“Who can that be?” he thought, a strange feeling oppressing his heart. “It is not that scoundrel young Gaffin. No, no, she would not walk so quietly alongside him; but I don’t like it, that I don’t, though, as far as she is concerned, it’s all right; she would not do what is wrong, I am sure of that, and mother must know all about it.”
Jacob watched May and Harry as long as they were in sight, and then something like a groan broke from his bosom. After some time he entered the cottage. The information he gained from his mother did not make him much happier, for he could not believe that a young man such as his mother described Mr Harry could see May without falling in love with her; and if so! Poor Jacob groaned as he thought of what might be the consequence. He mechanically hurried over his dinner without appetite, and then, taking a basket, went off to the beach to collect some more shells, and to fetch some which he had deputed some fisher-boys living at a considerable distance along the coast to obtain for him. He felt more downcast than he had ever been in his life as he now began to realise the wide distance which existed between himself and May.
“Of course she is just like an angel of light to a poor rough chap like me; yet I love the very ground she treads on,” he murmured to himself, as he went on. “There’s not anything I would not do if she was to ask me, yet if I was to tell her so, I don’t know what she would say; it would not make her angry, it would frighten her though, I am afraid, and maybe she would be very sorry, and tell me I must not think of such a thing. Of course she would. I wish I had never been born,” and Jacob felt as if he could have thrown himself down on the sand and cried his big, honest heart out. Though the struggle was a rough one, he overcame his feelings for the moment, and trudged on.
“I said I would get some shells for her and the ladies, and I will; and if I do but have a sight of her but for a moment it is recompense enough.”
Jacob went on collecting shells on the way, till he reached the furthest point to which he intended to go, where he met the lads who had collected a good supply. He was returning pretty heavily laden under the cliffs when, weary with his walk, he sat down on a bank of sand thrown up by the tide, placing his basket by his side. Thoughts such as seldom troubled him were passing through his mind when he saw a man approaching him from the direction of Hurlston. As the stranger drew near he recognised Miles Gaffin.
The miller coming up to him slapped him on the shoulder and sat down close to him, and in the frank hearty tone he often assumed, said—
“How fares it with you, Jacob? Why, lad, you look somewhat out of sorts.”
“Do I, Mr Gaffin? It’s more than I wish to do then,” answered Jacob, who had no desire to enter into conversation with the miller.
“Perhaps I know the reason why you are not as happy as you would wish to be,” said Gaffin, fixing his eyes on the young man’s face. “There is a pretty girl in the case whom you thought you would like to make your wife.”
“Every man’s thoughts are his own, Mr Gaffin,” answered Jacob, “and I do not see how you can know mine more than I can know yours.”