Part 19 (1/2)

”Don't worry about that,” said the Vicar. ”It looked horribly black after his threatenings about revenge. But there, that's all past, and thank Heaven you can congratulate yourself upon the good that has arisen out of to-night's dark work.”

”Dark!” said Manners, wiping his black face. ”I think we had too much light.”

”Not enough to show how that fire broke out,” said Mr Willows, gravely.

”I cannot understand how it was caused.”

”Couldn't be a spark left by one of the flashes of lightning in the storms we have had lately, could it?” said Josh, innocently.

”No,” said Will, mockingly; ”but it might have been a star tumbled down.”

”No, it couldn't!” cried Josh, angrily. ”Such stuff! It must have been started somehow.”

”Yes, my boy,” said the Vicar, smiling; ”but it is a mystery for the present.”

”Let it rest,” said Mr Willows. ”I don't concern myself about that now. I have something else on my mind. I shall not rest, Carlile, till I have thanked that man for all he has done, and shaken him by the hand.”

”Oh, he'll turn up soon, I daresay,” said Manners. ”Here, I know! he must have got himself drenched with water.”

”Of course!” cried Will. ”I saw him lower himself down into the hole to move the suction-pipe.”

”That's it,” said Manners, ”and he's gone up to the cottage to have a change.”

”At any rate,” said the Vicar, ”I feel thankful that the trouble has pa.s.sed, and I shall be seeing him back at his work to-morrow; eh, Mr Willows?”

”I hope so,” was the reply. ”Now then, we must have three or four watchers for the rest of the night, and those of you who are wet had better see about a change.”

”Well, I'm one,” said Manners, ”for I feel like a sponge. I'm off to my diggings, but I shall be back in half an hour to join the watch.”

”No, no,” cried Mr Willows, ”you've done enough. I'll see to that.”

”Yes, yes,” cried the artist; ”I want to come back and think out my plan for a new picture of the mill on fire. It'll be a bit of history, don't you see, and I want to get the scene well soaked into my mind.”

”It ought to be burned in already,” said Will, laughing.

”Perhaps it is,” said the artist, merrily; and he hurried away.

So much time had been spent that, to the surprise of all, the early dawn was beginning to show, and as it broadened it displayed the sorry sight of one end of the mill blackened--a very ma.s.s of smoking and steaming timbers.

”I say, Josh,” said Will, ”only look here! If the fire had got a little more hold and the wind had come more strongly down, the flames would have swept everything before them: the mill would have been like a burnt-out bonfire.”

”Yes,” said Josh; ”and the house must have gone too.”

”How horrid! But I say, why hasn't old Boil O been back?”

The man had his own reasons. Not only did he not show himself again after his work was done, but when in the course of the morning, impatient at his non-appearance, his employer left the busy scene where a clearance of the ruined part was going on, and walked up to the cottage with the Vicar, it was only to catch a momentary glimpse of the man they sought, as he glided across his garden and made for the woods, utterly avoiding all advances made by those who wished him well; and instead of the breach being closed by his conduct, the wound purified by the fire, his rage against his master and all friendly to the mill seemed to burn more fiercely than ever.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

DOINGS IN THE DALE.