A boat put across the river; two men and a crowd of women. The mob had been seen; at least there was positively one person present who had distinguished them in the extreme distance, or rather the cloud of dust which they created; there were dreadful stories of their violence and devastation. It was understood that a body meant to attack Trafford’s works, but, as the narrator added, it was very probable that the greater part would cross the bridge and so on to the Moor, where they would hold a meeting.
Sybil would fain have crossed in the boat, but there was no one to assist her. They had escaped, and meant to lose no time in finding a place of refuge for the moment. They were sure if they recrossed now, they must meet the mob. They were about to leave her, Sybil in infinite distress, when a lady driving herself in a pony carriage, with a couple of grooms behind her mounted also on ponies of the same form and colour, came up from the direction of the Moor, and observing the group and Sybil much agitated, pulled up and enquired the cause. One of the men, frequently interrupted by all the women, immediately entered into a narrative of the state of affairs for which the lady was evidently quite unprepared, for her alarm was considerable.
“And this young person will persist in crossing over,” continued the man. “It’s nothing less than madness. I tell her she will meet instant death or worse.”
“It seems to me very rash,” said the lady in a kind tone, and who seemed to recognise her.
“Alas! what am I to do!” exclaimed Sybil. “I left my father at Mr Trafford’s!”
“Well, we have no time to lose,” said the man, whose companion had now fastened the boat to the bank, and so wishing them good morning, and followed by the whole of his cargo, they went on their way.
But just at this moment a gentleman, mounted on a very knowing little cob, came cantering up, exclaiming, as he reached the pony carriage, “My dear Joan, I am looking after you. I have been in the greatest alarm for you. There are riots on the other side of the river, and I was afraid you might have crossed the bridge.”
Upon this, Lady Joan related to Mr Mountchesney how she had just become acquainted with the intelligence, and then they conversed together for a moment or so in a whisper: when turning round to Sybil, she said, “I think you had really better come home with us till affairs are a little more quiet.”
“You are most kind,” said Sybil, “but if I could get back to the town through Mowbray Park, I think I might do something for my father!”
“We are going to the Castle through the park at this moment,” said the gentleman. “You had better come with us. There you will at least be safe, and perhaps we shall be able to do something for the good people in trouble over the water,” and so saying, nodding to a groom who, advancing, held his cob, the gentleman dismounted, and approaching Sybil with great courtesy, said, “I think we ought all of us to know each other. Lady Joan and myself had once the pleasure of meeting you, I think, at Mr Trafford’s. It is a long time ago, but,” he added in a subdued tone, “you are not a person to forget.”