by L. T. Meade
brilliant sunshine. The hospitalward was cool and fresh. Outside there was a glare over everything.For the first time in his life Silas felt as if he might have sunstroke,or as if the fierce heat might mount to his brain and give him fever.He had not yet realised in all its intensity the blow which had fallenon him; he was only dimly aware that the happiness which had come solate in life to take up its abode in his heart had found that dull roomwithin him not large enough nor bright enough, and so had gone away. Hewas aware of this, still he went on making his preparations forto-morrow's wedding. He ordered the necessary foods to be sent down toKent for the wedding-feast; he bought a bonnet for old Aunt Hannah, andsome cheap gimcracks to present to Mary Ann Hatton and Mrs HibbertyJones.
At last he had finished his list of commissions, and he stood still fora minute to consider what he should do. He was not going to marketto-morrow, so it was not necessary for him to return home early. It hadbeen his intention to go back to the little cottage at Newbridge, inorder to get it more completely ready for the sweet bride who was toenter it on the morrow. His flowers wanted extra watering and extracare in order to greet that one brilliant living blossom who was goingto take root and settle down in their midst. Silas thought ofencircling the porch of the cottage with a wreath of roses, of deckingthe table with which the wedding-feast would be spread with flowers inmany strange and lovely devices; but the wish to do any of these thingshad now suddenly left him. He determined not to go home at present. Hehad a dim sort of consciousness that his pain would be much greater athome even than it was here.
Standing at the shady side of the street, leaning up against the door ofa restaurant, he tried to bring his brain to think connectedly of MrsRobinson's words. He recalled them with an effort, and found that theyamounted to the fact that Jill loved another man; that she had engagedherself to him before she engaged herself to Silas; that whereas Silaswas old and ugly, Jill's other lover was young, and comely to behold.There was no doubt whatever that something was troubling Jill. Thefacts were but too patent--she had some secret motive in consenting towed Silas, but her heart was still with Nat.
Having brought himself to face this fact, Silas thought carefully overJill's possible motives. He remembered her great anxiety to borrow fivepounds from him. He recalled, with a hot flush of misery, the startledlook on her face when he first told her of the conditions on which hewould give her the money. He remembered then her journey into Kent, herreadiness to comply with his request, and her painful anxiety to havethe money to take away with her, and to have no questions asked.
"I yielded at the time," thought Silas, "but I'm blessed ef I won't getat the bottom o' this thing afore the day's out. I'll go and see Jill,and question her. We ain't wedded yet, and I'll know the truth aforewe're made man and wife."
Having made up his mind, Silas acted with promptitude. He was not longin reaching Howard's Buildings. He ran swiftly up the stairs, andknocked at Jill's door. She was not expecting to see him again untilthey met the next day in Kent. There was a possibility that she mightbe out, but he must take his chance of that. He knocked with hisknuckles on the panel of the door and waited. Partly to his relief,partly to add to his torture, he heard a light step within, and Jillcame and opened the door. She started, and flushed slightly, when shesaw him. There was a certain amount of pleasure in her face. She hadevidently learned to lean upon Silas, to appreciate much that was inhim.
"I'd ha' thought a few hours back as that look meant the tender dawningo' love," thought the man, "but I know better now."
"Come in, Silas," said Jill, speaking in that gentle tone which shealways used when addressing him. "I wor packing my few bits o' duds,and I'm sorry the place is in a mess; but come in and set down, do."Silas entered, and closed the door behind him. He did not intend to sayanything about Mrs Robinson. He had no notion of betraying the secretwhich had come to him at present. Still, the heaviness of his heart wasshown by his absence of compliment, by his indifference to thedisordered condition of the room. He sat heavily down on the firstchair he came to, and laid a big hand on each knee.
"I ha' come to have a little talk with yer, Jill," he said.
"Yes, Silas, of course. Is anything the matter, dear Silas?"
