eturn; and, if
you open your mouths ever so little, either of you, you WILL cut my
throat. Why, ask yourselves, have I set up my workshop in such a place
as this--by choice? It takes a stout heart to work here, I can tell you,
and a stout heart to sleep here over dead bones."

"I see it all. The Trades Unions!"

"That is it. So, now, there are only two ways. You must promise me never
to breathe a word to any living soul, or I must give up my livelihood,
and leave the country."

"What can not you trust me? Oh, Mr. Little!"

"No, no; it's this gentleman. He is a stranger to me, you know; and, you
see, my life may be at stake, as well as my means."

"Mr. Coventry is a gentleman, and a man of honor. He is incapable of
betraying you."

"I should hope so," said Coventry. "I pledge you the word of a gentleman
I will never let any human creature know that you are working here."

"Give me your hand on that, if you please."

Coventry gave him his hand with warmth and evident sincerity.

Young Little was reassured. "Come," said he, "I feel I can trust
you both. And, sir, Miss Carden will tell you what happened to me in
Cheetham's works; and then you will understand what I risk upon your
honor."

"I accept the responsibility; and I thank you for giving me this
opportunity to show you how deeply I feel indebted to you."

"That is square enough. Well, now my mind is at ease about that, I'll
tell you what I'll do; I won't take you quite to Raby Hall; but I'll
take you so near to it, you can't miss it; and then I'll go back to my
work."

He sighed deeply at the lonely prospect, and Grace heard him.

"Come," said he, almost violently, and led the way out of church. But he
stayed behind to lock the door, and then joined them.

They all three went together, Grace in the middle.

There was now but little snow falling, and the air was not so thick; but
it was most laborious walking, and soon Mr. Coventry, who was stiff and
in pain, fell a little behind, and groaned as he hobbled on.

Grace whispered to Henry: "Be generous. He has hurt himself so."

This made Henry groan in return. But he said nothing. He just turned
back to Coventry--"You can't get on without help, sir; lean on me."

The act was friendly, the tone surly. Coventry accepted the act, and
noted the tone in his memory.

When Grace had done this, she saw Henry misunderstood it, and she was
sorry, and waited an opportunity to restore the balance; but, ere on