“I’ve done it for you, Brough; smoothed the way, and the day’s your own. Bought him off for five hundred.”
“And has he taken it?” said the new-comer, a handsome, florid, elderly man.
“As good as taken it. It’s all right, I tell you. She knows it too. Go and comfort her up, Brough; comfort her up.”
“Poor child, poor child,” muttered Mr Brough, taking a cold stony hand in his; and the tears rose to his eyes as he read in the despairing look directed at him the truth of the old money-lender’s words. The next minute he had led May Richards up-stairs and was seated by her on one of the sofas, gazing pityingly at her, for with her face covered by her hands the poor girl wept as though her heart would break.
Story 3--Chapter III.
Tom Brough.
For a good quarter of an hour no word was spoken; then again taking one of the unresisting hands in his, May’s new courtier talked long and earnestly, telling of how, with no ardent passion, but with the chastened love of one who had known a bitter disappointment, he had long watched her and waited.
“And now, at last, May, I ask you to be an old man’s wife,” he said. “Yours shall be no life of slavery; but there, you have known me long, and for some time past,” he said tenderly; “I have not been without hope that you loved me in return.”