They walked up Liverpool Road together for some time without speaking a word. On every side the crowd passed them, but Tom did not heed, his heart was too full for words, his mind too occupied with wild, turbulent fancies. Presently they passed into a quiet lane where they were apparently alone.
"Alice," said Tom at length, "I'm fair ashamed of myself, I—I'm just a——"
"No," and Alice interrupted him, "you are a hero, Tom, you have done wonderful things."
"Ah, but that is nothing," was Tom's reply, "I could not help doing that, no decent lad could. But the other now—ay, Alice, I am ashamed of myself. I was such a fool too!"
Alice did not speak; perhaps she was delighted at Tom's self-condemnation, or perhaps, which was more likely, she was eagerly waiting for him to say more.
"Is it true what mother told me?" he asked, after what seemed a long silence.
"What did she tell you?"
"That you are engaged to Harry Briarfield."
"No!" replied the girl eagerly, "I never was!"
"Then is it that young parson?"