It caan't be no gert length o' time now. I s'pose days
go quicker up Lunnon town than wi' us."
"Joan, my dovey, 'tis idle. Even I sees it now. I did think wi' you fust as
he was a true man. I caan't no more. I wish I could."
A month before Joan would have flashed into anger at such a speech as this,
but now she did not answer. Young love is fertile in imagination. She had
found a thousand glories in John Barren, and, when he left her, had woven a
thousand explanations for his delayed return. Now invention grew dull;
enthusiasm waned; her confidence was shaken, though she denied the fact
even to herself as a sort of treachery. But there is no standing still in
time. The remorseless fact of his non-return extended over weeks and
months.
Mr. Chirgwin saw her silence, noted the little quiver of her mouth as he
declared his own loss of faith, stroked the hand she thrust dumbly into his
and felt her silence hurt his heart.
Presently Joan spoke.
"I've got none to b'lieve in en no more then--not wan now, not even you.
Whiles you stuck up for en I felt braave 'bout his comin'; now--now Mister
Jan have awnly got me to say a word for en. An' you doan't think he'm a
true man no more then, uncle?"
"Lassie, I wish to God as I did. Time's time. Why ban't he here?"
"I doan't dare think this is the end. I'm feared to look forrard now. If
it do wance come 'pon me as he've gone 'twill drive me mad, I knaws.
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