“Poor little girl!” he answered, and patted her bright head; he had learnt something of the heart apart from its physiological formation during his long practice. “Poor little girl! standing still is very hard work, isn’t it? But all soldiers can’t fight at the same time, you know.
“‘Yours not to reason why,
Yours but to do or die.’
That’s not for sword-soldiers only, little girl.”
Poor Nellie! no punishment on earth could have been harder for her. To die—that would be quite easy, pleasant even; but to remain passive—oh! it needed greater courage than hers.
To go away, to leave the house, and not even venture past the gates again for weeks, not to see the little sweet sister upon whom her wilfulness alone had brought this suffering, not even to have the relief of spending her strength in nursing! To go away, and eat and sleep and pass the time doing [235] ]ordinary things, and trying to keep Bunty, and Poppet, and Peter comfortable and happy!
No one would ever know quite what it cost the girl, but it had to be done.
“Mayn’t I just see her for one minute, Meg?” she said, her courage failing her at the last minute.
It almost made Meg cry to see the utter despair and misery on her face, and to have to refuse her.
“Alan shall tell you every day how she is. Dear Nell, you know I dare not let you go into the room.”