“No, father,” said Tom, speaking with energetic decision, though there was tremor discernible in his voice too, “you will live to see the debts all paid. You shall pay them with your own hand.”
His tone implied something more than mere hopefulness or resolution. A slight electric shock seemed to pass through Mr Tulliver, and he kept his eyes fixed on Tom with a look of eager inquiry, while Maggie, unable to restrain herself, rushed to her father’s side and knelt down by him. Tom was silent a little while before he went on.
“A good while ago, my uncle Glegg lent me a little money to trade with, and that has answered. I have three hundred and twenty pounds in the bank.”
His mother’s arms were round his neck as soon as the last words were uttered, and she said, half crying:
“Oh, my boy, I knew you’d make iverything right again, when you got a man.”
But his father was silent; the flood of emotion hemmed in all power of speech. Both Tom and Maggie were struck with fear lest the shock of joy might even be fatal. But the blessed relief of tears came. The broad chest heaved, the muscles of the face gave way, and the gray-haired man burst into loud sobs. The fit of weeping gradually subsided, and he sat quiet, recovering the regularity of his breathing. At last he looked up at his wife and said, in a gentle tone:
“Bessy, you must come and kiss me now—the lad has made you amends. You’ll see a bit o’ comfort again, belike.”
When she had kissed him, and he had held her hand a minute, his thoughts went back to the money.
“I wish you’d brought me the money to look at, Tom,” he said, fingering the sovereigns on the table; “I should ha’ felt surer.”
“You shall see it to-morrow, father,” said Tom. “My uncle Deane has appointed the creditors to meet to-morrow at the Golden Lion, and he has ordered a dinner for them at two o’clock. My uncle Glegg and he will both be there. It was advertised in the ‘Messenger’ on Saturday.”