"And what made you think? Jack, do tell me."
"I don't hold by much telling, boy."
"If I guess, will you tell me?"
Jack nodded.
"Was it because of the—person in your picture?"
No answer.
"You know, Jack, I couldn't help seeing you look at it and say, 'My lass!' every night and morning, when you've said your prayers. I did not mean to vex you."
Jack Sparling had turned away his face, but here, he thrust out a big brown fist and gave Roger's a squeeze. He remained quite silent for a long time and then suddenly said,—
"'Twere along of her. I met her when I was just twenty or thereabouts. She was so fair and soft-looking, like a pretty flower, just. Not all kinds of flowers; but, look ye now, I never see a white rose or a June lily, but I feel my heart go sick. It were more than a year before I dared to speak to her. Well, I was to marry her when I could keep her. And I was sent away, as now, on a job—and we was to be married when I came back. But one day I was sent for."
He waited a little to steady his voice.