A BANKRUPT HEART.
A BANKRUPT HEART.
A BANKRUPT HEART.
——o——
Forseven weeks Nell Llewellyn fluctuated between life and death before she was fully roused again to a sense of living and its cares and responsibilities. It was on a sunny afternoon, in the middle of October, that she first awoke to the consciousness that she was herself. But she was too weak to do more than be aware of it. The afternoon sun was glinting through the white blind of her bedroom window, and a little breeze caused it to flap gently against the latticed panes. Nell lay on her bed, as weak and unreasoning and incurious as a little child, and watched the tassel of theblind bobbing up and down, without questioning why she lay there, unable to move or think. An old woman named Betsy Hobbs, who came in sometimes to help in an emergency at the farmhouse, was seated by the window, with a large pair of knitting-needles in her hands, a ball of worsted at her feet, and her head sunk on her breast, enjoying a snooze after the labours of the day. Nell stared at her unfamiliar figure with the same sense of incapacity to understand her presence, and the same sense of utter indifference to not understanding it. Her feeble sight roved over everything in the room with the same apathy. The coverlet on her bed was a coloured one, and she kept on counting the squares and wondering in a vague manner why one should be red and the next blue. One red, and the nextblue—onered, and the nextblue—shekept on mentally repeating to herself, until her eyes had travelled to the foot of the bed, over the footboard of which was thrown a pink knitted shawl, or kerchief, which her mother had boughtfor her just before she was taken ill, and which she had worn around her shoulders on the evening she had gone to hear Hugh Owen preach in the field. That little link between the past and the present recalled it all. In a moment she comprehended. She was no longer happy, innocent Nell Llewellyn, spending her young life at Panty-cuckoo Farm, but the disgraced and degraded daughter of the house, who had crept home, a living lie, to hide her shame and sorrow in her mother’s bosom. The remembrance brought with it but one desire—one want—which expressed itself in a feeble cry of ‘Mother!’ At least, it was what Nell intended for a cry; but her voice was so faint and weak, that Betsy Hobbs only roused from her nap with a feeling of curiosity if shehadheard anything. She was accustomed to nursing the sick, however, and was a light sleeper, so she hobbled up to the bedside and peered into her patient’s face. Sure enough her eyes were open and there was reason in them.
‘Praise the Lord, dearie,’ she ejaculated, ‘you’re yourself agin at last!’
But Nell turned her face to the wall with the same cry of ‘Mother!’
‘To be sure, dearie; and I’ll fetch ’er in ’alf a minnit. She’s only stepped down to the dairy to see ’ow things are goin’ on, for business ’as been sadly neglected of late. Night andday—nightand day—the pore dear’s bin by your side, longin’ to ’ear your own voice agin, and she’ll be overj’yed to find you in your senses. Come, drink a drop o’ milk, do, and then I’ll fetch ’er.’
But Nell turned fractiously from the proffered cup and reiterated her cry for her mother. She was gaunt and emaciated to a degree. The cruel fever had wasted her rounded limbs, and dug deep furrows beneath her eyes, and turned her delicate complexion to yellow and brown. She looked like a woman of forty or fifty, instead of a girl of three-and-twenty. As the old woman ambled out of the room, Nell raised her thin hands and gazedat the white nails and bony knuckles with amazement. Where had she been? What had happened to her, to alter her like that? Her questions were answered by the entrance of Mrs Llewellyn.
‘Oh, my dearlass—myown poor lamb!’ she exclaimed, as she came hurriedly to the bedside, and folded her daughter in her arms. ‘Praise the Lord that you have taken a turn at last! I’ve been watching for this days and days, till I began to fear it might never be. You’ve been main ill, my girl, and all the house nursing you through it. Father’s lying down on his bed. He hasn’t had his coat off for three nights. But you’re better, my lass, you’re better, thank God for that!’
‘How long have I been ill?’ asked Nell in a faint voice.
