The listeners’ faces were a study. Indignation, regret, suppressed sympathy and a determination to maintain their rights, were stamped on them.
They were Englishman born with a due respect for constituted authority who had loyally obeyed a leader of their own class, but they had also the average Englishman’s respect for the liberty of the individual, and there were signs of approval when Lyle spoke again.
“We have every respect for you, Colonel Carrington, and the course we have been compelled to take is a painful one, but I think there was no avoiding it,” he said. “In regard to the charter, we have kept it faithfully even when you rather overstrained its meaning. Now we can no longer allow it to bar all progress, and we have resolved, if in agreement with one clause it can as I think be done, to entirely remodel it by a unanimous assembly. If not we will sell our holdings and move out in a body onto Government land.” 358
Lyle had faced the crisis. There was nothing left but open defiance, and he did not shrink from it. When he broke off, Carrington, who had listened with the veins swelling on his forehead, rose suddenly. It was evident that he had allowed his passion to master him.
“Will you all turn against me, you dividend-hunting traitors?” he thundered. “You whom I brought here, and spent the best of my life for, squandering my daughter’s patrimony on this colony until she too sets her will against me. Then listen to me. You shall do none of the things you say. By heaven, you shall not. There shall never be a factory in my settlement. In spite of you—I say—you shall not—do—one—of them!”
His voice broke, and his jaw dropped. The hand he had swung up fell to his side, and I heard a faint cry as he sank limply into his chair. He lay there with his head on the carved back gazing at his rebellious followers with glassy eyes.
I do not know who was the first to move, but in a moment I was standing near his side, and while a confused bustle commenced behind us I saw Lyle slip an arm beneath his neck.
“Bring water, somebody! Ask Miss Carrington for brandy—don’t tell her what it’s for,” he said. “Hurry, he’s either in a fit or choking.”
A man brought the spirits, and Lyle mopped Carrington’s forehead with a wetted handkerchief, which was probably of no great benefit, while when with the assistance of somebody I managed to open his clenched teeth and pour a little brandy down his throat a faint sign of returning sense crept into his eyes. He looked at us in a puzzled manner, saying in short gasps, “Lorimer and Lyle! You shall not—I tell you!”
I believe this was the last time he ever recognized us. 359 When his face grew expressionless, Lyle who laid him back again, turned to me.