Margaret had never spoken of Helstone since she left it, except

just naming the place incidentally. She saw it in dreams more

vivid than life, and as she fell away to slumber at nights her

memory wandered in all its pleasant places. But her heart was

opened to this girl; 'Oh, Bessy, I loved the home we have left so

dearly! I wish you could see it. I cannot tell you half its

beauty. There are great trees standing all about it, with their

branches stretching long and level, and making a deep shade of

rest even at noonday. And yet, though every leaf may seem still,

there is a continual rushing sound of movement all around--not

close at hand. Then sometimes the turf is as soft and fine as

velvet; and sometimes quite lush with the perpetual moisture of a

little, hidden, tinkling brook near at hand. And then in other

parts there are billowy ferns--whole stretches of fern; some in

the green shadow; some with long streaks of golden sunlight lying

on them--just like the sea.' 'I have never seen the sea,' murmured Bessy. 'But go on.' 'Then, here and there, there are wide commons, high up as if

above the very tops of the trees--' 'I'm glad of that. I felt smothered like down below. When I have

gone for an out, I've always wanted to get high up and see far

away, and take a deep breath o' fulness in that air. I get

smothered enough in Milton, and I think the sound yo' speak of

among the trees, going on for ever and ever, would send me dazed;

it's that made my head ache so in the mill. Now on these commons

I reckon there is but little noise?' 'No,' said Margaret; 'nothing but here and there a lark high in

the air. Sometimes I used to hear a farmer speaking sharp and

loud to his servants; but it was so far away that it only

reminded me pleasantly that other people were hard at work in

some distant place, while I just sat on the heather and did

nothing.' 'I used to think once that if I could have a day of doing

nothing, to rest me--a day in some quiet place like that yo'

speak on--it would maybe set me up. But now I've had many days o'

idleness, and I'm just as weary o' them as I was o' my work.

Sometimes I'm so tired out I think I cannot enjoy heaven without

a piece of rest first. I'm rather afeard o' going straight there

without getting a good sleep in the grave to set me up.' 'Don't be afraid, Bessy,' said Margaret, laying her hand on the

girl's; 'God can give you more perfect rest than even idleness on

earth, or the dead sleep of the grave can do.' Bessy moved uneasily; then she said: 'I wish father would not speak as he does. He means well, as I

telled yo' yesterday, and tell yo' again and again. But yo' see,

though I don't believe him a bit by day, yet by night--when I'm

in a fever, half-asleep and half-awake--it comes back upon

me--oh! so bad! And I think, if this should be th' end of all,

and if all I've been born for is just to work my heart and my

life away, and to sicken i' this dree place, wi' them mill-noises

in my ears for ever, until I could scream out for them to stop,

and let me have a little piece o' quiet--and wi' the fluff

filling my lungs, until I thirst to death for one long deep

breath o' the clear air yo' speak on--and my mother gone, and I

never able to tell her again how I loved her, and o' all my

troubles--I think if this life is th' end, and that there's no

God to wipe away all tears from all eyes--yo' wench, yo'!' said

she, sitting up, and clutching violently, almost fiercely, at

Margaret's hand, 'I could go mad, and kill yo', I could.' She

fell back completely worn out with her passion. Margaret knelt

down by her.




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