‘I don’t know,’ she answered wearily. ‘I have no faith in anybody or anything now. Why should you behave better to me than the rest of the world has done? No, don’t touch me,’ as he approached her, holding out his hand. ‘Your reproaches have turned all my milk of human kindness into gall. Go away; there’s a good man, and leave me to myself. It is useless to suppose you could understand my feelings or my heart. You must have gone through the mill as I have before you do.’ ‘At least, Nell, you will let me remain your friend,’ he said in a voice of pain. ‘No, no, I want no friends--nothing. Leave me with my memories. You cannot understand them; but they are all that remain to me now. Go on serving God; devoting all your time and your energies to Him, and wait till He gives you a blow in the face, like mine, and see what you think of His loving-kindness then. It’ll come some day; for Heaven doesn’t appear to spare the white sheep any more than the black ones. We all get it sooner or later. When you get yours you may think you were a little hard on me.’ ‘I think I have got it already,’ murmured poor Hugh, half to himself. ‘Good-bye, Nell.’ ‘Oh, go, do,’ she cried impetuously, ‘and never come here again. After what you have said to-day your presence can only be an extra pain to me, and I have enough of that already. Go on with your praying and preaching, and don’t think of me. I sha’n’t come to hear any more of it. It does me no good, and it might do me harm. It might make my hand unsteady,’ she continued, with a significant glance, ‘when the time comes, _and it has that knife in it_!’ She laughed mockingly in his face as she delivered this parting shot, and Hugh Owen, with a deep sob in his throat, turned on his heel, and walked quickly away from Panty-cuckoo Farm. CHAPTER III.