It was as she stood in this way a little later that Murdoch's glance fell upon her. The next instant, with the simultaneous cry of terror which broke from the others, he had thrown himself forward and dragged her back by main force, and among the thunderous wheels and rods and shafts there was slowly twisted and torn and ground into shreds a fragment of the delicate fabric of her dress. It was scarcely the work of a second. Her father staggered toward them white and trembling.
"Good God!" he cried. "Good God! What——" the words died upon his bloodless lips.
She freed herself from Murdoch's grasp and stood upright. She did not look at him at all, she looked at her father and lightly brushed with her hand her sleeve at the wrist. Despite her pallor it was difficult to realize that she only held herself erect by a terrible effort of self-control.
"Why"—she said—"why did he touch me—in that manner?"
Haworth uttered a smothered oath; Murdoch turned about and strode out of the room. He did not care to remain to hear the explanation.
As he went out into the open air a fellow-workman, passing by, stopped to stare at him.
"What's up wi' thee?" he asked. "Has tha been punsin Haworth o'er again?" The incident referred to being always remembered as a savory and delectable piece of humor.
Murdoch turned to him with a dazed look.
"I—" he stammered. "We—have very nearly had an accident." And went on his way without further explanation.