. + +"That!" he repeated. "What! You're at work at it again, are you?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, look sharp after it, that's all. There's a grudge bore again it." + +"I know that," Murdoch answered, "to my cost. I brought it here because +I thought it would be safer." + +"Aye, it'll be safer. Take my advice and keep it close, and work at it +at nights, when th' place is quiet. There's a key as'll let you in." And +he flung a key down upon the table. + +Murdoch picked it up mechanically. He felt as if he could scarcely be +awake. It seemed as if the man must have brought his purpose into the +room with him, having thought it over beforehand. His manner by no means +disarmed the suspicion. + +"It is the favor I should have asked, if I had thought----" + +Haworth left his chair. + +"There's th' key," he said, abruptly. "Use it. No other chap would get +it." + +He went back to his own room, and Murdoch was left to his surprise. + +He finished his work for the day, and went home, remaining there until +night came on. Then he went back to the Works, having first told +Christian of his purpose. + +"I am going to the Works," he said. "I may be there all night. Don't +wait for me, or feel anxious." + +When the great building loomed up before him in the dark, his mind +recalled instantly the night he had entered it before, attracted by the +light in the window. There was no light about it now but that shut in +the lantern he carried. The immensity and dead stillness would have been +a trying thing for many a man to encounter, but as he relocked the door +and made his way to his den, he thought of them only from one point of +view. + +"It is the silence of the grave," he said. "A man can concentrate +himself upon his work as if there was not a human breath stirring within +a mile of him." + +Somehow, even his room wore a look which seemed to belong to the silence +of night--a look he felt he had not seen before. He marked it with a +vague sense of mystery when he set his lantern down upon the table, +turning the light upon the spot on which his work would stand. + +Then he took down the case and opened it and removed the model. + +"It will not be forgotten again," he thought aloud. "If it is to be +finished, it will be finished here." + + +Half the night passed before he returned home. When he did so he went to +his room and slept heavily until daylight. He had never slept as he +slept in these nights,--heavy dreamless sleep, from which, at first, he +used to awaken with a start and a perfectly blank sense of loss and +dread, but which became, at last, unbroken. + +Night after night found him at his labor. It grew upon him; he longed +for it through the day; he could not have broken from it if he would. + +Once, as he sat at his table, he fancied that he heard a lock click and +afterward a stealthy footstep. It was a sound so faint and indistinct +that his disbelief in its reality was immediate; but he got up, taking +his lantern with him, and went out to look at the entrance passage. It +was empty and dark, and the door was shut and locked as he had left it. +He went back to his work little disturbed. He had not really expected to +find the traces of any presence in the place, but he had felt it best to +make the matter safe. + +Perhaps the fact that once or twice on other nights the same light, +indefinite sound fell upon his ear again, made him feel rather more +secure than otherwise. Having examined the place again and with the same +result, it troubled him no more. He set it down to some ordinary +material cause. + +After his first visit Haworth came into his room often. Why he came +Murdoch did not understand very clearly. He did not come to talk; +sometimes he scarcely spoke at all. He was moody and abstracted. He went +about the place wearing a hard and reckless look, utterly unlike any +roughness and hardness he had shown before. The hands who had cared the +least for his not altogether ill-natured tempests in days gone by shrank +or were restive before him now. He drove all before him or passed +through the rooms sullenly. It was plain to see that he was not the man +he had been--that he had even lost strength, and was suddenly worn and +broken, though neither flesh nor color had failed him. + +Among those who had made a lion of him he was more popular than ever. +The fact that he had held out against ill luck when so many had gone +down, was constantly quoted. The strikes which had kept up an uneven but +prolonged struggle had been the ruin of many a manufacturer who had +thought he could battle any storm. "Haworth's" had held its own and +weathered the worst. + +This was what the county potentates were fond of saying upon all +occasions,--particularly when they wanted Haworth to dine with them at +their houses. He used to accept their invitations and then go and sit at +their dinner-tables with a sardonic face. His humor, it was remarked +with some regret, was often of a sardonic kind. Occasionally he laughed +at the wrong time, and his jokes were not always easy to smile under. It +was also remarked that Mr. Ffrench scarcely seemed comfortable upon +these festive occasions. Of late he had not been in the enjoyment of +good health. He explained that he suffered from nervous headaches and +depression. His refined, well-molded face had become rather thin and +fatigued-looking. He had lost his effusive eloquence. He often sat +silent and started nervously when spoken to, but he did not eschew +society at all, always going out upon any state occasion when his +partner was to be a feature of the feast. Once upon such an occasion he +had said privately and with some plaintiveness to Haworth: + +"I don't think I can go to-night, my dear fellow. I really don't feel +quite equal to it." + +"Blast you!" said Haworth, dispensing with social codes. "You'll go +whether you're up to it or not. We'll keep it up to the end. It'll be +over soon enough." + +He evinced interest in the model, in his visits to the work-room, which +seemed a little singular to Murdoch. He asked questions about it, and +more than once repeated his caution concerning its being "kept close." + +"I've got it into my head that you'll finish it some of these days," he +said once, "if naught happens to it or you." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + +FINISHED. + + +One night, Murdoch, on leaving the house, said to Christian: + +"Don't expect me until morning. I may not be back until then. I think I +shall work all night." + +She did not ask him why. For several days she had seen that a singular +mood was upon him, that he was restless. Sometimes, when he met her eye +unexpectedly, he started and colored and turned away, as if he was a +little afraid. She stood upon the step and watched him until he +disappeared in the darkness, and then shut the door and went in to his +mother. + +A quarter of an hour afterward he entered his work-room, and shut +himself in and brought out the model. + +He sat looking at it a moment, and then stretched forth his hand to +touch it. Suddenly he drew it back and let it fall heavily upon the +table. "Good Heavens!" he cried. "Did _he_ ever feel so near as _this_, +and then fail?" The shock was almost unbearable. "Are there to be two of +us?" he said. "Was not one enough?" But he put forth his hand again a +minute later, though his heart beat like a trip-hammer. "It rests with +me to prove it," he said--"with _me_!" + +As he worked, the dead silence about him seemed to become more intense. +His own breathing was a distinct sound, light as it was; the accidental +dropping of a tool upon the table was a jar upon him; the tolling of the +church bell at midnight was unbearable. He even took out his watch and +stopped it. But at length he knew neither sound nor stillness; he forgot +both. + +It had been a dark night, but the morning rose bright and clear. The +sun, streaming in at the one window, fell upon the model, pushed far +back upon the table, and on Murdoch himself, sitting with his forehead +resting upon his hands. He had been sitting thus some time--he did not +know how long. He had laid his last tool down before the first streak of +pink had struck across the gray sky. He was tired and chill with the +morning air, but he had not thought of going home yet, or even quite +recognized that the night was past. His lantern still burned beside him. +He was roused at last by a sound in the outer room. The gates had not +been unlocked nor the bell rung, but some one had come in. The next +moment Haworth opened the door and stood in the threshold, looking in on +him. + +"You've been here all night," he said. + +[Illustration: "YOU'VE BEEN HERE ALL NIGHT."] + +"Yes," answered Murdoch. He turned a little and pointed to the model, +speaking slowly, as if he were but half awake. + +"I think," he said, "that it is complete." + +He said it with so little appearance of emotion or exultation that +Haworth was dumbfounded. He laid a hand on his shoulder and shook him a +little. + +"Wake up, man!" he said. "You're dazed." + +"No," he answered, "not dazed. I've had time to think it over. It has +been finished two or three hours." All at once he burst into a laugh. "I +did not think," he said, "that it would be you I should tell the news to +first." + +Haworth sat down near him with a dogged face. + +"Nay," he replied, "nor me either." + +They sat and stared at each other for a moment in silence. Then Murdoch +drew a long, wearied breath. + +"But it is done," he said, "nevertheless." + +After that he got up and began to make his preparations to go home while +Haworth sat and watched him. + +"I shall want to go away," he said. "When I come back I shall know what +the result is to be." + +"Start to-morrow morning," said Haworth. "And keep close. By the time +you come back----" + +He stopped and left his chair, and the bell which called the hands to +work began its hurried clanging. At the door he paused. + +"When shall you take it away?" he asked. + +"To-night," Murdoch answered. "After dark." + +At home he only told them one thing--that in the morning he was going to +London and did not know when he should return. He did not go to the +Works during the day, but remained at home trying to rest. But he could +not sleep and the day seemed to lag heavily. In the afternoon he left +the sofa on which he had lain through the morning and went out. He +walked slowly through the town and at last turned down the lane which +led to the Briarley's