“And for the new hedge to separate the two gardens?”
“Oh, a few laurels, sir.”
“Then you would put laurels all about?”
“Well, yes, sir; you see they’re so evergreen and—”
“Oh, here’s Podmore,” said the vicar, going down to the gate. “Well, my lad, how are you? I’m glad to see you.”
“Thanky’ kindly, sir,” said Tom, pressing firmly the hand given to him in so friendly a way. “Can I speak to you a minute?”
“Of course you can. Come into the house.”
He led the way into the vicarage, and placed a chair for Tom in the study, but the young man did not take it, and remained silent.
“I’m deeply grieved,” said the vicar, laying his hand on the young fellow’s shoulder; “deeply, Tom Podmore. I had hoped that she would have come to her senses, and made a better choice.”
“Don’t, sir, please don’t,” said Tom, turning away his head; and, laying his arm against the wall, he placed his forehead against it, and his broad shoulders heaved. “I can’t bear to hear a word spoke again her, sir.”