Nell made no answer; she seemed not to understand the question.
“How many days, do you think?”
“Days?” repeated Nell, as though the word had no meaning for her, and she shook her head to signify entire want of comprehension.
Madge took her hand, and stroked it caressingly. “How old are you, my lassie?” she asked, smiling kindly at her.
Nell shook her head again.
“Yes, yes,” continued Madge, “how many years old?”
“Years?” replied Nell. She seemed to understand that word no better than days! Simon, Harry, Jack, and the rest, looked on with an air of mingled compassion, wonder, and sympathy. The state of this poor thing, clothed in a miserable garment of coarse woolen stuff, seemed to impress them painfully.
Harry, more than all the rest, seemed attracted by the very peculiarity of this poor stranger. He drew near, took Nell’s hand from his mother, and looked directly at her, while something like a smile curved her lip. “Nell,” he said, “Nell, away down there—in the mine—were you all alone?”
“Alone! alone!” cried the girl, raising herself hastily. Her features expressed terror; her eyes, which had appeared to soften as Harry looked at her, became quite wild again. “Alone!” repeated she, “alone!”—and she fell back on the bed, as though deprived of all strength.
“The poor bairn is too weak to speak to us,” said Madge, when she had adjusted the pillows. “After a good rest, and a little more food, she will be stronger. Come away, Simon and Harry, and all the rest of you, and let her go to sleep.” So Nell was left alone, and in a very few minutes slept profoundly.