Hugh Owen would not have been over-pleased could he have heard them discussing his private feelings after this fashion; but, luckily for him, he did not hear them. It is lucky for all of us when we do not hear what our neighbours say of us behind our backs. We should not have an acquaintance left in the world if we did. But the young minister went on his way, little dreaming that anyone guessed the sweet, sacred hope which he was cherishing in his heart of hearts, and which he only waited for Nell’s complete convalescence to confide to her. The time for doing so arrived (for him) only too soon, and often afterwards he wished he had been content to nurse his love for her in secret.
It was one day when she was downstairs again, looking so much older since her illness that people who had only known her in London would hardly have recognised her, that Hugh asked Nell if she would grant him an hour’s conversation. Even then she did not think the request was made for more than friendship, for she had spoken to Hugh Owen of her desire to train herself for better things than farm work, that she might be able, perhaps, to keep a comfortable home for her parents when they were past labour. This appeared to Nell the only ambition that could give her any interest in life again—the idea that she would repay in some measure her father’s and mother’s great love for her. Hugh might have thought of something, or heard of something, so she granted him the interview he asked for gladly, and received him with a kind smile and an outstretched hand, which he grasped eagerly and detained long.
‘You are quite well again now, Nell,’ he said, as he looked into her face, which was still so beautiful, though pale and worn.
‘Yes, quite well, Hugh, thank you,’ she replied. ‘I walked across the Park this morning to see Sir Archibald’s old housekeeper, Mrs Hody, and had quite a long chat with her. The family is not coming down for Christmas this year, she tells me, but have put it off till the cub-hunting begins, and then the Hall will be full. She gave me a clutch of golden pheasants’ eggs. I am going to set them under one of our hens. Don’t you like golden pheasants, Hugh? I think they are such lovely creatures.’
‘I like and admire all God’s creatures, Nell, and cannot understand anyone doing otherwise. I well remember your love for animals as a child, and how you smacked my face once for putting your kitten up on the roof of the stable, where she couldn’t get down.’
‘Did I? That was very rude. But I’m afraid, from what I can remember, that I always treated you rather badly, poor Hugh, and encroached upon your kindness to me. You have always been kind to me, and lately most of all. Mother believes I owe my life to you.’
‘No, no, Nell, you owe it to the dear God, Who would not see us all plunged into despair by your loss—I most of all. But if you really think you owe me ever so little, you can return it a hundredfold, if you will.’
Nell turned towards him eagerly.
‘Oh, Hugh, how? Tell me, and I will do it. Don’t think I have so many friends that I can afford to undervalue your friendship. I have very few friends, Hugh—very, very few,’ said the girl, with a quivering lip.
‘How can you repay me?’ repeated the young man, musingly. ‘Is it possible you do not guess? Nell, do you know, have you ever thought why I lead such a lonely life, why I have not married like Will? My brother is five years younger than myself, and most of the lads in Usk are thinking of getting a wife as soon as they can make their pound or thirty shillings a week. I make four times that as a minister, Nell, and most girls would think me well able to keep them in comfort and respectability. Yet I have never given a thought to one of them—why?’