“You have evidently read a good deal since we parted.”
“Yes; I belong to our young men’s library and institute; and when of an evening I get hold of a book, especially a pleasant story-book, I don’t care for other company.”
“Have you never seen any other girl you could care for, and wish to marry?”
“Ah, sir,” answered Tom, “a man does not go so mad for a girl as I did for Jessie Wiles, and when it is all over, and he has come to his senses, put his heart into joint again as easily as if it were only a broken leg. I don’t say that I may not live to love and to marry another woman: it is my wish to do so. But I know that I shall love Jessie to my dying day; but not sinfully, sir,—not sinfully. I would not wrong her by a thought.”
There was a long pause.
At last Kenelm said, “You promised to be kind to that little girl with the flower-ball; what has become of her?”
“She is quite well, thank you, sir. My aunt has taken a great fancy to her, and so has my mother. She comes to them very often of an evening, and brings her work with her. A quick, intelligent little thing, and full of pretty thoughts. On Sundays, if the weather is fine, we stroll out together in the fields.”
“She has been a comfort to you, Tom.”
“Oh, yes.”
“And loves you?”