that I am to give the money back tothe one what gi' it to me to keep, and no questions arsked. That's abargain, ain't it, Silas Lynn?"
"To be sure, Jill. You don't suppose as I doubts yer, my pretty littlecuttin'? You come along to the 'ouse, and I'll get the money out.'Ow'll yer take it? In silver or gowld?"
"I'd like five sovereigns best, Silas, ef you had 'em."
"Well, we'll see. You set there in the porch, and I'll go and look."
Silas presently returned with five new sovereigns, which he placed inJill's open palm. It was delightful to him to give. He had no ideathat this gold was the price of freedom and of a girl's first love.
"My word, how still she sets," he muttered. "Breeding through andthrough. Wot flower is she most like now? The lavender, I'm thinking--so primily and shut-up like in its ways. She'll make a wife in athousand. I'm 'bout the luckiest feller in Christendom."
CHAPTER TWELVE.
Quite early in the afternoon Jill returned to the humble little flat inHoward's Buildings. She had felt nervous and excited until she gotthere. Nat might be waiting for her. Nat might have come anddiscovered her not there and gone away again, and the first suspicion ofcold doubt might already have reached him. But when Jill discoveredthat Nat Carter had not yet arrived; when she questioned Mr Stanley,who assured her emphatically that that handsome young man, hersweet-heart, had not put in an appearance, she suddenly felt a strangequiet and almost apathy stealing over her.
She sat quietly in her mother's chair and folded her hands on her lap.
She had got a task to perform, but the pain, the agony, which such workought to cause her was not present at this moment. Nat should have hismate's money back again, but Jill must tell him that she could never behis wife.
"There's no help for it," she muttered. "I must tell Nat as I can'tnever wed him. I must make myself seem bad in his eyes. There ain'tnothing else for me to do. He'll never know now, never to his dyingday, that poor mother stole that ere money. The money part 'ull seemall right to him, but Jill--he'll allers think o' Jill as fickle andfalse. I must make him think that--there's no help for me. I'll wedSilas, and I'll try to be good to him, and I must forget Nat wot Iloves."
Thoughts like these passed swiftly through the tired girl's brain. Sheknew that she must soon speak cruel words. She must say good-bye toNat.
"And I love him mor'n aught else in all the wide world," she groaned."I love mother--oh, I do love mother--but Nat--Nat comes first. If itwere a case o' choosing, perhaps I'd be mean enough to cling on to Nat,and let poor mother go, but it ain't a case of choosing. Nat's youngand strong; he ha' got a true, true heart, and an honest face, and he's'spectable--oh, he's _bitter_ 'spectable. There are lots of nice girlsin the world, and Nat 'ull get his pick, and it's best for him to havenothing to say to a girl what have a mother what drinks. Nat's allright; he'll comfort hisself soon; it'll be easy for Nat to get anotherwife; but poor mother, she has no one but me, for the boys they don'tcount. Mother suffers bad pain, and she's nearly distraught with onesorrow and another. It ain't a case o' choice. I must cling to poormother."
When Jill came to this point in her reflections she rose and went intothe inner room. Seeing her dishevelled and untidy appearance in thelittle square of looking-glass, her first instinct was to brush herblack hair smooth, and wash her face, and bring her whole little personback to the absolute order and fresh neatness which was part of herbeauty; but on second thoughts she refrained from doing this. Herobject now was to put Nat against her.
"It'll cut him much less to the 'art ef he sees for his own self that Iain't the Jill he thought I were," she murmured.
She threw off her shawl, therefore, and, with a sigh of physicaldiscomfort, came back again to the kitchen.
She had scarcely done so before Nat's knock was heard at the door. Shewent at once and opened it for him.
"Is that you?" she said. "You might ha' come sooner. I were gettingtired o' waiting; it's dull settin' indoors on a fine Sunday. Come inef you want to, though."
