by L. T. Meade
he was obliged tothink twice before deciding to lend her so much money. When she raisedher dark eyes full of pleading to his face, however, and when theirbrilliance was veiled and softened behind tears, Silas could not helpclapping his hand on his thigh and exclaiming, in a sudden burst ofadmiration:--
"'Tain't a toolip you are, lass; it's a bit of a moss-rose-bud. Jiminy!if you ain't the very purtiest bit of a thing I ever clapped my eyeson--bar none."
"You will lend me the money, will you not?" said Jill.
"Wait a while; it's a big sum. There's a power of work in getting a lotof money like that together, and ef I give it away jest for a gel'swhim--"
"No, no; not for a girl's whim," said Jill, "but for her sore need--forher werry sore need. Oh, Silas Lynn, I know as you has got a reallykind heart."
"Maybe I has, and maybe I han't. I won't lend the money unless you keepto your word. You said as you'd do anything for me. That means a deal.Do you abide by them words?"
"As far as I can, Mr Lynn."
"You can abide by 'em ef you will. Now, for instance, ef I were to saythere's a nice little cottage in the country awaiting for a missis, andI wor to say: `Come, Jill, and be my own true love'--why, I declare I'mgetting quite into the poetry vein. And ain't the pretty dear turnedred? Shall it be a bargain, Jill Robinson?--I give you the five pounds,and you give me your nice little purty bit of a self."
"No, Mr Lynn. No," said Jill. Little by little the colour had lefther face; even her lips were white. "I didn't understand it in thatway," she said. "It can't be."
She took up her empty basket and went away.
CHAPTER TEN.
Jill never remembered afterwards how she spent that long day. She hadno flowers to sell, for she had taken her basket empty from the market,leaving those that were over from the day before in a pail of water athome.
She was too restless, miserable, and anxious to sit doing nothing inHoward's Buildings. So she wandered the streets quite indifferent tothe gaze of the many flower girls who knew her, and quite oblivious tothe feet that her picturesque dress and beautiful face called for loudadmiration from more than one passer-by.
Tired out at last, she went home. She was glad that the long day hadcome to an end. Nat would soon be with her now, and the worst would beover. She sat down in the empty kitchen and waited; then was nothingwhatever else for her to do. She had thought about the lost money, andabout what she should say to Nat so often, that at last her tired brainrefused to think any more about it. She held on now only to oneinstinct. She must shield her mother at any cost. If necessary, shemust even go to the length of telling Nat that she had given her motherthe money.
She had come to this resolve when a quick step was heard on the stairsoutside. A gay whistle accompanied the step, and then a hand knockedwith gentle insistence on one of the panels of the door.
Jill went at once to open it. Nat was standing outside. He had dressedhimself with some care, and when Jill threw open the door and looked athim, he presented as fine a picture of a young English lad of the peopleas heart could desire. His curly hair was damp with exercise, his facewas tanned with much exposure to the weather; his honest, well-openedeyes were as blue as the sky. He was a tall young fellow, too, withbroad shoulders and a well-knit frame.
"Eh, Jill!" he exclaimed, "I thought you'd be in, and awaiting for me.I had no time to send yer word; but I guessed somehow as a little birdmight whisper to yer as I'd be looking round."
"Shall we go for a walk, Nat?" said Jill in a hasty voice. "I ain'tquite well. Shall we go and take a walk on the Embankment? It's a fineevenin', ain't it?"
"Why in course; it's a beautiful evenin', sweet-heart. We'll go out, efyou wish. But you has never given me a kiss, Jill. Don't you want to?"
"Yes, Nat," replied the poor girl. She took a sudden step forward,flung her arms round his neck, and placed her soft cheek against his."I'd like to go out with yer," she said then. "We can talk aboutkissin' presently. I'm craving for the air."
She wrapped a bright shawl round her head. Nat took her hand and theywent down-stairs.
"Ef there's anything as I must tell, it 'ud be easier out in the air,"she murmured to herself.
