whole story of Willy, so far as he knew it, repeated itself in his mind in a series of little bright pictures; and behind these pictures moved the drama, as Eggâs fancy conceived it, of Willyâs love story, beginning with that critical Sunday morning when a translated Jinny Randall walked up the aisle of the church, and ending with the secret passionate farewells of lovers who were never to meet again. Between that first scene and this last there came numerous homely memories that for Egg were more significant: of Willy, red-facedand eager-eyed, earnestly polishing his boots and gaiters before setting out to pay his respects to Jinny; of Willy plastering down his hair with water in front of the bedroom mirror; of one evening especially when Willy swore wild oathsâall but weptâbecause at the last moment his braces broke; and of Willy plucking at oneâs sleeve in church, generously ready, naively eager, to share the ecstasy of seeing Jinny first appear. These visions flashed by, these echoes sounded, and- Arenât you ashamed of yourself, miss! Enticing my poor boy. Sly tricks. Sent him to his death. No better than a whore, as Godâs my judge ⦠Such fragments as these he found recently written on his mind, and coming upon the vilest of them he suddenlyâminutes after the words had been spoken âbroke out with a passionate cry:
âMother! Mother!â
Mrs Pandervil turned on him quicklyâin anger, maybe, but still more in surprise. Her eyes pierced a question at him.
âMother, youâve said enough. Youâve said too much. I think ⦠I think youâve lost your senses.â
âHold your tongue, child! How dare you speak to your mother so!â
Egg heard himself shouting: âIâm not a child and I wonât hold my tongue. Willy promised Iâd stand by her, and I will. Sheâs not what you say.â He moved half-blindly towards the girl and held out a hand to her. âCome along. Iâll take you back home.â
Staring dazedly up at him, Jinny answered: âI canât go home. I darenât. Theyâve turned me out.â She rose slowly to her feet. âBut of course I canât stay here either.â
âNo, that you canât,â declared Mrs Pandervil. âThe very idea!â
Egg detected a subtle change in his motherâs voice, but he could not spare eyes for her, being vigilant to see any new sign on the face of Jinny. And, indeed, at that very moment, a spasm of pain twisted the girlâs lips, blanched her cheeks, made her dark eloquent eyes stare wildly like those of a tortured animal. She swayed, and, stretching out a hand to steady herself, fell into Eggâs arms.
âSheâs fainted,â gasped the boy.
Mrs Pandervil opened the door. âWe must carry her upstairs, to Flisherâs room. Ah, the disgrace of it! The wickedness!â
âIâm not fainted,â murmured Jinny. âI can walk. Let me go.â
She leaned heavily on Eggâs arm; Mrs Pandervil supported her on the other side. âPoor deary, the pains are on her. Steady now, and weâll put you to bed.â
âLet me carry her, Mother. Sheâs no weight.â
He lifted the girl from the ground, and with her arms clinging round his neck he felt Willyâs strength flowing in his veins and rippling in his muscles. The burden was a heavy one, but he supported it with ease, his mind fixed on the task yet able to afford hospitality still to all manner of random thoughts. His step was confident, careful;his heart joyous. Jinny, her head sinking on his shoulder, moaned in pain; but he mounted the stairs exultantly, conscious of his mother hovering in the rear, and half-conscious of the fancy that it was Willy himself he was carrying in his arms. When, after a long journey, a crowded little interval of time, he at last laid down his precious burden on the bed, he heard the voice of Mrs
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