cottage. He felt as if there would be a sort of +relief to the tenseness of his mood in a brief interview with Janey. +When he went into the house, Mr. Briarley was seated in Mrs. Dixon's +chair unscientifically balancing his latest-born upon his knee. His +aspect was grave and absorbed; he was heated and disheveled with violent +exertion; the knot of his blue cotton neckerchief had twisted itself +under his right ear in a painfully suggestive manner. Under some stress +of circumstances he had been suddenly pressed into service, and his +mode of placating his offspring was at once unprofessional and +productive of frantic excitement. + +But the moment he caught sight of Murdoch an alarming change came upon +him. His eyes opened to their fullest extent, his jaw fell and the color +died out of his face. He rose hurriedly, dropped the youngest Briarley +into his chair and darted out of the house, in such trepidation that his +feet slipped under him when he reached the lower step, where he fell +with a loud clatter of wooden clogs, scrambling up again with haste and +difficulty and disappearing at once. + +Attracted by the disturbance, Janey darted in from the inner room barely +in time to rescue the deserted young Briarley. + +"Wheer's he gone?" she demanded, signifying her father. "I towd her he +wur na fit to be trusted! Wheer's he gone?" + +"I don't know," Murdoch answered. "I think he ran away because he saw +me. What is the trouble?" + +"Nay, dunnot ax me! We canna mak' him out, neyther mother nor me. He's +been settin' i' th' house fur three days, as if he wur feart to stir +out--settin' by th' fire an' shakin' his yed, an' cryin' ivvery now and +then. An' here's her i' th' back room to wait on. A noice toime this is +fur him to pick to go off in. He mowt ha' waited till she wur done wi'." + +As conversation naturally could not flourish under these circumstances, +after a few minutes Murdoch took his leave. + +It seemed that he had not yet done with Mr. Briarley. Passing through +the gate, he caught sight of a forlorn figure seated upon the road-side +about twenty yards before him, wearing a fustian jacket and a blue +neck-cloth knotted under the ear. As he approached, Mr. Briarley looked +up, keeping his eyes fixed upon him in a despairing gaze. He did not +remove his glance at all, in fact, until Murdoch was within ten feet of +him, when, for some entirely inexplicable reason, he rose hurriedly and +passed to the other side of the road, and at a distance of some yards +ahead sat down, and stared wildly at him again. This singular course he +pursued until they had reached the end of the lane, where he sat and +watched Murdoch out of sight. + +"I thowt," he said, breathing with extreme shortness, "as he ha' done +fur me. It wur a wonder as he did na. If I'd coom nigh him or he'd coom +nigh me, they'd ha' swore it wur me as did it an's gone accordin', if +luck went ag'in 'em." + +Then a sudden panic seemed to seize him. He pulled off his cap, and, +holding it in both hands, stared into it as if in desperate protest +against fate. A large tear fell into the crown, and then another and +another. "I canna help it," he said, in a loud and sepulchral whisper. +"Look out! Look out!" + +And then, probably feeling that even in this he might be committing +himself fatally, he got up, glanced fearfully about him, and scuttled +away. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + +"IF AUGHT'S FOR ME, REMEMBER IT." + + +Before he left the house at night, Murdoch had a brief interview with +his mother. + +"I am going to London as _he_ went," he said,--"on the same errand. The +end may be what it was before. I have felt very sure--but he was sure +too." + +"Yes," the woman answered, "he was very sure." + +"I don't ask you to trust it--or me," he said. "He gave a life to it. I +have not given a year, and he was the better man, a thousand-fold. I," +he said, with a shadow falling on his face, "have not proved myself as +he did. He never faltered from the first." + +"No," she said. "Would to God he had!" + +But when he went, she followed him to the door and said the words she +had refused him when he had first told her he had taken the burden upon +his shoulders. + +"God speed you!" she said. "I will try to believe." + +His plan was to go to his room, pack his case securely, and then carry +it with him to the station in time to meet the late train he had decided +on taking. + +He let himself into the Works as usual, and found his way along the +passage in the darkness, though he carried his lantern. He knew his way +so well that he did not need it there. But when he reached Haworth's +room and put out his hand to open the door, he stopped. His touch met +no resistance, for the door was wide open. The discovery was so sharp a +shock to him that for a few seconds he remained motionless. But he +recovered himself in a second or so more. It might have been the result +of carelessness, after all; so he turned on his light and went into his +cell and began his task. It did not take him long. When he had finished, +the wooden case was simply a solid square brown parcel which might have +contained anything. He glanced at his watch and sat down a minute or so. + +"There is no use in going too early," he said. And so he waited a +little, thinking mechanically of the silence inside and the darkness +out, and of the journey which lay before him. But at last he got up +again and took his burden by the cord he had fastened about it. + +"Now," he said, "it is time." + +At the very moment the words left his lips there was a sound outside the +door, and a rush upon him; he was seized by the throat, flung backward +into the chair he had left, and held there. He made no outcry. His first +thought when he found himself clutched and overpowered was an +incongruous one of Briarley sitting on the road-side and looking up at +him in panic-stricken appeal. He understood in a flash what his terror +had meant. + +The fellow who held him by the collar--there were three of them, and one +was Reddy--shook him roughly. + +"Wheer is it?" he said. "You know whatten we've coom for, my lad." + +Murdoch was conscious of a little chill which passed over him, but +otherwise he could only wonder at his own lack of excitement. No better +place to finish a man than such a one as this at dead of night, and +there was not one of the three who had not evil in his eye; but he +spoke without a tremor in his voice,--with the calmness of being +utterly without stay or help. + +"Yes, I suppose I know," he said. "You came to me for it before. What +are you going to do with it?" + +"Smash it to h----," said one, concisely, "an' thee too." + +It was not a pleasant thing to hear by the half light of a lantern in a +place so deadly still. Murdoch felt the little chill again, but he +remembered that after all he had one slender chance if he could make +them listen. + +"You are making a blunder," he began. + +Reddy stopped him by addressing his comrades. + +"What art tha stondin' hearkenin' to him fur?" he demanded. "Smack him +i' th' mouth an' stop him." + +Murdoch gave a lurch forward which it gave his captor some trouble to +restrain. He turned dangerously white and his eye blazed. + +"If you do, you devil," he panted, "I'll murder you." + +"Wheer is th' thing we coom fur?" said the first man. And then he caught +sight of the package, which had fallen upon the floor. + +"Happen it's i' theer," he suggested. "Oppen it, chaps." + +Then all at once Murdoch's calmness was gone. He shook in their grasp. + +"For God's sake!" he cried, "don't touch it! Don't do it a harm! It's a +mistake. It has nothing to do with your trade. It would be no hurt to +you if it were known to the whole world. For God's sake, believe me!" + +"We've heerd a different mak' o' tale fro' that," said Reddy, laughing. + +"It's a lie--a lie! Who told it?" + +"Jem Haworth," he was answered. "Jem Haworth, as it wur made fur." + +He began to struggle with all his strength. He cried out aloud and +sprang up and broke loose and fought with the force of madness. + +"You shall pay for it," he shrieked, and three to one as they were, he +held them for a moment at bay. + +"Gi' him th' knob-stick!" cried one. "At him wi' it!" + +It was Reddy who aimed the blow at him,--a blow that would have laid him +a dead man among them,--but it never fell, for he sprang forward with a +mighty effort and struck the bludgeon upward, and as it fell with a +crash at the opposite side of the room, they heard, even above the +tumult of their struggle, a rush of heavy feet, a voice every man among +them knew, and the sound they most dreaded--the sharp report of a +pistol. + +[Illustration: IT WAS REDDY WHO AIMED THE BLOW.] + +"It's Haworth!" they shouted. "Haworth!" And they made a dash at the +door in a body, stumbling over one another, striking and cursing, and +the scoundrel who first got through and away was counted a lucky man. + +Murdoch took a step forward and fell--so close to the model that his +helpless hand touched it as it lay. + + +It was not long before he returned to consciousness. His sudden loss of +strength had only been a sort of climax body and mind had reached +together. When he opened his eyes again, his first thought was a wonder +at himself and a vague effort to comprehend his weakness. He looked up +at Haworth, who bent over him. + +"Lie still a bit, lad," he heard him say. "Lie and rest thee." + +He no sooner heard his voice than he forgot his weak wonder at himself +in a stronger wonder at him. He was ashen pale and a tremor shook him as +he spoke. + +"Lie still and rest thee," he repeated, and he touched his head with an +approach to gentleness. + +"They thought there was more than me," he said. "And they're not fond of +powder and lead. They're better used to knobsticks and vitriol in the +dark." + +"They meant to murder me," said Murdoch. + +"Aye, make sure o' that. They weren't for play. They've had their minds +on this for a month or two. If I'd been a minute later----" + +He did not finish. A queer spasm of the throat stopped him. + +He rose the next instant and struck a match and turned the gas on to +full blaze. + +"Let's have light," he said. "Theer's a look about th' place I can't +stand." + +His eyes were blood-shot, his face looked gray and deeply lined and his +lips were parched. There was a new haggardness upon him and he was +conscious of it and tried to bear it down with his old bravado. + +"They'll not come back," he said. "They've