It seemed to be the vicar’s fate to appear as playing the spy upon Richard Glaire, for, on Iiis return, taking a round-about way back, so as to make a call upon one or two people whom he had relieved of some part of the suffering induced by the strike, he was once more striking for the High Street, when he heard the words sharply uttered:
“Well, I’ll pay you this time; but let me find that you fail me again and don’t you expect—Confound—!”
“How do, Mr Glaire,” said the vicar, for he had come suddenly upon Richard, laying down the law pretty sharply to Sim Slee, and he was close to them before it was seen on either side.
“Really,” said the vicar to himself as he strode on, “I’ve not the slightest wish to see what that unfortunate young man does; but it seems to me that I am to be bound to bear witness to a great deal. Heigho! these are matters that must be left to time.”
He entered his own gate soon after, and having received Mrs Slee’s report, that lady handed him the note she had found.
“Mr Glaire’s hand,” he said, involuntarily and with his brows knit. “Where did you get this?”
“My master came to see me, and he must ha’ dropped it,” said Mrs Slee.
“Then take it to him,” said the vicar, quietly, as he resumed his calm aspect. “It is nothing to do with us.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Mrs Slee, sharply. “What call has young master Dick Glaire to be writing letters to she?”
“Take the letter to your husband, Mrs Slee,” said the vicar, quietly; and then left alone, he threw himself into his chair, and covered his face with his hands, trying hard to resist temptation, for he knew well enough that if he had kept that letter and dishonourably shown it to Eve Pelly, so serious a breach would be created that his future success would be almost certain. But, no; he could not stir a step to make her unhappy. She loved this man, who was quite unworthy of her; and if she ever was awakened from her dream his must not be the hand that roused her.