Chapter 17 Jill: A Flower Girl by L. T. Meade
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.