"If I could only tell him everything," muttered John Maine, as he strode
away from the vicar's side, and made for the farm.
He was not half-way back, when he met Tom Brough, the keeper, who
favoured him with a sneering, contemptuous kind of smile that made the
young man's blood boil. He knew him to be a rival, though he felt sure
that Jessie did not favour his suit in the slightest degree. Still her
uncle seemed to look upon Brough as a likely man to make his niece a
good partner; for Tom Brough expected to come in for a fair amount of
property, an old relative having him down in his will for succession to
a comfortable farm--a nice thing, argued old Bultitude, for a young
couple beginning life.
It might have been only fancy, but on reaching the crew-yard, old
Bultitude seemed to John Maine to speak roughly to him. However, he
took no notice, but went about his duties, worked very hard for a time,
and went in at last to the evening meal, to find Jessie looking careworn
and anxious.
After tea he sent a boy up with a message to the cricket-field, saying
that he was too unwell to come; and after this he went to his own room
to sit and think out his future, breaking off the thread of his musings
and seeking Jessie, whom he found alone, and looking strange and
distant.
"Jessie," he began, and she turned her face towards him, but without
speaking, and then there was a minute's pause.
"Jessie," he began again, and the intention had been to speak of his own
affairs, but his feelings were too much for him, and he turned off the
primary question to pass to one that had but a secondary place in his
mind.
Jessie did not reply, but looked up at him timidly, in a way that
checked rather than accelerated his flow of words.
"I wanted to speak to you about Daisy Banks," he said at last.
"Yes; what about her?" said Jessie, wonderingly.
"I ought not to speak perhaps; but you have no mother, and Mr Bultitude
does not seem to notice these things."
"I don't know what you mean," said Jessie, wonderingly.
John Maine would gladly have backed out of his position, but it was too
late, and he was obliged to flounder on.
"I meant about Daisy Banks and Mr Richard Glaire."
"Well?" said Jessie, looking full at him. "What about them?"
"I meant that I don't think you ought to be so intimate with her now."
"And why not?"
"The Dumford people couple her name very unpleasantly with Mr
Richard's, and for your sake I thought I'd speak."
"For shame!" cried the girl, rising, and looking angrily at him. "That
young Podmore has been talking to you."
"No, indeed, indeed, poor Tom never mentions her name."
"I won't believe, John Maine, that you could be so petty and ungenerous
yourself. Mr Glaire loves Daisy, and she confided all to me. Such
words as yours are quite an insult to her, and--and I cannot--will not
stay to hear them."
The girl's face was burning, and she ran out of the place to hide her
tears, while John Maine, whose intention had been to say something very
different, sighed bitterly, and went back to his room. There, however,
everything looked blacker than ever, and he could see nothing in the
gloom--devise no plan. He knew that the best proceeding would be to set
the scoundrels he had seen that morning at defiance--that everybody
whose opinion was worth a rush would applaud his frank declaration that
he had turned from his evil courses to those which were reputable; but
then the people he knew--Mr Bultitude--Jessie--the vicar--his friends
in Dumford--what would they say? There seemed to be but one chance for
him--to pack up a few things in a bundle and go and seek his fortune
again elsewhere--perhaps to live in peace for a few years before he
should be again hunted down by some of the wolves amongst whom his early
lot had been cast.
"John--John!"
He started. It was Jessie calling, and hastily going downstairs, it was
to see her with the flush gone out of her cheeks, and looking pale and
anxious, as she held out a strip of paper.
"Two rough-looking men gave this to the boy for you," she said, looking
at him in a troubled way.
He took the paper hastily, and turned away with a dark red glow
spreading over his temples. He divined who had sent the note, and
shivered as he thought of how the boy would chatter to everybody about
the farm. Perhaps Jessie had questioned him already, and set him down
as being the friend and companion of the senders:
Turning away, he walked out into the yard to find that the paper had
originally been used for holding an ounce of tobacco, and upon it was
scrawled in pencil:
"We ave bin spekkin yu hat the krikt fele Ude betr cum."
