ere his
rival was working at that moment. He eyed it with a strange mixture
of feelings. It had saved his life and hers, after all. He fell into
another mood, and began to laugh at himself for allowing himself to be
disturbed by such a rival.

But what is this? Jael Dence comes in sight again: she is making for the
old church.

Coventry watched her unseen. She went to the porch, and, after she had
been there some time, the door was opened just a little, then wide,
and she entered the building. He saw it all in a moment: the girl was
already bought by the other side, and had carried his rival a letter
before his eyes.

A clandestine correspondence!

All his plans and his resolutions melted away before this discovery.
There was nothing to be done but to save the poor girl from this
miserable and degrading attachment, and its inevitable consequences.

He went home, pale with fury, and never once closed his eyes all night.

Next day he ordered his dog-cart early; and told Mr. Raby and Grace he
was going to Hillsborough for medical advice: had a pain in his back he
could not get rid of.

He called on the chief constable of Hillsborough, and asked him,
confidentially, if he knew any thing about a workman called Little.

"What; a Londoner, sir? the young man that is at odds with the Trades?"

"I shouldn't wonder. Yes; I think he is. A friend of mine takes an
interest in him."

"And so do I. His case was a disgrace to the country, and to the
constabulary of the place. It occurred just ten days before I came here,
and it seems to me that nothing was done which ought to have been done."

Mr. Coventry put in a question or two, which elicited from Mr. Ransome
all he knew about the matter.

"Where does this Little live?" was the next inquiry.

"I don't know; but I think you could learn at Mr. Cheetham's. The only
time I ever saw Little, he was walking with the foreman of those works.
He was pointed out to me. A dark young man; carries himself remarkably
well--doesn't look like a workman. If they don't know at Cheetham's,
I'll find him out for you in twenty-four hours."

"But this Grotait. Do you know him?"

"Oh, he is a public character. Keeps 'The Cutlers' Arms,' in Black
Street."

"I understand he repudiates all these outrages."

"He does. But the workmen themselves are behind the scenes; and what do
they call him? Why, 'Old Smitem.'"

"Ah! You are one of those who look below the surface," said the
courtier