"You devils!" he cried. "You are here too! Haven't you done enough? Isn't bullying and frightening two women enough for you, that you must come here?"
That's reet," commented the cynic. "Stond up fur th' young woman, Murdoch. I'd do it mysen i' I wur o' that soide. Allus stond up fur th' sect!"
Murdoch spoke to Rachel Ffrench.
"You must go in," he said. "There is no knowing what they will do."
"I shall stay here," she answered.
She made an impatient gesture. She was shuddering from head to foot.
"Don't look at or speak to me," she said. "You—you make me a coward."
"They will stand at nothing," he protested.
"I will not turn my back upon them," she said. "Let them do their worst."
He turned to the crowd again. Her life itself was in danger, and he knew he could not move her. He was shuddering himself.
"Who is your leader?" he said to the men. "I suppose you have one."
The man known as Foxy Gibbs responded to their cries of his name by pushing his way to the front. He was a big, resolute, hulking scamp who had never been known to do an honest day's work, and was yet always in funds and at liberty to make incendiary speeches where beer and tobacco were plentiful.
"What do you want of me?" demanded Murdoch. "Speak out."
The fellow was ready enough with his words, and forcible too.
"We've heard tell o' summat goin' on we're not goin'
