"Oh he was in the house--he didn't know it--he didn't think about it."
"Didn't think about it!"
"No--O he didn't think Hugh was hurting himself, but he was--he shewed it for weeks afterward.--I have said what I ought not now," said Fleda looking up and seeming to check her tears and the spring of them at once.
"So much security any woman has in a man without religion!" said aunt Miriam, going back to her work. Fleda would have said something if she could; she was silent; she stood looking into the fire while the tears seemed to come as it were by stealth and ran down her face unregarded.
"Is Hugh not well?"
"I don't know,--" said Fleda faintly,--"he is not ill--but he never was very strong, and he exposes himself now I know in a way he ought not.--I am sorry I have just come and troubled you with all this now, aunt Miriam," she said after a little pause,--"I shall feel better by and by--I don't very often get such a fit."
"My dear little Fleda!"--and there was unspeakable tenderness in the old lady's voice, as she came up and drew Fleda's head again to rest upon her;--"I would not let a rough wind touch thee if I had the holding of it.--But we may be glad the arranging of things is not in my hand--I should be a poor friend after all, for I do not know what is best. Canst thou trust him who does know, my child?"
"I do, aunt Miriam,--O I do," said Fleda, burying her face in her bosom;--"I don't often feel so as I did to-day."
"There comes not a cloud that its shadow is not wanted," said aunt Miriam. "I cannot see why,--but it is that thou mayest bloom the brighter, my dear one."
"I know it,--" Fleda's words were hardly audible,--"I will try--"