had enough for to-night. If +they'd known I was alone they'd have made a stand for it. They think +they were in luck to get off." + +He came back and sat down. + +"They laid their plans better than I thought," he added. "They got over +me for once, devil take 'em. How art tha now, lad?" + +Murdoch made the effort to rise and succeeded, though he was not very +strong upon his feet, and sank into a chair feeling a little irritated +at his own weakness. + +"Giddy," he answered, "and a trifle faint. It's a queer business. I +went down as if I'd been shot. I have an hour and a half to steady +myself before the next train comes in. Let me make the best of it." + +"You'll go to-night?" said Haworth. + +"There's a stronger reason than ever that I should go," he answered. +"Let me get it out of the way and safe, for heaven's sake!" + +Haworth squared his arms upon the table and leaned on them. + +"Then," he said, "I've got an hour and a half to make a clean breast of +it." + +He said it almost with a swagger, and yet his voice was hoarse, and his +coolness a miserable pretense. + +"Ask me," he said, "how I came here!" + +And not waiting for a reply even while Murdoch gazed at him bewildered, +he answered the question himself. + +"I come," he said, "for a good reason,--for the same reason that's +brought me here every night you've been at work." + +Murdoch repeated his last words mechanically. He was not quite sure the +man was himself. + +"Every night I've been at work?" + +"Aye, every one on 'em! There's not been a night I've not been nigh you +and ready." + +A memory flashed across Murdoch's mind with startling force. + +"It was you I heard come in?" he cried. "It was not fancy." + +"Aye, it was me." + +There was a moment's silence between them in which Murdoch thought with +feverish rapidity. + +"It was you," he said with some bitterness at last,--"_you_ who set the +plot on foot?" + +"Aye, it was me." + +"I could have done the job I wanted to do in a quicker way," he went on, +after a second's pause, "but that wasn't my humor. I'd a mind to keep +out of it myself, and I knew how to set the chaps on as would do it in +their own way." + +"What do you mean by 'it'?" cried Murdoch. "Were you devil enough to +mean to have my blood?" + +"Aye,--while I was in the humor,--that and worse." + +Murdoch sprang up and began to pace the room. His strength had come back +to him with the fierce sense of repulsion which seized him. + +"It's a blacker world than I thought," he said. "We were friends +once--friends!" + +"So we were," he said, hoarsely. "You were the first chap I ever made +friends with, and you'll be the last. It's brought no good to either of +us." + +"It might," returned Murdoch, "if----" + +"Let me finish my tale," he said, even doggedly. "I said to myself +before I came you should hear it. I swore I'd stop at naught, and I kept +my word. I sowed a seed here and there, and th' soil was just right for +it. They were in the mood to hearken to aught, and they hearkened. But +there came a time when I found out that things were worse with you than +with me, and had gone harder with you. If you'd won where I lost it +would have been different, but you lost most of the two--you'd the most +to lose--and I changed my mind." + +He stopped a second and looked at Murdoch, who had come back and thrown +himself into his chair again. + +"I've said many a time that you were a queer chap," he went on, as if +half dubious of himself. "You _are_ a queer chap. At th' start you got a +hold on me, and when I changed my mind you got a hold on me again. I +swore I'd undo what I'd done, if I could. I knew if the thing was +finished and you got away with it they'd soon find out it was naught +they need fret about, so I swore to see you safe through. I gave you the +keys to come here to work, and every night I came and waited until you'd +done and gone away. I brought my pistols with me and kept a sharp +lookout. To-night I was late and they'd laid their plans and got here +before me. There's th' beginning and there's th' end." + +"You saved my life," said Murdoch. "Let me remember that." + +"I changed my mind and swore to undo what I'd done. There's naught for +me in that, my lad, and plenty to go agen me." + +After a little he pushed his chair back. + +"The time's not up," he said. "I've made short work of it. Pick up thy +traps and we'll go over th' place together and see that it's safe." + +He led the way, carrying the lantern, and Murdoch followed him. They +went from one end of the place to the other and found all quiet; the +bars of a small lower window had been filed and wrenched out of place, +Mr. Reddy and his friends having made their entrance through it. + +"They've been on the lookout many a night before they made up their +minds," said Haworth. "And they chose the right place to try." + +Afterward they went out together, locking the door and the iron gates +behind them, and went down in company to the dark little station with +its dim, twinkling lights. + +Naturally they did not talk very freely. Now and then there was a blank +silence of many minutes between them. + +But at last the train thundered its way in and stopped, and there was a +feeble bustle to and fro among the sleepy officials and an opening and +shutting and locking of doors. + +When Murdoch got into his empty compartment, Haworth stood at its step. +At the very last he spoke in a strange hurry: + +"When you come back," he said, "when you come back--perhaps----" + +There was a porter passing with a lantern, which struck upon his face +and showed it plainly. He shrank back a moment as if he feared the +light; but when it was gone he drew near again and spoke through the +window. + +"If there's aught in what's gone by that's for me," he said, "remember +it." + +And with a gesture of farewell, he turned away and was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER L. + +AN AFTER-DINNER SPEECH. + + +At dinner the next evening Mr. Ffrench had a story to tell. It was the +rather exciting story of the completion of Murdoch's labor, the night +attack and his sudden departure. Exciting as it was, however, Mr. +Ffrench did not relate it in his most vivid manner. His nervous ailments +had increased of late, and he was not in a condition to be vivacious and +dramatic. The incident came from him rather tamely, upon the whole. + +"If it is the success he thinks it is," he terminated, "he is a made +man--and he is not the fellow to deceive himself. Well," he said, rather +drearily, "I have said it would be so." + +As Haworth had foreseen, Saint Méran appeared upon the scene again. He +was present when the story was told, and was much interested in it as a +dramatic incident bringing the peculiarities of the manufacturing class +of Broxton into strong play. + +"If they had murdered him," he remarked with critical niceness, "it +would have been the most tragic of tragedies. On the very eve of his +life's success. A tragedy indeed! And it is not bad either that it +should have been his master who saved him." + +"Why do you say master?" said Miss Ffrench, coldly. + +"Pardon me. I thought----" + +Mr. Ffrench interposed in some hurry. + +"Oh, he has always been such an uncommon young fellow that we have +scarcely thought of him as a servant. He has not been exactly a servant +in fact." + +"Ah!" replied Saint Méran. "I ask pardon again." + +He had been not a little bewildered at the change he found in the +household. Mr. Ffrench no longer expounded his views at length with +refined vigor. He frequently excused himself from the family circle on +plea of severe indisposition, and at other times he sat in singular and +depressing silence. He was evidently ill; there were lines upon his +forehead and circles about his eyes; he had a perturbed air and started +without any apparent cause. A change showed itself in Miss Ffrench +also,--so subtle as not to be easily described. It was a change which +was not pallor nor fragility. It was an alteration which baffled him and +yet forced him to recognize its presence constantly, and to endeavor to +comprehend it. Ffrench himself had seen it and pondered over it in +secret. When he sat in his private room at the Bank, bewildered and +terrified even by the mere effort to think and face the future, his +burden was not a little increased by his remembrance of his hours at +home. More than all the rest he shrank from the day of reckoning with +his daughter. He had confronted Haworth and borne the worst of his +wrath. The account of himself which he must render to her would be the +most scathing ordeal of his life. + +"Some women would pity me," he said to himself, "but she will not." + +Truth to tell, he looked forward pathetically to the possibility that +hereafter their paths might lie apart. Fate had saved him one fearful +responsibility, at least. Her private fortune had been beyond his reach +and she would still be a rich woman even when the worst came. He could +live on very little, he told himself, and there was always some hope for +a man of resources. He still believed somewhat, though rather vaguely, +in his resources. + +A few days after Murdoch's departure there came to Broxton, on a visit +of inspection, a dignitary of great magnitude--a political economist, a +Member of Parliament. Above all other things he was absorbed in the +fortunes of the manufacturing districts. He had done the trades-unions +the honor of weighing their cause and reasoning with them; he had +parleyed with the strikers and held meetings with the masters. He had +heard of Haworth and his extraordinary stand against the outbreak, and +was curious to see him. + +He came as the guest of one of the county families, who regarded Haworth +and his success a subject worth enlarging upon. He was taken to the +Works and presented to their master. Haworth met him with little +enthusiasm. He showed him over the place, but maintained his +taciturnity. He was not even moved to any exhibition of gratitude on +being told that he had done wonders. + +The _finale_ of the visit was a stately dinner given by the county +family. Haworth and the member were the features of the festivity, and +speeches were made which took a congratulatory and even a laudatory +turn. + +"I can't go," Ffrench cried, piteously, when Haworth came to his room at +the Bank with the news. He turned quite white and sank back into his +chair. "It is too much to ask. I--no. I am not strong enough." + +He felt himself as good as a dead man when Haworth turned about and +strode up to him, livid, and opening and shutting his hands. + +"Blast you?" he hissed through his teeth. "You did it! _You!