The man turned round at these words — turned round a face so white, and gaunt, and tear-furrowed, and hopeless, that its very calm forced Margaret to weep. ‘Yo’ know well, that a worser tyrant than e’er th’ masters were says “Clem to death, and see ’em a’ clem to death, ere yo’ dare go again th’ union.” Yo’ know it well, Nicholas, for a’ yo’re one on ’em. Yo’ may be kind hearts, each separate; but once banded together, yo’ve no more pity for a man than a wild hunger-maddened wolf.’

Nicholas had his hand on the lock of the door — he stopped and turned round on Boucher, close following:

‘So help me God! man alive — if I think not I’m doing best for thee, and for all on us. If I’m going wrong when I think I’m going right, it’s their sin, who ha’ left me where I am, in my ignorance. I ha’ thought till my brains ached — Beli’ me, John, I have. An’ I say again, there’s no help for us but having faith i’ th’ union. They’ll win the day, see if they dunnot!’

Not one word had Margaret or Bessy spoken. They had hardly uttered the sighing, that the eyes of each called to the other to bring up from the depths of her heart. At last Bessy said,

‘I never thought to hear father call on God again. But yo’ heard him say, “So help me God!”’

‘Yes!’ said Margaret. ‘Let me bring you what money I can spare — let me bring you a little food for that poor man’s children. Don’t let them know it comes from any one but your father. It will be but little.’

Bessy lay back without taking any notice of what Margaret said. She did not cry — she only quivered up her breath,

‘My heart’s drained dry o’ tears,’ she said. ‘Boucher’s been in these days past, a telling me of his fears and his troubles. He’s but a weak kind o’ chap, I know, but he’s a man for a’ that; and tho’ I’ve been angry, many a time afore now, wi’ him an’ his wife, as knew no more nor him how to manage, yet, yo’ see, all folks isn’t wise, yet God lets ’em live — ay, an’ gives ’em some one to love, and be loved by, just as good as Solomon. An’, if sorrow comes to them they love, it hurts ’em as sore as e’er it did Solomon. I can’t make it out. Perhaps it’s as well such a one as Boucher has th’ union to see after him. But I’d just like for to see th’ mean as make th’ union, and put ’em one by one face to face wi’ Boucher. I reckon, if they heard him, they’d tell him (if I cotched ’em one by one), he might go back and get what he could for his work, even if it weren’t so much as they ordered.’

(Editor：music)