‘And so do I,’ said young Owen. ‘You’re looking bravely, Nell, considering what you’ve gone through. It’s been a sore time with you. Please God it may be the last.’
‘Mother tells me you’ve been very good to me through it all, Hugh,’ replied Nell, in a low voice, ‘and prayed for my recovery scores of times. You meant it kindly, I know, though perhaps whilst you were about it, it would have been better to have asked the Lord to let me go.’
Mrs Llewellyn, seeing Nell was in good hands, had wandered away after some of her household arrangements, and left them by themselves.
‘No, Nell, no; not whilst He has work for you to do here, and permits you to remain. Besides, think what a grief it would have been to your father and mother and sister—and to me, if you had died. We could not have easily filled your place, Nell. You mustn’t be sorry because you have been spared to make us happy. And why should you want to go so soon? You are young and beautiful—you don’t mind an old friend like me telling you that, do you?—and have all your life before you. It is unnatural that you should be loath to live. It can only be your extreme weakness that makes you say so.’
‘If you knew me better, Hugh, you would not talk like that. My life is past—not to come—and there seems nothing (that I can see) for me to do. I don’t want to look back, and the future is a blank—a dark, horrible uncertainty, in which I can discern no good in living. I shall help mother in the farmhouse work, of course, now I have come home, but it will not be any pleasure to me. It is so different from what I have been accustomed to, and when all’s said and done a dairymaid would do it far better than I. I have grown beyond it, in fact (though you mustn’t tell mother I said so for all the world), and so—and so—I think you are my friend, Hugh, and I tell you the truth—I would have much rather died.’
The young man looked distressed. He guessed there was more behind this statement than Nell would confess. But he replied to her appeal energetically.
‘Your friend, Nell. You may do more than think it. You may regard it as an undoubted fact. I only wish I could, or I dared make you understand how much I am your friend. And as for there being no work for you to do, except household drudgery, oh! if you will listen to me, I can tell you of glorious work that lies close to your hand—work that would bring you both peace and happiness. Will you let me show it you, dear Nell? Will you listen to me whilst I point it out to you?’
‘Another time, Hugh. Not just now, thank you, for my brain is still too weak to understand half I hear. When I am stronger, and able to take an interest in things again, you shall talk to me as much as you like, for I am very grateful to you for all your goodness to me, and shall be glad to return it in any way I can.’
So Hugh left her with a heart brimming over with content, and a great hope springing up in it for the future.