“Silence,” cried Joe Banks; “we’ve gotten thee, and thou tries to hide it all by lying. I’ve gotten thee, though, now, and my eyes are opened to it all. I could strangle thee where thou stands; but I promised thee father I’d stand by thee, and I have again all men, as know’d thee for what thou wast. But I can’t do it now, and kill, perhaps, every hope of my poor bairn, so come.”
He caught the young man tightly by the collar, and waved the others aside, so that they fell back before him as he went out unmolested with his prisoner into the starlit lane, and stood the centre of the crowd—now at a respectful distance.
“My lads,” he said, aloud, while the vicar, who had signed to his companions to be ready, stood with every muscle strained to spring forward and try to save the shivering man from violence. “My lads, this man’s done you all a bad turn, but most of all to me.”
There was a murmur of acquiescence at this.
“I’ve always fowt for ye when I could, but I’ve always stuck to the maister,” continued Joe, in a low, hoarse voice that was terrible in its earnestness.
“You hev, Joe, you hev,” was murmured, for the men were impressed by the terrible earnestness of the old foreman.
“I’ve gotten something to ask of ye, then,” said Joe.
“What is it?”
“Let me hev the punishment of this man—this cold-blooded villain.”
“Yes, yes,” rose like a whirlwind.