"What should I have done all these years?--or any of us? How you have tired yourself for everybody--in the garden and in the kitchen and with Earl Douglass--how we could let you I don't know, but I believe we could not help it."
Fleda put her hand upon his mouth. But he took it away and went on--
"How often I have seen you sleeping all the evening on the sofa with a pale face, tired out--Dear Fleda," said he kissing her cheek, "I am glad there's to be an end put to it. And all the day you went about with such a bright face that it made mother and me happy to look at you; and I knew then, many a time, it was for our sakes--
"Why do you cry so, Fleda? I like to think of it, and to talk of it, now that I know you won't do so any more. I knew the whole truth, and it went to the bottom of my heart; but I could do nothing but love you--I did that!--Don't cry so, Fleda!--you ought not.--You have been the sunshine of the house. My spirit never was so strong as yours; I should have been borne to the ground, I know, in all these years, if it had not been for you; and mother--you have been her life."
"You have been tired too," Fleda whispered.
"Yes at the saw-mill. And then you would come up there through the sun to look at me, and your smile would make me forget everything sorrowful for the rest of the day--except that I couldn't help you."
"Oh you did--you did--you helped me always, Hugh."
"Not much. I couldn't help you when you were sewing for me and father till your fingers and eyes were aching, and you never would own that you were anything but 'a little' tired--it made my heart ache. Oh I knew it all, dear Fleda.--I am very, very glad that you will have somebody to take care of you now that will not let you burn your fingers for him or anybody else. It makes me happy!"
"You make me very unhappy, dear Hugh."
"I don't mean it," said Hugh tenderly. "I don't believe there is anybody else in the world that I could be so satisfied to leave you with."