Her tone was almost flippant. Nat opened his blue eyes in astonishment.He himself was in the most irreproachable Sunday go-to-meeting dress.He wore a button-hole of carnations. The sweet scent of that specialflower gave Jill a sick, faint feeling for many a day afterwards. Hishair was brushed from his broad white forehead. There was a freshcolour in his cheeks, and his happy eyes looked like a bit of the sky.
Jill's untidy, almost slovenly, appearance distressed him nearly as muchas her change of voice, but he determined to take no notice. He came inand sat down, therefore, and said after a very brief pause in a gentlevoice:
"It wor Clara Williams wot kep' me. The poor thing is nearly distraughtwith misery. It's quite piteous to see her. And as to those fourlittle orphans, wot is to come o' them? I'm sorry I were late, Jill,but we can go out now and have a real jolly time. I can give you therest of the day, sweet-heart. Ain't yer mother home, Jill? Wor yeralone all the morning, my little love?"
"Indeed, no," said Jill, "I had company, and fine company too, but itworn't mother. Mother's out. She ain't very well, and she wants lotso' air and exercise, but I hadn't a dull time, so don't you think it,Nat."
"Well, I'm glad on it. You may be quite sure I were thinking on yerwhen I were doing things for Clara Williams. I'm right glad you worn'tdull. Shall we go out now, Jill?"
"No, thank yer, I'm dead beat. I have been out already for hours. Is'pose you has come for the money, Nat. Here it is back. You count itand see ef I ain't stole none."
Nat raised his eyes in astonishment. Jill, who was standing with herback slightly turned to him, held out the money in the identicalbrown-paper wrapper which he had given her the five sovereigns in.
"Here, take it, I'm well rid on it," she said impatiently.
Nat held out his hand and took the little parcel.
"Open it," she said; "count the sovereigns. You 'member as you give mefive sovereigns. See for yerself that they are all there."
"Why, what is come to you, Jill?" said Nat. "You speak queer. I don'tseem to know you to-day."
Jill gave a short little laugh.
"I has many sides," she said. "Sometimes I'm all honey, sometimes I'mall winegar. It's best as the man what mates me should know me allround."
"Yes," said poor Nat, "and I thought I did know yer all round, Jill: Imade sure on it. I allers said as I'd never marry in haste. It's anorful thing, marriage. Once done it can't be undone; and I said as thegel what I took for wife should be my friend for many and many a dayfirst. You 'member when we wor at school together, Jill. How I tookyer part, and how yer sat near me, and how straight you always wor,never skulking away from yer lessons and never shirking the truth. Youwor a bit o' tomboy, no doubt, but you wor true and sweet all round.You has growed up true and sweet, and more beautiful nor any picter.There's no winegar in you, my own Jill, but there's a cloud over yer.Come and tell me about it. Put yer head here on my breast and tell meall 'bout, it."
"No, no, Nat," said Jill; "I don't say as there ain't a cloud. I don'twant, even on this bitter day, to say words what ain't true, but there'sno goin' to you for comfort any more, for we must part."
"Part!" said Nat, "part!" His lips fell apart, his blue eyes flashed anangry fire. Then he closed his mouth firmly, and a hard look settleddown on his handsome face. "Do yer mean as you're tired on me?" hesaid. "You ha' spoke werry strange since I come in, and you ha' lookedwerry strange. Do you repent o' our bargain? Do you want not to be mymate? Why do you keep your back turned to me, Jill? Look into myface--look up into my face and tell me the truth."
"It's quite true as I can't mate you, Nat."
Jill turned swiftly as she spoke; out of her big beautiful eyes lookedfor a second an agonised soul; but Nat could not catch a glimpse of thisfrightened, steadfast, loving soul, in the cruel agony which her wordsgave him.
"You're tired of our bargain?" he repeated.
"Yes, that's it; I'm tired
o' it."
"And you don't want to wed me?"
"No."
"Then I'd best be goin'," said Nat.
He took up his hat and walked as far as the door. "Ha' you counted themoney--are you sure as it's all right?" called Jill after