"I came to save you and others, Mr Glaire, and you act like this.
Quick, get away from this place. Your life is in danger."
"I have heard that tale, my dear," he said, "till I am tired of it."
"I tell you," cried Daisy, as he tried to clasp her again, and she
struggled with him; "I tell you there is a plot against you, and that
you must go. This place is not safe. You have not a moment to lose."
"Why," said Richard, holding her in spite of her struggles; "did you not
come to see me and comfort me for being in hiding here?"
"No, no," cried Daisy, trying to free herself; "I came to warn you. Oh,
sir, this is cowardly."
"Come, Daisy, my little one, why are you struggling? You used not."
"No," cried the girl, angrily; "not when I was a silly child and
believed you."
"Come, that's unkind," said Richard, laughing. "Where have you been,
eh? But there, I know."
"I tell you, Mr Richard, you are in danger."
"Pooh! what danger? We're safe enough here, Daisy, and no one will
interrupt us."
"I cannot answer questions," said Daisy.
"Oh, pray, pray let us go. I came to save you."
"Then you do love me still, Daisy?"
"No, no; indeed no, sir, I hate you; but I would not see you hurt."
"Look here, Daisy," cried Richard. "_I_ hate mystery. Did you come
here alone?"
"Yes, yes--to save you."
"Thank you, my dear; but now, please, tell me why? No mystery, please,
or I shall think this is some trick, and that you have been sent by the
men on strike."
"Indeed, no, Mr Richard," cried Daisy, who, in her horror, caught at
his arm, and tried to drag him away. "Mr Richard, sir, you told me you
loved me; and in those days I was foolish enough to believe you, to the
neglect of a good, true man, who wanted to make me his wife."
"Poor idiot!" cried Richard, who was getting out of temper at being so
kept at a distance.
"No; but a good, true man," cried Daisy, indignantly. "I've wakened up
from the silly dream you taught me to believe, and now I come to warn
you of a great danger, and you scoff at it."
"What's the danger, little one?"
"I cannot--dare not tell you."
"Then it isn't true. It's an excuse of yours. The old game, Daisy: all
promises and love in your letters--all coyness and distance when we
meet; but you are not going to fool me any more, my darling. I don't
believe a word of your plot, for no one knows I am here except those who
would not betray me."
"What shall I do?" cried Daisy, clasping her hands in agony. "Even now
it may be too late."
"What shall you do, you silly little thing!" cried Richard, whose
promises were all forgotten, and he clasped Daisy more tightly; "why,
behave like a sensible girl. Why, Daisy, I have not kissed you for
weeks, and so must make up for lost time."
"If you do not loose me, Mr Richard, I shall scream for help," cried
the girl, now growing frightened.
"And who's to hear you if you do?" he said, mockingly.
"Those who are coming to destroy your works," exclaimed Daisy, now fully
roused to the peril of her position.
"Let them come!" cried Richard, as he held her more tightly; "when they
do," he added, with a laugh, "I'll let you go."
He was drawing Daisy's face round to his in spite of her struggles,
when, in an instant, she ceased to fight against him, as she exclaimed
in a low, awe-stricken whisper--"Hush! what was that?" Richard loosed
his hold on the instant, and stood listening.
"Nothing but a trick of yours, Miss Daisy," he cried, catching her arm
as she was gliding from him into the darkness.
"Hush! there it is again," whispered the girl. "I heard it plainly.
Pray, pray, let us go."
"No one can have got in here," muttered Richard, turning pale, for this
time he had distinctly heard some sound from below. "Here, wait a
moment, and I'll go and see."
"No, no," faltered Daisy. "Not alone; and you must not leave me. There
is danger--there is, indeed, Mr Richard."
"Give me your hand, then," he whispered. "Curse the place; it's dark
enough by night to frighten any one. Mind how you come." Daisy clung
convulsively to his hand and arm, as they descended to the second floor,
where all seemed to be still, not a sound reaching their ears; and from
thence to the first floor, where all was as they had left it.
Here Richard paused for a few moments, but could hear nothing but the
beating of their own hearts, for now he, too, was horribly alarmed.
"It's nothing," he said at last. "Daisy, you've been inventing this to
make me let you go."
Daisy made no reply, for the horror of some impending evil seemed to be
upon her, and with her lips parched, and tongue dry, she could not even
utter a word; but clung to him, and tried to urge him away.
"Come along, then, into the counting-house," he said, infected now by
the girl's manifest fears. "Mind how you come; the steps are worn.
Take care."
But for his arm Daisy would probably have fallen, but he aided her, and
she reached the floor in safety.
"Stop a moment, silly child," he said, "and I'll light a match, just to
look round and show you that you are frightened at nothing."
"No, no," gasped Daisy. "Quick, quick, the door."
"Well, then, little one, just to prevent our breaking our necks over
this cursed machinery."
"No, no," moaned Daisy. "I know the way. Here, quick."
But Richard was already striking the wax match he had taken from a box,
and then as the light blazed up he uttered a cry of horror, and let it
fall, while Daisy, who took in at a glance the horror of their
situation, sank beside the burning match, which blazed for a few moments
on the beaten earth, and then went out, leaving them in a darkness
greater than before.
Volume 3, Chapter XII.