"No, my gel, there's nought the matter. Only somehow, when a man takesthe sort of step I'm about to take--when a man takes a young gel to his'eart, and swears afore the Lord God Almighty to love her and cherishher, and cling only to her--why, ef he's a man whose word is worth anythink, he feels kind o' solemn, Jill."
"Oh, yes," said Jill; "but when a man's like you, Silas Lynn, he's quitesure to keep his word; he needn't be fretted 'bout what's quite sure."
Silas gazed straight up at Jill while she was speaking, and a queer,very mournful smile lingered round his lips.
"Yer think, then, Jill," he said, "as I'd make a real good mate to yer?"
"I do, Silas."
"Yer know as I loves you, my gel."
"Yes, Silas, yes." Her own lips began to tremble. She turned away.
"Jill," continued Silas, "there's a weight on my mind, and I must speak,or I'll die. It's a weight o' love, little gel. I'm a rough man, and Ihas had a rough life. 'Cept the flowers, I never has had to do withanything soft or dainty. I cared for my mother, in course, and she worgood as good could be; but she worn't like you, Jill, with the skin o' apeach, and the look of all the loveliest flowers made by God Almightyput together. You came to me, Jill, and when you put your little 'andsinto mine, then I knowed what love were. It's a mighty thing, Jill, forany girl to get all the love of a strong man like me--the love that hasbeen gathering up in me for close on forty year. Some folks, they lovedozens o' people; they'll give a little love to this one, and t'otherone--they, so to speak, splits up their love. But that ain't me. Inall the wide wide world I love no one but you, little Jill, so you canguess as you has got something strong--when you has won the love o' aman like me."
Silas's words came out with slow pauses, they seemed to be wrung fromhim. His eyes were fixed upon the girl he was addressing. She turnedpaler and paler as he spoke. When he stopped, she burst into tears.
"Silas," she said, "I wish as you wouldn't love me in that sort of awfulway--"
"I can't help it, my dear; it's all with me, or it's nought."
"Silas, you frighten me."
"I don't want to, my pretty little dove. I won't talk o' it too mucharter we is wedded, but I jest had to speak up to-day. Jill, the sorto' love I can give 'ud go down into hell itself for the sake of sarvingthe one it loves. I've been thinking, my little darlin', of you, andwondering ef maybe you hadn't some things as yer'd like to tell me aforewe were wed. Love makes us see deep down, and I can guess as you've atrouble, little Jill; maybe it's 'bout your mother, or maybe it's 'boutthat five pounds as I giv'd yer. I know I ha' no right to ask 'bout thefive pounds, but, ef you felt yerself free to tell me, why, I'd like tosay that ef you had the blackest secret that ever come to a gel to keep,why it 'ud be all the same to me, I'd love yer jest all the same."
"I don't think I ought to tell," said Jill. "It wor a secret, and youmind, Silas, as it were part of the bargain that I shouldn't tell yerwot I wanted the money for, and that you shouldn't ask no questions."
"I won't, Jill, ef you'd rayther not tell," said Silas. "I'd like toknow. Afore we stood up in the presence of God, and promised to be trueto each other, I'd like well to know anythink as wor troubling yer. Forlook yere, little Jill, it ain't you as has done wrong--it ain't you ashas a secret to hide--but maybe there are some belonging to yer as yerwants to shield. Well, Jill, you _can't_ shield 'em no better way thanby telling me, wot is to be yer husband, the whole truth."
While Silas was speaking, Jill's face underwent a queer change. It wasas if a heavy and very dark mantle of care had dropped from it. Shelooked up at Silas with a sort of solemn reverence.
"I b'lieve as you're a good man," she said. "I b'lieve as you're thebest man I ever met."
"And
yer'll trust me, Jill?"
"I will, Silas, I'll trust yer." She sat down as she spoke, and crossedher hands in her lap. "I'll tell yer about the money," she continued."I know as yer'll never bring it up to me nor to mine, and, besides, Ineed name no names. It were this way. A few days afore I come to askyer to lend me some flowers, a friend--one I thought a sight
