to try ever so.It seemed as ef saving and prudence worn't in him. Do you think he'dpay a shilling a week to a buryin' club or a sick club, or aught of themclubs as is the stay of working men? No, no, that worn't Joe. It worall spend, spend with him. To be sure his wife was sickly, and hecouldn't deny her nothink, and she wor more to blame than he. Thatwoman had a perfect crank for smelling out money. Ef Joe brought 'omeas much as 'arf-a-crown, meaning to save it for a rainy day, she'dunearth it. It were no use his trying to save, for Clara were more forspending even than hisself.
"Well, one day an uncle of his died, and left him five sovereigns in anold teapot. Joe gave the teapot to Clara, and said nothing about thewindfall inside. But he gave them five sovereigns to me jest a weekago, wrapped up in the identical brown-paper as I handed to you twonights back, Jill. And he says, says poor Joe, with a sort of a wink ofa tear in his eye, `Ef the worst comes, Nat, that'll bury me,' says he,`and I won't be on the parish,' says he. I can tell you, Jill, thatmoney wor like a millstone round me, I were so feart of losing it. AndI were fine and glad when I handed it on to you, lass.
"Well, poor Joe, he dropped down dead yesterday morning, jest when hewas coming to help me fill up the barrer. It were orful sudden, andpoor Clara's nearly off her head."
Nat spoke huskily; the sorrowful feelings of the morning were moving himagain.
"He's dead," he continued; "the best feller living, the kindest heart asbreathed. I'll never meet his like, he wor that trusting and thatcompanionable. We wor mates for close on three year, and never wasthere a word atween us. I can't get over his dying off so sharp; but itis a good thing as you has the money safe, Jill."
"Yes; that's a werry good thing," replied Jill. She paused again.
The moon was now riding in majesty across the dark blue heavens; thelovers had turned their steps towards Howard's Buildings. Jill wastrembling no longer; every nerve was on tension, each beat of her heartwas warning her to be careful, to betray nothing. She wondered at herown sudden calm, at the power of brain with which she seemed endowed.She felt so still now, so capable of acting prudently in this terribleemergency, that she was even inclined to test Nat, to see for herselfwhat he would do and how he would look if he really knew that his deadpal's money was gone.
"It is a good thing as I has them five sovereigns," she continued; "buts'pose as they wor lost?"
"What do yer mean, Jill?" Nat's honest, open face clouded over, hisblue eyes flashed a steely light of anger. "You oughtn't even to saysech a thing in jest," he continued.
"No, no, in course I oughtn't; but it is a way with me to look at everyside o' a picter. You giv'd the money two nights ago to a gel as couldbe trusted. You loved that gel, you thought a sight on her; she had amother the soberest o' women, and she herself were honest as the day.You're a lucky feller, Nat Carter, to have found a gel that lives up toyer creed. You're rare and lucky, though I say it as shouldn't, tomarry a gel with sober, quiet, and honest relations. You wouldn't likeit no other sort, would you?"
"I should think not," said Nat, quickening his steps. "But why do youtalk in that queer fashion, Jill?"
"It seems to ease my heart like; it's so nice to know as I'm jest whatyou want. Now, s'pose, jest s'pose for two minutes, dear Nat, thatthings worn't the way they are. S'pose I wor Jill still, with a heartall trembling with love to you, and my face the same as it is, andeverything looking jest as it do now, but the inside, Nat, the inside o'your Jill quite different. S'pose, jest for the sake o' the thing, thatmy mother worn't a sober woman, that she'd take a drop too muchsometimes, and sometimes go the length o' singing songs in the street,with a mob round her, and s'pose your Jill had to go and fetch her homeand cossit her up and make purtense as she wor a very sober, 'spectablesort o' woman, and s'pose, still more, that when you giv'd me yer mate'smoney I didn't keep it safe, but I giv'd it to my por mother what worn'tsober. You trusted Jill, and Jill worn't worthy, and your dead pal'smoney wor all gone, every stiver of it. You look at that picter, Nat,and say what you'd do with sech a Jill as I ha' drawed out. Would youtake her to your heart and say, `Never mind, poor Jill, you loves me,and that makes up for all. Your mother ain't sober and you ain't true;but your love is true, and I'll take you to be my wife.' That wouldn'tbe your way, would it, Nat?"
