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+Project Gutenberg Etext of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins
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+The Legacy of Cain
+
+by Wilkie Collins
+
+November, 1999  [Etext #1975]
+
+
+Project Gutenberg Etext of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins
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+
+Etext by James Rusk (jrusk@cyberramp.net)
+Italics are indicated by the underscore character
+
+
+
+
+
+The Legacy of Cain
+
+by Wilkie Collins
+
+
+
+
+To
+
+MRS. HENRY POWELL BARTLEY:
+
+Permit me to add your name to my name, in publishing this novel.
+The pen which has written my books cannot be more agreeably
+employed than in acknowledging what I owe to the pen which has
+skillfully and patiently helped me, by copying my manuscripts for
+the printer.
+
+WILKIE COLLINS.
+
+Wimpole Street, 6th December, 1888.
+
+--------
+
+THE LEGACY OF CAIN.
+
+First Period: 1858-1859.
+
+EVENTS IN THE PRISON, RELATED BY THE GOVERNOR.
+
+----
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+THE GOVERNOR EXPLAINS.
+
+At the request of a person who has claims on me that I must not
+disown, I consent to look back through a long interval of years
+and to describe events which took place within the walls of
+an English prison during the earlier period of my appointment
+as Governor.
+
+Viewing my task by the light which later experience casts on it,
+I think I shall act wisely by exercising some control over
+the freedom of my pen.
+
+I propose to pass over in silence the name of the town in which
+is situated the prison once confided to my care. I shall observe
+a similar discretion in alluding to individuals--some dead, some
+living, at the present time.
+
+Being obliged to write of a woman who deservedly suffered
+the extreme penalty of the law, I think she will be sufficiently
+identified if I call her The Prisoner. Of the four persons
+present on the evening before her execution three may be
+distinguished one from the other by allusion to their vocations
+in life. I here introduce them as The Chaplain, The Minister,
+and The Doctor. The fourth was a young woman. She has no claim
+on my consideration; and, when she is mentioned, her name may
+appear.  If these reserves excite suspicion, I declare beforehand
+that they influence in no way the sense of responsibility which
+commands an honest man to speak the truth.
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+THE MURDERESS ASKS QUESTIONS.
+
+The first of the events which I must now relate was the
+conviction of The Prisoner for the murder of her husband.
+
+They had lived together in matrimony for little more than
+two years. The husband, a gentleman by birth and education,
+had mortally offended his relations in marrying a woman of
+an inferior rank of life. He was fast declining into a state
+of poverty, through his own reckless extravagance, at the time
+when he met with his death at his wife's hand.
+
+Without attempting to excuse him, he deserved, to my mind, some
+tribute of regret. It is not to be denied that he was profligate
+in his habits and violent in his temper. But it is equally true
+that he was affectionate in the domestic circle, and, when moved
+by wisely applied remonstrance, sincerely penitent for sins
+committed under temptation that overpowered him. If his wife
+had killed him in a fit of jealous rage--under provocation,
+be it remembered, which the witnesses proved--she might have
+been convicted of manslaughter, and might have received a light
+sentence. But the evidence so undeniably revealed deliberate
+and merciless premeditation, that the only defense attempted
+by her counsel was madness, and the only alternative left to
+a righteous jury was a verdict which condemned the woman to
+death. Those mischievous members of the community, whose topsy-
+turvy sympathies feel for the living criminal and forget the dead
+victim, attempted to save her by means of high-flown petitions
+and contemptible correspondence in the newspapers. But the Judge
+held firm; and the Home Secretary held firm. They were entirely
+right; and the public were scandalously wrong.
+
+Our Chaplain endeavored to offer the consolations of religion
+to the condemned wretch. She refused to accept his ministrations
+in language which filled him with grief and horror.
+
+On the evening before the execution, the reverend gentleman laid
+on my table his own written report of a conversation which had
+passed between the Prisoner and himself.
+
+"I see some hope, sir," he said, "of inclining the heart of this
+woman to religious belief, before it is too late. Will you read
+my report, and say if you agree with me?"
+
+I read it, of course. It was called "A Memorandum," and was thus
+written:
+
+"At his last interview with the Prisoner, the Chaplain asked
+her if she had ever entered a place of public worship. She
+replied that she had occasionally attended the services at
+a Congregational Church in this town; attracted by the reputation
+of the Minister as a preacher. 'He entirely failed to make
+a Christian of me,' she said; 'but I was struck by his eloquence.
