‘I should be right down glad, Tim, to hear ye’d a lass,’ she said; ‘it ’ud help to settle ye an’ keep ye straight in life. For why don’t ye think a bit about a sweetheart? there’s pretty lasses where’er ye choose to go.’
‘Ah, there’s one pretty lass here,’ observed Mr Robson, solemnly, ‘as won’t be so quick in counting sweethearts now—it’s a poor thing when a young ’oman makes hersel’ into a talk, so as all t’ lads may have idle words on her. There won’t be a steady one now as’ll own her for a wife—an’ yet she’s well-lookin’ eno’—a poor tale that!’
‘I never did think her not so very pretty—’ Mrs Robson could not restrain herself any longer—‘not no prettier nor many as doesn’t think such a deal of ’emselves. But howso that be, it makes no differ now, no honest lad’ll marry her, as my husband says.’
She would have added more, but she found herself restrained by the sight of the excitement that was too visible in Tim, and which gave to his face such a flushed and bright-eyed look as had never been known to appear on it before. He tried to eat, and then he tried to drink; he got up from his chair, and then sat down again, and then rose once more, and stood before the mall. It was evident that he was struggling with conflicting feelings; but one rose above the rest—and then he spoke.
‘If it’s Annie Salter as ye be speakin’ on,’ he said, ‘ye be not so quite so right, Mrs Robson, as ye think. I’d marry her to-morrow if she’d give me t’ chance, an’ yet I reckon mysel’ an honest man. I won’t believe none of all these tales an’ words—not until I hear ’em from her own lips. God bless her! t’ prettiest lass in all t’ village, an’ t’ best; I won’t be the lad to be cryin’ shame on her!’
There followed—silence. The air seemed to vibrate, as if some particles of excitement were lingering in it still. The pleasant kitchen, which had such cheerful meals, had not been witness to such a scene as this before.
‘Well, Tim,’ said Mrs Robson, ‘I won’t say nought to yer taste—like goes to like, as they tell me—ye can choose best for yersel’. But, as ye seem to ha’ done wi’ supper, I think we’d best retire.’ She got up accordingly, and at once dismissed the farm-boy, and with a few sharp words, sent off Molly to her work; and then, offering her husband his crutches, though this was the business of her daughter, she assisted him in his progress from the room. Her stateliness appeared greater than the occasion warranted, but her lodger was not in the mood to reflect upon it.
Tim was left in the room with Alice, who had taken out her knitting, and had seated herself in her father’s chair upon the hearth, without looking towards him, or attempting to say a word, but still obviously with no inclination to depart. Through the silence in the room he felt her sympathy, and he drew his chair up to the hearth, and sat by her. The summer night stillness was on all the house—a low sound of singing came from Miss Gillan’s room. The two young companions raised their heads to hear; then they turned to each other, and their glances met.
‘Oh, I’m so glad Nat does not come here,’ cried Alice, suddenly; ‘I can’t bear these people—I hate for ’em to be here.’
Her sudden passion might have astonished her companion, if his own thoughts had not entirely occupied him at the time; and if her words had not chimed suddenly and strangely with the vague suspicion that was weighing on his heart. He looked at her with an almost startled expression, but his surprise was due to his own thought, and not to hers.