Had the vicar been ignorant of coming danger he would have suspected it, for men who had been in the habit of frankly returning his salutations or stopping to chat, now refused to meet his eye, or avoided him by crossing the road. He shuddered as he thought of what might be done, but as the last day had come, he was in hopes that it might pass over safely, for Richard had kept closely to his hiding-place, and the rumour had got abroad that he had left the town. He bore this good news to the House. "Let him only keep to his hiding-place to-night, Mrs Glaire," he said; "and to-morrow give out the announcement that the works are opened, and the men once met, we shall have tided over our trouble." "Yes, _our_ trouble," said Mrs Glaire, pressing his hand. "Mr Selwood, I repent of not taking you more into my confidence." "I am glad you have made so great a friend of me as you have," was the reply; and he rose to go. "You will stop and see Eve," said Mrs Glaire. "No," he said, sadly; "not now. Good-bye, good-bye." "I've done him grievous wrong," exclaimed Mrs Glaire, wringing her hands as soon as she was alone; "but it was fate--fate. I must save my poor wilful wandering boy." The vicar prayed for that day and night to hasten on, that his poor people might be met, ere they assembled for any ill design, by the news of Richard Glaire's yielding to them, and the opening of the works; but night seemed as if it would never come. He could not rest; the dread of impending evil was so strong upon him, and he was going about from house to house all day, and called several times at the police-station. His mind was in a whirl, and yet the town had never seemed more quiet nor fewer people about. The works, with their dull windows and blank closed doors, looked chill and bare; and as he passed he scanned the place, and wondered whereabouts Richard could be hidden. Then he began to think of the coming marriage, and his heart grew heavier still; and at last, after endless calls, he went to the vicarage, and threw himself into a chair, to find Mrs Slee quite excited about him. "Thee's hardly had bite or soop to-day, sir," she cried. "Yow'll be ill;" and in spite of his remonstrances, she brought him in the dinner that had been waiting for hours, and insisted upon his eating it. He partook of it more for the sake of gaining strength than from appetite, and then made up his mind to go up the town, and watch the night through; for it was now dark. It was about eight o'clock that a woman in a cloak, and wearing a thick veil, entered the town, followed by a great burly man, and going straight up to the House, rang and asked to see Mrs Glaire. "I don't think you can see her, she's out," said the girl, looking at the visitor suspiciously, the man having stopped back; but as she was closing the door, it was pushed open, and Tom Podmore almost forced his way in. The girl was about to scream, but, on recognising him, she stared wonderingly.