"I know it, aunt Miriam."
"Then don't cry," whispered aunt Miriam, when she had stroked Fleda's head for five minutes.
"I am crying for myself, aunt Miriam," said Fleda. "I shall be left alone."
"Alone, my dear child?"
"Yes--there is nobody but you that I feel I can talk to." She would have added that she dared not say a word to Hugh for fear of troubling him. But that pain at her heart stopped her, and pressing her hands together she burst into bitter weeping.
"Nobody to talk to but me?" said Mrs. Plumfield after again soothing her for some time,--"what do you mean, dear?"
"O--I can't say anything to them at home," said Fleda with a forced effort after voice;--"and you are the only one I can look to for help--Hugh never says anything--almost never--anything of that kind;--he would rather others should counsel him--"
"There is one friend to whom you may always tell everything, with no fear of wearying him,--of whom you may at all times ask counsel without any danger of being denied,--more dear, more precious, more rejoiced in, the more he is sought unto. Thou mayest lose friend after friend, and gain more than thou losest,--in that one."
"I know it," said Fleda;--"but dear aunt Miriam, don't you think human nature longs for some human sympathy and help too?"
"My sweet blossom!--yes--" said Mrs. Plumfield caressingly stroking her bowed head,--"but let him do what he will;--he hath said, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'"