+Besides, he interested me personally--he was a fine man.'
+
+"In the dreadful situation in which the woman was placed, such
+language as this shocked the Chaplain; he appealed in vain to the
+Prisoner's sense of propriety. 'You don't understand women,' she
+answered. 'The greatest saint of my sex that ever lived likes to
+look at a preacher as well as to hear him. If he is an agreeable
+man, he has all the greater effect on her. This preacher's voice
+told me he was kind-hearted; and I had only to look at his
+beautiful eyes to see that he was trustworthy and true.'
+
+"It was useless to repeat a protest which had already failed.
+Recklessly and flippantly as she had described it, an impression
+had been produced on her. It occurred to the Chaplain that he
+might at least make the attempt to turn this result to her own
+religious advantage. He asked whether she would receive
+the Minister, if the reverend gentleman came to the prison.
+'That will depend,' she said, 'on whether you answer some
+questions which I want to put to you first.' The Chaplain
+consented; provided always that he could reply with propriety
+to what she asked of him. Her first question only related to
+himself.
+
+"She said: 'The women who watch me tell me that you are
+a widower, and have a family of children. Is that true?'
+
+"The Chaplain answered that it was quite true.
+
+"She alluded next to a report, current in the town, that
+the Minister had resigned the pastorate. Being personally
+acquainted with him, the Chaplain was able to inform her that
+his resignation had not yet been accepted. On hearing this, she
+seemed to gather confidence. Her next inquiries succeeded each
+other rapidly, as follows:
+
+"'Is my handsome preacher married?'
+
+"'Yes.'
+
+"'Has he got any children?'
+
+"'He has never had any children.'
+
+"'How long has he been married?'
+
+"'As well as I know, about seven or eight years.
+
+"'What sort of woman is his wife?'
+
+"'A lady universally respected.'
+
+"'I don't care whether she is respected or not. Is she kind?'
+
+"'Certainly!'
+
+"'Is her husband well off?'
+
+"'He has a sufficient income.'
+
+"After that reply, the Prisoner's curiosity appeared to be
+satisfied. She said, 'Bring your friend the preacher to me,
+if you like'--and there it ended.
+
+"What her object could have been in putting these questions,
+it seems to be impossible to guess. Having accurately reported
+all that took place, the Chaplain declares, with heartfelt
+regret, that he can exert no religious influence over this
+obdurate woman. He leaves it to the Governor to decide whether
+the Minister of the Congregational Church may not succeed, where
+the Chaplain of the Jail has failed. Herein is the one last hope
+of saving the soul of the Prisoner, now under sentence of death!"
+
+In those serious words the Memorandum ended. Although not
+personally acquainted with the Minister I had heard of him, on
+all sides, as an excellent man. In the emergency that confronted
+us he had, as it seemed to me, his own sacred right to enter
+the prison; assuming that he was willing to accept, what I myself
+felt to be, a very serious responsibility. The first necessity
+was to discover whether we might hope to obtain his services.
+With my full approval the Chaplain left me, to state the
+circumstances to his reverend colleague.
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+THE CHILD APPEARS.
+
+During my friend's absence, my attention was claimed by a sad
+incident--not unforeseen.
+
+It is, I suppose, generally known that near relatives are
+admitted to take their leave of criminals condemned to death.
+In the case of the Prisoner now waiting for execution, no person
+applied to the authorities for permission to see her. I myself
+inquired if she had any relations living, and if she would like
+to see them. She answered: "None that I care to see, or that care
+to see me--except the nearest relation of all."
+
+In those last words the miserable creature alluded to her only
+child, a little girl (an infant, I should say), who had passed
+her first year's birthday by a few months. The farewell interview
+was to take place on the mother's last evening on earth; and
+the child was now brought into my rooms, in charge of her nurse.
