They're big houses--yan o' them wor an'
owd manor-house, years agone. A body might put oop five or six families
in 'em at a pinch. Thattens might dea for a beginnin'; while soom o'
these houses were coomin' doon."
Lydia turned eagerly to Faversham.
"_Couldn't_ that be done--some of the families with young children that
are not yet attacked?" Her eyes hung on him.
He shook his head. He had already proposed something of the sort to
Melrose. It had been vetoed.
The men watched him. At last one of them--a lanky youth, with a frowning,
ironic expression and famous as a heckler at public meetings--said with
slow emphasis:
"There'll coom a day i' this coontry, mates, when men as treat poor foak
like Muster Melrose, 'ull be pulled off t' backs of oos an' our like. And
may aa live to see 't!"
"Aye! aye!" came in deep assent from the others, as they turned away. But
one white and sickly fellow looked back to say:
"An' it's a graat pity for a yoong mon like you, sir, to be doin' Muster
Melrose's dirty work--taakin' o' the police--as though yo' had 'em oop
your sleeve!"
"Haven't I done what I could for you?" cried Faversham, stung by the
reproach, and its effect on Lydia's face.
"Aye--mebbe--but it's nowt to boast on." The man, middle aged but
prematurely old, stood still, trembling from head to foot. "My babe as
wor born yesterday, deed this mornin'; an' they say t' wife 'ull lig
beside it afore night."
There was a sombre silence.
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