"2 OLE FRENDS."
"You had better come!" What should he do? Set them at defiance or go
away at once?
Torn by doubts he could do neither, but stood hesitating, till, in a fit
of desperation, he strode off in the direction of the cricket-field.
He had saved a little money, and he might perhaps bribe them to take it
and go, leaving him in peace, though he felt the while that such a
proceeding would only be an invitation to them to come back, and demand
more; but even if they did, a fortnight's respite was worth all he
possessed; and, besides, it would give him time to turn round and devise
some plan for freeing himself of his incubus.
To reach the cricket-field he had to pass the back-door of the vicarage;
taking, as he did, the cut through the fields; and as he neared it,
separated from it by a high hedge, his blood turned cold as he heard
Mrs Slee's shrill voice exclaim:
"You can't miss it: the second tunning to the right, and then it's the
second field."
"And you wean't buy the bud then, mum--that theer goldfinch as I told
you off?"
"Bird, no," cried Mrs Slee; "what do I want with such clat. Let the
poor thing go. You ought to be ashamed of yoursens."
"We just about are," said one of the men: and then, as John Maine
remained breathless behind the hedge, he heard the grating of feet upon
the gravel, and one said to the other:
"Say, Jem, lad, did you see?" and he made a smacking noise with his
lips.
"I see," replied Jem, "everythink." Then, "If that theer Johnny Maine
don't show up, we'll precious soon have the owd badger out of his
earth."
John Maine shrank back with a cloud of thoughts hurrying through his
brain, foremost among which was that these men had been spying up at the
vicarage. Through any window there could be seen the valuable plate on
the sideboard and shelves, and the plan of offering a bird for sale was
but an excuse for getting up to a house--a plan which he knew of old.
For a few moments he felt disposed to turn back; then he was for facing
them boldly: but all doubts were set at rest by footsteps coming in his
direction; so, stepping out boldly, he was soon after face to face with
his two old companions, who seemed to be strolling about with their
hands in their pockets, enjoying an evening pipe.
"Here he is!" exclaimed Ike, grinning; "I knew he'd come. But howd your
noise, Jem; don't make a row. Johnny don't care about being seen too
much along of us. It's all raight. He knows a thing or two. There'll
be a bit of a game on soon, lad, and we shall want you. We don't know
one another, we don't. Now, which is the gainest way to the
cricket-field?"
John Maine pointed in the direction, and Jem came close up with a leer,
saying:
"Say, lad, recklect that plate job, eh? Melted down at Birmingham or
Sheffle, an' no questions asked."
John Maine shuddered as he recalled the time when he was innocently made
the bearer of a heavy package to a bullion melter, and told afterwards
whence the silver had been obtained.
Before he had recovered himself, the two scoundrels had sauntered away,
leaving him shivering, as he thought over their words, and understood
them as a threat of denunciation, unless he kept his own counsel.
Then, in imagination, he saw a party drive over from one of the big
towns in a light spring-cart, drawn by a weedy screw of a horse; an
entry made at the vicarage, and everything of value swept away, while he
was helpless to arrest the robbery, except at the cost of his worldly
position.
He stood thinking for a time, and then strode on across the fields to
the cricket ground, where a little half-hearted play was going on, the
men of Dumford being too much influenced by the strike to care much for
any thing save their tobacco. He caught sight of the two men once or
twice; but they took not the slightest heed of his presence, and instead
of their watching him he watched them, following them at last into the
town, and seeing them go along the main street past the Glaires' house,
and away up the hill, Richard coming down and passing them.
"Can they be going right away?" thought John Maine hopefully, till he
recollected a low, poacher-haunted public-house about a mile beyond the
chalk pit, and rightly set that down as their destination.
He turned back with a sigh, to see Tom Podmore leaning thoughtfully
against one of the houses, and going up, the two young men engaged in
conversation for a few minutes, each rigorously abstaining from all
mention of the other's love affairs, and soon after they parted, for
John Maine to seek his sleepless pillow.
Volume 2, Chapter IX.