"How wildly you talk, Jill. I think you must be a-going to have fever."
"No; I ain't goin' to have any fever, and I ain't talking wildly.Answer me. Would you take the Jill as I have pictured to be your wife?"
"Take the child of a drunken mother," said Nat; "take a false gel, whatwor the werry worst kind of a thief, to be my wife! No, thank yer.Don't talk on it, Jill; it pains me; it seems sort o' cruel to yourselfeven to speak on such matters."
"But," said Jill, "one moment, Nat. You wouldn't have her--you'resartin sure, even ef she had my face; the face you loves, the face youthink werry lovely." Jill threw off her many-coloured shawl as shespoke; her dark eyes gloomy in their great depths, were raised to Nat's;her little brown well-shaped hands were placed on his shoulders, herlips were parted in a faint smile, the gleam of her pearly teeth justshowed. There was a passion of love and longing in her gaze whichstirred the young man to the very depths of his being. Nevertheless,what a horrible picture she had drawn! A false Jill, a thief, thedaughter of a drunkard!
"No, no," he said, almost pushing her clinging hands away; "sech a Jill'ud be nought, and worse than nought to me. Ef she had ten times yourbeauty I'd spurn her. I'd push her from me. Don't talk on her nomore--don't think on her. Put your hand inside my arm, my little love,and let's walk fast, for you're beginning to shiver again. Why did youtalk so strangely, Jill?"
"A fancy I had," said Jill in a light tone. "It's over now; let's talko' pleasant things again. When'll you want your mate's money, Nat?Shall I give it to yer to-night?"
"No, not to-night; I'll come round and fetch it to-morrow some time."
"About what time, Nat?"
"Let me see; I ha' a deal to do for poor Clara Williams in the morning.I'll come in the arternoon, as early as I can."
"Well, we're back at Howard's Buildings now," said Jill, with a littlesigh, "and I must go up home. Kiss me, Nat; put your arms tight roundme and kiss me."
"My little love!" said Nat Carter.
"Hold me a bit tighter, Nat, dear. I want to kiss yer werry, werry hardfor a minute. Good-night, Nat."
"Good-night, Jill, my own little love."
Jill kissed her hand twice to her lover, who stood and watched her asshe vanished up the steep stone stairs of Howard's Buildings.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
Silas Lynn left Covent Garden at an early hour, and went home. He had avery neat little waggon for conveying his goods to town, and he sat init now, in the pleasant sunshine and gave himself up to reverie.
He was very much startled and amazed at his own action that morning. Hehad not only made love to a very young and very pretty girl, but he hadasked her to come down to the country god share his bit of a cottagewith him.
He had asked her to take him for better, for worse. He had asked her tobelong to him for ever and ever; it was really a tremendous thing to do,a rash, overwhelming sort of thing. Here was Silas, a grim, sour,gnarled old bachelor (he was not very far from forty years of age),asking a bit of a lass whom he knew little or nothing about to be hiswife, Silas was known amongst the neighbours as a woman-hater--as agruff, disagreeable, churlish sort of man, and yet now he was in love;absolutely in love with a pretty girl who possessed a pair of dark eyesfor her dower, who was nothing whatever but a London flower girl,possessed of all the knowledge, and probably all the wickedness, thatthat name implied, and who owed somebody or other the large, theenormous sum of five pounds.
"It's a good thing as she wouldn't have me," said Silas, as he sat inthe front of the waggon, and "gee-upped" to his horses. "It's a rightgood thing for me. She'd have been my undoing, sure as sure; a daintybit of a thing with a purty way and a proud look; full of breedin'; and
yet nothing but a London gel. Oncommon like the flowers all the same;painted up by the Almighty hisself--roses in her cheeks, fire in hereyes, and--my word! her lips, haven't they a dash of colour in 'em! TheAlmighty made her very 'ticing--there's no doubt on that pint. Worn'tshe sweet just when she 'anded me that coffee; my word, it tasted likenew honey. But