‘Better than sixweeks—goingon for seven,’ replied her mother; ‘and it’s been an anxious time for all of us. I thought poor Hetty would have cried herself sick last week, when Dr Cowell told us we mustn’t build our hopes too much on keepingyou here. I think he will be as surprised as anyone when he hears the good news. Oh, my lass, it would have been a sore day for more than one of us if we had lost you!’
‘I may go yet, mother,’ said Nell, looking at her skeleton hands; ‘there’s not much of me left, I’m thinking.’
‘Oh, no you won’t, my dear, not this time, thank God. I know what these fevers are. I’ve seen too many of them. When they’ve burnt themselves out, they’re over. And you’re as cool as a cucumber now. You feel terrible weak, I know, but good feeding and care will soon set you up again.’
‘What a trouble I must have been to you,’ sighed Nell wearily; ‘and so unworthy of it too. Mother, why didn’t you let me die, and make an end of it? Life is not worth living at any time, and I’ve seen the best of mine.’
‘Nonsense, my girl, you talk like that because you’re so weak, that’s all. You’ll feel quite different in another day or so.Here, just let me give you a few spoonfuls of this beef-tea. I made it myself, so I won’t take a refusal. There’s a good maid, and now you must shut your eyes and go to sleep again.’
‘Don’t leave me,’ murmured Nell, as she lay with her hand clasped in her mother’s. ‘Talk to me, mother. Tell me you are really glad that I am better, and I will try to live for your sake.’
‘Glad, child! Why, what are you thinking of? Glad to get my own lass back from the grave, as you may say? I should be a nice mother if I weren’t. Don’t you know by this time that you’ve been my hope and pride ever since you was born? Why, I’ve been praying night and day to the Lord to spare you for weeks past. Ay, and not only me; all Usk has been asking the same thing, and there’s been one in particular as has wearied Heaven with prayers for your recovery, if ever man did.’
‘One in particular?’ echoed the sick girl faintly curious. ‘Who was that, mother?’
‘Why, that young saint on earth, HughOwen, to be sure. I never saw a man so unhappy as he’s been about you. He looks ten years older since you were taken ill. Do you know, Nell, that he’s been here every minute he could spare from his work, kneeling by your bedside whilst you were raving in delirium, praying with all his heart and soul, that God would spare your precious life to us a little longer. Hugh Owen has been your tenderest nurse. I’ve seen him sit here, without saying a word for hours together, only holding you in his arms when you got a bit violent, and coaxing you by every means in his power to take a drop of wine or a spoonful of jelly. I do believe that you owe your life in a great measure to Hugh’s care (and so I’ve told father that if you lived, it would be), for though we all tried our best, no one has had so much influence over you as him, or been able to make you take nourishment like he could.’
‘Did he hear me talk?’ asked Nell, fearfully.
‘Hear you talk, child? Well, pretty nearlyall Usk heard you talk, you used to scream so loud sometimes. But it was all nonsense. No one could understand it, so you needn’t be afraid you told any of your little secrets. I couldn’t make head nor tail of what you said, nor Hugh either. But his presence seemed to comfort you, so I let the poor lad have his way. He was nearly broken-hearted when he left the farm last night, you were so terribly weak and low. I expect he’ll nearly go out of his mind when he hears the news I shall have to tell him this evening. He’ll offer up a grand prayer of thanksgiving before he goes to his bed to-night.’
But at this juncture, seeing that Nell’s weary eyes had closed again, Mrs Llewellyn covered her carefully with the bedclothes, and went to communicate the fact of her improvement to the farmer. As the husband and wife were sitting at their evening meal, Hugh Owen, as usual, walked in. His face was very pale, and his expression careworn. His first anxious inquiry was naturally for Nell. When he heard the great improvementthat had taken place in her, and that Doctor Cowell had said at his last visit that she was now on the road to recovery, his pallid cheeks glowed with excitement.
