"Oh I wish I could keep it from you!" said Fleda bursting into tears.
He was still a moment, and then bringing her to the arm-chair made her sit down, and stood himself before her, silently waiting, perhaps because he could not speak, perhaps from the accustomed gentle endurance of his nature. But Fleda was speechless too.
"You are keeping me in distress," he said at length.
"I cannot end the distress, dear Hugh," said Fleda.
She saw him change colour and he stood motionless still.
"Do you remember," said Fleda, trembling even to her voice,--"what Rutherford says about Providence 'not running on broken wheels'?"
He gave her no answer but the intent look of expectation. Its intentness paralyzed Fleda. She did not know how to go on. She rose from her chair and hung upon his shoulder.
"Believe it now, if you can--for oh, dear Hugh!--we have something to try it."
"It is strange my father don't come home," said he, supporting her with tenderness which had very little strength to help it,--"we want him very much."
Whether or not any unacknowledged feeling prompted this remark, some slight involuntary movement of Fleda's made him ask suddenly,