by L. T. Meade
Nat, come in and speak, man."
There was a little buzz amongst the guests. Mary Ann Hatton was heardto say afterwards that she never felt nearer fainting in her life. Sheuttered a little gasp which no one heard; Aunt Hannah gave a snort whichno one listened to. All the pairs of eyes were fixed on the handsomestraight-looking young man who came into the room, who blushed as deeplyas Jill did, and walked at once to her side.
"Jill," he exclaimed, "there never wor such a noble fellow as this yereSilas Lynn. He ha' put a deal o' things straight 'tween you and me thismorning, and if you still loves me best, why, sweet-heart."
"Oh, Nat, I do, I do, I can't help it," exclaimed poor Jill. She flungherself into her lover's arms, who kissed her passionately on her browand lips.
"Take her out for a bit into the garden," whispered Silas in a hoarsevoice to the young man; "go away, both on yer, for a little, while I'splain things to the neighbours."
CHAPTER TWENTY.
The moon and the stars have some advantages which mankind in times ofperplexity would gladly possess. For instance, they can take abird's-eye view of events; from their lofty standpoint they can lookdown on more than one place at a time in this small world. Doubtlessthings of immense and overpowering importance to us assume their justerproportions from this immeasurable distance.
On the night which should have been Silas Lynn's wedding night, therewas a clear sky, the moon was at its full, and the stars shone inmultitudes in the deep blue firmament. Amongst other things they lookeddown on a ship returning to its native shores. There were sailors onboard of course, and many passengers, and, amongst others, a ratherdisconsolate, pale-faced, freckled boy, who sat on his bunk in thesailors' cabin, and rubbed his tear-stained, small eyes with one dirtyknuckle, while in his other hand he held a pen, and tried to scribblesome words on a sheet of paper.
"Dear sister Jill," he wrote, "this is to say that Tom and me has had abad time of it. We are real sorry as we tuk the money, and then put thesin o' it on mother. We don't like being sailors, and we gets lots o'cuffs, and Tom ran away at the last port. I ain't coming 'ome, althoughthe ship will be in England in twenty-four hours, ef the weather keepsfair; but I write now to say as it was me and Tom tuk the money, all'cept one pound ten what mother tuk when she ran away. This is to say,too, as I rubbed out mother's writing on the letter, and put in thewords that said she tuk it all. It worn't mother; it wor Tom and me. Ibelieve the proverb now 'bout ill-gotten gains, for I'm very misribble.
"Your affectionate brother:
"Bob."
Some tears dropped from Bob's eyes on the crooked and ill-spelt writing;but the letter got finished somehow, and, what is more, got into anenvelope which bore the superscription, "Jill, Howard's Buildings,Nettle Street, London." A stamp was fixed on the envelope, and it wasdropped into the ship's letterbox, and in due course did reach Jill'shands.
Several other characters have been introduced into this story, and themoon and stars looked down on them all--on Poll, lying on her bed in thehospital; on Susy Carter; on Irish Molly Maloney. But perhaps those onwhom the brilliant rays of that clear full moon shone with the deepestinterest were Jill and Nat, who sat once again in the garden on theEmbankment, and talked of their wedding-day. They were together andhappy, and they said anew that they owed it all to Silas.
"Who'd ha' thought it?" said Nat; "and he looks so rough."
But Jill would not even admit now that Silas was rough.
"You don't know what a tender 'eart he has, Nat!" she exclaimed. "Ef hehas a roughness, it's only jest on the surface, and what matters that?Oh, Nat, I'm quite positive sure that I'll allers love Silas next bestin the world to mother and you."
For Silas himself, he stood at that moment by the porch in his littlegarden; his arms were folded, his head was bare, the flowers laysleeping at his feet, and the great glory and peace of the summerheavens surrounded him. There had been a tempest in his soul; but eventhe fiercest storms have their limits, and this storm, though it mightrend him again, was for the present succeeded by calm. It is true thathis heart felt sadly bruised and sore.
"I'm sort o' empty," he said to himself. "I ain't sorry, in course, asI done it. I might ha' guessed that the sweet little cuttin' couldn'ttake root yere," and he struck his breast with his great hand; "but allthe same I'm sort o' empty."
He went back into the house, and shut the door behind him and sat downin the chair which he had bought for Jill; but the moonbeams stillfollowed him, and shone all over him as he sat near his lattice window.
"I ain't sorry I ha' done it," he repeated. "Lord, I'm willin'; I'm apoor sort o' critter at best, but I'm _willin'_ to do Thy will."
He sighed heavily several times, and at last, worn out from manyemotions, fell asleep where he sat in Jill's chair.
There are compensations for all; and, although Silas did not know it, hehad risen out of the commonplace that day and was enrolled in heaven asone of God's heroes.