For some time, however, Nat avoided all painful subjects. The twowandered down to the Embankment, and, going into the gardens, sat on oneof the benches. They sat close together, and Nat's brown hand heldJill's under the gay apron which she still wore. A good many peoplepassed them, and looked at them, and murmured to one another that thissilly young pair were in a fool's paradise, and that they'd wishthemselves out of it fast enough one day. It seemed to Jill afterwards,however, that they were all alone that evening, that no one looked atthem as they sat on the bench together, that they had the gardens tothemselves.
The sunset passed, and the stars shone in the dark blue of the sky, andJill looked up at them and thought that, after all, it must be very easyto be good. She had forgotten her pain and anxiety for the present; theinfluence of the summer night was surrounding her, and the still morepotent influence of young love was sending all fears to sleep.
"Nat," she said suddenly, "it seems as if the folks must be right."
"Wot folks, Jill?"
"Them folks as says there's a God, Nat, and that He lives up there.Seems to me that there must be a God, and that He's beautiful. I don'tbelieve we could love each other as we do, but for God."
"Maybe," said Nat. "I han't thought much about it. I were allers toobusy. Ef He made you love me, Jill, I'll go in for believing in Him;that's sartin. But, oh! my word, my word, there's a sight of misery inthe world!"
"That's the devil's doing," said Jill in a frightened whisper. "Iallers put the misery to the devil. But don't let us think on itto-night, Nat. Don't let's think on one miserable thing this beautifulnight. Let's put all the pain out of sight. It's there for sure; butlet's put it out of sight. Do, Nat; do, dear, darling Nat!"
"Why, my little love, you're all of a tremble. Take my 'and, and let'swalk about a bit. We won't talk of miserable things, Jill--at least notyet awhile. Come out and look at the moon shining on the river. Ain'tit prime? And how the water ripples. Why, you're shivering still,Jill. Ain't yer well?"
"Oh, yes, Nat; I'm as well as a gel can be."
"Let's walk up and down then. I have everything planned for ourwedding. I thought, maybe, we'd take a third-class fare down toYarmouth or somewhere, and have a look at the real sea. I have an auntat Yarmouth, a Mrs Potter, and she'd give us a shake-down for nothink,I make sure. Wot does yer say, Jill?"
"I never looked at the sea," said Jill.
"Nor have I; folks say as there is nought like it. I believe we mightgive ourselves a week's holiday. I has put by a few pounds. Wot's thematter, Jill? You're shivering again."
"I wor thinking," said Jill, "that maybe I were wrong about God. MaybeHe ain't up there."
"Why, Jill, what do you mean? And I do declare you have tears in youreyes. What is the matter, my little gel?"
"Ef God was there," said Jill, "ef the beautiful God I picter werethere, He'd give us one perfect happy evening--oh, I know He would, Iknow He would!"
"And ain't this evening perfect and happy, Jill?"
"I can't keep the pain out," said Jill in a low voice. "I ha' tried,but it won't stay away. I'm thinking of mother, for one thing; sheain't very well."
"But we'll both take care on her when I'm your mate: and _ef_ pain docome, we'll bear it together. There ain't a doubt as there's a heap ofsuffering in the world, and it seems to me as if it worn't right for us,however happy we wor, to shut our eyes to it. Why, look at me, I worfit to burst my heart wid misery this morning, and yet when I wererunning up them stairs at Howard's Buildings and thought that with eachstep I were getting nearer to you, it seemed as ef I could have shoutedfor joy. I take it that I wor in one sense selfish--in another, no."Nat looked at Jill as he spoke. For a moment she was silent, then shesaid in a husky voice--
"Why wer
e you miserable this morning, Nat?"
"It wor about my mate, Joe Williams. You know I telled you about him.Him and me we shared the same barrer, and the same cart of flowers. Joewas as good a feller as breathed; but he worn't lucky. He had a sicklywife, for one thing, and four little bits of kids. He turned over atidy bit of money; but he couldn't save, not ef he was
