‘I hope not, Nell,’ replied the young man. ‘You are not strong enough for dairy and farm work, and it leaves your brain too little to do, so it broods incessantly upon the past. The work you want, Nell, is head work--something by which you will feel you are benefiting others. That is the employment to bring peace and forgetfulness in its train. You should be a missionary, as I am.’ ‘A missionary--I? Ah, now, Hugh, you are laughing at me. A preacher should have no sins to look back upon.’ ‘Then there would be no preachers in the world, Nell. I say, on the contrary, that no one can teach others till he himself has been taught of God. He cannot relieve suffering, unless he, too, has suffered. He cannot know the enormity of sin, nor the trouble it brings in its train, till he himself has sinned as we all have, and if any man says he has not, he lies before the God who made him.’ ‘But not like I have,’ said poor Nell, with her face hidden in her hands. ‘Don’t you think, Nell,’ said Hugh, ‘when you remember all the suffering and shame and remorse that your sin has brought you, that you could speak very forcibly to any girl whom you saw in danger of running the same risk? Would not you, out of the kindness of your woman’s heart, warn her not to do as you have done, and point out to her the pain that must succeed it?’ ‘Oh, yes, of course I could and would, Hugh. It would be very cruel not to do so.’ ‘Then, you see, you _are_ fit for a missionary. You said just now that, if your father had a son to accompany him to a new country, emigration would be a different thing for him. Well, if he elects to go, _I_ am willing to accompany him, and to be, as far as in me lies, as a son to him--aiding him all I can with my strong young arm and head--on one condition.’ ‘What is the condition, Hugh?’ asked Nell. ‘That you will come, too, as my wife and helper. If you consent, I will show you a way to heal your sore hurt, that shall bring you the utmost peace at last. I don’t promise you happiness, though I would try hard to secure you that also; but peace I know you will have, for God will send it. Come with me, and be my helper and companion. We will go to some country, so widely different from England that nothing in it shall ever have the power to remind you of the terrible experience you have passed through here; and in a warmer climate you will, I hope, regain the health and strength which you have lost. Do you remember how you told me long ago that I was cut out for a missionary, and you were right. The very thought warms my blood. We will go to South Africa, or anywhere that is considered best for us all, and I will devote my life to securing the happiness of yours. Will you come?’ Nell turned round and looked at him with astonishment. ‘Will I go to South Africa with you as your wife? Hugh, do you know what you are asking me?’ ‘Exactly. I am asking you the same thing I asked you four months ago, and you refused.’