"Why, one of them is my friend, Mr Richard Glaire," said the vicar to himself, as he caught sight of the pale trembling figure, standing side by side with a heavy grizzled elderly workman, who stood there with his hat off, evidently bent on defending the younger man. "Yow come out o' that, Joe Banks, an' leave him to us," roared a great bull-headed hammerman, who was evidently one of the ringleaders. "Keep off, you great coward," was the answer. "Gie him a blob, Harry; gie him a blob," shouted a voice. "My good men--my good men," faltered Richard Glaire, trying to make himself heard; but there was a roar of rage and hatred, and the men pressed forward, fortunately carrying with them the vicar, and too intent upon their proposed victims to take any notice of the strange figure elbowing itself to the front. "Where are the police, Banks--the police?" "Yah! He wants the police," shouted a shrill voice, which came from the man in the red waistcoat. "He's trampled down the rights of man, and now he wants the brutal mummydons of the law." "Yah!" roared the crowd, and they pressed on. "Banks, what shall we do?" whispered Glaire; "they'll murder us." "They won't murder me," said the foreman, stolidly. "But they will me. What shall we do?" "Faight," said the foreman, sturdily. "I can't fight. I'll promise them anything," groaned the young man. "Here, my lads," he cried, "I'll promise you--" "Yah! You wean't keep your promises," roared those nearest. "Down with them. Get hold of him, Harry." The big workman made a dash at Richard Glaire, and got him by the collar, dragging him from the wall just as the foreman, who tried to get before him, was good-humouredly baffled by half-a-dozen men, who took his blows for an instant, and then held him helpless against the bricks. It would have gone hard with the young owner of the works, for an English mob, when excited and urged to action, is brutal enough for the moment, before their manly feelings resume their sway, and shame creeps in to stare them in the face. He would probably have been hustled, his clothes torn from his back, and a rain of blows have fallen upon him till he sank exhausted, when he would have been kicked and trampled upon till he lay insensible, with half his ribs broken, and there he would have been left. "Police! Where are the police?" shouted the young man. "Shut themselves up to be safe," roared a lusty voice; and the young man grew dizzy with fear, as he gazed wildly round at the sea of menacing faces screaming and struggling to get at him. As he cowered back a blow struck him on the forehead, and another on the lip, causing the blood to trickle down, while the great hammerman held him forward, struggling helplessly in his grasp.