Helena paced up and down the orchard slope behind the house, watching the
conflagration which was beginning to die down, startled every now and
then by what seemed to be the sound of shots, and once by the rush past
of a squadron of mounted police coming evidently from the big country
town some ten miles away. Hunger asserted itself, and she made a raid on
the hamper in the car, sharing some of its contents with the black-eyed
children of the farm. Every now and then news came from persons passing
along the road, and for a time things seemed to be mending. The police
were getting the upper hand; the Mayor had made a plucky speech to the
crowd in the market-place, with good results; the rioters were wavering;
and the soldiers had been stopped by telephone. Then following hard on
the last rumour came a sudden rush of worse news. A policeman had been
killed--two injured--the rioters had gained a footing in the market-hall,
and driven out both the police and the specials--and after all, the
soldiers had been sent for.
Helena wandered down to the gate of the farm lane opening on the main
road, consumed with restlessness and anxiety.
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