"Poor little Bessie," he said in conclusion. "You don't know what a
weary life she led, or how bravely she bore it; but she is dead, and
perhaps it is better so than if she were the wife of Neil."
"Poor boy," Lucy said, very gently, when he had finished his story, "you
loved Bessie very much."
"Yes, I loved her so much that just to have her mine for one brief month
I believe I would give twenty years of my life," Grey replied, and every
word was a sob, for he was moved as he had never before been moved, even
when he first heard that Bessie was dead.
All thoughts of going on deck were given up for that day, and when the
steward came to help him up the stairs, he helped him instead to his
berth, where he lay with his eyes closed, though Lucy, who sat beside
him, knew he was not asleep, for occasionally a tear gathered on his
long lashes and dropped upon his cheek.
Late in the afternoon Lucy made her way again to the steerage quarters,
for thoughts of the sick girl had haunted her continually, though she
did not now believe her to be the Bessie whom Grey had loved and lost.
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