+
+I had seldom seen a brighter or prettier little girl. She was
+just able to walk alone, and to enjoy the first delight of moving
+from one place to another. Quite of her own accord she came to
+me, attracted I daresay by the glitter of my watch-chain. Helping
+her to climb on my knee, I showed the wonders of the watch, and
+held it to her ear. At that past time, death had taken my good
+wife from me; my two boys were away at Harrow School; my domestic
+life was the life of a lonely man. Whether I was reminded of the
+bygone days when my sons were infants on my knee, listening to
+the ticking of my watch--or whether the friendless position of
+the poor little creature, who had lost one parent and was soon to
+lose the other by a violent death, moved me in depths of pity not
+easily reached in my later experience--I am not able to say. This
+only I know: my heart ached for the child while she was laughing
+and listening; and something fell from me on the watch which I
+don't deny might have been a tear. A few of the toys, mostly
+broken now, which my two children used to play with are still
+in my possession; kept, like my poor wife's favorite jewels, for
+old remembrance' sake. These I took from their repository when
+the attraction of my watch showed signs of failing. The child
+pounced on them with her chubby hands, and screamed with
+pleasure. And the hangman was waiting for her mother--and,
+more horrid still, the mother deserved it!
+
+My duty required me to let the Prisoner know that her little
+daughter had arrived. Did that heart of iron melt at last? It
+might have been so, or it might not; the message sent back kept
+her secret. All that it said to me was: "Let the child wait till
+I send for her."
+
+The Minister had consented to help us. On his arrival at
+the prison, I received him privately in my study.
+
+I had only to look at his face--pitiably pale and agitated--to
+see that he was a sensitive man, not always able to control
+his nerves on occasions which tried his moral courage. A kind,
+I might almost say a noble face, and a voice unaffectedly
+persuasive, at once prepossessed me in his favor. The few words
+of welcome that I spoke were intended to compose him. They failed
+to produce the impression on which I had counted.
+
+"My experience," he said, "has included many melancholy duties,
+and has tried my composure in terrible scenes; but I have never
+yet found myself in the presence of an unrepentant criminal,
+sentenced to death--and that criminal a woman and a mother.
+I own, sir, that I am shaken by the prospect before me."
+
+I suggested that he should wait a while, in the hope that time
+and quiet might help him. He thanked me, and refused.
+
+"If I have any knowledge of myself," he said, "terrors of
+anticipation lose their hold when I am face to face with
+a serious call on me. The longer I remain here, the less worthy
+I shall appear of the trust that has been placed in me--the trust
+which, please God, I mean to deserve."
+
+My own observation of human nature told me that this was wisely
+said. I led the way at once to the cell.
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+THE MINISTER SAYS YES.
+
+The Prisoner was seated on her bed, quietly talking with
+the woman appointed to watch her. When she rose to receive us,
+I saw the Minister start. The face that confronted him would,
+in my opinion, have taken any man by surprise, if he had first
+happened to see it within the walls of a prison.
+
+Visitors to the picture-galleries of Italy, growing weary of
+Holy Families in endless succession, observe that the idea of
+the Madonna, among the rank and file of Italian Painters, is
+limited to one changeless and familiar type. I can hardly hope
+to be believed when I say that the personal appearance of
+the murderess recalled that type. She presented the delicate
+light hair, the quiet eyes, the finely-shaped lower features
+and the correctly oval form of face, repeated in hundreds on
+hundreds of the conventional works of Art to which I have
+ventured to allude. To those who doubt me, I can only declare
+that what I have here written is undisguised and absolute truth.
+Let me add that daily observation of all classes of criminals,
+extending over many years, has considerably diminished my faith
+in physiognomy as a safe guide to the discovery of character.
+Nervous trepidation looks like guilt. Guilt, firmly sustained by
+insensibility, looks like innocence. One of the vilest wretches
+ever placed under my charge won the sympathies (while he was
+waiting for his trial) of every person who saw him, including
+even the persons employed in the prison. Only the other day,
+ladies and gentlemen coming to visit me passed a body of men at
+work on the road. Judges of physiognomy among them were horrified
+at the criminal atrocity betrayed in every face that they
+noticed. They condoled with me on the near neighborhood of so
+many convicts to my official place of residence. I looked out of
+the window and saw a group of honest laborers (whose only crime
+was poverty) employed by the parish!
+
+Having instructed the female warder to leave the room--but
+to take care that she waited within call--I looked again at
+the Minister.
