'What had brought it about?'—she asked herself. And she asked it with a desperate will, determined to probe her own sin to the utmost. 'Soft living!'—was her own reply—moral and physical indolence. The pleasure of being petted and spoiled, the readiness to let others work for her, and think for her, what people called her 'sweetness!' She turned upon it with a burning hatred and contempt. She would scourge it out of herself. And then perhaps some day she would be able to think of George's last faint words with something else than remorseful anguish— love you, sweetheart!—I love you, sweetheart!'
During the three weeks, however, that she was with Hester, she was very silent. She clung to Hester without words, and with much less than her usual caressingness. She found—it was evident—a certain comfort in solitary walks, in the simple talk of Mrs. Tyson, and 'Father Time,' who came to see her, and scolded her for her pale cheeks with a disrespectful vigour which brought actually a smile to her eyes. Tommy was brought over to see her; and she sat beside him, while he lay on the floor drawing Hoons and Haggans, at a great rate, and brimful of fresh adventures in 'Jupe.' But he was soon conscious that his old playfellow was not the listener she had been; and he presently stole away with a wistful look at her.
One evening early in December, Hester coming in from marketing in Ambleside, found Nelly, sitting by the fire, a book open on her knee, so absorbed in thought that she had not heard her friend's entrance. Yet her lips seemed to be moving. Hester came softly, and knelt down beside her.
'Darling, I have been such a long time away!'
Nelly drew a deep breath.
'Oh, no I—I—I've been thinking,'
Hester looked at the open book, and saw that it was 'The Letters of St. Ignatius'—a cheap copy, belonging to a popular theological 'Library,' she herself had lately bought.
'Did that interest you, Nelly?' she asked, wondering.
'Some of it'—said Nelly, flushing a little. And after a moment's hesitation, she pointed to a passage under her hand:—'For I fear your love, lest it injure me, for it is easy to do what you will; but it is difficult for me to attain unto God, if ye insist on sparing me.'
And suddenly Hester remembered that before going out she had entreated Nelly to give herself another fortnight's rest before going to Manchester. It would then be only six weeks since her husband's death. 'And if you break down, dear,'—she had ventured—'it won't only be trouble to you—but to them '—meaning the hospital authorities. Whereupon for the first time since her return, Nelly's eyes had filled with tears. But she made no reply, and Hester had gone away uneasy.