le think so." She
paused, and then spoke lower. "I tell you, David Hughes, that outward
change is as nothing compared to the change in my nature caused by the
love I have felt--and have had rejected. I was gentle once, and if you
spoke a tender word, my heart came toward you as natural as a little
child goes to its mammy. I never spoke roughly, even to the dumb
creatures, for I had a kind feeling for all. Of late (since I loved, old
man), I have been cruel in my thoughts to every one. I have turned away
from tenderness with bitter indifference. Listen!" she spoke in a hoarse
whisper. "I will own it. I have spoken hardly to her," pointing toward
the corpse. "Her who was ever patient, and full of love for me. She did
not know," she muttered, "she is gone to the grave without knowing how I
loved her--I had such strange, mad, stubborn pride in me."

"Come back, mother! Come back," said she, crying wildly to the still,
solemn corpse; "come back as a spirit or a ghost--only come back, that I
may tell you how I have loved you."

But the dead never come back.

The passionate adjuration ended in tears--the first she had shed. When
they ceased, or were absorbed into long quivering sobs, David knelt
down. Nest did not kneel, but bowed her head. He prayed, while his own
tears fell fast. He rose up. They were both calm.

"Nest," said he, "your love has been the love of youth; passionate,
wild, natural to youth. Henceforward you must love like Christ; without
thought of self, or wish for return. You must take the sick and the
weary to your heart and love them. That love will lift you up above the
storms of the world into God's own peace. The very vehemence of your
nature proves that you are capable of this. I do not pity you. You do
not require pity. You are powerful enough to trample down your own
sorrows into a blessing for others; and to others you will be a
blessing; I see it before you; I see in it the answer to your mother's
prayer."

The old man's dim eyes glittered as if they saw a vision; the fire-light
sprang up and glinted on his long white hair. Nest was awed as if she
saw a prophet, and a prophet he was to her.

When next David Hughes came to Pen-Morfa, he asked about Nest Gwynn,
with a hovering doubt as to the answer. The inn-folk told him she was
living still in the cottage, which was now her own.

"But would you believe it, David," said Mrs. Thomas, "she has gone and
taken Mary Williams to live with her? You r