"I will not turn my back upon them," she said. "Let them do their worst."
He turned to the crowd again. Her life itself was in danger, and he knew he could not move her. He was shuddering himself.
"Who is your leader?" he said to the men. "I suppose you have one."
The man known as Foxy Gibbs responded to their cries of his name by pushing his way to the front. He was a big, resolute, hulking scamp who had never been known to do an honest day's work, and was yet always in funds and at liberty to make incendiary speeches where beer and tobacco were plentiful.
"What do you want of me?" demanded Murdoch. "Speak out."
The fellow was ready enough with his words, and forcible too.
"We've heard tell o' summat goin' on we're not goin' to stond," he said. "We've heerd tell o' a chap 'at's contrivin' summat to do away wi' them as does th' work now an' mak's theer bread by it. We've heerd as th' mesters is proidin' theersens on it an' laughin' in their sleeves. We've heerd tell as theer's a chap makkin' what'll eend i' mischief—an' yo're th' chap."
"Who told you?"
"Nivver moind who. A foo' let it out, an' we wur na in th' humor to let it pass. We're goin' to sift th' thing to th' bottom. Yo're th' chap as was nam't. What ha' yo' getten to say?"
"Just one thing," he answered. "It's a lie from first to last—an accursed lie!"