‘Isn’t it funny to be sitting amongst you all again? I feel as if I had never left home. Ah, it’s a long time ago, isn’t it, mother? a long, weary while. But it’s over now, thank God, over for good and all. I mean to stay at dear Panty-cuckoo Farm for the rest of my life, and look after the dairy and the baking and the washing, and let dear mother sit down and rest. You’ll think I’ve forgotten all about it, mother, but you’ll find you’re mistaken. In two or three days, I shall have forgotten that I ever left Usk, and be as good a farm maid as ever.’
‘Oh, Nell, my girl, you know how glad I shall be to have your help, but what made you think of coming home to give it me? I’m fairly puzzled what put it in your mind. Hetty understood you weren’t likely to get leave for a long time to come.’
‘What put it in my mind?’ repeated Nell, with a repetition of her shrill laugh. ‘Why, Hetty to be sure. She drew such a pitiful picture of mother, left without a daughter to help in her dairy work, that I couldn’t resist the temptation to run home and give you all a surprise. Aren’t you glad to see me, father? Your bonnie girl, as you used to call me. I remember you were vexed enough when I decided to go out to service. You threatened to lock me up on bread and water.’
‘Glad to have you back, lass? Ay, more glad than I can say. But I confess you’ve taken us rather by surprise. What did your master say to your leaving him in such a hurry? Wasn’t he a bit put out? Hetty said he had left you in charge of the house.’
Nell flushed suddenly like a scarlet rose.
‘So he did, but he’s altered his plans, and isn’t coming home now for a long time. And so, as a servant isn’t a slave, I’ve given him warning. He told me in his last letter I could leave London when I liked, and I liked to do so now—now, at once. I couldn’t stay. I wanted my mother. I wanted Panty-cuckoo Farm. I wanted you all—and rest, rest!’
She uttered the last words almost like a sigh. As they escaped her lips she turned and caught Hugh Owen’s eyes fixed on her. Nell threw back her head defiantly, as though she dared him to guess at anything she thought or felt.
‘Rest,’ said Mrs Llewellyn sympathisingly, ‘of course you want rest, my poor child, and you shall have it here. They’ve worked you too hard in London. I was afraid of it when I heard what Hetty had to tell me about you. But you shall rest now, my bonnie lass, you shall rest now!’
CHAPTER VIII.
Farmer Owen was considered quite a proficient on the violin in Usk, and as soon as the party, with the exception of Nell, had discussed the good things provided for them, he drew his instrument from its green baize case, and proceeded to play a plaintive ballad. His friends listened with respectful attention, but the melancholy strain was too much for Nell’s over-strung nerves.