Volume Three—Chapter Fifteen.
Daisy’s Letter.
The weeks slipped rapidly by, and a great change had come over Dumford. The sky was blackened once more with smoke, the furnaces roared, there was the loud chink of metal heard, and the hiss of steam as the engines thudded and clanked, while at dinner time the great gates gave forth their troops of grimy workmen.
Homes looked bright once more, and “my maister” was not seen with lowering brow leaning against the door-post all day long, but tired and hearty, ready to play with the bairns, or busy himself in his bit of garden.
The trade, too, had brightened up, and one and all thanked goodness that their troubles were over, and prayed that they might be long in coming again.
Something of a search had been made for Sim Slee, and the police authorities had been pretty active; but Sim and the “deppitation” managed to keep out of sight, and Richard Glaire was in no wise anxious to have the matter too closely investigated.
He kept to his story that he found the train laid in the foundry, and Banks the foreman destroyed it, and the place was saved. This he opened at once, and the men gladly resumed work, the vicar’s influence telling upon them, and one and all being ready to ignore the past, and try to condone it by regular attendance at the time-keeper’s wicket.
Banks recovered rapidly, and, on learning the truth, sent for Richard, who, however, refused to go to the house to see him, while on his part the foreman declined to resume his position at the foundry.
“No, sir,” he said to the vicar; “I weer in the wrong, and I shouldn’t feel it weer raight to go back theer again. I’m sorry I misjudged him as I did, and I weer too hard upon him; but he hasn’t used me well, neither has Mrs Glaire. But theer, let bygones be bygones. I shan’t starve, and I’m only too happy to hev my poor lass back again, safe and sound—safe and sound, while the missus is in high feather to find that Daisy and her fav’rite, Tom Podmore, hev come together efter all.”
That same day, as it happened, Mrs Glaire called at the cottage, with Eve Pelly, and while the former talked with her old foreman,
Eve went into the little garden with Daisy.
“I’ve called to ask you to come back, Joe Banks, at my son’s wish,” said Mrs Glaire. “He desires that we bury the past, and that you resume your post, for the place is not the same without you.”
“Nay, Mrs Glaire, nay,” said Banks, shaking his head; “that can never be again. I should hev had to give it up some day, so let it be now. And, as you say, ma’am, let bygones be bygones. We were both in the wrong.”
“Both, Joe,” said Mrs Glaire, sadly; “but you will forgive me. I did what I did for the best.”
“Ay, I believe thee, but it weer very hard to bear. I deserved it, though, for I might hev knowed that he niver meant to wed my poor lass. Bud theer that’s all past and gone—past and gone. Hey, ma’am, look at them two i’ the garden. They seem good friends enew now. And so she’s to be married to Master Dick to-morrow?”
“Yes, Joe,” said Mrs Glaire, hastily, “it will be for the best. My son is all that I could wish for now;” and they sat looking out at the two young girls as they stood talking.
Their conversation had been on indifferent things for some time, but Daisy felt a guilty knowledge of something she ought to tell, for Eve was so sweet and gentle with her; not one word or look of reproach had been said, but there had so far been no word of the future.
At length Daisy spoke out.
“Do you quite forgive me, Miss Eve?” she said. “I could not help it then, though I fought against it, and was wretched all the time.”
“Yes, Daisy, yes,” cried Eve, eagerly; and she took the other’s hand; “but tell me truly—do you—do you—oh, I cannot say it.”
“Do I care for Mr Richard Glaire?” said Daisy, with a strange smile. “Do I feel hurt because you will be married to him to-morrow? Not a bit. Don’t think that, dear Miss Eve, for I love poor Tom with all my heart, and only wish I could make him a better wife.”
“And you will be married soon, too?” exclaimed Eve.
“Maybe in a month or two,” said Daisy, looking sadly at her visitor; “we do not want to hurry it on. I wish you every happiness, Miss Eve.”
“And I you, Daisy,” said Eve, looking at her with a wondering wistful look, and asking herself how it was that Richard should have conceived so mad a passion for this girl, while for her his attentions had been of the coldest type.
“Mr Selwood is going to marry you, then?” said Daisy, quietly, for want of something to carry on the conversation. “But what ails you, Miss Eve, are you ill?”
“No, no, nothing,” said Eve, hastily. “It is hot to-day, that’s all.”
And then the two girls stood silent for a while, Eve thinking that the vicar came so seldom now, and then his visits were so quiet and formal; while Daisy kept asking herself one question, and that was—
“Shall I tell her?”
And the answer—
“No, it would be cruel now, and once they and I are married, all that will be over.”
When the visitors had gone, Daisy went up to her bedroom, and took from a little drawer a note which she had received the previous night. It ran as follows:—
“You know how I love you, and how I have watched for weeks for a chance to speak to you. I have been night after night at the old places, believing you would come, but not one glance have I had of you, not one word. Dearest Daisy, by all our old meetings, I ask you to give me one more. Don’t heed the chatter of the place, but come up to the old spot as soon as you receive this, for I am obliged to write. If too late I will be there to-morrow night. Only come and say one loving word to me, and all you have heard shall be as nothing. I cannot live without you, so come, and if you will I am ready to take you anywhere—far away, as I have promised you before.”
Daisy sat looking at the letter, and read it again and again.
“Only to think,” she said at last; “a few months ago I should have sighed and sobbed over that note, and been almost ready to be dragged by him where he would, while now—it makes me almost sick. What could I have seen in his soft boyish face to make me feel as I did. But what shall I do? It seems cruel to let that poor girl go to the church with such a man, only that she might save him. And suppose he makes her miserable for life.”
Daisy turned pale, and sat thinking till she heard her father call, and then she hastily thrust the letter into her bosom, her face grew radiant, and she hurried down, for her father’s words had been—
“Daisy, lass, here’s Tom!”