“And that is not at all what I was going to propose,” said Grace, quietly. “But perhaps you would be so good as to go with us to Raby Hall? Then I should feel safe; and I want Mr. Raby to thank you, for I feel how cold and unmeaning all I have said to you is; I seem to have no words.” Her voice faltered, and her sweet eyes filled.
“Miss Carden,” said the young man, gravely, “I can't do that. Mr. Raby is no friend of mine, and he is a bigoted old man, who would turn me out of this place if he knew. Come, now, when you talk about gratitude to me for not letting you be starved to death, you make me blush. Is there a man in the world that wouldn't? But this I do say; it would be rather hard if you two were to go away, and cut my throat in return; and, if you open your mouths ever so little, either of you, you WILL cut my throat. Why, ask yourselves, have I set up my workshop in such a place as this—by choice? It takes a stout heart to work here, I can tell you, and a stout heart to sleep here over dead bones.”
“I see it all. The Trades Unions!”
“That is it. So, now, there are only two ways. You must promise me never to breathe a word to any living soul, or I must give up my livelihood, and leave the country.”
“What can not you trust me? Oh, Mr. Little!”
“No, no; it's this gentleman. He is a stranger to me, you know; and, you see, my life may be at stake, as well as my means.”
“Mr. Coventry is a gentleman, and a man of honor. He is incapable of betraying you.”
“I should hope so,” said Coventry. “I pledge you the word of a gentleman I will never let any human creature know that you are working here.”
“Give me your hand on that, if you please.”
Coventry gave him his hand with warmth and evident sincerity.