Part 12 (2/2)

More than a year had pa.s.sed since the Sunday afternoon when she had told Tom that he must make his choice between her and the life he seemed determined to lead. What it had cost her to do this I will not try to describe, for Alice had truly cared for Tom. It was true that he did not quite belong to her cla.s.s, and it was also true that her parents had done their best to dissuade her from thinking about him; but Alice had been fond of Tom: something, she knew not what, had drawn her heart towards him. She had believed in him too; believed that he was possessed of n.o.ble qualities which only she understood. Then as she saw Tom drifting, she knew that her decisive step must be taken, and she had taken it.

Afterwards, when she was told how Tom had risen in the great crowd at the hall in the Mechanics' Inst.i.tute, and had gone up to the platform and volunteered for active service, her heart had thrilled strangely.

She did not understand much about the war, but she felt that Tom had done a n.o.ble thing. In spite of the fact, too, that he had left her to walk out with Polly Powell, she had a sense of possession; it seemed to her that Tom belonged to her more than to this highly coloured buxom girl who had taken him from her.

Then something happened which set the people at the church she attended talking freely. The young minister was a bachelor, and it was evident he was enamoured with Alice; he paid her marked attention, and eagerly sought to be in her company.

”That's something like,” said many of Alice's friends; ”Alice will make a splendid minister's wife.”

But when at length Mr. Skelton proposed to Alice, she had no difficulty in answering him. He could offer her a far better position than Tom dreamed of; the work she would have to do as a minister's wife, too, would be thoroughly in accord with her tastes and desires. But Alice cared nothing for Mr. Skelton. Her heart was sad when she saw how pale he looked at her refusal, but she had no hesitation.

The problem which faced her now, however, was not so easy to settle.

Young Harry Briarfield was not a comparative stranger like Mr. Skelton; she had known him all her life, they had been brought up together in the same town, they had gone to Sunday School together, they had sung duets together at concerts, and although she had never looked at Harry in the light of a lover she had always been fond of him.

Harry was in a good position too; his father was a manufacturer in a fairly large way, and he had just been admitted as a partner into the business. He was twenty-four years of age now, was highly respected throughout the town, and was looked upon as one who in a few years would hold his head high among commercial men.

During the last few weeks Harry had come often to Mr. Lister's house, ostensibly to talk about business, but really to see Alice.

Mr. and Mrs. Lister had nudged each other and smiled at Harry's frequent visits.

”I knew our Alice would do the right thing,” said Mr. Lister to his wife; ”for a time she went silly about that Pollard boy, but she threw him over of her own accord. Harry's a nice lad, and he's making a tidy bit of bra.s.s, while George Briarfield has about made his pile. In two or three years Harry will have the business entirely in his own hands, and then there will not be a better chance in Brunford for her.”

Mrs. Lister sighed.

”I don't think our Alice has forgotten Tom Pollard, though,” she replied.

”Nonsense,” replied her husband, ”what is the good of her thinking about Tom? I thought he would have done well at one time, and if he hadn't taken up with that Polly Powell lot he might have got on; but he did, and then he went for a soldier. What is the good of our Alice thinking about him? Even if the war were to finish next week and Tom were to come back, it would take him years, even if he had good luck, to make five pound a week, while Harry's making a thousand a year if he's making a penny.”

”Ay, I know,” replied Mrs. Lister, ”but you can never judge a la.s.s's heart. You know how it was wi' us, George; at the very time you asked me to be your wife you were only making thirty-three s.h.i.+llings a week, and William Pott was making hundreds a year. He was a far better chance nor you, George, and people said I was a fool for not taking him; but I couldn't.”

”That was a different thing,” said George Lister hastily, ”that Pollard boy went wrong. Besides, we need not think about that now; Alice gave him up, and very likely he will be killed.”

On the night when Tom was alone in the trenches, Harry Briarfield made his way to Mr. Lister's house, and it was not long before Alice and he were left alone together. Harry had made up his mind to make his proposal that night, and he had but little doubt as to the result.

”Look here, Alice,” he said presently, ”I want to say something to you, something very particular. You must have seen for a long time how fond I am of you, and perhaps you have wondered why I haven't spoken. I wanted to badly enough, but I waited until father took me into partners.h.i.+p. You see,” he went on, ”at the beginning of the war things were going bad with us; there was a boom in the cotton trade about a year ago, but when the war broke out there was a regular slump, and we thought we were going to be ruined. Now, however, things are going very well again. We have got some war contracts, and we are making money.”

Alice's heart beat wildly, although by an effort she appeared calm.

”I wonder you have not joined the Army, Harry,” she said; ”every day there's a call for more men.”

”Not if I know it,” replied Harry. ”At one time I did think of trying for a commission, but that would have been foolish: you see I might not have been able to have got it, and of course a man in my position could not go as a Tommy.”

”Why not?” asked Alice quickly. ”I am told that lots of men of every order join as privates.”

”No, thank you,” replied Harry, with a laugh. ”I know one chap who did that; Edgar Burton. Do you know him? He joined at the beginning of the war, but he quickly got sick of it. He said the life was terrible; he described to me how he had to wash up dishes, and scrub the floors of his barracks, and how he had to be pals with a lot of chaps who didn't know the decencies of life. Besides, think of me on a s.h.i.+lling a day!”

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