mother, poor mother!" exclaimed Jill.
She looked again at the letter and read the last sentence:
"_I 'as took all the money you has hoarded away in the old stocking. Iknow you won't grudge it_."
Jill clasped her hands to her head; it reeled; she thought she shouldhave fallen, but making a great effort, she tottered to a chair whichstood near and sat down.
For several minutes she could not realise what had happened. Then thesimple facts of the case came slowly home to her. The old stocking wasempty. The money which Jill had taken nearly eighteen months to save--penny by penny and sixpence by sixpence--had vanished. But that was notthe worst--that fact was bad, very bad, but it dwindled intoinsignificance beside the much more appalling fact that the five poundswhich belonged to Nat's pal had also disappeared. Nat, her lover, hadtrusted her with this money--he had feared to keep it himself--he hadbelieved it possible that some one might steal it, and he had given itto Jill for absolute security. She remembered, as she sat numbed andstill on that chair, into which she had thrown herself, the look inNat's eyes when he had spoken about giving her the money to keep safelyfor his pal.
The expression of trust, of confidence, of relief could not have beengreater on Nat's open, honest face had he taken that money to the Bankof England. Jill represented the Bank of England for trustworthiness,for security, to Nat.
"He trusted me," she moaned; "he trusted me. Oh, mother, mother! whatshall I do? Oh, mother, what have you done to the Jill whom you love?"
The poor girl felt that she could not keep still any longer.
By what possible means was she to get the money back? She must recoverit--she must rescue it before her mother had spent it all. She rose andwent hurriedly out. Her head was in a whirl, her usual dear judgmenthad, for the time, forsaken her. She, the upright, the respectableJill, was penniless; but that was not the worst--she felt herself, in ameasure, a thief, for through her Nat's money had vanished.
Going down-stairs she met old Mrs Stanley, who stopped her to utter apleasant "Good morning."
"What is it, Jill?" said the old woman, startled by the queer, strangelook on the girl's face. "What's the matter, dearie? You don't lookyourself."
"I'm a bit anxious," said Jill. "Mother's not quite well, and I--I'mgoing out. Ef any one calls and arsks arter me, you say as I'll maybe--be out all day, Mrs Stanley."
"Yes, my love, I'll say." The old woman looked at her longingly; wordscame to her lips which she felt a strange desire to utter. While shehesitated, however, Jill had run quickly down-stairs, and was lost toview.
Her empty basket hung on her arm. As she walked through the streets inthe early summer morning a neighbouring clock struck six. She was stillin very good time to get a supply of flowers for her basket. This wasthe height of the flower season. Flowers of all sorts were abundant andcheap. Jill was a regular customer too, and she knew more than oneflower merchant who would give her a good selection of flowers even ifshe were a little late in going to buy them.
She passed through the ugly neighbourhood of Drury Lane, and taking ashort cut for the Strand, found herself in Bedford Street.
She was close now to the market, and here she paused to consider whatshe should really do.
She had no money in her pocket, but this fact did not greatly troubleher, for she could easily go on tick for some flowers until thefollowing morning. There was more than one flower merchant who wouldgladly fill the pretty girl's basket for the sake of a smile, a shy"thank you," and a look of gratitude in those lovely dark eyes. Thefact that she was absolutely penniless was not, therefore, Jill'strouble.
No! she had something far more important to think over.
Should she waste time at all to-day trying to sell flowers? Would itnot be better for her to spend the long hours of this summer day lookingfor her mother? If she found her mother she could easily induce her togive back Nat's five sovereigns. As for her own savings, they were ofsmall consequence.
When she was about half-way up Bedford Street, Jill stood still tocarefully consider her plans.
A heavy blow had been dealt at her, dealt at her, too, when the radiantsun of happiness was shining through all her being. She had beenstunned for a little, but now her vigorous young brain was capable oncemore of taking in the whole situation.
