And I escaped outside. Anything beyond his literal duty did not
strike the faithful Jem. He stood on the door-sill, and gazed after
me with a hopeless expression.

"I s'pose you mun have your way, sir; but Mr. Halifax said, 'Jem, you
stop y'ere,'--and y'ere I stop."

He went in, and I heard him bolting the door, with a sullen
determination, as if he would have kept guard against it--waiting for
John--until doomsday.

I stole along the dark alley into the street. It was very silent--I
need not have borrowed Jem's exterior, in order to creep through a
throng of maddened rioters. There was no sign of any such, except
that under one of the three oil-lamps that lit the night-darkness at
Norton Bury lay a few smouldering hanks of hemp, well resined. They,
then, had thought of that dreadful engine of destruction--fire. Had
my terrors been true? Our house--and perhaps John within it!

On I ran, speeded by a dull murmur, which I fancied I heard; but
still there was no one in the street--no one except the
Abbey-watchman lounging in his box. I roused him, and asked if all
was safe?--where were the rioters?

"What rioters?"

"At Abel Fletcher's mill; they may be at his house now--"

"Ay, I think they be."