hile Alice seemed almost as much wrought upon as he.

He looked around as if in expectation of seeing Harry Briarfield, but
Harry was nowhere present. What did it mean?

Afterwards Tom wondered at his temerity; wondered that he should dare
to speak to her at all. But some power which was stronger than himself
compelled him to do so. He held out his hand to her.

"How are you, Alice?" he said.

Alice gave him her hand, but did not reply, save that her fingers
trembled in his.

A thousand hopes, fancies, and fears flashed through his mind and
heart; then Alice shyly lifted her eyes to his.

"May I walk home with you, Alice?" he stammered.

"Yes, if you will, Tom," and the two walked away, side by side.

They walked up Liverpool Road together for some time without speaking a
word. On every side the crowd passed them, but Tom did not heed, his
heart was too full for words, his mind too occupied with wild,
turbulent fancies. Presently they passed into a quiet lane where they
were apparently alone.

"Alice," said Tom at length, "I'm fair ashamed of myself, I--I'm just
a----"

"No," and Alice interrupted him, "you are a hero, Tom, you have done
wonderful things."

"Ah, but that is nothing," was Tom's reply, "I could not help doing
that, no decent lad could. But the other now--ay, Alice, I am ashamed
of myself. I was such a fool too!"

Alice did not speak; perhaps she was delighted at Tom's
self-condemnation, or perhaps, which was more likely, she was eagerly
waiting for him to say more.

"Is it true what mother told me?" he asked, after what seemed a long
silence.

"What did she tell you?"

"That you are engaged to Harry Briarfield."

"No!" replied the girl eagerly, "I never was!"

"Then is it that young parson?"

"No, Tom; who could have told you such lies?"

Lancashire people are very undemonstrative in their love-making, as in
most of their things, and although Tom was nearly swept off his feet
with joy at what Alice had said, he still walked on by her side
quietly, and for some seconds did not speak again.

"I never really cared about Polly Powell," he said presently, "even at
the time I--I----"

"I knew, Tom," and the girl almost sobbed as she spoke, "I knew all the
time you could never really care for her, and--and that you would come
back to me. That was why----"

"Why what?" asked Tom.

"Why there was never anybody else but you, Tom."

"Do you mean it, Alice? do you really mean