“Yes,” he said, softly, “plenty;” and then with a simple pathos he continued bitterly, “and I’ve got plenty more hearts to give i’ place o’ the one as you’ve ’bout broke.”
Daisy’s breath came with a catch, and they went on in silence for a time—a silence that the girl herself broke.
“Tom,” she said, hoarsely, and he gave quite a start. “Tom, are you going to tell mother and father what you’ve heard and seen?”
“No, lass,” he said, sadly, “I’m not o’ that sort. I came to try and take care o’ thee, not as I’ve any call to now. Thou must go thy own gate, for wi’ such as thou fathers and mothers can do nowt. If Dick Glaire marries thee, I hope thou’lt be happy. If he deceives thee—”
“What, Tom?” whispered the girl, in an awe-stricken tone, for her companion was silent.
“I shall murder him, and be hung out of my misery,” said Tom. “There’s your door, lass. Go in.”
He waited till the door closed upon her, and then strode off into the darkness.
Meanwhile Sim Slee leaned cautiously from the window watching Richard, who stood now just beneath him, grinding his teeth with impotent rage as he saw Daisy disappear.
“Why didn’t that fool smash the lungeing villain!” said Slee to himself; and then he leaned a little further out.
“I’d like to drop one of these ingots on his head, only it would be mean—Yah! go on, you tyrant and oppressor and robber of the poor, and—oh, my! what a lark!” he said, drawing in his head as Richard Glaire disappeared, when he threw himself on the floor, hugging himself and rolling about in ecstasy, while the cat on a neighbouring lathe set up its back, swelled its tail, and stared at him with dilated eyes.