“Because I am silly and weak, my little one. I am forgetting that there is a good and just God over me, who will hear my prayers and help me, as He before did, when I was alone on the wide sea.”
He said this aloud, but spoke rather to himself than to the child.
“Dod loves Nelly,” said the little thing, “and Nelly loves ’oo. Nelly kiss ’oo.”
That was all the comfort she could give him; but it fell tenderly on his ear. He kissed her gratefully, rocking her gently to and fro in his arms with his eyes on her face. She soon, however, rebelled against an attitude which crippled her limbs, and slipped on to the floor, and to amuse her he gave her a book with pictures in it, which she examined gravely, talking to herself as little children and aged people do.
In this manner the afternoon passed; but never was Holdsworth more depressed, more restless, filled with more nameless anxieties and misgivings.
Apart from all moral considerations, his future was terribly uncertain.
Suppose the Conways left the town? He must follow them, for he could not bear the separation; and what would they think of his pursuit? Suppose all his efforts to obtain a living failed, what should he do?
At five o’clock Mrs. Parrot came in to put on Nelly’s hat: that was the regular hour at which the little girl was sent home by Holdsworth.
“My apron is dirty,” said the worthy woman, “so I’ll not go across with you, my dear. But I’ll watch from the porch until I see you safe in.”
So, receiving a kiss and a piece of gingerbread from Holdsworth, the child toddled into the road, and when she was inside the gate, where her mother would see her, Mrs. Parrot closed the door and went back to her ironing in the kitchen.