“You know how ill he is,” he said, with a little shudder. “It must be selfish to be happy. I had almost forgotten about poor Will.”
“Oh, no, no,” cried Nelly; “we must not forget about him; he could never mean it—he would have come to himself one day. Oh, Mr. Hugh——”
“Don’t call me that,” cried the young man; “you say Will—why should I be different. Nelly? If I thought you cared for him more than for me——”
“Oh, hush!” said Nelly, “how can you think of such things when he is so ill, and Mrs. Ochterlony in such trouble. And besides, you are different,” she added hastily; and Hugh saw the quick crimson going up to her hair, over her white brow and her pretty neck, and again forgot Will, and everything else in the world.
“Nelly,” he said, “you must care for me most. I don’t mind about anything without that. I had rather be in poor Will’s place if you think of somebody else just the same as of me. Nelly, look here—there is nobody on earth that I can ever feel for as I feel for you.”
“Oh, Mr. Hugh!” cried Nelly. She had only one hand to do anything with, for he held the other fast, and she put that up to her eyes, to which the tears had come, though she did not very well know why.
“It is quite true,” cried the eager young man. “You may think I should not say it now; but Nelly, if there are ill news shall I not want you to comfort me? and if there are good news you will be as glad as I am. Oh, Nelly, don’t keep silent like that, and turn your head away—you know there is nobody in the world that loves you like me.”
“Oh, please don’t say any more just now,” said Nelly, through her tears. “When I think of poor Will who is perhaps—— And he and I were babies together; it is not right to be so happy when poor Will—— Yes, oh yes—another time I will not mind.”
And even then poor Nelly did not mind. They were both so young, and the sick boy was far away from them, not under their eyes as it were; and even whatever might happen, it could not be utter despair for Hugh and Nelly. They were selfish so far as they could not help being selfish—they had their moment of delight standing there under the faded roses, with the dead leaves dropping at their feet. Neither autumn nor any other chill—neither anxiety nor suspense, nor even the shadow of death could keep them asunder. Had not they the more need of each other if trouble was coming? That was Hugh’s philosophy, and Nelly’s heart could not say him nay.
But when that moment was over Aunt Agatha’s voice was heard calling from an upper window. “Hugh, Hugh!” the old lady called. “I see a man leaving the station with a letter in his hand—It is the man who brings the telegraph—Oh, Hugh, my dear boy!”