The talk was at first confined to the ostensible subject of Mrs. Porson's visit; but after that was satisfactorily arranged the conversation turned to Marsden and the neighbourhood. Many people had called upon Mrs. Por-son, and as all of these were more or less known to Mrs. Mulready, her visitor asked her many questions concerning them, and the invalid was soon gossiping cheerfully over the family histories and personal peculiarities of her neighbours.
"You have done me a world of good," she said when Mrs. Porson rose to leave. " I never see anyone but the doctor, and he is the worst person in the world for a gossip. He ought to know everything, but somehow he seems to know nothing. You will come again, won't you? It will be a real kindness, and you have taken so much interest in my daughter that it quite seems to me as if you were an old friend."
And so the visit was repeated; but not too often, for Mrs. Porson knew that it was better that her patient should wait and lona; for her coming, and now that the ice was once broken, Mrs. Mulready soon came to look forward with eagerness to these changes in her monotonous existence.
For some time Ned's name was never mentioned between them. Then one day Mrs. Porson, in a careless manner, as if she had no idea whatever of the state of the relations between mother and son, mentioned that Ned had been at their house the previous evening, saying: "My husband has a wonderful liking and respect for your son; they are the greatest friends, though of course there is a good deal of difference in age between them. I don't know anyone of whom John thinks so highly."
Mrs. Mulready turned very pale, and then in a constrained voice said:
" Mr. Porson has always been very kind to my sons." Then she sighed deeply and changed the subject of conversation.
"Your wife is doing my patient a great deal more good than I have ever been able to do," Dr. Green said one day to the schoolmaster. " She has become quite a different woman in the last five or six weeks. She is always up and on the sofa now when I call, and I notice that she begins to take pains with her dress again; and that, you know, is always a first-rate sign with a woman. I think she would be able to go down-stairs again soon, were it not for her feeling about Ned. She would not meet him, I am sure. You don't see any signs of a change in that quarter, I suppose?"
" No," Mrs. Porson replied. " The last time I mentioned his name she said: 'My son is a most unfortunate young man, and the subject pains me too much to discuss. Therefore, if you please, Mrs. Porson, I would rather leave it alone.' So I am afraid there is no chance of my making any progress there."
CHAPTER XIX.
THE ATTACK ON CARTWMGHT'S MILL.
ED still slept at the mill. He was sure that there was no chance of a renewal of the attack by the workpeople near, but an assault might be again organized by parties from a distance. The murder of Mr. Horsfall had caused greater vigilance than ever among the military. At some of the mills the use of the new machinery had been discontinued and cropping by hand resumed. This was the case at the mills at Ottewells and Bankbottom, both of which belonged to Messrs. Abraham & John Horsfall, the father and uncle of the murdered man, and at other mills in the neighbourhood. Mr. Cartwright and some of the other owners still continued the use of the new machinery.
One night Ned had just gone to bed when he was startled by the ringing of the bell. He leapt from his bed. He hesitated to go to the window, as it was likely enough that men might be lying in wait to shoot him when he appeared. Seizing his pistols, therefore, he hurried down below. A continued knocking was going on at the front entrance. It was not, however, the noisy-din which would be made by a party trying to force their way in, but rather the persistent call of one trying to attract attention.
"Who is there?" he shouted through the door; "and what do you want?"
" Open the door, please. It is I, Polly Powlett," a voice replied. " I want to speak to you particularly, sir."
" I have come down, sir," she said as Ned threw open the door and she entered, still panting from her long run, "to tell you that Cartwright's mill is going to be attacked. I think some of the Varley men are concerned in it. Anyhow, the news has got about in the village. Feyther and Bill are both watched, and could not get away to give you the news; but feyther told me, and I slipped out at the back-door and made my way round by the moor, for they have got a guard on the road to prevent anyone passing. There is no time to spare, for they were to join a party from Longroyd Bridge, at ten o'clock at the steeple in Sir George Armitage's fields, which ain't more than three miles from the mill. It's half-past ten now, but maybe they will be late. I couldn't get away before, and indeed feyther only learned the particulars just as I started. He told me to come straight to you, as you would know what to do. I said, Should I go and fetch the troops ? but he said No—it would be sure to be found out who had brought them, and our lives wouldn't be worth having. But I don't mind risking it, sir, if you think that's the best plan."
" No, Polly; on no account. You have risked quite enough in coming to tell me. I will go straight to Cart-wright's. Do you get back as quickly as you can, and get in the same way you came. Be very careful that no one sees you."
So saying he dashed upstairs, pulled on his shoes, and then started at full speed for Liversedge. As he ran he calculated the probabilities of his being there in time. Had the men started exactly at the hour named they would be by this time attacking the mill; but it was not likely that they would be punctual—some of the hands would be sure to be late.
There would be discussion and delay before starting. They might well be half-an-hour after the time named before they left the steeple, as the obelisk in Sir George Armitage's field was called by the country people. He might be in time yet, but it would be a close thing; and had his own life depended upon the result Ned could not have run more swiftly. He had hopes that as he went he might have come across a cavalry patrol and sent them to Marsden and Ottewells to bring up aid; but the road was quiet and deserted. Once or twice he paused for an instant, thinking he heard the sound of distant musketry. He held his breath, but no sound could he hear save the heavy thumping of his own heart.
His hopes rose as he neared Liversedge. He was close now, but as he ran \nto the yard he heard a confused murmur and the dull tramping of many feet. He had won the race, but by a few seconds only. The great stone-
built building lay hushed in quiet; he could see its outline against the sky, and could even make out the great alarm-bell which had recently been erected above the roof. He ran up to the doorway and knocked heavily. The deep barking of a dog within instantly resounded through the building. Half a minute later Mr. Cart-wright's voice within demanded who was there.
" It is I, Ned Sankey—open at once. The Luddites are upon you!"
The bolts were hastily undrawn, and Ned rushed in and assisted to fasten the door behind him.
" They will be here in a minute," he panted out. " They are just behind."
The noise had already roused the ten men who slept in the building; five of these were Mr. Cartwright's workmen, the other five were soldiers. Hastily they threw on their clothes and seized their arms; but they were scarcely ready when a roar of musketry was heard, mingled with a clatter of falling glass, nearly every pane in the lower windows being smashed by the discharge of slugs, buckshot, and bullets.
This was followed by the thundering noise of a score of sledge-hammers at the principal entrance and the side-doors. Mr. Cartwright and one of his workmen ran to the bell-rope, and in a moment its iron tongue was clanging out its summons for assistance to the country round. A roar of fury broke from the Luddites; many of them fired at the bell in hopes of cutting the rope, and the men plied their hammers more furiously than before.