“Will Blanchard!  What have he done?”

“Been under a alias—­that’s the least of it, but—­God, He knaws—­it may rise to murder.  ’T is our bounden duty to help Chown against un.”

“Be danged if I do!” said one of the men.

“Nor me,” declared the other.  “Let Chown do his job hisself—­an’ get his jaw broke for his trouble.”

But they followed Mr. Blee to where the miller still argued against Lamacraft’s entrance.

“Why didn’t they send soldiers for un?  That’s what he reckoned on,” said Mr. Lyddon.

“’T is my job fust.”

“I’m sorry you’ve come in this high spirit.  You knaw the man and ought to taake his word he’d go quiet and my guarantee for it.”

“I knaw my duty, an’ doan’t want no teachin’ from you.”

“You’re a fule!” said Miller, in some anger.  “An’ ’t will take more ’n you an’ that moon-faced lout to put them things on the man, or I’m much mistaken.”

He went indoors while the labourers laughed, and the younger constable blushed at the insult.

“How do ’e like that, Peter Lamacraft?” asked a labourer.

“No odds to me,” answered the policeman, licking his hands nervously and looking at the door.  “I ban’t feared of nought said or done if I’ve got the Law behind me.  An’ you’m liable yourself if you doan’t help.”

“Caan’t wait no more,” declared Mr. Chown.  “If he’s in bed, us’ll take un in bed.  Come on, you!”

Thus ordered to proceed, Lamacraft set his face resolutely forward and was just entering the farm when Phoebe appeared.  Her tears were dry, though her voice was unsteady and her eyelids red.

“Gude mornin’, Mr. Chown,” she said.

“Marnin’, ma’am.  Let us pass, if you please.”

“Are you coming in?  Why?”

“Us caan’t bide no more, an’ us caan’t give no more reasons.  The Law ban’t ‘spected to give reasons for its deeds, an’ us won’t be bamboozled an’ put off a minute longer,” answered Chown grimly.  “March, I tell ’e, Peter Lamacraft.”

“You caan’t see my husband.”

“But we’m gwaine to see un.  He’ve got to see me, an’ come along wi’ me, tu.  An’ if he’s wise, he’ll come quiet an’ keep his mouth shut.  That much I’ll tell un for his gude.”

“If you’ll listen, I might make you onderstand how ’tis you caan’t see Will,” said Phoebe quietly.  “You must knaw he runned away an’ went soldiering before he married me.  Then he comed back for love of me wi’out axin’ any man’s leave.”

“So much the worse, ma’am; he’m a desarter!”

“The dark wickedness!” gasped Mr. Blee; “an’ him dumb as a newt ’bout it all these years an’ years!  The conscience of un!”

“Well, you needn’t trouble any more,” continued Phoebe to the policemen.  “My husband be gwaine to take this matter into his awn hands now.”

Inspector Chown laughed.

“That’s gude, that is!—­now he ’m blawn upon!”