‘God Almighty be thanked for all His goodness!’ he said solemnly, and then added rapidly,—‘May I see her, Mrs Llewellyn? Just for one moment. I will not speak to her, if you do not think it desirable, but to see her once more sensible and in her right mind would make me so happy. I shall hardly be able to believe the joyful news is true otherwise.’
The mother looked doubtful.
‘Well, I don’t quite know how Nell would take it, my lad. You’ve been main good to her, I know; but it wouldn’t do to upset her now, and you would be the last to wish it.’
‘Upset her! Oh, no; but I have sat by her so often during her illness.’
‘Ay, when she wasn’t aware of your presence; that makes all the difference. But,’ noting the look of disappointment in the young man’s face, she added, ‘I’lljust step up and see how matters are now; and if Nell’s sleeping you shall have a peep at her, in return for all your goodness.’
The young man thanked her, and in a few minutes she came back to say that her daughter was fast asleep, and, if Hugh would follow her, he should see so for himself. He rose at once, his face radiant with joy, and crept on tip-toe up the stairs and into the familiar bedroom. There lay Nell, prostrate in the sleep of exhaustion—her hands folded together on the coverlet, her head well back on her pillow, her mouth slightly parted, her breathing as regular and calm as that of an infant. At the sight Hugh’s eyes filled with tears.
‘Doesn’t she look as if she were praying—thanking God for His goodness to her?’ he whispered to Mrs Llewellyn. ‘Oh, let us pray too. We can never thank Him enough for all He has done for us.’
And he fell on his knees by the bedside,Mrs Llewellyn following his example.
‘Oh, Father, God, Protector, Friend,’ said the young man, with tears running down his worn cheeks, ‘what can we render to Thee for all Thou art to us, for all Thou doest for us? We have cried to Thee in our distress, and Thou hast heard our cry. We wept in our abject fear of loss, and Thou hast dried our tears. Thou hast sent Thy messenger angels, with healing in their wings, to succour this dear child of Thine—this dear companion ofours—andgive her and us alike time to do something to prove the sense of gratitude we have for Thy great love to us. Oh, Father, make us more grateful, more thankful, more resolved to live the lives which Thou hast given us, to Thee, more careful of the beautiful, earthly love with which Thou hast brightened and made happy these lives. Amen.’
No one could mistake the earnestness and fervour and genuineness of this address,which Hugh delivered as simply as if he had been speaking to his earthly father in his earthly home. Mrs Llewellyn could not restrain mingling her tears with his. She told the farmer afterwards that Hugh’s way of praying made her feel as if the Almighty were standing just beside them where they knelt. Softly as the young minister had preferred his petition, it seemed to have reached the sleeper’s ear, even through her dreams, for as his ‘Amen’ fell on the air, Nell opened her eyes and said very softly,—
‘Thank you, Hugh.’
The sound of her voice, and the assurance that his presence had not disturbed her, so moved his sensitive disposition that he sprung forward, and, sinking again upon his knees by her side, raised her thin hand to his lips and kissed it several times in succession, whilst his dark eyes glowed with feeling.
‘Thank you,’ again sighed Nell. ‘Good-night.’
‘Yes, yes, my lad, it must be good-night,for you mustn’t stay here!’ exclaimed Mrs Llewellyn, who was fearful of the effects of any agitation on her invalid. ‘You’ve had your wish and seen Nell, and you’ve prayed a beautiful prayer, and now you must come back to the parlour with me and have a bit of supper. Go down to the kitchen, Betsy,’ she continued to the old nurse, ‘and get our Nell another drop of beef-tea, and I’ll be up to see after her as soon as the table’s cleared. Bless her heart! if she isn’t off again. She’ll want all the sleep she can get now, to make up for the sore time she’s passed through. Come, Hugh.’
