The parsonage never looked prettier, he thought, as he got to the gate at last, and Tom rolled over in his mind what he should say to Lizzie, and if she would be glad to see him, and whether he should see her at all.
His doubts were, however, soon solved. The “Gezaba of a servant” who opened the door and bungled out a sort of greeting to him, told him that both “Miss Lizzie and the master” were in. Tom could have dispensed with Pringle’s presence, but he had to make the best of a bad bargain.
As he entered the little drawing-room which he knew so well, Pringle stepped forward gladly to meet him, while Lizzie remained shyly in the background.
“By Jove! Tom”—they had long since dropped surnames between them, as men do after a little intimacy—“I’m right glad to see you, old fellow! But we heard that you only got out of bed the day before yesterday, so we hardly expected you to come over yet. How are you, old fellow, eh?” and he shook Tom eagerly by the hand.
“Oh, I’m all right,” answered our hero, after which he gave Lizzie’s hand a very hard squeeze, which caused that young lady to blush furiously, but in a moment the flush of excitement passed off Tom’s face, and he looked as pale as death; if he had not caught hold of the back of a chair he would have dropped down. The walk had certainly been too much for him.
“Oh! Herbert,” exclaimed Lizzie, in alarm, “he’s going to faint!” and she ran forward to Tom, who, I believe, would have cheerfully fainted at the juncture, if he could possibly have achieved it; you see, the circumstances were very favourable to the occasion.
As it was, the “gay young dog,” as Doctor Jolly would have said, was “in precious nice quarters,” for there he was in a moment, by the aid of Pringle’s arm, laid out on the comfortable sofa, with Lizzie bathing his forehead with eau de Cologne, and handing him smelling salts, and Pringle enquiring every moment, “Do you feel better now, eh, old fellow?”
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir!” said Lizzie, as she bent over him with her face suffused with a carnation tinge whenever she caught his eye, which the artful rogue contrived should happen very frequently—“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir! walking out so soon, and you deserve a good punishing.”
And Miss Lizzie looked very stern, indeed, with her violet eyes beaming with a rich warm light: she seemed as if she would punish Master Tom very severely.
“Yes, it’s very wrong,” answered the recumbent hero; “but you see, I could not help it, you know!” and Miss Lizzie blushed again, as Tom looked very meaningly at her.