She decided after a very brief pause that she would go to the market andbuy enough flowers to stock her basket with; she would then go to herusual stand outside the Metropolitan Railway Station and sell theflowers as quickly as possible. Thus she would provide herself with alittle ready money. She could pay back her debt for the flowers withpart of this money, and spend the rest of it in looking for her mother.
To-day was Friday, and Nat had told her that he was scarcely likely tosee her again before Saturday evening. She had, therefore, this muchbreathing time, either to recover the money, or to make up her mind whatto say to Nat.
When this definite plan of action made itself plain to her, her browcleared and she quickened her steps to reach the market. She soon foundherself under the great glass dome where the flowers were sold, and in amoment was standing by a stall waiting for her turn to be served.
The extreme bustle and movement of the market was almost at its heightwhen she arrived. An eager hum of busy voices pervaded the place. Themerchants were busy, not only selling their flowers, but eatingexcellent breakfasts of coffee, poached eggs, bacon, and otherdelicacies, which were supplied to them by waiters from neighbouringrestaurants.
The strong perfume of the flowers, and the heat, which, early as it was,was beginning to be felt through the glass roof, would have made theplace almost intolerable to any one less acclimatised to this sort ofthing than Jill.
Some of the flower girls looked already spent and tired. They were, forthe most part, an unkempt-looking lot, their hair untidy, their dressexhibiting the extreme of dowdiness; the shabbiest hats adorned theirrough heads; old shawls, greasy with wear, and dull from long exposureto weather, protected their ample shoulders. Their dresses were almostragged, their feet slipshod and untidy.
Youth was a misnomer for most of them, and beauty was not to be found intheir ranks. They knew good flowers, however, and chaffered eagerly,and conducted their marketing on the most approved business principles.
Jill was such a contrast to the other flower girls--her beauty was soremarkable, her dress so picturesque as she stood under one of the bigpalm-trees, that she resembled a tropical flower herself. She waslooked at with envy by one or two of the girls, and with markedadmiration by several young costermongers, who would have given a gooddeal for a nod or smile from so lovely a girl.
As a rule she had a pleasant, friendly way with her, never allowingfamiliarities, but taking good-natured badinage and jest in the spiritin which they were meant.
To-day, however, she saw none of the faces, heard none of the comments,returned none of the murmured greetings.
She waited for her turn to be served, as motionless almost as a statue,and it was not until a rather rough voice sounded in her ears that sheawoke to the full difficulties of her present position.
"Can I sarve you, miss?" said a flower merchant. "I 'as got somebeautiful rose-buds this morning, and a great supply of water-lilies.You come and see 'em, they're just your style."
This flower merchant's name was Silas Lynn. He was a heavy-built man,with a powerful face, a rough shock of hair, and small, deeply set eyes.His mouth was coarse, his hands and feet enormous. He owned a cottageand a couple of acres of ground in Kent, and brought his flowers andfruit daily to the market, transacting all his business himself, andallowing no middleman to interfere with him.
Silas had a voice which exactly matched his appearance. It was so roughand harsh that it absolutely militated against his business; the moretimid of the flower girls preferring to carry their pence and shillingsto quarters where they would be sure of civil treatment.
One or two people who knew him very well indeed, made the queer
remark,however, that Silas when bending over his favourite flowers had beenheard to speak softly; that when he lifted the young leaves, and lookedinto the lovely blossoms, a mild sort of tender sunshine would suffusehis rough face.
These reports of him had been whispered by a few, but they were notgenerally believed. He was strictly honest, sober, industrious, buthard as a nail; a man who looked for no quarter, and gave none.
This he fully believed to be his own character, and his neighbours andfriends supported him in the belief. It was from this man, however,that Jill had resolved to ask a favour.
When he desired her to come and look at his lilies, she went quietlywith him to a back part of his stall, where the great, white waxy lilieswere lying in a tank which he had provided for the purpose.
"I has had a good morning's work," said Silas, rubbing his hands, andturning aside for a moment to