He swooped down upon her basket, which she snatched up so quickly that he lost his balance and fell against the wooden fence. With a rapid step she got round him, basket and all, and was in the act of mounting the first step of the stile when the young ruffian, perceiving her purpose and enraged at a blow he had received in stumbling, lurched round with unexpected agility, and laid a rough hand on her arm. She tried to wrench herself free, but the muscular strength she was so proud of was as a child’s feebleness against the brute force of this man. It had never before happened to her to feel powerless like this. With teeth clinched hard, and eyes watching intently for a moment’s advantage, she wrestled in utter silence with the man, who tried to force her to mount the stile.
“Tha’d better not give ma so mooch trouble, ma bonny madam,” said he, roughly. “Tha’ll only have to pay for t’ other side. An’ Ah’ll tak’ a buss now to goa on wi’.”
He put his arm round her waist and tried to kiss her; Olivia fought fiercely, still without uttering a word. In the midst of her desperate struggles her assailant saw the girl’s face change—light up with hope, with expectancy. Then, with all the force of her lungs, she suddenly shouted, “Help!” For a moment the collier was surprised into desisting from his attack, but before she could take advantage of this he recovered himself, and putting one rough and dirty hand over her mouth, growled out, sullenly—
“Nea, theer bean’t no help for tha till Ah done with tha.”
Closing his strong fingers on her face, he pulled her head around with brutal violence, and had his own repulsive face close to hers, when he suddenly felt one strong hand laid on his shoulder and another under his chin, and his head being forced back with a jerk, he found that he was in the vigorous clutches of the vicar of St. Cuthbert’s.
“Dang tha! It’s t’ feightin’ parson!” cried the rough, in a surly tone.
“Yes, and I’m going to exercise my fists on your ugly face as soon as ever you’re sober, you hulking vagabond!” said Mr. Brander, with a conspicuous lack of pastoral meekness.
The man had fallen back, and, half drunk as he was, looked ashamed of himself.
“Tha maun look out for thaself if tha tries that on,” he said, sullenly. Then with more assurance he went on, “Dunna think Ah care for tha bein’ t’ parson. It ain’t mooch of a parson tha’lt be when all’s known. Ay,” he continued, seeing that these vague words were not without effect, “theer’s a mon aboot as wants tha, an’ as woan’t rest till e’s gotten tha, and may be before tha taks oop wi’ another lass e’ll mak’ tha give an account o’ t’ one tha spirited away. Now coom on if tha loikes.”
And he put himself in a fighting position.