"Lord help us!" cried Mrs. Gass. She shut down the window and brought her face round to the light again. Every vestige of colour had left it. Mary Dallory stood rigidly upright, her hands clasped, as one who had been turned to stone.
"Did you hear what he said, child?"
"I heard," was the scarcely murmured answer.
Mrs. Gass caught up a bonnet, which happened to lie on a chair, and went into the street. At the entrance to North Inlet a crowd of men and women had gathered. As in all similar cases, reports varied. Some said it had taken place in the high-road to Whitborough, some at the works, others near Dallory Hall. So the mob was puzzled which way to go and not miss the excitement. Thoms was talking at the top of his voice as Mrs. Gass arrived, anxious, perhaps, to disclaim complicity on his own score.
"They've had it in their heads to do it, some o' them bad uns have. I could name names, but I won't. If the master had knowed all, he'd ha' went about in fear of his life this long while past."
This was enough for Mrs. Gass. Gathering her black silk skirts in her hands, and her face paler than the assemblage had ever seen it, she stood, unmindful of the rain, and told them what she thought.
"If you've shot Richard North, you have shot the best and bravest man you'll ever know in this life. You'll never find such a friend again. Ay, he was brave. Brave for good in the midst of difficulties, brave to forbear. Don't you boast, Thoms, with your ready tongue. None of you men round me now may be the one that's shot him, but you've been all rowing in the same boat. Yes, you have. You mayn't have planned out murder yourselves--I wouldn't answer for it that you've not--but, any way, you knew that others was a-planning it, and you winked at it and kept silence. Who has been the friend to you that Richard North has been? Since you've been half starving, and your wives and children's been half starving, where has all the help come from, d'you suppose, that has kept you from starving outright? Why, from him. The most has come from him. The money I gave was his, the things I bought was mostly paid for by him. A little came from me; not much; I was too angry with your folly; but he couldn't see you quite clam, and he took care you shouldn't. Look at how you were all helped through the fever; and meat, and bread, and beer given you to get up your strength a bit, after it! Who did all that? Why, Richard North. You thought it was me; but it was him; only he wouldn't have it known. That was his return for all the black ingratitude you'd showed, in refusing to work for him and bringing him to ruin. Pray God he may not be dead! but if he is, a good man has gone to his reward.--Is that you, Ketler?"
"Yes, it's me," answered Ketler, who was standing in shadow, his face wearing a deeper gloom than the night could cast.
"When that child of yours died, Cissy--and many a little help did she have in life from him--who but Richard North took care that she shouldn't be buried by the parish? He met Fanny Jelly, and he put some money into her hand, and charged her to let it be thought it was hers. 'They are in distress and trouble, I know, Jelly,' he said; 'let this be used in the way that's best for them.' Go and ask Jelly, if you don't believe me: I had it from her. And that's the master you've been conspirating together to kill, Ketler!"
Ketler swallowed down a groan. "I'd never have raised a hand again the master; no, nor countenanced it. If anybody has said I would, it's a lie."