"Not go!" roared Richard, bringing his fist down heavily upon the table. "But I will go. Look here; I start from this house at seven o'clock to catch the mail-train; now go and tell the scoundrels you have made your friends--the men you have encouraged in their strike against me." "I encouraged them?" said the vicar, smiling at the absurdity of the charge, when he had striven so bravely for peace. "Yes; you who have fed their wives and children, and lent them money so as to enable them to hold out against me--you, whose coming has been a curse to the place, for you have fostered the strike from the beginning." "There is no time to argue that, Mr Glaire," said the vicar, quietly; "and let me advise you once more. Give up this foolish idea of leaving, if not for your own sake, for that of your mother and your cousin here." "I shall not," cried Richard. "I have made my arrangements, and I shall go, and let the blood of the man be on his own head who tries to stop me." "As you will," said the vicar, calmly, as he turned to go. "Mr Selwood!" "Mr Selwood!" The two women appealed to him in a breath, but he did not look at them, merely fixed Richard with his eyes, as he said quietly: "Then you must be saved against your will." The next minute he was gone. Volume 2, Chapter XVI. SAVED IN SPITE OF HIMSELF. The street was getting pretty full of people as the vicar walked sharply back towards his house, but they were all remarkably quiet. Sim Slee was there, but he turned off down a side lane, and there was this ugly appearance in their mien, that those who generally had a nod and smile for him refused now to meet the vicar's eye. He knew it would be madness to try and persuade Sim's party against their plans, and only so much wasted time, so he contented himself with preparing his own, and, to his great satisfaction, found Tom Podmore and his other ally in waiting. As he was passing the Bull and Cucumber though, Robinson, the landlord, made a sign to him that he wished to speak, and the vicar went up to him. "Ah, Robinson, how's your wife?" "She's a very poor creature, sir. She coot her hand the other day with a bit of pot--old cheeny, and it's gone bad. She hasn't looked so bad ta year as she does now." "I'm sorry to hear this." "It's a bad job, sir, for she can't side the room, or remble the kitchen things, or owt. She tried to sile the milk this morning, and had to give it up, and let the lass do it instead." "Sile the milk?" said the vicar. "Ah, you mean strain it?" "Ah, wi' uz," said the landlord, "we always call it sile. We strain a thing through a temse." "Oh, do you?" said the vicar, wondering whether there was any connection between temse and tammies or tammy cloth. "But you were going to say something important to me, were you not?"