“My house, Glaire,” shouted the vicar. “No, the church,” amidst the storm of yells and cries, as he tried to fight his way free.
“After him, lads!” cried the shrill voice of Sim Slee; “and down wi’ them as interferes.”
“Dal me, if I don’t feel the brains of any man as hurts parson,” cried the stentorian voice of one of the ringleaders. “Howd him, boys, and them others too. Give up, parson: it’s no good to faight for that blaguard.”
“If you are men and not cowards—” shouted the vicar, but his voice was drowned, he was seized by three men who held him good-temperedly enough in spite of his struggles, and with sinking heart, he found himself, separated from his followers, Big Harry being down with six men sitting on him to quell the mighty heaves he gave to set himself free.
“We wean’t hurt thee, parson,” said one of the men who kept him and his fellows prisoners. “See there, lads!”
He went down like a shot, for, by a clever twist learnt in wrestling, the vicar upset him on to the men holding Harry, and then by a mighty effort set himself at liberty, so staggering his captors that Harry got free as well. Then there was a charge, and Tom Podmore was up, and these three ran down the street after the crowd who pursued Richard.
“Harry, my lad! Tom, stick to me,” cried the vicar, panting for breath. “I shall never forgive myself or be forgiven if harm comes to that young man,” he added to himself; and then dashing on with about as unclerical an aspect as was possible, he rapidly gained on Richard’s pursuers, with Tom behind him, and Big Harry lumbering like an elephant at his heels.
Meanwhile the whole town was at the windows or in the streets; children were crying and women shrieking, while the more prudent tradespeople were busily putting up their “shuts.” As for Richard, he had gone off like a hunted hare, doubling here and there to avoid the blows struck at him, and more than once it seemed as if he would escape; but the men had taken their steps well, and knowing that he would make for the station road, there was always a picket ready to cut him off, and drive him back to run the gauntlet afresh.
He had not heard the vicar’s words, which were drowned by the savage hoots and yells, mingled with curses upon him, from half-starved women; but, oddly enough, he made straight for the house of the very man whom he hated, and nearly reached it, but was headed back, and fainting and exhausted, he only escaped capture by a clever double, by leaping a hedge, crossing the vicarage garden, and leaping another hedge, landing in the pasture-land leading towards Joe Banks’s cottage, the vicarage standing at the apex formed by the roads leading to Ranby and the open land.
This double made a number of his pursuers run round by the road, and gave time to the vicar and his followers to close up to the hunted man.