CHAPTER XXX. RUSHEDGE—A CONFESSIONAL.

EverybodysaiditwashightimeforMr.Mooretoreturnhome.AllBriarfieldwonderedathisstrangeabsence,andWhinburyandNunnelybroughteachitsseparatecontributionofamazement. Wasitknownwhyhestayedaway?Yes.Itwasknowntwenty—fortytimesover,therebeingatleastfortyplausiblereasonsadducedtoaccountfortheunaccountablecircumstance.Businessitwasnot—thatthegossipsagreed.Hehadachievedthebusinessonwhichhedepartedlongago.Hisfourringleadershehadsoonscentedoutandrundown.Hehadattendedtheirtrial,heardtheirconvictionandsentence,andseenthemsafelyshippedpriortotransportation. ThiswasknownatBriarfield.Thenewspapershadreportedit.TheStilbro'Courierhadgiveneveryparticular,withamplifications.Noneapplaudedhisperseveranceorhailedhissuccess,thoughthemill-ownersweregladofit,trustingthattheterrorsoflawvindicatedwouldhenceforwardparalyzethesinistervalourofdisaffection.Disaffection,however,wasstillheardmutteringtohimself.Hesworeominousoathsoverthedruggedbeerofalehouses,anddrankstrangetoastsinfieryBritishgin. OnereportaffirmedthatMooredarednotcometoYorkshireheknewhislifewasnotworthanhour'spurchaseifhedid. "I'lltellhimthat,"saidMr.Yorke,whenhisforemanmentionedtherumour"andifthatdoesnotbringhimhomefullgallop,nothingwill." Eitherthatorsomeothermotiveprevailedatlasttorecallhim.HeannouncedtoJoeScottthedayheshouldarriveatStilbro',desiringhishackneytobesenttotheGeorgeforhisaccommodationandJoeScotthavinginformedMr.Yorke,thatgentlemanmadeitinhiswaytomeethim. Itwasmarket-day.Moorearrivedintimetotakehisusualplaceatthemarketdinner.Assomethingofastranger,andasamanofnoteandaction,theassembledmanufacturersreceivedhimwithacertaindistinction.Some,whoinpublicwouldscarcelyhavedaredtoacknowledgehisacquaintance,lestalittleofthehateandvengeancelaidupinstoreforhimshouldperchancehavefallenonthem,inprivatehailedhimasinsomesorttheirchampion.Whenthewinehadcirculated,theirrespectwouldhavekindledtoenthusiasmhadnotMoore'sunshakennonchalancehelditinadamp,low,smoulderingstate. Mr.Yorke,thepermanentpresidentofthesedinners,witnessedhisyoungfriend'sbearingwithexceedingcomplacency.Ifonethingcouldstirhistemperorexcitehiscontemptmorethananother,itwastoseeamanbefooledbyflatteryorelatewithpopularity.Ifonethingsmoothed,soothed,andcharmedhimespecially,itwasthespectacleofapubliccharacterincapableofrelishinghispublicity—incapable,Isay.Disdainwouldbuthaveincenseditwasindifferencethatappeasedhisroughspirit. Robert,leaningbackinhischair,quietandalmostsurly,whiletheclothiersandblanket-makersvauntedhisprowessandrehearsedhisdeeds—manyoftheminterspersingtheirflatterieswithcoarseinvectivesagainsttheoperativeclass—wasadelectablesightforMr.Yorke.HishearttingledwiththepleasingconvictionthatthesegrosseulogiumsshamedMooredeeply,andmadehimhalfscornhimselfandhiswork.Onabuse,onreproach,oncalumny,itiseasytosmilebutpainfulindeedisthepanegyricofthosewecontemn.OftenhadMooregazedwithabrilliantcountenanceoverhowlingcrowdsfromahostilehustings.Hehadbreastedthestormofunpopularitywithgallantbearingandsoulelatebuthedroopedhisheadunderthehalf-bredtradesmen'spraise,andshrankchagrinedbeforetheircongratulations. Yorkecouldnothelpaskinghimhowhelikedhissupporters,andwhetherhedidnotthinktheydidhonourtohiscause."Butitisapity,lad,"headded,"thatyoudidnothangthesefoursamplesoftheunwashed.Ifyouhadmanagedthatfeat,thegentryherewouldhaveriventhehorsesoutofthecoach,yokedtoascoreofasses,anddrawnyouintoStilbro'likeaconqueringgeneral." Mooresoonforsookthewine,brokefromtheparty,andtooktheroad.InlessthanfiveminutesMr.Yorkefollowedhim.TheyrodeoutofStilbro'together. Itwasearlytogohome,butyetitwaslateintheday.Thelastrayofthesunhadalreadyfadedfromthecloud-edges,andtheOctobernightwascastingoverthemoorlandstheshadowofherapproach. Mr.Yorke,moderatelyexhilaratedwithhismoderatelibations,andnotdispleasedtoseeyoungMooreagaininYorkshire,andtohavehimforhiscomradeduringthelongridehome,tookthediscoursemuchtohimself.Hetouchedbriefly,butscoffingly,onthetrialsandtheconvictionhepassedthencetothegossipoftheneighbourhood,anderelongheattackedMooreonhisownpersonalconcerns. "Bob,Ibelieveyouareworsted,andyoudeserveit.Allwassmooth.Fortunehadfalleninlovewithyou.Shehaddecreedyouthefirstprizeinherwheel—twentythousandpoundssheonlyrequiredthatyoushouldholdyourhandoutandtakeit.Andwhatdidyoudo?Youcalledforahorseandrodea-huntingtoWarwickshire.Yoursweetheart—Fortune,Imean—wasperfectlyindulgent.Shesaid,'I'llexcusehimhe'syoung.'Shewaited,like'Patienceonamonument,'tillthechasewasoverandthevermin-preyrundown.Sheexpectedyouwouldcomebackthen,andbeagoodlad.Youmightstillhavehadherfirstprize. "Itcappedherbeyondexpression,andmetoo,tofindthat,insteadofthunderinghomeinabreakneckgallopandlayingyourassizelaurelsatherfeet,youcoollytookcoachuptoLondon.WhatyouhavedonethereSatanknowsnothinginthisworld,Ibelieve,butsatandsulked.Yourfacewasneverlilyfair,butitisolivegreennow.You'renotasbonnyasyouwere,man." "Andwhoistohavethisprizeyoutalksomuchabout?" "Onlyabaronetthatisall.Ihavenotadoubtinmyownmindyou'velosther.ShewillbeLadyNunnelybeforeChristmas." "Hem!Quiteprobable." "Butsheneednottohavebeen.Foolofalad!Iswearyoumighthavehadher." "Bywhattoken,Mr.Y