with fear, it did
not stop until it had hid its head in its mother's lap. The village was
alarmed, and all who were able went in haste toward the well. Poor Nest
had often thought she was dying in that dreary hour; had taken fainting
for death, and struggled against it; and prayed that God would keep her
alive till she could see her lover's face once more; and when she did
see it, white with terror, bending over her, she gave a feeble smile and
let herself faint away into unconsciousness.

Many a month she lay on her bed unable to move. Sometimes she was
delirious, sometimes worn-out into the deepest depression. Through all,
her mother watched her with tenderest care. The neighbors would come and
offer help. They would bring presents of country dainties; and I do not
suppose that there was a better dinner than ordinary cooked in any
household in Pen-Morfa parish, but a portion of it was sent to Eleanor
Gwynn, if not for her sick daughter, to try and tempt her herself to eat
and be strengthened; for to no one would she delegate the duty of
watching over her child. Edward Williams was for a long time most
assiduous in his inquiries and attentions; but by-and-by (ah! you see
the dark fate of poor Nest now), he slackened, so little at first that
Eleanor blamed herself for her jealousy on her daughter's behalf, and
chid her suspicious heart. But as spring ripened into summer, and Nest
was still bedridden, Edward's coolness was visible to more than the poor
mother. The neighbors would have spoken to her about it, but she shrunk
from the subject as if they were probing a wound. "At any rate," thought
she, "Nest shall be strong before she is told about it. I will tell
lies--I shall be forgiven--but I must save my child; and when she is
stronger perhaps I may be able to comfort her. Oh! I wish she would not
speak to him so tenderly and trustfully, when she is delirious. I could
curse him when she does." And then Nest would call for her mother, and
Eleanor would go, and invent some strange story about the summonses
Edward had had to Caernarvon assizes, or to Harlech cattle market. But
at last she was driven to her wits' end; it was three weeks since he had
even stopped at the door to inquire, and Eleanor, mad with anxiety about
her child, who was silently pining off to death for want of tidings of
her lover, put on her cloak, when she had lulled her daughter to sleep
one fine June evening, and set off to "The End of Time." The gre