+
+Confronted by the serious responsibility that he had undertaken,
+he justified what he had said to me. Still pale, still
+distressed, he was now nevertheless master of himself. I turned
+to the door to leave him alone with the Prisoner. She called me
+back.
+
+"Before this gentleman tries to convert me," she said, "I want
+you to wait here and be a witness."
+
+Finding that we were both willing to comply with this request,
+she addressed herself directly to the Minister. "Suppose I
+promise to listen to your exhortations," she began, "what do
+you promise to do for me in return?"
+
+The voice in which she spoke to him was steady and clear;
+a marked contrast to the tremulous earnestness with which he
+answered her.
+
+"I promise to urge you to repentance and the confession of
+your crime. I promise to implore the divine blessing on me in
+the effort to save your poor guilty soul."
+
+She looked at him, and listened to him, as if he was speaking to
+her in an unknown tongue, and went on with what she had to say as
+quietly as ever.
+
+"When I am hanged to-morrow, suppose I die without confessing,
+without repenting--are you one of those who believe I shall be
+doomed to eternal punishment in another life?"
+
+"I believe in the mercy of God."
+
+"Answer my question, if you please. Is an impenitent sinner
+eternally punished? Do you believe that?"
+
+"My Bible leaves me no other alternative."
+
+She paused for a while, evidently considering with special
+attention what she was about to say next.
+
+"As a religious man," she resumed, "would you be willing to make
+some sacrifice, rather than let a fellow-creature go--after
+a disgraceful death--to everlasting torment?"
+
+"I know of no sacrifice in my power," he said, fervently, "to
+which I would not rather submit than let you die in the present
+dreadful state of your mind."
+
+The Prisoner turned to me. "Is the person who watches me waiting
+outside?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Will you be so kind as to call her in? I have a message for
+her."
+
+It was plain that she had been leading the way to the delivery of
+that message, whatever it might be, in all that she had said up
+to the present time. So far my poor powers of penetration helped
+me, and no further.
+
+The warder appeared, and received her message. "Tell the woman
+who has come here with my little girl that I want to see the
+child."
+
+Taken completely by surprise, I signed to the attendant to wait
+for further instructions.
+
+In a moment more I had sufficiently recovered myself to see the
+impropriety of permitting any obstacle to interpose between the
+Minister and his errand of mercy. I gently reminded the Prisoner
+that she would have a later opportunity of seeing her child.
+"Your first duty," I told her, "is to hear and to take to heart
+what the clergyman has to say to you."
+
+For the second time I attempted to leave the cell. For the second
+time this impenetrable woman called me back.
+
+"Take the parson away with you," she said. "I refuse to listen
+to him."
+
+The patient Minister yielded, and appealed to me to follow his
+example. I reluctantly sanctioned the delivery of the message.
+
+After a brief interval the child was brought to us, tired and
+sleepy. For a while the nurse roused her by setting her on her
+feet. She happened to notice the Minister first. Her bright eyes
+rested on him, gravely wondering. He kissed her, and, after a
+momentary hesitation, gave her to her mother. The horror of the
+situation overpowered him: he turned his face away from us. I
+understood what he felt; he almost overthrew my own self-command.
+
+The Prisoner spoke to the nurse in no friendly tone: "You can
+go."
+
+The nurse turned to me, ostentatiously ignoring the words that
+had been addressed to her. "Am I to go, sir, or to stay?"
+I suggested that she should return to the waiting-room. She
+returned at once in silence. The Prisoner looked after her as
+she went out, with such an expression of hatred in her eyes that
+the Minister noticed it.
+
+"What has that person done to offend you?" he asked.
+
+"She is the last person in the whole world whom I should have
+chosen to take care of my child, if the power of choosing had
+been mine. But I have been in prison, without a living creature
+to represent me or to take my part. No more of that; my troubles
+will be over in a few hours more. I want you to look at my little
+girl, whose troubles are all to come. Do you call her pretty? Do
+you feel interested in her?"
+
+The sorrow and pity in his face answered for him.
+
+Quietly sleeping, the poor baby rested on her mother's bosom. Was
+the heart of the murderess softened by the divine influence of
+maternal love? The hands that held the child trembled a little.
+For the first time it seemed to cost her an effort to compose
+herself, before she could speak to the Minister again.
