r those who are producing it, often bewildered her, but
did not really affect her. Religion--a vague, but deeply-felt
religion--soothed and sheltered her. But she did not want to talk about
it.

After these days were over, she emerged conscious of some radical
change. She seemed to have been walking with George 'on the other side,'
and to have left him there--for a while. She now really believed him
dead, and that she had got to live her life without him. This first full
and sincere admission of her loss tranquillised her. All the more reason
now that she should turn to the dear friendships that life still held,
should live in and for them, and follow where they led, through the
years before her. Farrell, Cicely, Hester--they stood between her
weakness--oh how conscious, how scornfully conscious, she was of
it!--and sheer desolation. Cicely, 'Willy,'--for somehow she and he had
slipped almost without knowing it into Christian names--had become to
her as brother and sister. And Hester too--so strong!--so kind!--was
part of her life; severe sometimes, but bracing. Nelly was conscious,
indeed, occasionally, that something in Hester disapproved something in
her. 'But it would be all right,' she thought, wearily, 'if only I were
stronger.' Did she mean physically or morally? The girl's thought did
not distinguish.

'I believe you want me "hatched over again and hatched different"!' she
said one evening to Hester, as she laid her volume of 'Adam Bede' aside.

'Do I ever say so?'

'No--but--if you were me--you wouldn't stop here moping!' said Nelly,
with sudden passion. 'You'd strike out--do something!'

'With these hands?' said Hester, raising one of them, and looking at it
pitifully. 'My dear--does Bridget feed you properly?'

'I don't know. I never think about it. She settles it.'

'Why do you let her settle it?'

'She will!' cried Nelly, sitting upright in her chair, her eyes bright
and cheeks flushing, as though something in Hester's words accused her.
'I couldn't stop her!'

'Well, but when she's away?'

'Then Mrs. Rowe settles it,' said Nelly, half laughing. 'I never
enquire. What does it matter?'

She put down her knitting, and her wide, sad eyes followed the clouds as
they covered the purple breast of the Langdales, which rose in
threatening, thunder light, beyond the steely tarn in front. Hester
watched her anxiously. How lovely was the brown head, with its short
curls enclosing the delicate oval of the