“Oh, how can you ask me? You know I can’t!” exclaimed Jane, angrily.
“I thought as much,” whined Gurdon, in a deep, husky voice, and as if speaking only to himself; “but I thought I’d put her to the proof—just give her one more trial.”
“You cruel—cruel—cruel fellow! how can you torture me so?” sobbed Jane, who had heard every word. “It’s wicked of you, it is, when you know it’s more than my place is worth to do it.”
“Ah,” said Gurdon, huskily, “I did think once, that a place in my heart was all that you wanted, and that I had but to say ‘Come and take it, Jenny,’ and you’d have come. But I was a different man, then, and hadn’t gone wrong, and I’m rightly punished now. Goodbye, Heaven bless you!—bless you! and may you be happy!”
“But stop—stop a moment, John! Oh, pray don’t go yet! I’ve something to tell you.”
“I dursen’t stop no longer,” said John, huskily. “People will be sure to hear us; and bad as I am, Jenny, I wouldn’t do you any harm. No—no, I’d suffer anything—die for you, though I’ve been wrong, and taken a glass too much. Good—goo-oo-ood-bye!”
“But stop a moment, John, pray!” sobbed Jane.
“No—no; it’s better not.”
“Oh dear, what shall I do—what shall I do?” sobbed Jane.
“Won’t you say good-bye?” was whispered from below, and there was a soft rustling amongst the bushes beneath the tree.