"We must make some plans for the poor fellow's safety," he said. "He must not be hurt. I'll go up first, and try if I can prevail upon him not to go."

Tom nodded.

"And if he will not be prevailed upon, we must try and act as we can. I think and hope that they will not attempt to touch him while I am by his side." Tom shook his head.

"I wouldn't, sir, because I know you; but time back I would, if there'd been twenty parsons round him. They won't hurt you, sir, but they'll beat him if he attempts to go."

"Let's hope not; let's hope not," said the vicar; "and now I'll go up to the house, while you'll wait here."

"Wait here?" said Tom.

"Yes; why not? I shall want to lay my hands upon you at a moment's notice. But stop. If he goes, it will be by the mail. That's at eight, and the station is two miles, say three-quarters of an hour for ample time. If he means to go, he will go afoot, so as not to excite attention."

"Yes; and he'll go by the little door in the wall at the bottom of the garden, and off across the home close," said Tom.

"Do you know that?" said the vicar.

"No, sir; but that's how he used to go to meet her; and as he's going to join her to-night, I thowt that's the way he'd go."

"Very likely," said the vicar; "and they're sure to know it, and watch.

But look here, Tom Podmore, are you willing to help him get away?"

"Yes, sir."

"To join her?"

"Yes; I was thinking, that mebbe if he got away to join the poor bairn he'd marry her; for I s'pose he's fond o' the poor la.s.s. But he must be that. She'd mak' onny man--the very worst--fond on her."

"Do you know any one you could get here to help you?" said the vicar.

"I mean a stout st.u.r.dy fellow with brains, who could be depended on to help you back me up if we have to make a struggle for it."

"John Maine, sir, at Bult.i.tude's."

"The very man. Get him here, and keep him till I come back."

"I will, sir; but, say, parson--Mr Selwood, sir--for the Lord's sake don't let d.i.c.k Glaire take that pistol thing. If they get hold of him now, they'll beat him sore, but if he should shute a man, they'll niver let him see the light again."

"I'll do my best, Podmore," said the vicar, sadly. "You do yours."

They parted at the gate, bound on the same mission, that of saving the man who was making them both sick at heart with the desire that they felt could never be fulfilled.

Volume 2, Chapter XIV.

JESSIE'S TROUBLES.

Affairs were not very satisfactory at the farm, and Jessie's eyes more than once looked as if they had been red with crying. For the girl was greatly troubled at heart, since John Maine's behaviour puzzled her.

It was impossible for anything of note to take place in Dumford, without the news of it reaching the farm, so that she soon heard that Daisy, her old friend and school-fellow, had disappeared; that the two rough fellows who had been hanging about were supposed to have had something to do with her disappearance; while, to make matters more complicated, John Maine had been seen talking to these two men, and had afterwards warned her about holding communication with Daisy.

John Maine had always been civil and pleasant to Daisy. Daisy had more than once laughingly said she liked him. Now she was gone, John Maine's behaviour was very strange. Could he have had anything to do with getting her away, and was he in any way acting with Richard Glaire, whom some people suspected of complicity?

No: she would not believe anything against him, come what might; but there was some secret connected with his earlier life that he kept back, and--she could not say why--she thought he ought to be more trusting and communicative with her. Not that there was anything between them, though she told herself she thought she did like John Maine--a little.

Old Bult.i.tude was very cross and snappish too, and he had taken it somewhat to heart that Daisy should have been the companion and friend of his Jessie.

"See here, la.s.s," he said, "thou must howd no more communication with that bairn o' Banks's. She's a bad un."

"Oh, uncle!" exclaimed Jessie, "she may have been robbed and murdered."

"Not she," said old Bult.i.tude, filling his pipe and ramming the tobacco in viciously. "If she had been, they'd ha' fun her body. Folks don't rob and murder, unless it's to get money. Daisy Banks had no money wi'

her; and, as to being jealous, I hardly think Tom Podmore, as she pitched over, would murder her--but there's no knowing."

A few minutes later Eve Pelly arrived at the farm, looking pale and thin; and the two girls were soon telling each other their troubles, Eve with a quiet reticent manner; Jessie all eagerness to make the girl she looked upon as her superior the repository of her inmost thoughts.

Eve took care not to let Jessie know that this was to be almost a formal leave-taking, for she had come down after asking Mrs Glaire's leave, and with the full intention of yielding to her wishes.

The conversation naturally turned upon Daisy and her disappearance, when Jessie broke out impetuously with--

"Well, it's no use to keep it back, Miss Eve. I've known a deal more than I've cared to tell you, but your cousin and Daisy have for months past been thick as thick."

"Don't speak like that, Jessie," cried Eve, flushing up.

"I must when it's for your good, Miss Eve," said Jessie, warmly; "and if the truth was known, I believe Mr Richard has had her carried off to London or somewhere."

"It is impossible, Jessie," cried Eve. "My cousin would never be so base."

"Well, I don't, know as to that," retorted Jessie; "it's base enough to be pretending to be engaged to one young lady, and carrying on with another."

"Jessie!"

"Well, it's the truth. A gentleman told me that he had often seen them together. Oh, Miss Eve, dear, I am sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

She was down on her knees before her visitor directly after, begging her pardon, and kissing her, for Eve's face had sunk in her hands, and she was sobbing bitterly. A minute before and she was ready to fight energetically on behalf of the man who was to have been her husband, but now her defences had been turned, and she gave up.

She soon dried her eyes though, and when Jessie would have turned the conversation to another point she resumed it herself.

"I've been thinking about that very, very much," she said; "night and day--night and day."

"Poor child!" said Jessie, stroking her face. "It must be terribly hard to feel jealous."

"No, no, no, no," said Eve, hastily. "I did not mean that; but about poor Daisy's disappearance. You know they found her shawl and basket."

"Yes," said Jessie, nodding.

"Well," said Eve, hesitating--"don't you think it possible that anybody who hated her very much might--might--"

"Might have killed her?" said Jessie, looking at Eve strangely.

"Yes," said Eve, with a shudder.