But the young minister refused all her offers of hospitality. He felt as if food would choke him just then. He wanted to be alone to think of his great and unexpectedjoy—tothank the Giver of it over and over again. He walked home through the crisp October evening, wandering far afield, in order to commune with his own thoughts, and enlarging the prayer of thankfulness, with which hisheart was bursting, by another petition, that God, who had given this woman back to him and her friends, would give her to him also and altogether as his wife.
He did not see Nell again during the period of convalescence that she spent in her own room. But not one day passed without his presence at the farm and his thoughts of her being brought to her notice by some little offering from his hands. One day it would be a bunch of glowing chrysanthemums, from the deepest bronze to the palest pink and purest white. The next, he brought a basket offruit—acluster of hothouse grapes—to get which he had walked for miles, or a bunch of bananas, or anything which was considered a dainty in Usk. Once he sent her a few verses of a hymn, neatly copied out on fair paper; but these Nell put on one side with a smile which savoured of contempt. She was now fairly on the road for recovery; and even Hetty, who had been going backwards and forwards every day, began to findthe walk from Dale Farm was rather long, and that her mother-in-law needed a little more of her company. The services of the doctor and old Betsy Hobbs were dispensed with, and Mrs Llewellyn found there was no longer any necessity for her to leave all the churning and baking to her farm maids, but that she could devote the usual time to them herself. It was an accredited fact that Nell had been snatched from the jaws of death, and that her relatives need have no more fears on her account. Still Hugh Owen continued to pay her his daily attentions, till she, like women courted by men for whom they have no fancy, began to weary of seeing the flowers and fruit and books coming in every afternoon, and to cast them somewhat contemptuously aside. It was a grand day at Panty-cuckoo Farm when she first came down the stairs, supported by her father and mother—very shaky and weak, but really well again, and saying good-bye to bed in the daytime for good and all. Mrs Llewellynwas a proud and happy woman when she saw her daughter installed on the solitary sofa which the house could boast of, swathed round in shawls and blankets, and a very ghost of her former self, but yet alive, and only needing time to make her strong again.
‘Well, my dear lass,’ she said, as she helped Nell to her cup of tea, ‘I never thought at one time to see you on that sofa again, nor downstairs at all, except it was in your coffin. You’ve got a lot to be thankful for, Nell; it’s not many constitutions that could have weathered such an illness.’
Nell sipped the tea she held in her hand, and wondered what was the use of coming back to a world that didn’t want her, and which she didn’t want. But she was still too weak to argue, even if she would have argued such a subject with her mother. As the meal was in the course of progress a gentle tap sounded on the outer door.
‘Now, I’ll bet that’s Hugh Owen, dearlad!’ exclaimed Mrs Llewellyn briskly, as she rose to answer it. ‘He’ll be main pleased and surprised to see our Nell downstairs. He’s been so curious to hear when the doctor would let her get up, and I wouldn’t tell him, just to keep him a bit in suspense.’
She opened the door as she spoke, calling out,—
‘How are ye, Hugh, my lad? Come in, do. We’ve got company to tea to-night, and you’re heartily welcome.’
But Hugh shrunk back.
‘I won’t disturb you if you’ve company, Mrs Llewellyn,’ he said. ‘I only stepped over to hear how your daughter is this evening, and to ask her acceptance of these,’ and he shyly held out a bouquet of hot-house flowers.
‘Eh, Hugh, but they’re very beautiful. Wherever did you get them?’ said Mrs Llewellyn.
‘I’ve a friend in the florist way up by Pontypool,’ he answered, ‘and I thought Nell might like them to make her room gay.’
‘To be sure she will, and give you many thanks in return. Come in and give them her yourself.’
‘Oh, may I?’ said Hugh, as he walked gladly over the threshold and saw Nell lying on the couch and holding out an attenuated hand to him.
She looked thinner even than when she had been confined to bed. People do, as a rule, when they first come downstairs. Her cheeks were sunken and white as death itself, and her eyes seemed preternaturally large and staring. But it was Nell, and Hugh Owen’s face grew scarlet at the mere sight of her.
