Jenny: A Village Idyl

by M. A. Curtois

Tim felt his heart throb, and a lump rose in his throat; he did not say a word, but he held out his hand to her. Her left hand was the nearest; and, taking hold of it, his eyes caught sight of the gleam of her wedding-ring. As he started, he knew that she had observed his glance. Very gently she tried to draw away her hand, but he held it tightly, though he did not look at her.

‘Annie—Annie?’ the words sounded like a cry; they were an appeal, a question that he could not express otherwise. She did not attempt now to release her hand, but she put up her other hand and veiled her eyes.

‘Do they talk much of me .... in the village?’ she whispered; and he could see that slow tears were falling down her face. He could not answer otherwise than by his silence; no words seemed gentle enough to express what that silence meant.

‘They say I’m a bad girl .... they say I’ve shamed my mother .... I know they say so, though mother will not tell me so .... They willent forget as they found me o’ the door-step; I shall never have any credit here again.’

‘Annie, tell me you’ve done no wrong,’ cried Tim, with a sudden effort, which expressed itself first by a convulsive gulp; ‘I wouldn’t find fault wi’ you, whatever you told to me; but I’ll believe you if you say you’re not to blame.’ His words had the agony of a final effort—he still kept her fingers within his own; but his eyes had become afraid to look at her face. In the instant of silence that followed he was afraid that he might burst out into some violence of tears.

Perhaps Annie perceived his emotion and wished to comfort him; at any rate it appeared as if she had made up her mind. She pressed his hand softly with the fingers that it held, and drew the fore-finger of her right hand across her wedding-ring. It was a little action, but it seemed significant; when she saw that he had observed her she raised her dark eyes, and smiled. And then, after she had drawn away her fingers from his clasp, she laid them softly within his hand again. Reassured, though not knowing why he felt more at ease, he clasped them firmly, and there was silence for a while.

‘Tim,’ whispered Annie at last, with her face turned away .... ‘I should like to tell ye .... if I could, if I only could .... ye don’t know, maybe .... there’s times when one must be silent .... that is, if there’s any one as one loves better than onesel’ .... I didn’t think so that night when I came back; I was angry; I was mad, I didn’t know what I did. But I think so now, I can’t help thinking so .... He said if I wouldn’t speak it would all come right at last; and I was angered, and I went away from him .... But I won’t speak now; I’ll do that for him at least .... I keep on waiting till it is as he said .... the talk’s hard to bear, but I’ll bear that for him ....’

Again after a while, with her face still more turned away, so that the burning glow was only just visible on her cheek .... ‘It’s not all .... I can’t tell ye .... there’s a new trouble coming .... I was thinking of it at the moment when ye came.’

With a renewed effort she turned round her face; he could see the dark, tear-flooded eyes she bent on him. For a moment only; his own filled fast with tears, and all became dim, so that he could not see her face.

‘I’m not a bad girl, Tim,’ Annie whispered, softly; ‘I’m not all unworthy of your goodness to me .... I thought I wouldn’t be able to speak to ye again; but I’m pleased to have seen ye this once, though everything is altered now .... Tim, I don’t belong here, only for this while of trouble .... but I’m glad I can wish ye good-bye before I go.’ She drew closer to him; he held her in his arms; for one instant their faces touched, both of them wet with tears; then, as if that embrace were some final leave-taking, he got up, mutely, and at once prepared to depart. At the door-way he paused, and looked back on her; she stood leaning against the mantel-piece, and smiled on him. That vision of her pale face, and of the smile in her dark eyes, remained in his mind as he went out into the night. But it was as the vision that accompanies the wanderer when he knows that to its reality he will not return again.