_ And you +shall pay for it as long as I'm nigh to make you!" + +Saint Méran was among the guests, and Miss Ffrench, whose wonderful +beauty attracted the dignitary's eye at once. Years after he remembered +and spoke of her. He glanced toward her when he rose to make his +after-dinner speech, and caught her eye, and was somewhat confused by +it. But he was very eloquent. The master of "Haworth's" was his +inspiration and text. His resources, his strength of will, his giant +enterprises, his readiness and daring at the moment when all was at +hazard--these were matters, indeed, for eloquence. + +Haworth sat leaning forward upon the table. He played with his +wine-glass, turning it round and round and not spilling a drop of the +ruby liquid. Sometimes he glanced at the orator with a smile which no +one exactly understood, oftener he kept his eyes fixed upon the full +wine-glass. + +When at length the speaker sat down with a swift final glance at Rachel +Ffrench, there was a silence of several seconds. Everybody felt that a +reply was needed. Haworth turned his wine-glass two or three times +without raising his eyes, but at last, just as the pause was becoming +embarrassing, he looked across the table at Ffrench, who sat opposite. + +"I'm not a speech-making chap myself," he said. "My partner is. He'll +say my say for me." + +He gave Ffrench a nod. That gentleman had been pale and distracted +through all the courses; now he became paler than ever. He hesitated, +glanced around him, at the waiting guest and at Haworth (who nodded +again), and then rose. + +It was something unusual that Mr. Ffrench should hang back and show +himself unready. He began his speech of thanks in his partner's name +falteringly and as if at a loss for the commonest forms of expression; +he replied to the member's compliments with hesitation; he spoke of the +difficulties they had encountered with a visibly strong effort, he +touched upon their success and triumph with such singular lack of +exultation that those who listened began to exchange looks of +questioning; and suddenly, in the midst of his wanderings and struggles +at recovering himself, he broke off and begged leave to sit down. + +"I am ill," he said. "I have--been--indisposed for some time. I must +crave your pardon, and--and my partner's for my inability to say +what--what I would wish." + +He sat down amid many expressions of sympathy. The plea accounted for +his unusual demeanor, it was thought. The member himself sought an +interview with him, in which he expressed his regret and his sense of +the fact that nothing was more natural than that the result of so long +bearing a weight of responsibility should be a strain upon the nervous +system and a consequent loss of physical strength. + +"You must care for yourself, my dear sir," he added. "Your firm--nay, +the country--cannot afford to lose an element like yourself at such a +crisis." + +On the morning following, the member left Broxton. On his way to the +station he was moved to pay a final visit to Haworth at the Works. + +"I congratulate you," he said, with much warmth on shaking hands with +him. "I congratulate England upon your determination and indomitable +courage, and upon your wonderful success." + +There was a good deal of talk about Murdoch during his absence. The +story of the attack and of Haworth's repulse of the attacking party +became a popular incident. Mr. Reddy and his companions disappeared from +the scene with promptness. Much interest was manifested in the ultimate +success of the model, which had previously been regarded with a mingling +of indifference and disfavor as not "loike to coom to owt." The results +of its agreeably disappointing people by "coming to owt" were estimated +at nothing short of a million per annum. + +"Th' chap'll roll i' brass," it was said. "Haworth'll be nowheer. Happen +th' lad'll coom back an' set up a Works agen him. An' he coom here nowt +but a workin' chap a few year sin'!" + +The two women in the little house in the narrow street heard the story +of the attack only through report. They had no letters. + +"I won't write," Murdoch had said. "You shall not be troubled by +prospects that might end in nothing. You will hear nothing from me till +I come and tell you with my own lips that I have won or failed." + +In the days of waiting Christian proved her strength. She would not let +her belief be beaten or weighed down. She clung to it in spite of what +she saw hour by hour in the face of the woman who was her companion. + +"I have lived through it before." + +It was not put into words, but she read it in her eyes and believed in +spite of it. + + +He had been away two weeks, and he returned as his father had done, at +night. + +The women were sitting together in the little inner room. They were not +talking or working, though each had work in her hands. It was Christian +who heard him first. She threw down her work and stood up. + +"He is here," she cried. "He is coming up the step." + +She was out in the narrow entry and had thrown the door open before he +had time to open it with his key. + +The light fell upon his dark pale face and showed a strange excitement +in it. He was disheveled and travel-worn, but his eyes were bright. His +first words were enough. + +"It is all right," he said, in an exultant voice. "It is a success. +Where is my mother?" + +He had taken her hand as if without knowing what he did and fairly +dragged her into the room. His mother had risen and stood waiting. + +"It is a success," he cried out to her. "It is what he meant it to be--I +have finished his work!" + +She turned from him to the girl, uttering a low cry of appeal. + +"Christian!" she said. "Christian!" + +The girl went to her and made her sit down, and knelt before her, +clasping her arms about her waist, and uplifting her glowing young face. +At the moment her beauty became such a splendor that Murdoch himself saw +it with wonder. + +"It is finished," she said. "And it is he who has finished it! Is not +that enough?" + +"Yes," she answered, "but--but----" + +And the words died upon her lips, and she sat looking before her into +vacancy, and trembling. + +Murdoch threw himself on the sofa and lay there, his hands clasped above +his head. + +"I shall be a rich man," he said, as if to himself, "a rich man--and it +is nothing--but it is done." + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + +"TH' ON'Y ONE AS IS NA A FOO'!" + + +The next day all Broxton knew the story. + +"Well, he wur na so soft after aw," more than one excellent matron +remarked. + +Mr. Ffrench heard the news from his valet in the morning. He had been +very unwell for several days. He had eaten nothing and slept very little +and had been obliged to call in his physician, who pronounced his case +the result of too great mental strain, and prescribed rest. He came down +to breakfast with an unwholesome face and trifled with his food without +eating it. He glanced furtively at Rachel again and again. + +"I shall not go to the Bank to-day," he said timorously at last. "I am +worse than ever. I shall remain at home and try to write letters and +rest. Are--are you going out?" + +"Yes," she answered. + +"Oh." Then, after a pause, he said, "I saw Briarley yesterday, and he +said Mrs. Dixon was very ill. You sometimes go there, I believe?" + +"Yes." + +"Suppose--suppose you call this morning to inquire. It looks well to +show a--a sort of interest in them. You might take something nourishing +with you." + +He flinched when she raised her eyes and let them rest a moment upon +him. Her look was strongly suggestive of the fact that she could better +rely upon the result of her own calculations concerning him than upon +the truth of his replies, if she deigned to ask him questions. + +"I thought," he faltered, "that it would look well to evince some +interest, as the man has been in our employ, and you have had the woman +about the house." + +"Certainly," she replied, "it would be well enough. I will go." + +After breakfast she ordered the carriage and went to her room and made +her toilette with some care. Why she did so was best known to herself. +Nothing is more certain than that she scarcely expected to produce a +great effect upon Granny Dixon. The truth was, she would have made her +visit to the Briarley's in any case, and was not in the least moved +thereto by her father's unexpected anxiety. + +But when she reached the cottage and entered it, she began immediately +to repent having come. A neighbor woman sat nursing the youngest +Briarley; there was a peculiar hush upon the house and the windows were +darkened. She drew back with a feeling of alarm and annoyance. + +"What is the matter?" she demanded impatiently of the woman. "Why have +you darkened the room?" + +"Th' owd lass is deein," was the business-like answer, "an' they're +ha'in' some trouble wi' her. She conna even dee loike other foak." + +She drew back, her annoyance becoming violent repulsion. She turned +pale, and her heart began to beat violently. She knew nothing of death, +and was not fearless of it. Her inveterate calm failed her in thus being +brought near it. + +"I will go away," she said. + +And she would have gone, but at that moment there arose a sound of +voices in the inner room--Mrs. Briarley's and Janey's, and above theirs +Granny Dixon's, brokenly, and yet with what seemed terrible loudness in +the hush of the house. + +"Bring her i' here!" she was saying. "Bring her i' here an' mak' her--do +it!" + +And then out came Mrs. Briarley, looking fagged and harassed. + +"I ax thy pardon, Miss," she said, "but she says she wants thee. She +says she wants thee to be a witness to summat." + +"I will not go," she replied. "I--I am going away. I--never saw any one +before--in that condition." + +But the terrible voice raised itself again, and, despite her terror and +anger, held and controlled her. + +"I see her!" it cried. "Mak' her coom in. I knowed her +gran'feyther--when I wur a lass--seventy year ago!" + +"She will na harm thee," said Mrs. Briarley. And partly because of a +dread fascination, and partly because the two women regarded her with +such amazement, she found herself forced to give way and enter. + +It was a small room, and dark and low. The bed was a huge four-poster +which had belonged to Granny Dixon herself in