When Silas returned to the cottage late that evening, he found Jonathan
waiting for him with an expectant expression on his face.
"I ha' redd up the whole place, master," he said, "and brushed the path
from the wicket up to the porch and I ha' watered the flowers, and I
think there ain't nothink more to be done. Everythink is quite ready.
I thought as you'd like me to put the place in order, seeing as you was
late in comin' home, master."
"It's all right, Jonathan," said Silas in a gentle voice.
"Maybe as you'd like to look round, and see how I ha' done it for
yourself, master?"
"No, no, Jonathan, it's safe to be all right; you can go home now,
you're a good lad, and yere's half-a-crown for yer." Jonathan pulled
his forelock in acknowledgment of this bounty and turned to leave the
little flower farm. As he was walking down the path Lynn called after
him. "I s'pose," he said, "that Henry Best wor round to see arter the
packing of the waggon."
"Yes, master, it's all ready, and Best'll start the horses to market at
one o'clock in the morning."
"You call at his cottage," said Lynn, "and tell him as I'll be taking a
seat into town with him."
"You, master." Jonathan opened his wide mouth in amazement. "Why, I
_thought_--"
"Never mind what yer thought," thundered Lynn after him, "do as yer're
_told_, and make yerself scarce." Jonathan quickened his steps, and
Lynn very slowly entered the little cottage. A great many changes had
taken place in the dingy room which acted both as kitchen and parlour.
There was plenty of daylight still, and Lynn looked round at all his
preparations. The two small lattice windows had been subjected to such
an ordeal of soap and water, that each tiny pane shone in the evening
light like a jewel. There was a clean new dimity curtain hung up before
each window. The walls of the room had received a fresh coat of colour
wash, the floor was nearly covered by the large gaily-striped rug which
had called forth Aunt Hannah's indignation, the new mahogany table gave
a solid and handsome appearance to the centre of the room, the new cane
chair, with a striped grey and red tidy thrown over its back, had an
inviting appearance. The little china cupboard, too, had been put up on
the wall, and the gold and white china with the blue convolvulus pattern
had been so arranged within it as to show to the best possible
advantage. The old arm-chair in which Lynn's mother had lived and died
still kept its solemn position by the hearth. It was a high-backed
chair with a shallow seat; it had a hard Puritanical look about it, and
seemed to Lynn's excited imagination now to frown at the gay new things
which were brought for the bonny girl-bride who was to take possession
of the little home to-morrow.
"Ah! it's a blow," murmured Lynn, seating himself on the edge of a plain
deal chair, and looking round the room. "I ha' got to make the best of
it, but it's an awful blow. Jill'll marry me of course ef I'll have
her, but the question is this, shall I have her? I has got to settle
that pint atween myself and the Lord God Almighty to-night." Some bread
and cheese was ready in the cupboard for Lynn's supper, the cupboard
door stood partly open, and he could see the brown loaf and the cheese
from where he sat. He had eaten nothing since the morning, but the
sight of food in his present state turned the strong man sick; he rose,
and going to little cupboard shut the door and turned the key in the
lock. "I thought as the Lord had given over a-chastening o' me," he
said, "I wor mistook. Oh, this yere's an awful blow. I can take that
young gel to wife to-morrow, but her 'eart won't be mine, her 'eart'll
be another's. Oh, this yere is a blow. Lord God, it seems kind o'
cruel that I should jest have had such a short bit of happiness, and
then for it all to go. Now shall I read my Bible to-night or shall I
not?"
Lynn paced up and down the tiny cottage while he thought. The sun set
in the heavens, and the summer twilight, which could scarcely be called
darkness, set in. He did not light his lamp nor draw his curtains; the
darkness, which was not quite darkness after all, soothed him; he found
it easier to face the great problem which had come to him in the dim
uncertain light. Jill was quite ready to marry him--should he marry her
and say nothing about what he knew? He loved her so intensely that he
felt almost positive of his power to make her happy, he would give up
his whole life to her, she should mould him and direct him, she should
guide him with her gentle little hands. It would be impossible for her
to be unhappy living among the sweet flowers in his garden, and
surrounded by his great, mighty love.
"Yes, I love her fit to die for her," he muttered. As he said these
words, a thought swept over him, like a flash; he remembered a certain
verse in the old Bible, "_Greater love hath no man than this, that a man
lay down his life for his friends_."
"My God," he exclaimed aloud, "it's easy to _say_ as I'd die fur Jill,
but it's hard, hard to do it. I can take her to-morrow for better for
worse, and _live for her_, but that ain't the pint. Seems to me as the
Lord wants to prove my love for that little Jill by a sort of being
crucified for her. I'm to give up myself and give her to another. Is
that what I has got to do, Lord? To kill my pleasure and my 'appiness,
is that the way I'm to show my love for little Jill?"
"_Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for
his friends_." The words seemed to echo through the silent room, as if
they fell from the skies. Silas staggered to the window, pulled the
lattice pane open, flung himself on his knees, and looked up at the
summer sky. "It's bitter, bitter hard, Lord," he muttered.
He was not comforted by any thought of the nobleness of the sacrifice.
He grovelled on the ground, and clenched his hands and tore his hair.
"I can't do it, I can't do it, I won't do it," he muttered, but these
words of defiance came at longer and longer intervals. The quiet,
persistent voice kept on sounding in his ears, "_Greater love--greater
love hath no man_." He could not bear the sound at last, he pressed his
hands to his ears and ran out of the cottage.