I will go back
to the rick-yard, and lie under your window all night."
The idea of Tom, out on the cold ground, while she was warm in
bed, was too much for Letty's childish heart. Had she known Tom
better, she would not have been afraid: she would have known that
he would indeed do as he had said--so far; that he would lie down
under her window, and there remain, even to the very moment when
he began to feel miserable, and a moment longer, but not more
than two; that then he would get up, and, with a last look, start
home for bed.
"I will stop a little while, Tom," she offered, "if you will
promise to go home as soon as I leave you."
Tom promised.
They went wandering along the farm-lanes, and Tom made love to
her, as the phrase is--in his case, alas! a phrase only too
correct. I do not say, or wish understood, that he did not love
her--with such love as lay in the immediate power of his
development; but, being a sort of a poet, such as a man may be
who loves the form of beauty, but not the indwelling power of it,
that is, the truth, he _made_ love to her--fashioned forms
of love, and offered them to her; and she accepted them, and
found the words of them very dear and very lovely. For neither
had she got far enough, with all Godfrey's endeavors for her
development, to love aright the ring of the true gold, and
therefore was not able to distinguish the dull sound of the gilt
brass Tom offered her.
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