her young days. The +large-flowered patterns of its chintz hangings were faded with many +washings. + +Of the woman lying upon it there was little left but skin and bone. She +seemed all eyes and voice--eyes which stared and shone in the gloom, and +voice which broke upon the silence with an awesome power. + +"She's been speaking awmost i' a whisper till to-day," explained Mrs. +Briarley, under her breath, "an' aw at onct th' change set in, an' it +coom back as loud as ivver." + +She lifted her hands, beckoning with crooked fingers. + +"Coom tha here," she commanded. + +Rachel Ffrench went to her slowly. She had no color left, and all her +_hauteur_ could not steady her voice. + +"What do you want?" she asked, standing close beside the bed. + +For a few seconds there was silence, in which the large eyes wandered +from the border of her rich dress to the crown of her hair. Then Granny +Dixon spoke out: + +"Wheer'st flower?" she cried. "Tha'st getten it on thee again. I con +smell it." + +It was true that she wore it at her throat as she had done before. A +panic of disgust took possession of her as she recollected it. It was as +if they two were somehow bound together by it. She caught at it with +tremulous fingers, and would have flung it away, but it fell from her +uncertain clasp upon the bed, and she would not have touched it for +worlds. + +"Gi' it to me!" commanded Granny Dixon. + +"Pick it up for her," she said, turning to Mrs. Briarley, and it was +done, and the shrivelled fingers held it and the old eye devoured it. + +"He used to wear 'em i' his button-hole," proclaimed the Voice, "an' he +wur a han'some chap--seventy year ago." + +"Did you send for me to tell me that?" demanded Rachel Ffrench. + +Granny Dixon turned on her pile of pillows. + +"Nay," she said, "an' I'm--forgettin'." + +There was a gasp between the two last words, as if suddenly her strength +was failing her. + +"Get thee a pen--an'--an' write summat," she ordered. + +"Get it quickly," said Rachel Ffrench, "and let me humor her and go." + +She noticed the little gap between the words herself, and the next +instant saw a faint gray pallor spread itself over the old woman's face. + +"Get the pen and paper," she repeated, "and call in the woman." + +They brought her the pen and paper and called the woman, who came in +stolidly, ready for any emergency. Then they waited for commands, but +for several seconds there was a dead pause, and Granny Dixon lay back, +staring straight before her. + +"Quick!" said Rachel Ffrench. "What do you want?" + +Granny Dixon rose by a great effort upright from her pillows. She +pointed to Mrs. Briarley with the sharp, bony fore-finger. + +"I--leave it--aw--to _her_," she proclaimed, "--ivvery penny! She's th' +ony one among 'em as is na a foo'!" + +And then she fell back, and panted and stared again. + +Mrs. Briarley lifted her apron and burst into tears. + +"She means th' brass," she wailed. "Eh! Poor owd lass, who'd ha' thowt +it!" + +"Do you mean," asked Rachel Ffrench, "that you wish her to have your +money?" + +A nod was the answer, and Mrs. Briarley shed sympathetic tears again. +Here was a reward for her labors indeed. + +What she wrote Miss Ffrench scarcely knew. In the end there was her own +name signed below, and a black, scrawling mark from Granny Dixon's hand. +The woman who had come in made her mark also. + +"Mak' a black un," said the testatrix. "Let's ha' it plain." + +Then, turning to Rachel: + +"Does ta want to know wheer th' money come fro'? Fro' Will Ffrench--fro' +_him_. He wur one o' th' gentry when aw wur said an' done--an' I wur a +han'some lass." + +When it was done they all stood and looked at each other. Granny Dixon +lay back upon her pillows, drawing sharp breaths. She was looking only +at Rachel Ffrench. She seemed to have forgotten all the rest of them, +and what she had been doing. All that was left of the Voice was a loud, +halting whisper. + +"Wheer's th' flower?" she said. "I conna smell it." + +It was in her hand. + +Rachel Ffrench drew back. + +"Let me go," she said to Mrs. Briarley. "I cannot stay here." + +"He used to wear 'em i' his button-hole," she heard, "--seventy year +ago--an' she's th' very moral on him." And scarcely knowing how, she +made her way past the women, and out of the house and into the fresh air +and sunshine. + +"Drive home," she said to the coachman, "as quickly as possible." + +She leaned back in a corner of the carriage shuddering. Suddenly she +burst into wild tears. + +But there were no traces of her excitement when she reached home. She +descended from the carriage looking quite herself, and after dismissing +it went up to her own room. + +About half an hour later she came down and went into the library. Her +father was not there, and on inquiring as to his whereabouts from a +servant passing the open door, she was told that he had gone out. + +He had been writing letters, it was evident. His chair stood before his +desk, and there was an addressed envelope lying upon it. + +She went to the desk and glanced at it without any special motive for +doing so. It was addressed to herself. She opened and read it. + + + "My dear Rachel," it ran. "In all probability we shall not meet + again for some time. I find myself utterly unable to remain to meet + the blow which must inevitably fall before many days are over. The + anxiety of the past year has made me a coward. I ask your + forgiveness for what you may call my desertion of you. We have + never relied upon each other much, and you at least are not + included in my ruin. You will not be called upon to share my + poverty. You had better return to Paris at once. With a faint hope + that you will at least pity me, + + I remain, + Your affectionate father, + Gerard Ffrench." + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + +"HAWORTH'S IS DONE WITH." + + +Almost at the same moment, Haworth was reading, in his room at the +Works, the letter which had been left for himself. + + + "I have borne as much as I can bear," it ended. "My punishment for + my folly is that I am a ruined man and a fugitive. My presence upon + the scene, when the climax comes, would be of no benefit to either + of us. Pardon me, if you can, for the wrong I have unintentionally + done you. My ill-luck was sheerly the result of circumstances. Even + yet, I cannot help thinking that there were great possibilities in + my plans. But you will not believe this and I will say no more. + + In haste, + Ffrench." + + +When Rachel Ffrench finished reading her note she lighted a taper and +held the paper to it until it was reduced to ashes, and afterward turned +away merely a shade paler and colder than before. Haworth having +finished the reading of Ffrench's letter, sat for a few seconds staring +down at it as it lay before him on the table. Then he burst into a +brutal laugh. + +After that, he sat stupefied--his elbows on the table, his head on his +hands. He did not move for half an hour. + +The Works saw very little of him during the day. He remained alone in +his room, not showing himself, and one of the head clerks, coming in +from the Bank on business, went back mystified, and remarked in +confidence to a companion that "things had a queer look." + +He did not leave the Works until late, and then went home. All through +the evening his mother watched him in her old tender way. She tried to +interest him with her history of the Briarley's bereavement and +unexpected good fortune. She shed tears over her recital. + +"So old, my dear," she said. "Old enough to have outlived her own,--an' +her ways a little hard," wiping her eyes. "I'd like to be grieved for +more, Jem--though perhaps it's only nat'ral as it should be so. She +hadn't no son to miss her as you'll miss me. _I_ shouldn't like to be +the last, Jem." + +He had been listening mechanically and he started and turned to her. + +"The last?" he said. "Aye, it's a bit hard." + +It was as if she had suggested a new thought to him of which he could +not rid himself at once. He kept looking at her, his eyes wandering over +her frail little figure and innocent old face, restlessly. + +"But I haven't no fear," she went on, "though we never know what's to +come. But you're a strong man, and there's not like to be many more +years for me--though I'm so well an' happy." + +"You might live a score," he answered in an abstracted way, his eyes +still fixed on her. + +"Not without you," she returned. "It's you that's life to me--an' +strength--an' peace." The innocent tears were in her voice again, and +her eyes were bright with them. + +He lay down awhile but could not lie still. He got up and came and +stood near her and talked and then moved here and there, picking up one +thing and another, holding them idly for a few seconds and then setting +them aside. At last she was going to bed and came to bid him good-night. +He laid his hand on her shoulder caressingly. + +"There's never been aught like trouble between us two," he said. "I've +been a quiet enough chap, and different somehow--when I've been nigh +you. What I've done, I've done for your sake and for the best." + + +In the morning the Works were closed, the doors of the Bank remained +unopened, and the news spread like wildfire from house to house and from +street to street and beyond the limits of the town--until before noon it +was known through the whole country side that Ffrench had fled and Jem +Haworth was a ruined man. + +It reached the public ear in the first instance in the ordinary +commonplace manner through the individuals who had suddenly descended +upon the place to take possession. A great crowd gathered about the +closed gates and murmured and stared and anathematized. + +"Theer's been summat up for mony a month," said one sage. "I've seed it. +He wur na hissen, wur na Haworth." + +"Nay," said another, "that he wur na. Th' chap has na been o' a decent +spree sin' Ffrench coom." + +"Happen," added a third, "_that_ wur what started him on th' road +downhill. A chap is na good fur much as has na reg'lar habits." + +"Aye, an' Haworth wur reg'lar enow when he set up. Good Lord! who'd ha' +thowt o' that chap i' bankrup'cy!" + +At the outset the feeling manifested was not unamiable to Haworth, but +it was not very long before the closing of the Bank dawned upon the +public in a new light. It meant loss and ruin. The first man who roused +the tumult was a burly farmer who dashed into the town on a sweating +horse, spurring it as he rode and wearing a red and