rms, where
there were young children, were cutting themselves off, as much as they
could, from the Mainstairs infection, by dismissing the Mainstairs men.

Faversham meanwhile again implored Lydia to go home. "This whole place
reeks with infection. You ought not to be here."

"They say that nothing has been done!"

Her tone was quiet, but her look pierced.

"I tried. It was impossible. The only thing that could be done was that
the people should go. They are under notice. Every single person is here
in defiance of the law. The police will have to be called in."

"And where are we to goa, sir!" cried one of the men who had come up.
"Theer's noa house to be had nearer than Pengarth--yo' know that
yoursen--an' how are we to be waakin' fower mile to our work i' t'
mornin', an' fower mile back i' t' evening? Why, we havena got t'
strength! It isna exactly a health resort--yo' ken--Mainstairs!"

"I'll tell yo' where soom on us might goa, Muster Faversham," said
another older man, removing the pipe he had been stolidly smoking;
"theer's two farmhouses o' Melrose's, within half a mile o' this
place--shut oop--noabody there. 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