+
+"When I die to-morrow," she said, "I leave my child helpless
+and friendless--disgraced by her mother's shameful death. The
+workhouse may take her--or a charitable asylum may take her." She
+paused; a first tinge of color rose on her pale face; she broke
+into an outburst of rage. "Think of _my_ daughter being brought
+up by charity! She may suffer poverty, she may be treated with
+contempt, she may be employed by brutal people in menial work.
+I can't endure it; it maddens me. If she is not saved from that
+wretched fate, I shall die despairing, I shall die cursing--"
+
+The Minister sternly stopped her before she could say the next
+word. To my astonishment she appeared to be humbled, to be even
+ashamed: she asked his pardon: "Forgive me; I won't forget myself
+again. They tell me you have no children of your own. Is that a
+sorrow to you and your wife?"
+
+Her altered tone touched him. He answered sadly and kindly: "It
+is the one sorrow of our lives."
+
+The purpose which she had been keeping in view from the moment
+when the Minister entered her cell was no mystery now. Ought I to
+have interfered? Let me confess a weakness, unworthy perhaps of
+my office. I was so sorry for the child--I hesitated.
+
+My silence encouraged the mother. She advanced to the Minister
+with the sleeping infant in her arms.
+
+"I daresay you have sometimes thought of adopting a child?" she
+said. "Perhaps you can guess now what I had in my mind, when
+I asked if you would consent to a sacrifice? Will you take this
+wretched innocent little creature home with you?" She lost her
+self-possession once more. "A motherless creature to-morrow,"
+she burst out. "Think of that."
+
+God knows how I still shrunk from it! But there was no
+alternative now; I was bound to remember my duty to the excellent
+man, whose critical position at that moment was, in some degree
+at least, due to my hesitation in asserting my authority. Could
+I allow the Prisoner to presume on his compassionate nature, and
+to hurry him into a decision which, in his calmer moments, he
+might find reason to regret? I spoke to _him_. Does the man live
+who--having to say what I had to say--could have spoken to
+the doomed mother?
+
+"I am sorry to have allowed this to go on," I said. "In justice
+to yourself, sir, don't answer!"
+
+She turned on me with a look of fury.
+
+"He shall answer," she cried.
+
+I saw, or thought I saw, signs of yielding in his face. "Take
+time," I persisted--"take time to consider before you decide."
+
+She stepped up to me.
+
+"Take time?" she repeated. "Are you inhuman enough to talk of
+time, in my presence?"
+
+She laid the sleeping child on her bed, and fell on her knees
+before the Minister: "I promise to hear your exhortations--I
+promise to do all a woman can to believe and repent. Oh, I know
+myself! My heart, once hardened, is a heart that no human
+creature can touch. The one way to my better nature--if I have
+a better nature--is through that poor babe. Save her from
+the workhouse! Don't let them make a pauper of her!" She sank
+prostrate at his feet, and beat her hands in frenzy on the floor.
+"You want to save my guilty soul," she reminded him furiously.
+"There's but one way of doing it. Save my child!"
+
+He raised her. Her fierce tearless eyes questioned his face
+in a mute expectation dreadful to see. Suddenly, a foretaste
+of death--the death that was so near now!--struck her with
+a shivering fit: her head dropped on the Minister's shoulder.
+Other men might have shrunk from the contact of it. That true
+Christian let it rest.
+
+Under the maddening sting of suspense, her sinking energies
+rallied for an instant. In a whisper, she was just able to put
+the supreme question to him.
+
+"Yes? or No?"
+
+He answered: "Yes."
+
+A faint breath of relief, just audible in the silence, told me
+that she had heard him. It was her last effort. He laid her,
+insensible, on the bed, by the side of her sleeping child.
+"Look at them," was all he said to me; "how could I refuse?"
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+MISS CHANCE ASSERTS HERSELF.
+
+The services of our medical officer were required, in order to
+hasten the recovery of the Prisoner's senses.
+
+When the Doctor and I left the cell together, she was composed,
+and ready (in the performance of her promise) to listen to
+the exhortations of the Minister. The sleeping child was left
+undisturbed, by the mother's desire. If the Minister felt tempted
+to regret what he had done, there was the artless influence
+which would check him! As we stepped into the corridor, I gave
+the female warder her instructions to remain on the watch, and
+to return to her post when she saw the Minister come out.
