For weeks Tiverton lay in a state of hushed expectancy; one miracle
seemed to promise another. But Nicholas Oldfield's house was really
closed; the windows shone blankly at men and women who passed,
interrogating it. Young Nick and his Hattie had nothing to say, after
Hattie's one unguarded admission that she didn't know what possessed
father. The village felt that it had been arraigned before some high
tribunal, only to be found lacking. It had an irritated conviction
that, meaning no harm, it should not have been dealt with so harshly;
and was even moved to declare that, if Nicholas Oldfield knew so much
about what was past and gone, he needn't have waited till the trump o'
doom to say so. But,' somehow, the affair of clock and bell could not
be at once revived, and a vague letter was dispatched to the
prospective donor stating that, in regard to his generous offer, no
decision could at the moment be reached; the town was too busy in
preparing for its celebration, which would take place in something over
two weeks; after that the question would be considered. The truth was
that, at the bottom of each heart, still lurked the natural cupidity of
the loyal citizen who will not see his town denied; but side by side
with that desire for the march of progress, walked the spectre of
Nicholas Oldfield's wrath.
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