"Paarson!"

He started and looked round, but no one was visible, and yet a deep rough voice he seemed to know had spoken.

"Paarson!" was repeated, apparently close to his feet where he was standing by the garden hedge.

"Who is it?"

"Niver mind who it is," said the voice. "I joost want a word wi' you."

"Where are you?"

"Lying down here i' th' d.y.k.e. I had to creep here 'mong the nattles like a big snail."

"Well, come out, man, and speak to me."

"Nay, nay, that wean't do."

"What, is it you, Harry?"

"Howd your tongue, wilt ta, paarson. I don't want the lads to know as I comed and telled you. I've come along fower d.y.k.es."

"What does it all mean?" said the vicar, leaning over the hedge, to see the great hammerman lying on his face in the ditch on the field side.

"Don't ask no questions, paarson, for I wean't tell nowt, 'cause I'm sweered not to; but I don't like what's going on."

"Well, but tell me, Harry, I beg--I insist--"

"I wean't tell thee nowt, paarson, on'y this here. Yow wouldn't like them as you knows hurt, so joost tell d.i.c.ky Glaire to look out."

"But why--when? I must know more."

The only answer was a loud rustling, and the great body of the hammerman could be seen crawling through the nettles as he made his way pretty quickly along in the opposite direction to that in which he had come, and the vicar forbore to pursue, as it might have tended to betray him.

"I'm not without friends, after all," he said, musing. "Then this quietness is only the precursor of some other storm. I'll go up at once."

He made Iiis way straight to the House, and all was very quiet in the town. Men were lounging about, and their thin sad-faced wives were to be seen here and there busy within, but no sign was visible of the coming storm; and for a while the vicar was ready to doubt the possibility of anything threatening, till he recalled Big Harry's action, and felt certain that the man's words must be true. Any doubt he might have had was, however, dispelled a moment or two later, for he saw Tom Podmore coming towards him; but as soon as the young man caught sight of the vicar he turned sharply round and went away.

"There is something wrong, and he's mixed up in it," muttered the vicar.

"Of course, he is Big Harry's friend, and so the great fellow knew it.

Perhaps, though, he sent him to caution me!"

It was a random shot, but it hit the mark, for Tom, being held in suspicion by his fellows, could not well stir in the matter; and in talking it over with Big Harry, the latter had declared he would warn parson, and so he had.

The vicar was shown in directly, and found the family at the House seated together. He was rather shocked to see Eve's pallid face; but she brightened up at his coming, and seemed to him to be trying to show him how happy they once more were.

Mrs Glaire, too, looked pale and careworn, but she was eager in her ways, and glad to see him, while Richard, in a half-civil way, but with a shifty look in his eye, shook hands and muttered something about the weather.

"Here, Eve, we'll go down the garden together," said Richard; "Mr Selwood's come to see my mother."

"No," said the vicar, quietly, "I have come to see you."

"To see me?"

"Yes; on very important business."

"If you've come from those scoundrels," said Richard, hotly, "I won't hear a word. Let them come themselves."

"Richard!" said Mrs Glaire, imploringly. "I don't care, mother. I've given way to a certain extent, and I'll go no further."

"But I have not come from the men," said the vicar.

"Then what is it?" said Richard, who had a horror of being left alone with his visitor. "Speak out."

"I would rather tell you in private," said the vicar, glancing uneasily at the two women.

"If it is any fresh trouble, Mr Selwood, pray speak out," said Mrs Glaire, anxiously. "But Miss Pelly?"

"Richard is to be my husband in a few days, Mr Selwood," said Eve, smiling sadly, as she rose and stood beside him, with her hands resting on his shoulder. "If it is trouble, I have a right to share it with him."

"There, let's have it," said Richard, rudely. "They will have to hear whatever it is."

The vicar hesitated a moment or two, and tried to collect himself, for Eve's last words sent a pang through his breast, as they seemed to tear the last fibre that had held her to him.

At last he spoke.

"I have little to tell. My news is shadowy and undefined, but I fear it is very real."

"Well, tell me, man, tell me," said Richard; who, while a.s.suming an air of bravado, began to look white.

"I will, Mr Glaire. One of your workmen came secretly to me within the last half-hour to bid you be on your guard."

"I haven't been off," said Richard, insolently. "Who was it?"

"That I cannot tell you," said the vicar. "The man said he had been sworn to secrecy, but he did not like the business, and came at all risks to tell me."

"It was that scoundrel, Tom Podmore," cried Richard.

"It was not Podmore," replied the vicar.

"Then it was that old villain, Joe Banks--an old hypocrite. Forced his way down the garden to me the other evening to bully me."

"Richard, my boy, for heaven's sake," cried Mrs Glaire.

"It was not your old foreman, Mr Glaire," said the vicar, quietly. "I have told you all. It is very little, but it may mean much. If you will take my advice you will counteract the people's plans by opening your works to-morrow."

"Yes, Richard, do!" exclaimed Mrs Glaire and Eve in a breath.

"I said I'd open them on a certain day, and I won't stir a peg from that decision," cried Richard, obstinately.