Then he knew that he was awake, and that she had come to him. All the prudent thoughts of yesterday had flown to the winds. He found himself absolutely trembling with eagerness, joy, ecstasy.
“Yes, I’m a-coming; I’ll be with yer in a minute, Jill,” he called out. “For,” he said to himself as he tumbled into his clothes, “it’s too wonderful for anything. Who’d ha’ thought—who would have thought that a dainty bit of a cuttin’ like that ’ud go and take root in a rough soil like this here? It’s a fact nevertheless. Nothing less ’ud bring her here at this time o’ the morning. ‘Favour is deceitful and beauty is vain’—not a bit on it—you’re wrong for once, King Solomon.”
Having dressed himself, Silas quickly unlocked the cottage-door.
Jill was standing outside, leaning wearily against the post of the door. Her neat black dress was covered with dust, her apron was unpinned, her gay-coloured shawl had fallen back from her shapely head, and her black hair, in some disorder, was tumbled about her face. Jill’s face was very white. Silas felt himself absolutely colouring crimson as he came out to her, but not a tinge of shyness or embarrassment were in the wide-open eyes she raised to his.
“I ha’ come,” she said, speaking in a choking, husky voice, “for the loan of the money. I know wot it means, Silas, but I ha’ come all the same.”
“You know what it means?” said Silas Lynn, clasping both her small, cold hands in one enormous palm. “Do you mean to tell me that we are to wed each other, Jill Robinson? Are we to go afore the pa’son, and take each other for better and for worse?”
“Ef you like,” said Jill wearily. “I ha’ come for the money first. That’s the first thing. We can talk of t’other later on. The money’s the first thing.”
“Yes, yes. Why, you are all in a tremble! You must want that ere money bitter bad, Jill Robinson. Look me in the eyes, gel, and say as you’ll play me no tricks arter I have gived it to yer.”
“I’ll be quite true to you, Mr Lynn.”