“I will,” cried Joe Banks, who was somewhat staggered by the unanimity of opinion. “Tom Podmore, speak out like a true man and tell these all as it’s a lie.”
Tom remained silent.
“D’ye hear, Tom? Speak out,” cried Joe.
“I’d rather not speak,” said Tom, quietly.
“But thou must, lad, thou must,” cried Sim. “Are you going to see a man a martyr for a holy cause, when you can save him?”
“Speak! speak!” cried Joe, panting with rage and emotion; “tell ’em you know it’s a lie, Tom.”
“I can’t,” said Tom, who was driven to bay, “for I believe Richard Glaire has got her away.”
“Theer, I telled you,” said Sim. “He wanted me to help him, only you wean’t believe.”
“No, no, no,” roared Joe; “and I wean’t believe it now. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t do it. He told me he hadn’t; and he wouldn’t tell me a lie.”
The little crowd opened as the true-hearted old fellow strode away, without turning his head, and Tom Podmore followed him towards his home, and at last spoke to him.