ments of her own, preferring, however, in general, to leave God's
words to work their own way into his heart. His church prejudices she
never ventured to touch, feeling that to do so might arouse them
against the reception of the simple gospel, and do him harm, by
exciting his mind injuriously and bewildering him with conflicting
opinions. She avoided all collision with ideas which had been so long
closely intertwined with the only ideas of religion he had, feeling
sure that the light of gospel truth, once introduced into the heart,
would sooner or later disperse the darkness of error by its own power.

Except for the one dark foreboding, that became, month by month, and
week by week, more distinct, these would have been very happy days for
Nelly. Her warm Irish heart found scope for its action, in
continually ministering to the comfort of one to whom she was bound by
ties of love and gratitude, and no harsh or unkind word now fell upon
her ear. The poor Italian, always of a gentle nature, except when
influenced by passion, had ever treated her with indulgent kindness,
and she had given him her warm affection in return. Her assiduous
attentions were labours of love, and so was the needlework at which
she stitched away with diligent though unpractised hands. Coarse, hard
sewing it was; but Nelly did not mind that, in the feeling that she
was earning something, however small. While she sat plying her needle
through the short days and long evenings of the winter, the invalid's
thoughts would wander back to long past, but unforgotten days, and he
would amuse Nelly with little bits of his past history. He would
describe, over and over again, his childhood's home in the lovely
_Riviera_, where the intense azure of the sky, and the pure sapphire
of the Mediterranean, contrasted sharply with the white glitter of the
rocks as they emerged in bold relief from their drapery of rich,
deep-hued vegetation. He would tell her about the white Italian
village, nestling among the vine-clad terraces and sloping hill-sides
clad with olive and myrtle, and about the trellised house where he was
born, and his father's little vineyard, where the rich purple and
amber clusters, such as little Amy now sent him as costly luxuries,
hung down in rich masses which any hand could pick. Such descriptions
were intensely fascinating to Nelly's quick Celtic imagination, and
she would speak in her turn of the breezy slopes by the sea where she
had so ofte