The Master of Liversedge by Alice Chetwynd Ley Page A

rose, and, lifting it from the hob, carried it over to the waiting mugs.
    ‘There you are,’ she said, handing him one, and returning to her chair with the other. ‘Drink it — it will do you good.’
    She watched for a moment while he obediently sipped the milk. He seemed scarcely aware of what he was doing.
    ‘John,’ she said quietly, ‘who were those men out there? And where were they marching?’
    ‘Best not to know, cousin — else, like me, you might know too much for your own good.’
    She started. ‘You don’t mean — John, you surely can’t be one of them — a — a Luddite?’
    This remark roused him.
    ‘No,’ he said, vehemently, ‘no! Not in spite of all George Mellor’s persuasion, or my — my s-sympathy with their feelings! I’ve always refused to take the Luddite Oath — “twisting in”, they call it — ’
    ‘Who is George Mellor?’ asked Mary.
    He looked frightened. ‘I sh-shouldn’t have spoken the name — even if I’ll have no p-part in their doings, I would not b-betray them — ’
    ‘You needn’t fear on my account. I should be a poor creature indeed if I couldn’t keep the confidences of my own flesh and blood.’
    ‘Mary, I know — I didn’t mean — f-forgive me!’ he said, wretchedly, leaning forward to place a hand over hers. ‘It’s just that it’s all so dangerous — for them, for you — ’
    ‘Tell me all about it, John. You know you can trust me — and I have a feeling that you are longing to be able to confide in somebody.’
    ‘That’s t-true, Mary. Sometimes I feel I shall go mad with keeping it all to myself. But there was no one, until you came. Very well, I will try to tell you — but not enough to hurt you, for they are wild people, Mary, although most times they don’t understand the harm they are doing. Most times — ’ He drew his hand away from hers, and distractedly pushed back a lock of fair hair that had fallen across his forehead — ‘b-but what about poor Ben Turner?’
    She waited a moment, until his agitation died down a little.
    ‘Tell me from the beginning,’ she prompted, quietly.
    Her manner had its usual calming effect.
    He leaned back in his chair, and sighed deeply. ‘Who knows what is the beginning? I suppose it all started with George asking me to read the newspaper for them — most of them can’t read, you know, cousin. That isn’t right; why shouldn’t everyone learn to read, rich and poor alike?’
    ‘It’s difficult to see that reading would be of much use to working folk — ’ began Mary, wrinkling her forehead. This was a new idea to her.
    He leaned forward eagerly, his thin, sensitive face alight with enthusiasm; she noticed that the stutter left his tongue as he spoke.
    ‘There you go, you see — you, a governess! Even you can’t see the need for educating the common people. Have you ever stopped to think how much of their misery, how many of their hardships, are due to ignorance and stupidity? Yet they are the salt of the earth — as Lord Byron said in that speech of his not long since, they have enabled this country to defy the world! Those of us who’ve been lucky enough to have received any kind of education ourselves, ought to make it our business to pass something on to these less fortunate folk. It’s a Christian duty — ’
    ‘I’m afraid I hadn’t ever thought of it in that way,’ Mary answered slowly. ‘There seems no practical use for reading and writing in the lives of, for instance, the mill-workers. Such accomplishments wouldn’t help them to earn their bread; and they have little time to read for pleasure.’
    ‘But we must change all that,’ said John, vehemently, ‘for it is wrong, Mary, wrong! Have you ever heard of Robert Owen of New Lanark?’
    She shook her head.
    ‘He is a cotton manufacturer who believes that by providing good conditions for his workers, he will benefit both them and his manufactory. You won’t believe what he’s done there, cousin! He’s