s fast. I have a difficulty in standing. I will
sit down. Do you feel unmoved?"

"Hardly that; but I am glad I came. We shall see what transpires with
our own eyes. We are here on the spot, and none know it. Instead of
amazing the curate, the clothier, and the corn-dealer with a romantic
rush on the stage, we stand alone with the friendly night, its mute
stars, and these whispering trees, whose report our friends will not
come to gather."

"Shirley, Shirley, the gates are down! That crash was like the felling
of great trees. Now they are pouring through. They will break down the
mill doors as they have broken the gate. What can Robert do against so
many? Would to God I were a little nearer him--could hear him
speak--could speak to him! With my will--my longing to serve him--I
could not be a useless burden in his way; I could be turned to some
account."

"They come on!" cried Shirley. "How steadily they march in! There is
discipline in their ranks. I will not say there is courage--hundreds
against tens are no proof of that quality--but" (she dropped her voice)
"there is suffering and desperation enough amongst them. These goads
will urge them forwards."

"Forwards against Robert; and they hate him. Shirley, is there much
danger they will win the day?"

"We shall see. Moore and Helstone are of 'earth's first blood'--no
bunglers--no cravens----"

A crash--smash--shiver--stopped their whispers. A simultaneously hurled
volley of stones had saluted the broad front of the mill, with all its
windows; and now every pane of every lattice lay in shattered and
pounded fragments. A yell followed this demonstration--a rioters'
yell--a north-of-England, a Yorkshire, a West-Riding, a
West-Riding-clothing-district-of-Yorkshire rioters' yell.

You never heard that sound, perhaps, reader? So much the better for your
ears--perhaps for your heart, since, if it rends the air in hate to
yourself, or to the men or principles you approve, the interests to
which you wish well, wrath wakens to the cry of hate; the lion shakes
his mane, and rises to the howl of the hyena; caste stands up, ireful
against caste; and the indignant, wronged spirit of the middle rank
bears down in zeal and scorn on the famished and furious mass of the
operative class. It is difficult to be tolerant, difficult to be just,
in such moments.

Caroline rose; Shirley put her arm round her: they stood together as
still as the straight stems of two trees. That yell