He laid his hand on the blacksmith’s shoulder.
‘No one shall harm him,’ he said. ‘Tom, come with me.’
‘My lord!... my lord!’ cried the policewomen. ‘What shall we do? It’s obstructing law—it’s threatening the executive: what will the justices say? It’s a most dreadful offence.’
‘Come, Tom,’ he said.
The crowd parted right and left with awestruck eyes.
As Lord Chester carried off his rescued prisoner, the Vicar came running out with dismay upon her face.
‘My lord! my lord!’ she cried. ‘What dreadful thing is this? And you, Tom,—you, after all your promises! In my parish, too!’
‘Hold your foolish tongue!’ said Lord Chester, roughly. ‘Why not in your parish? In every parish, thanks to you and your accursed religion, the young men are torn from the girls, and there is misery. Stand aside.... You, Susan, will you come with me and your old sweetheart?’
The Vicar gasped. She turned white with terror. ‘Foolish tongue! Accursed religion!’ Had she heard aright?
The police-constables looked stupidly at one another.