‘Oh, Nell!’ he exclaimed, as he advanced quickly to grasp her outstretched hand, ‘thisisa joyful surprise to see you downstairs again. Your mother had not prepared me for it. Are you sure you feel none the worse for the exertion—that it will not do you any harm?’
Nell was about to reply, but Mrs Llewellyn anticipated her.
‘Now, my lad!’ she exclaimed, rather tartly, ‘don’t you make a fool of yourself. You don’t suppose, do you, that I would let my lass injure her health after all the trouble and anxiety we’ve had on her account, by letting her do anything rash? Don’t you make any mistake about it, Hugh. What Nell’s mother don’t foresee for her, no one else will, let alone a stripling like yourself.’
‘Oh, Mrs Llewellyn!’ exclaimed the young man, turning all kinds of colours, ‘I am sure you mustknow—youcannot think that I wouldpresume—whoknows better than I, how you have nursed and watched over her? Only I—I—the natural anxiety, you know—’
‘Oh, yes, my lad, I know all about it. You needn’t stammer in that fashion, nor take the trouble to explain, and I’ve no call to find fault with you either, for you’ve been the kindest friend poor Nell has had in her sickness, and the most thoughtful, not excepting her own sister. But don’t fear but what she’s well lookedafter, though I hope the day’s not far distant now when she’ll look after herself.’
‘And so do I,’ said young Owen. ‘You’re looking bravely, Nell, considering what you’ve gone through. It’s been a sore time with you. Please God it may be the last.’
‘Mother tells me you’ve been very good to me through it all, Hugh,’ replied Nell, in a low voice, ‘and prayed for my recovery scores of times. You meant it kindly, I know, though perhaps whilst you were about it, it would have been better to have asked the Lord to let me go.’
Mrs Llewellyn, seeing Nell was in good hands, had wandered away after some of her household arrangements, and left them by themselves.
‘No, Nell, no; not whilst He has work for you to do here, and permits you to remain. Besides, think what a grief it would have been to your father and mother and sister—and to me, if you had died. Wecould not have easily filled your place, Nell. You mustn’t be sorry because you have been spared to make us happy. And why should you want to go so soon? You are young and beautiful—you don’t mind an old friend like me telling you that, do you?—and have all your life before you. It is unnatural that you should be loath to live. It can only be your extreme weakness that makes you say so.’
‘If you knew me better, Hugh, you would not talk like that. My life ispast—notto come—and there seems nothing (that I can see) for me to do. I don’t want to look back, and the future is ablank—adark, horrible uncertainty, in which I can discern no good in living. I shall help mother in the farmhouse work, of course, now I have come home, but it will not be any pleasure to me. It is so different from what I have been accustomed to, and when all’s said and done a dairymaid would do it far better than I. I have grown beyond it, in fact (though you mustn’t tell mother I said so forall the world), andso—andso—Ithink you are my friend, Hugh, and I tell you the truth—I would have much rather died.’
The young man looked distressed. He guessed there was more behind this statement than Nell would confess. But he replied to her appeal energetically.
‘Your friend, Nell. You may do more thanthinkit. You may regard it as an undoubted fact. I only wish I could, or I dared make you understand how much I am your friend. And as for there being no work for you to do, except household drudgery, oh! if you will listen to me, I can tell you of glorious work that lies close to your hand—work that would bring you both peace and happiness. Will you let me show it you, dear Nell? Will you listen to me whilst I point it out to you?’
‘Another time, Hugh. Not just now, thank you, for my brain is still too weak to understand half I hear. When I am stronger, and able to take an interest in things again, you shall talk to me as much as you like,for I am very grateful to you for all your goodness to me, and shall be glad to return it in any way I can.’
So Hugh left her with a heart brimming over with content, and a great hope springing up in it for the future.