furious face. He +left his horse at an inn and came down to the Bank, booted and spurred +and whip in hand. + +"Wheer's Ffrench?" he shouted to the smaller crowd attracted there, and +whose views as to the ultimate settlement of things were extremely +vague. "Wheer's Ffrench an' wheer's Haworth?" + +Half a dozen voices volunteered information regarding Ffrench, but no +one knew anything of Haworth. He might be in a dozen places, but no one +had yet seen him or heard of his whereabouts. The man began to push his +way toward the building, swearing hotly. He mounted the steps and struck +violently on the door with his whip. + +"I'll mak' him hear if he's shut hissen i' here," he cried. "Th' shifty +villain's got ivvery shillin' o' brass I've been savin' for my little +wench for th' last ten year. I'll ha' it back, if it's to be gotten." + +"Tha'lt ne'er see it again," shouted a voice in the crowd. "Tha'dst +better ha' stuck to th' owd stockin', lad." + +Then the uproar began. One luckless depositor after another was added to +the crowd. They might easily be known among the rest by their pale +faces. Some of them were stunned into silence, but the greater portion +of them were loud and passionate in their outcry. A few women hung on +the outskirts, wiping their eyes every now and then with their aprons, +and sometimes bursting into audible fits of weeping. + +"I've been goin' out charrin' for four year," said one, "to buy silks +an' satins fur th' gentry. Yo' nivver seed _her_ i' owt else." + +And all knew whom she meant, and joined in shouts of rage. + +Sometimes it was Ffrench against whom their anger was most +violent--Ffrench, who had been born among them a gentleman, and who +should have been gentleman enough not to plunder and deceive them. And +again it was Haworth--Haworth, who had lived as hard as any of them and +knew what their poverty was, and should have done fairly by them, if +ever man should. + +In the course of the afternoon Murdoch, gathering no news of Haworth +elsewhere, went to his house. A panic-stricken servant let him in and +led him into the great room where he had spent his first evening, long +ago. Despite its splendor, it looked empty and lifeless, but when he +entered, there rose from a carved and satin upholstered chair in one +corner a little old figure in a black dress--Jem Haworth's mother, who +came to him with a white but calm face. + +"Sir," were her greeting words, "where is he?" + +"I came to see him," he answered, "I thought----" + +"No," she interrupted, "he is not here. He has not been here since +morning." + +She began to tremble, but she shed no tears. + +"There's been a good many to ask for him," she went on. "Gentlemen, an' +them as was rough, an' didn't mind me bein' a woman an' old. They were +harder than you'd think, an'--troubled as I've been, I was glad he was +not here to see 'em. But I'd be more comfortable if I could rightly +understand." + +"I can only tell you what I know," he said. "It isn't much. I have only +gathered it from people on the streets." + +He led her back to her chair, and did not loosen his light grasp on her +hand while he told her the story as he had heard it. His own mood was so +subdued that it was easier than he had thought to use words which would +lighten the first weight of the blow. + +She asked no questions after his explanation was over. + +"He's a poor man," she said at last,--"a poor man, but--we was poor +before." + +Suddenly her tears burst forth. + +"They've said hard things to me to-day," she cried. "I don't believe +'em, Jem, my dear--now less than ever." + +He comforted her as best he could. He could easily understand what they +had told her, how much of the truth and how much of angry falsehood. + +"When he comes back," she said, "I shall be here to meet him. Wherever +he is, an' however much he's broke down with trouble, he knows that. +He'll come here to-night, an' I shall be here." + +Before he went away he asked if he might send Christian or his mother to +her. But though she thanked him, she refused. + +"I know how good they'd be," she said, "an' what a comfort in the +lonesomeness, but when he comes he'll want to be alone, an' a unfamiliar +face might trouble him." + +But he did not come back. The day went on, and the excitement increased +and waned by turns. The crowd grew and surged about the Bank and shouted +itself hoarse, and would have broken a few windows if it had not been +restrained by the police force, who appeared upon the field; and there +were yells for Haworth and for Ffrench, but by this time Mr. Ffrench had +reached Rotterdam and Haworth was--no one knew where, since he had not +been seen at all. And when at length dusk fell upon the town, the crowd +had dwindled away and gone home by ones and twos, and in Jem Haworth's +house sat his mother, watching and waiting, and straining her ears to +catch every passing sound. + +She had kept up her courage bravely through the first part of the day, +but the strangers who came one after the other, and sometimes even two +or three together, to demand her son with loud words and denunciations +and even threats, were a sore trial to her. Some of them flung their +evil stories at her without remorse, taking it for granted that they +were nothing new to her ears, and even those who had some compunction +muttered among themselves and hinted angrily at what the others spoke +outright. Her strength began to give way, and she quailed and trembled +before them, but she never let their words pass without a desperate +effort to defend her boy. Then they stared or laughed at her, or went +away in sullen silence, and she was left to struggle with her grief and +terror alone until some new call was made upon her, and she must bear +all again. When the twilight came she was still alone, and sat in the +darkened room battling against a dread which had crept slowly upon her. +Of all those who had come none had known where he was. They did not know +in the town, and he had not come back. + +"He might go," she whispered, "but he'd not go without me. He's been +true and fond of his mother, let them say what they will. He'd never +leave me here alone." + +Her thoughts went back over the long years from his birth to the day of +his highest success. She remembered how he had fought with fate, and +made his way and refused to be conquered. She thought of the wealth he +had won, the power, the popularity, and of his boast that he had never +been beaten, and she began to sob in the shadow of her corner. + +"He's lost it all," she cried. "An' he won it with his own hands an' +worked for it an' bore up agen a world! An' it's gone!" + +It was when she came to this point that her terror seized on her as it +had never done before. She got up, shaking in every limb. + +"I'll go to him myself," she said. "Who should go to him but his mother? +Who should find him an' be a help to him if I can't? Jem--Jem, my dear, +it's me that's comin' to you--_me_!" + + +He had been sitting in a small back office in the Bank all through the +day when they had been calling and searching for him. He had got in +early and locked the door and waited, knowing well enough all that was +to come. It was no feeling of fear that made him keep hidden; he had +done with fear--if, indeed, he had ever felt it in his life. He knew +what he was going to do and he laid his plans coolly. He was to stay +here and do the work that lay before him and leave things as straight as +he could, and then at night when all was quiet he would make his way out +in the dark and go to the Works. It was only a fancy, this, of going to +the Works, but he clung to it persistently. + +He had never been clearer-headed in his life--only, sometimes as he was +making a calculation or writing a letter he would dash down his work and +fall to cursing. + +"There's not another chap in England that had done it," he would say. +"And it's gone!--it's gone!--it's gone!" + +Then again he would break into a short laugh, remembering the M. P. and +his speech and poor Ffrench's stumbling, overwhelmed reply to it. When +he heard the crowd shouting and hooting at the front, he went into a +room facing the street and watched them through a chink in the shutter. +He heard the red-faced farmer's anathemas, and swore a little himself, +knowing his story was true. + +"Tha shalt have all Haworth can give, chaps," he muttered, "an' welcome. +He'll tak' nowt with him." + +He laughed again but suddenly stopped, and walked back into the little +office silently, and waited there. + +At nightfall he went out of a back door and slipped through unfrequented +by-ways, feeling his heart beat with heavy thuds as he went. Nothing +stood in his way and he got in, as he believed he should. The instant +his foot crossed the threshold a change came upon him. He forgot all +else but what lay before him. He was less calm, and in some little +hurry. + +He reached his room and lighted the gas dimly--only so that he could see +to move about. Then he went to his desk and opened it and took out one +of a pair of pistols, speaking aloud as he did so. + +"Here," he said, "is the end of Jem Haworth." + +He knew where to aim, the heavy thuds marked the spot for him. + +"I'll count three," he said, "and then----" + +He began slowly, steadily, but in a voice that fell with a hollow sound +upon the dead stillness. + +"One," he said. "Two!" and his hand dropped at his side with his weapon +in it, for at the door stood his mother. In an instant she had fallen +upon her knees and dragged herself toward him and was clinging to his +hand. + +"No--Jem!" she panted. "No, not that, my dear--God forbid!" + +He staggered back though she still clung to him. + +"How," he faltered,--"how did you come here?" + +"The Lord led me," she sobbed. "He put it into my heart and showed me +the way, an' you had forgot the door, Jem--thank God!" + +"You--saw--what I was going to do?" + +"What you _was_ goin' to do, but what you'll never do, Jem, an' me to +live an' suffer when it's done--me as you've been so good an' such a +comfort to." + +In the dim light she knelt sobbing at his feet. + +"Let me sit down," he said. "And sit down nigh me. I've summat to tell +you." + +But though he sank into the chair she would not get up, but kept her +place in spite of him and went on. + +"To-day there have been black tales told you?" he said. + +"Yes," she cried, "but----" + +"They're true," he said, "th' worst on 'em." + +"No--no!" + +He stopped her by going on monotonously