If careful tending could have done Paul good he would soon have got well. The old dame seemed to require no sleep, and she would scarcely let either of her grandchildren take her place even for a few minutes. Though she generally went marketing, rather than leave her charge she sent Michael and Nelly to buy bread and other necessaries at the nearest village, which was, however, at some distance.
The rain had ceased, but the wind blew strong over the wild moor.
“I am afraid father is going to be very ill,” observed Michael. “He seemed to think something was going to happen to him when he told me what I did not know before about myself. Have you heard anything about it, Nelly?”
“What is it?” asked Nelly; “till you tell me I cannot say.”
“You’ve always thought that I was your brother, Nelly, haven’t you?”
“As to that, I have always loved you as a brother, and whether one or no, that should not make you unhappy. Has father said anything to you about it?”
“Yes. He said that I was not your brother; and he has told me all about my father and mother: how my father was drowned, and my mother died of a broken heart. I could well-nigh have cried when I heard the tale.”
Nelly looked up into Michael’s face.
“It’s no news to me,” she said. “Granny told me of it some time ago, but I begged her not to let you find it out lest it should make you unhappy, and you should fancy we were not going to love you as much as we have always done. But, Michael, don’t go and fancy that; though you are not my brother, I will love you as much as ever, as long as you live: for, except father and granny, I have no friend but you in the world.”
“I will be your brother and your true friend as long as I live, Nelly,” responded Michael; “still I would rather have thought myself to be your brother, that I might have a better right to work for you, and fight for you too, if needs be.”