"Upon my word, I think you are about as good reason as anybody need have," said Charlton.
She put her hand upon his arm, and looked up such a look of pure rebuke, as carried to his mind the full force of the words she did not speak, "Who art thou that carest for a worm which shall die, and forgettest the Lord thy Maker!" Charlton's eyes fell. Fleda turned gently away, and began to mend the fire. He stood watching her for a little.
"What do you think of me, Fleda?" he said at length.
"A little wrong-headed," answered Fleda, giving him a glance and a smile. "I don't think you are very bad."
"If you will go with me, Fleda, you shall make what you please of me."
He spoke half in jest, half in earnest, and did not himself know at the moment which way he wished Fleda to take it. But she had no notion of any depth in his words.
"A hopeless task!" she answered, lightly, shaking her head, as she got down on her knees to blow the fire; "I am afraid it is too much for me. I have been trying to mend you ever since you came, and I cannot see the slightest change for the better."
"Where is the bellows?" said Charlton, in another tone.
"It has expired its last breath," said Fleda. "In other words, it has lost its nose."
"Well, look here," said he, laughing and pulling her away "you will stand a fair chance of losing your face if you put it in the fire. You sha'n't do it. Come and show me where to find the scattered parts of that old wind instrument, and I will see if it cannot be persuaded to play again."