as if she had not spoken. + +"Think of the worst you've ever known--you've not known much--and then +say to yourself, 'He's worse a hundred times'; think of the blackest you +have ever known to be done, and then say to yourself, 'What he's done's +blacker yet.' If any chap has told you I've stood at naught until there +was next to naught I'd left undone, he spoke true. If there was any one +told you I set th' decent ones by the ears and laughed 'em in the face, +he spoke true. If any o' 'em said I was a dread and a byword, they spoke +true, too. The night you came there were men and women in th' house +that couldn't look you in th' face, and that felt shame for th' first +time in their lives--mayhap--because you didn't know what they were, an' +took 'em to be as innocent as yourself. There's not a sin I haven't +tasted, nor a wrong I've not done. I've had murder in my mind, an' +planned it. I've been mad for a woman not worth even what Jem Haworth +had to give her--and I've won all I'd swore I'd win--an' lost it! Now +tell me if there's aught else to do but what I've set my mind on?" + +She clung to his heavy hand as she had not clung to it before, and laid +her withered cheek upon it and kissed it. Bruised and crushed as she was +with the blows he had dealt, she would not let it go free yet. Her words +came from her lips a broken cry, with piteous sobs between them. But she +had her answer ready. + +"That as I've thanked God for all my life," she said, "He'll surely give +me in the end. He couldn't hold it back--I've so believed an' been +grateful to Him. If there hadn't been in you what would make a good man, +my dear, I couldn't have been so deceived an' so happy. No--not +deceived--that aint the word, Jem--the good was there. You've lived two +lives, may be,--but one was good, thank God! You've been a good son to +me. You've never hurt me, an' it was your love as hid from me the wrong +you did. You did love me, Jem--I won't give that up--never. There's +nothing you've done as can stand agen that, with her as is your mother. +You loved me an' was my own son--my boy as was a comfort an' a pride to +me from the first." + +He watched her with a stunned look. + +"You didn't believe _them_," he said hoarsely, "and you don't believe +_me_?" + +She put her hand to her heart and almost smiled. + +"It hasn't come home to me yet," she said. "I don't think it ever will." + +He looked helplessly toward the pistol on the table. He knew it was all +over and he should not use it. + +"What must I do?" he said, in the same hoarse voice. + +"Get up," she said, "an' come with me. I'm a old woman but my heart's +strong, an' we've been poor before. We'll go away together an' leave it +all behind--all the sorrow of it an' the sin an' the shame. The life I +_thought_ you lived, my dear, is to be lived yet. Theer's places where +they wont know us an' where we can begin again. Get up and come with +me." + +He scarcely grasped what she meant. + +"With you!" he repeated. "You want me to go now?" + +"Yes," she answered, "for Christ's sake, my dear, now." + +He began to see the meaning and possibility of her simple, woman's plan, +and got up, ready to follow her. And then he found that the want of food +and the long day had worn upon him so that he was weak. She put her arm +beneath his and tried to support him. + +"Lean on me, my dear," she said. "I'm stronger than you think." + +They went out, leaving the empty room and the pistol on the table and +the dim light burning. And then they had locked the gate and were +outside with the few stars shining above and the great black Works +looming up before them. + +He stopped a moment to look back and up and remembered the key. Suddenly +he raised it in his hand and flung it across the top of the locked +gate; they heard it fall inside upon the pavement with a clang. + +"They'll wonder how it came there," he said. "They'll take down the name +to-morrow. 'Haworth's' is done with!" + +He turned to her and said, "Come." His voice was a little stronger. They +went down the lane together, and were lost in the darkness. + + + + +CHAPTER LIII. + +"A BIT O' GOOD BLACK." + + +Granny Dixon was interred with pomp and ceremony, or, at least, with +what appeared pomp and ceremony in the eyes of the lower social stratum +of Broxton. + +Mrs. Briarley's idea concerning the legacy left her had been of the +vaguest. Her revered relative had shrewdly kept the amount of her +possessions strictly to herself, if indeed, she knew definitely what +they were. She had spent but little, discreetly living upon the +expectations of her kindred. She had never been known to give anybody +anything, and had dealt out the money to be expended upon her own wants +with a close hand. Consequently, the principal, which had been a mystery +from the first, had accumulated in an agreeably steady manner. + +Between her periodic fits of weeping in her character of sole legatee, +Mrs. Briarley speculated with matronly prudence upon the possibility of +the interest even amounting to "a matter o' ten or fifteen shillin' a +week," and found the pangs of bereavement materially softened thereby. +There was a great deal of consolation to be derived from "ten or fifteen +shillin' a week." + +"I'll ha' a bit o' good black," she said, "an' we'll gi' her a noice +buryin'." Only a severe sense of duty to the deceased rescued her from +tempering her mournfulness with an air of modest cheer. + +The "bit o' good black" was the first investment. There was a gown +remarkable for such stiffness of lining and a tendency to crackle upon +every movement of the wearer, and there was a shawl of great weight and +size, and a bonnet which was a marvel of unmitigated affliction as +expressed by floral decorations of black crape and beads. + +"Have thee beads i' thy bonnet an' a pair o' black gloves, mother," said +Janey, "an' tha'lt be dressed up for onct i' thy loife. Eh! but I'd +loike to go i' mournin' mysen." + +"Aye, and so tha should, Jane Ann, if I could afford it," replied Mrs. +Briarley. "Theer's nowt loike a bit o' black fur makkin foak look +dressed. Theer's summat cheerful about it, i' a quoiet way. But nivver +thee moind, tha'lt get these here things o' moine when I'm done wi' 'em, +an' happen tha'lt ha' growed up to fit th' bonnet by then." + +The occasion of the putting on of the festive garb was Mrs. Briarley's +visit to Manchester to examine into the state of her relative's affairs, +and such was the effect produced upon the mind of Mr. Briarley by the +air of high life surrounding him that he retired into the late Mrs. +Dixon's chair and wept copiously. + +"I nivver thowt to see thee dressed up i' so much luxshury, Sararann," +he said, "an' it sets me back. Tha does na look loike thysen. Tha looks +as though tha moight be one o' th' nobility, goin' to th' Duke o' +Wellington's funeral to ride behoind th' hearse. I'm not worthy o' thee. +I've nivver browt thee luck. I'm a misforchnit cha----" + +"If tha'd shut thy mouth an' keep it shut till some one axes thee to +oppen it, tha'd do well enow," interposed Mrs. Briarley, with a +manifest weakening toward the culprit even in the midst of her +sternness. "He is na so bad," she used to say, leniently, "if he hadna +been born a foo'." + +But this recalled to Mr. Briarley such memories as only plunged him into +deeper depression. + +"Theer is na many as axes me to oppen it i' these days, Sararann," he +said, with mournfulness. "It has na oppen't to mich purpose for mony a +day. Even th' hospittyblest on 'em gets toired o' a chap as sees nowt +but misforchin. I mowt as well turn teetotal an' git th' credit on it. +Happen theer's a bit o' pleasure to be getten out o' staggerin' through +th' streets wi' a banner i' th' Whit week possession. I dunnot know. +I've thowt mysen as happen th' tea a chap has to drink when th' +excitement's ower, an' th' speeches ud a'most be a drorback even to +that. But I mun say I've thowt o' tryin'." + +It may be here remarked that since Mrs. Briarley's sudden accession to +fortune, Mr. Briarley's manner had been that of an humble and sincere +penitent whose sympathies were slowly but surely verging toward the +noble cause of temperance. He had repeatedly deplored his wanderings +from the path of sobriety and rectitude with tearful though subdued +eloquence, and frequently intimated a mournful inclination to "jine th' +teetotals." Though, strange to say, the effect of these sincere +manifestations had not been such as to restore in the partner of his +joys and sorrows that unlimited confidence which would allow of her +confiding to his care the small amount he had once or twice feebly +suggested her favoring him with, "to settle wi'" a violent and +not-to-be-pacified creditor of whom he stated he stood in bodily fear. + +"I dunnot know as I ivver seed a chap as were as desp'rit ower a +little," he remarked. "It is na but eighteen pence, an' he ses he'll ha' +it, or--or see about it. He stands at th' street corner--near th' 'Who'd +ha' Thowt it,'--an' he will na listen to owt. He says a chap as has coom +i' to property can pay eighteen pence. He wunnot believe me," he added +weakly, "when I say as it is na me as has getten th' brass, but yo'. It +mak's him worse to try to mak' him understand. He will na believe me, +an' he's a chap as would na stand back at owt. Theer wur a man i' +Marfort as owed him thrippence as he--he mashed i'to a jelly, +Sararann--an' it wur fur thrippence." + +"Aye," said Mrs. Briarley, dryly, "an' theer's no knowin' what he'd do +fur eighteen pence. Theer's a bad lookout fur _thee_, sure enow!" + +Mr. Briarley paused and surveyed her for a few seconds in painful +silence. Then he looked at the floor, as if appealing to it for +assistance, but even here he met with indifference, and his wounded +spirit sought relief in meek protestations. + +"Tha has na no confydence in me, Sararann," he said. "Happen th' +teetotals would na ha' neyther, happen they wouldn't, an' wheer's th' +use o' a chap thinkin' o' jinin' 'em when they mowt ha' no confydence i' +him. When a mon's fam'ly mistrusts him, an' has na no belief in what he +says, he canna help feelin' as he is na incouraged. Tha is na +incouragin', Sararann--theer's wheer it is." + +But when, after her visit to Manchester, Mrs. Briarley returned, even +Mr. Briarley's spirits rose, though under stress of circumstances and in +private. On entering the house Mrs. Briarley sank into a chair, +breathless and overawed. + +"It's two pound ten a