“Bah! weapons, I mean.”
“I have the pistols you gave me yourself: I never part with them: I lay them ready cocked on a chair by my bedside at night. I have my blackthorn.”
“Very good. Will you go to Hollow’s-mill?”
“What is stirring at Hollow’s-mill?”
“Nothing as yet, nor perhaps will be: but Moore is alone there. He has sent all the workmen he can trust to Stilbro’; there are only two women left about the place: it would be a nice opportunity for any of his well-wishers to pay him a visit, if they knew how straight the path was made before them.”
“I am none of his well-wishers, sir: I don’t care for him.”
“Soh! Malone, you are afraid?”
“You know me better than that. If I really thought there was a chance of a row, I would go: but Moore is a strange, shy man, whom I never pretend to understand; and, for the sake of his sweet company only, I would not stir a step.”
“But there is a chance of a row, if a positive riot does not take place—of which, indeed, I see no signs; yet it is unlikely this night will pass quite tranquilly. You know Moore has resolved to have the new machinery, and he expects two waggon loads of frames and shears from Stilbro’ this evening. Scott, the overlooker, and a few picked men, are gone to fetch them.”
“They will bring them in safely and quietly enough, sir.”
