Part 21 (2/2)
”Alice,” said Tom at length, ”I'm fair ashamed of myself, I--I'm just a----”
”No,” and Alice interrupted him, ”you are a hero, Tom, you have done wonderful things.”
”Ah, but that is nothing,” was Tom's reply, ”I could not help doing that, no decent lad could. But the other now--ay, Alice, I am ashamed of myself. I was such a fool too!”
Alice did not speak; perhaps she was delighted at Tom's self-condemnation, or perhaps, which was more likely, she was eagerly waiting for him to say more.
”Is it true what mother told me?” he asked, after what seemed a long silence.
”What did she tell you?”
”That you are engaged to Harry Briarfield.”
”No!” replied the girl eagerly, ”I never was!”
”Then is it that young parson?”
”No, Tom; who could have told you such lies?”
Lancas.h.i.+re people are very undemonstrative in their love-making, as in most of their things, and although Tom was nearly swept off his feet with joy at what Alice had said, he still walked on by her side quietly, and for some seconds did not speak again.
”I never really cared about Polly Powell,” he said presently, ”even at the time I--I----”
”I knew, Tom,” and the girl almost sobbed as she spoke, ”I knew all the time you could never really care for her, and--and that you would come back to me. That was why----”
”Why what?” asked Tom.
”Why there was never anybody else but you, Tom.”
”Do you mean it, Alice? do you really mean it?” and Tom's voice was hoa.r.s.e and tremulous. ”Can you forgive me? I chucked Polly Powell long ago, and I let her know it yesterday when I came home. She met me at the station with the others, and I never knew what a fool I had been till I saw her just as she was. Ay, I must have been mad!”
”I heard all about it,” replied the girl, ”but it didn't need that to tell me that you would come back to me, Tom.”
”Ay,” said Tom, ”but I feel so ashamed. I feel as though I have nothing to offer you. I am only a poor Tommy with a bob a day, but will you wait for me, Alice, till the war is over?--and then if G.o.d spares my life I will work for you night and day, and I will give you as good a home as there is in Brunford.”
”I can't help waiting for you,” sobbed Alice.
”Can't help! Why?” asked Tom.
”Because--because---- oh, you know.”
It was not until an hour later that Tom and Alice appeared at George Lister's house. During that time Tom had told Alice the story of his life since he had parted from her. Told her of the influences which had been at work, how he had been led to pray, and how his heart had all the time been longing for her. In spite of Alice's repeated questions he had said very little about his hour of peril, when he had risked his life to serve his country; that seemed of little importance to him. His one thought was to make Alice know that he was ashamed of himself for leaving her, and that he loved her all the time.
”Ay,” said George Lister to his wife when Tom had left the house, ”our Alice is a fool.”
”'Appen she is,” replied Mrs. Lister, ”but yon's a grand lad, a fair grand lad!”
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