"Silence," cried Joe Banks; "we've gotten thee, and thou tries to hide it all by lying. I've gotten thee, though, now, and my eyes are opened to it all. I could strangle thee where thou stands; but I promised thee father I'd stand by thee, and I have again all men, as know'd thee for what thou wast. But I can't do it now, and kill, perhaps, every hope of my poor bairn, so come." He caught the young man tightly by the collar, and waved the others aside, so that they fell back before him as he went out unmolested with his prisoner into the starlit lane, and stood the centre of the crowd-- now at a respectful distance. "My lads," he said, aloud, while the vicar, who had signed to his companions to be ready, stood with every muscle strained to spring forward and try to save the shivering man from violence. "My lads, this man's done you all a bad turn, but most of all to me." There was a murmur of acquiescence at this. "I've always fowt for ye when I could, but I've always stuck to the maister," continued Joe, in a low, hoarse voice that was terrible in its earnestness. "You hev, Joe, you hev," was murmured, for the men were impressed by the terrible earnestness of the old foreman. "I've gotten something to ask of ye, then," said Joe. "What is it?" "Let me hev the punishment of this man--this cold-blooded villain." "Yes, yes," rose like a whirlwind. "And you'll leave him to me?" said Joe, through his teeth. "Yes, yes." "Joe, oh Joe, what are you going to do?" wailed his wife, coming panting up, having returned from the next town by the train by which Richard Glaire had meant to leave. "Thou shalt see, moother," said Joe quietly; "I'm going to punish the thief that stole our bairn." "But, Joe!" cried Mrs Banks piteously. "Howd thee tongue, and see," he cried sternly. "Richard Glaire, thou'rt a damned villain, but I can't strike down the man my poor bairn has clasped in her poor weak arms. The way's open to thee: go, and God's mercy be held from thee if thou dost not make my poor child amends." Richard Glaire tried to speak, but his tongue refused its office, and he looked, shivering, from one to the other, as the stern old man stood pointing up towards the town, while the men who, but a short time before, were ready to tear and trample him under foot, stood back right and left, leaving an open lane for him to pass. "Banks, God bless you!" whispered the vicar, catching the old man's hand. "And you too, parson," said the other, simply. "Mebbe you'll tak' him home." The help was needed, for Richard Glaire tottered as his arm was drawn through the vicar's; and then, followed by Tom Podmore and the big hammerman, they passed unmolested through the crowd, to find another further on, consisting of the women of the place, who had restrained the frantic mother and Eve Pelly from following; and the latter was kneeling now in the midst of a knot of women beside poor Mrs Glaire.