‘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, Hugh Owen, 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.