week, Janey!" she announced in a hysterical +voice. "An' tha can ha' thy black as soon as tha wants it." And Mrs. +Briarley burst at once into luxurious weeping. + +Janey dropped on to a stool, rolled her arms under her apron and sat +gasping. + +"Two pound ten a week!" she exclaimed. "I dunnot believe it!" + +But she was persuaded to believe by means of sound proof and solid +argument, and even the proprieties were scarcely sufficient to tone down +the prevailing emotion. + +"Theer's a good deal to be getten wi' two pound ten a week," +soliloquized Mr. Briarley in his corner. "I've heerd o' heads o' +fam'lies as wur 'lowanced. Summat could be done wi' three shillin' a +week. Wi' four shillin' a chap could be i' parydise." + +But this, be it observed, was merely soliloquy, timorously ventured upon +in the temporary security afforded by the prevailing excitement. + +At the funeral the whole family appeared clothed in new garments of the +most somber description. There were three black coaches and Mrs. +Briarley was supported by numerous friends who alternately cheered and +condoled with her. + +"Tha mun remember," they said, "as she's better off, poor thing." + +Mr. Briarley, who had been adorned with a hat-band of appalling width +and length, and had been furthermore inserted into a pair of gloves some +inches too long in the fingers, overcame his emotion at this juncture +sufficiently to make an endeavor to ingratiate himself. He withdrew his +handkerchief from his face and addressed Mrs. Briarley. + +"Aye," he said, "tha mun bear up, Sararann. She _is_ better +off--happen--an' so are we." + +And he glanced round with a faint smile which, however, faded out with +singular rapidity, and left him looking somewhat aghast. + + + + +CHAPTER LIV. + +"IT WILL BE TO YOU." + + +They found the key lying within the locked gate, and the dim light +burning and the pistol loaded upon the table. The great house stood +empty with all its grandeur intact. The servants had been paid their +wages a few days before the crash and had gone away. Nothing had been +moved, nothing taken. The creditors, who found to their amazement that +all was left in their hands to dispose of as they chose, agreed that +this was not an orthodox case of absconding. Haworth was a more +eccentric fellow than they had thought. + +One man alone understood. This was Murdoch, who, amid all the buzz of +excited amazement, said nothing even to those in his own house. When he +heard the story of the pistol and the key, his first thought was of the +silence of the great place at night--the deadness of it and the sense of +desolation it brought. It was a terrible thing to remember this and then +picture a ruined man standing alone in the midst of it, a pistol in his +hand and only the low light burning. "We did not understand each other +very well," he said, drearily, "but we were friends in our way." And the +man's farewell as he stood at the carriage door in the shadow, came back +to him again and again like an echo repeating itself: "If there's aught +in what's gone by that's for me--remember it!" + +Even before his return home, Murdoch had made up his mind as to what his +course for the next few years was to be. His future was assured and he +might follow his idlest fancy. But his fancies were not idle. They +reached forward to freedom and new labors when the time came. He wanted +to be alone for a while, at least, and he was to return to America. His +plan was to travel with a purpose in view, and to fill his life with +work which would leave him little leisure. + +Rachel Ffrench had not yet left her father's house. Saint Méran had gone +away with some suddenness immediately after the dinner party at which +the political economist had reigned. Various comments had been made on +his departure, but it was not easy to arrive at anything like a definite +conclusion. Miss Ffrench was seen no more in the town. Only a few +servants remained with her in the house, and these maintained that she +was going to Paris to her father's sister, with whom she had lived +before her return from abroad. They added that there was no change in +her demeanor, that she had dismissed their companions without any +explanation. One, it is true, thought she was rather thin--and had "gone +off her looks," but this version was not popular and was considered out +of accordance with the ideal of her character held in the public mind. + +"She does na care," it was said. "_She_ is na hurt. _Her_ brass is safe +enow, an' that's aw as ud be loike to trouble her. Pale i'deed! She's +too high an' moighty." + +Murdoch made his preparations for departure as rapidly as possible. They +were rather for his mother and Christian than for himself. They were to +leave Broxton also and he had found a home for them elsewhere. One day, +as they sat in the little parlor, he rose hurriedly and went to +Christian and took both her hands. + +"Try to be happy," he said. "Try to be happy." + +He spared no effort to make the future bright for them. He gave no +thought to himself, his every hour was spent in thinking for and +devising new comfort for them. + +But at last all was ready, and there was but one day left to them. + +The Works were still closed, and would not be re-opened for some weeks, +but he had obtained permission to go down to his room, and remove his +possessions if he chose. So on the morning of this last day he let +himself into his "den," and shut himself up in it. Once behind the +closed doors, he began a strange labor. He emptied drawers and desk, and +burnt every scrap of paper to ashes--drawings, letters, all! Then he +destroyed the delicate models and every other remnant of his past +labors. There was not so much as an envelope or blotting-pad remaining. +When he had done he had made a clean sweep. The room was empty, cold, +and bare. He sat down, at last, in the midst of its desolate +orderliness. + +At that moment a hand was laid upon the door-handle and the door opened; +there was a rustle of a woman's dress--and Rachel Ffrench stood before +him. + +"What are you doing here, in Heaven's name?" he said, rising slowly to +meet her. + +She cast one glance around the bare room. + +"It is true! You are going away!" + +"Yes," he answered, "I am going. I have done my last work here to-day." + +She made a step forward and stood looking at him. She spoke under her +breath. + +"Every one is going. My father has left me--I----" + +A scarlet spot came out on her cheek, but she did not withdraw her eyes. + +"Saint Méran has gone also." + +Gradually, as she looked at him, the blood receded from her face and +left it like a mask of stone. + +"I"--she began, in a sharp whisper, "do you not see? Do you not +understand! Ah--my God!" + +There was a chair near her and she fell into it, burying her face in the +crushed velvet of her mantle as she bowed herself upon the table near. + +"Hush!" she cried, "do not speak to me! That it should be I who stooped, +and for this--for this! That having battled against my folly so long, I +should have let it drag me to the dust at last!" + +Her passionate sobs suffocated her. She could not check or control them. +Her slender fingers writhed in their clasp upon each other. + +"I never thought of _this_, God knows!" he said, hoarsely, "though there +have been hours when I could have sworn that you had loved me once. I +have thought of all things, but never of this--never that you could +repent." + +She lifted her head. + +"That _I_ should repent!" she cried. "Repent! Like this!" + +"No," he returned, "I never thought of that, I swear!" + +"And it is you," she cried, with scorn,--"_you_ who stand there and look +at me and tell me that it is all over!" + +"Is it _my_ fault that it is all over?" he demanded. "Is it?" + +"No," she answered, "that is my consolation." + +He drew nearer to her. + +"You left me nothing," he said,--"nothing. God knows what saved me--I do +not. _You_ loved me? _You_ battled against your love?" He laughed aloud. +"I was a madman under your window night after night. Forget it, if you +can. I cannot. 'Oh! that I should have stooped for this,' you say. No, +it is that I who have loved you should stand here with empty hands!" + +She had bowed her face and was sobbing again. But suddenly she rose. + +"If I did not know you better," she said, "I should say this was +revenge." + +"It would be but a poor one," he answered her coldly. + +She supported herself with one hand on the chair. + +"I have fallen very low," she said, "so low that I was weaker than I +thought. And now, as you say, 'it is over.' Your hands are empty! Oh! it +was a poor passion, and this is the fitting end for it!" + +She moved a little toward the door and stopped. + +"Good-bye," she said. + +In a moment more all that was left was a subtle breath of flower-like +fragrance in the atmosphere of the bare room. + + +It was an hour before he passed through the iron gates, though there had +been nothing left to be done inside. + +He came out slowly, and having locked the gate, turned toward the +Broxton road. + +He was going to the little graveyard. It had been a dull gray day, but +by the time he reached the place, the sun had crept through the clouds +and brightened them, and noting it he felt some vague comfort. It was a +desolate place when there was no sun. + +When he reached the mound he stood looking down. Since the night he had +lain by it looking up at the sky and had made his resolve, the grass had +grown longer and thicker and turned from green to brown. + +He spoke aloud, just as he had done before. + +"It is done," he said. "Your thought was what you dreamed it would be. I +have kept my word." + +He stopped as if for an answer. But it was very still--so still that the +silence was like a Presence. And the mound at his feet lay golden brown +in the sunlight, even its long grass unstirred. + + +They left Broxton the next day and in a week he set sail. As the ship +moved away he stood leaning upon the taffrail watching a figure on the +shore. It was a girl in a long cloak of gray almost the color of the +mist in which she stood--a slender motionless figure--the dark young +face turned seaward. + +He watched her until he could see her face no longer, but still she had +not stirred. + +"When I return," he said, scarcely conscious that he spoke, "when I +return--it will be to you." + +Then the grayness closed about her and she faded slowly from his sight. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58183 *** |