He was so happy to see us—so like a child that fears to give pain by its own pleasure. I think Jessie took heart after the first few moments; and I could see the old lady watching her in secret, as if she thought that, unless she were only a beautiful piece of marble, she must be softened now.
"It was very selfish of me, Miss Jessie," he said, "to call you away from your amusements to visit a poor, sick fellow."
"I was very glad to come," she replied; "my mother is so anxious about you, she could not rest till some of us had been here."
"She is very kind," he said, with the touching smile of illness.
At last we fell to talking quite cheerfully. I did my best to prevent the restraint we were all under becoming perceptible; I dare say it was blunderingly done, but it succeeded tolerably well.
Bosworth made Jessie tell him all about her flowers—he was a great botanist—and I chimed in with the wonderful history of a nest of young birds I had found, and really made him laugh at my nonsense.
But he was weak, and soon grew weary,—I saw it, and made Jessie a sign to go.
"Not yet," he said, as we rose; "stay a while longer, please."
So we sat down again, but I saw by his eyes that his senses began to cloud a little.
"What is that hymn you sing, Miss Jessie?" he asked, suddenly; "it has been running in my head all the morning."