+
+In the meantime, my companion had walked on a little way.
+
+Possessed of ability and experience within the limits of
+his profession, he was in other respects a man with a crotchety
+mind; bold to the verge of recklessness in the expression of
+his opinion; and possessed of a command of language that carried
+everything before it. Let me add that he was just and merciful
+in his intercourse with others, and I shall have summed him up
+fairly enough. When I joined him he seemed to be absorbed in
+reflection.
+
+"Thinking of the Prisoner?" I said.
+
+"Thinking of what is going on, at this moment, in the condemned
+cell," he answered, "and wondering if any good will come of it."
+
+I was not without hope of a good result, and I said so.
+
+The Doctor disagreed with me. "I don't believe in that woman's
+penitence," he remarked; "and I look upon the parson as a poor
+weak creature. What is to become of the child?"
+
+There was no reason for concealing from one of my colleagues
+the benevolent decision, on the part of the good Minister,
+of which I had been a witness. The Doctor listened to me with
+the first appearance of downright astonishment that I had ever
+observed in his face. When I had done, he made an extraordinary
+reply:
+
+"Governor, I retract what I said of the parson just now. He
+is one of the boldest men that ever stepped into a pulpit."
+
+Was the doctor in earnest? Strongly in earnest; there could be
+no doubt of it. Before I could ask him what he meant, he was
+called away to a patient on the other side of the prison. When
+we parted at the door of my room, I made it a request that my
+medical friend would return to me and explain what he had just
+said.
+
+"Considering that you are the governor of a prison," he replied,
+"you are a singularly rash man. If I come back, how do you know
+I shall not bore you?"
+
+"My rashness runs the risk of that," I rejoined.
+
+"Tell me something, before I allow you to run your risk,"
+he said. "Are you one of those people who think that the tempers
+of children are formed by the accidental influences which happen
+to be about them? Or do you agree with me that the tempers of
+children are inherited from their parents?"
+
+The Doctor (as I concluded) was still strongly impressed by
+the Minister's resolution to adopt a child whose wicked mother
+had committed the most atrocious of all crimes. Was some serious
+foreboding in secret possession of his mind? My curiosity to hear
+him was now increased tenfold. I replied without hesitation:
+
+"I agree with you."
+
+He looked at me with his sense of humor twinkling in his eyes.
+"Do you know I rather expected that answer?" he said, slyly.
+"All right. I'll come back."
+
+Left by myself, I took up the day's newspaper.
+
+My attention wandered; my thoughts were in the cell with
+the Minister and the Prisoner. How would it end? Sometimes, I was
+inclined to doubt with the Doctor. Sometimes, I took refuge in
+my own more hopeful view. These idle reflections were agreeably
+interrupted by the appearance of my friend, the Chaplain.
+
+"You are always welcome," I said; "and doubly welcome just now.
+I am feeling a little worried and anxious."
+
+"And you are naturally," the Chaplain added, "not at all disposed
+to receive a stranger?"
+
+"Is the stranger a friend of yours?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, no! Having occasion, just now, to go into the waiting-room,
+I found a young woman there, who asked me if she could see you.
+She thinks you have forgotten her, and she is tired of waiting. I
+merely undertook, of course, to mention what she had said to me."
+
+The nurse having been in this way recalled to my memory, I felt
+some little interest in seeing her, after what had passed in
+the cell. In plainer words, I was desirous of judging for myself
+whether she deserved the hostile feeling which the Prisoner had
+shown toward her. I thanked the Chaplain before he left me, and
+gave the servant the necessary instructions. When she entered
+the room, I looked at the woman attentively for the first time.
+
+Youth and a fine complexion, a well-made figure and a natural
+grace of movement--these were her personal attractions, so far
+as I could see. Her defects were, to my mind, equally noticeable.
+Under a heavy forehead, her piercing eyes looked out at persons
+and things with an expression which was not to my taste.
+Her large mouth--another defect, in my opinion--would have
+been recommended to mercy, in the estimation of many men, by
+her magnificent teeth; white, well-shaped, cruelly regular.
+Believers in physiognomy might perhaps have seen the betrayal
+of an obstinate nature in the lengthy firmness of her chin.
+While I am trying to describe her, let me not forget her dress.
