He closed his eyes and with the faint hum of the little bees that droned among the blue cliff-flowers,--with the faint wash of the ripples upon the unnumbered pebbles of the beach--a sweet sleep crept over him.
When he awoke it was not with a start, but as gently as he had fallen asleep. For a moment he had a fear that he had overslept himself. He turned to look at the sun and saw standing only half a dozen yards away the girl by whose side he had walked a few mornings before to the village.
The picture that she made to his eyes was in keeping with the soothing sights and sounds of this placid day. She wore a white kirtle and cap, but the latter had failed to restrain the abundant hair which showed itself in little curls upon her forehead, and in long strands of sunshine over her ears and behind them. She was pleasant to look at--as pleasant as was everything else of nature on this day; and he looked at her with pleased eyes for some time before speaking.
As for Nelly, she was not watching him; but he could see that she had seen him; she had only turned away lest he should have a man's distaste to be caught sleeping in the daytime. He perceived this the moment that he spoke and she turned to him. The little start that she gave was artificial. It made him smile.
“I am at your mercy; but you will not betray my weakness to anyone,” he said, smiling at her.
“You saw me sleeping. I hope that 'twas not for long,” he said.
“I did not come hither more than five minutes agone, sir,” she replied. “You cannot have slept more than half an hour. I came to seek you after the preaching.”
“You have not been at your church, girl?” he said.
“I was at your church, Mr. Wesley. I like Parson Rodney. I did not go to his church.”
“I like not such an answer, child.'Twould grieve me to learn that there were many of my hearers who would frame the same excuse.”
“I am sorry, sir,” she said. “It was my intent to go to Parson Rodney's church, if only to see how vast a difference there was 'twixt--that is--I mean, Mr. Wesley, that--that my intention was to be in church, only when I saw that you had wended your way alone through the valley, not going in the direction of Mr. Hartwell's house, but far away from it--what could one do, sir, who knew that you could not have had a bite to eat since early morning--and after such a preaching and an after-meeting that filled up another fasting hour? 'He has no one to look after him,' said my mother in my ear. 'He is a forlorn man who thinks that he is doing God's service by forgetting that his body must be nourished if his soul is to remain sound.'”