The sight fairly confounded them. Even I felt that for the moment he
was safe. They were awed--nay, paralyzed, by his daring.

But the storm raged too fiercely to be lulled, except for one brief
minute. A confusion of voices burst out afresh--

"Who be thee?"--"It's one o' the Quakers."--"No, he bean't."--"Burn
'un, anyhow."--"Touch 'un, if ye dare."

There was evidently a division arising. One big man, who had made
himself very prominent all along, seemed trying to calm the tumult.

John stood his ground. Once a torch was flung at him--he stooped and
picked it up. I thought he was going to hurl it back again, but he
did not; he only threw it down, and stamped it out safely with his
foot. This simple action had a wonderful effect on the crowd.

The big fellow advanced to the gate and called John by his name.

"Is that you, Jacob Baines? I am sorry to see you here."

"Be ye, sir."

"What do you want?"

"Nought wi' thee. We wants Abel Fletcher. Where is 'um?"

"I shall certainly not tell you."