"Paid for it! What do you call being paid for it? He has a small income, and he is expected to see to the Church and the Parish. Do you suppose he gets a penny more by going to see you! If he never went near your cottage again, nobody would call him to account. He goes because he thinks it right—not because of anything he can gain by it. He goes because he wants you to be happy."
Barclay seemed with an effort to shake himself free from the effect of her words. "Tell yer—! It's no good! Don't want to be helped. Yer don't know," flinging out once more a clenched hand towards Jean, and holding it extended. "Tell yer—! I'll have nought to do with Parsons. Never no more! Don't believe in 'em! Nor don't believe in Church! Nor don't believe in nothin'. Tell yer! I means to be let alone!"
Cyril's voice rang out indignantly at this juncture: "Jean! You here!"
In a moment he was on the bridge, past Barclay, whom he twisted half round in his passage, and beside Jean; his eyes flashing; his whole figure alert for action.
Jean saw so much; saw the brawny arm struck down; and heard a sharp interchange of angry words, culminating in a contemptuous "Be off!" from Cyril.
Then the man was gone; and reaction from resolute courage had rendered her almost unable to stand. But the relief of Cyril's presence—! Jean had laughed often at his boyishness, congratulating herself on her own independent spirit. She learnt this day that the bravest woman living cannot always do without a man to protect her.
"What was it all about?" asked Cyril, when he had guided Jean to a mossy lump of rock, and had made her sit down. "What did the fellow do to you? No, don't answer yet—" as an effort to reply brought back the convulsive tremor in her throat. "Keep quiet a minute. The wretch!—What a good thing I came! They told me at the Rectory that you were gone up the Gorge. I say, I'll get some water. I've got my little travelling-cup here, in my pocket. It won't take me three minutes to climb down—and you're regularly shaken."
"Don't go—please. He might come back."
This from Jean! Cyril could hardly believe his own ears. For the first time within the recollection of both, he was the protector, Jean the protected. Reversal of the childish order of things had been long in coming; but here it was; and Cyril had difficulty in hiding his gratification.
"The fellow won't come back. He knows better. Now tell me all about it—" with an authority which at any other time would have made Jean laugh or resist. She obeyed now, meekly as ever Cyril had submitted himself to her, and gave particulars.