+A woman's dress is the mirror in which we may see the reflection
+of a woman's nature. Bearing in mind the melancholy and
+impressive circumstances under which she had brought the child
+to the prison, the gayety of color in her gown and her bonnet
+implied either a total want of feeling, or a total want of tact.
+As to her position in life, let me confess that I felt, after
+a closer examination, at a loss to determine it. She was
+certainly not a lady. The Prisoner had spoken of her as if
+she was a domestic servant who had forfeited her right to
+consideration and respect. And she had entered the prison, as
+a nurse might have entered it, in charge of a child. I did what
+we all do when we are not clever enough to find the answer to
+a riddle--I gave it up.
+
+"What can I do for you?" I asked.
+
+"Perhaps you can tell me," she answered, "how much longer I am
+to be kept waiting in this prison."
+
+"The decision," I reminded her, "doesn't depend on me."
+
+"Then who does it depend on?"
+
+The Minister had undoubtedly acquired the sole right of deciding.
+It was for him to say whether this woman should, or should not,
+remain in attendance on the child whom he had adopted. In the
+meanwhile, the feeling of distrust which was gaining on my mind
+warned me to remember the value of reserve in holding intercourse
+with a stranger.
+
+She seemed to be irritated by my silence. "If the decision
+doesn't rest with you," she asked, "why did you tell me to stay
+in the waiting-room?"
+
+"You brought the little girl into the prison," I said; "was it
+not natural to suppose that your mistress might want you--"
+
+"Stop, sir!"
+
+I had evidently given offense; I stopped directly.
+
+"No person on the face of the earth," she declared, loftily, "has
+ever had the right to call herself my mistress. Of my own free
+will, sir, I took charge of the child."
+
+"Because you are fond of her?" I suggested.
+
+"I hate her."
+
+It was unwise on my part--I protested. "Hate a baby little more
+than a year old!" I said.
+
+"_Her_ baby!"
+
+She said it with the air of a woman who had produced an
+unanswerable reason. "I am accountable to nobody," she went on.
+"If I consented to trouble myself with the child, it was in
+remembrance of my friendship--notice, if you please, that I say
+friendship--with the unhappy father."
+
+Putting together what I had just heard, and what I had seen in
+the cell, I drew the right conclusion at last. The woman, whose
+position in life had been thus far an impenetrable mystery to me,
+now stood revealed as one, among other objects of the Prisoner's
+jealousy, during her disastrous married life. A serious doubt
+occurred to me as to the authority under which the husband's
+mistress might be acting, after the husband's death. I instantly
+put it to the test.
+
+"Do I understand you to assert any claim to the child?" I asked.
+
+"Claim?" she repeated. "I know no more of the child than you do.
+I heard for the first time that such a creature was in existence,
+when her murdered father sent for me in his dying moments.
+At his entreaty I promised to take care of her, while her vile
+mother was out of the house and in the hands of the law.
+My promise has been performed. If I am expected (having brought
+her to the prison) to take her away again, understand this: I am
+under no obligation (even if I could afford it) to burden myself
+with that child; I shall hand her over to the workhouse
+authorities." 
+
+I forgot myself once more--I lost my temper.
+
+"Leave the room," I said. "Your unworthy hands will not touch
+the poor baby again. She is provided for."
+
+"I don't believe you!" the wretch burst out. "Who has taken
+the child?"
+
+A quiet voice answered: "_I_ have taken her."
+
+We both looked round and saw the Minister standing in the open
+doorway, with the child in his arms. The ordeal that he had gone
+through in the condemned cell was visible in his face; he looked
+miserably haggard and broken. I was eager to know if his merciful
+interest in the Prisoner had purified her guilty soul--but at
+the same time I was afraid, after what he had but too plainly
+suffered, to ask him to enter into details.
+
+"Only one word," I said. "Are your anxieties at rest?"
+
+"God's mercy has helped me," he answered. "I have not spoken in
+vain. She believes; she repents; she has confessed the crime."
+
+After handing the written and signed confession to me, he
+approached the venomous creature, still lingering in the room
+to hear what passed between us. Before I could stop him, he spoke
+to her, under a natural impression that he was addressing
+the Prisoner's servant.
+
+"I am afraid you will be disappointed," he said, "when I tell you
+that your services will no longer be required. I have reasons for
+placing the child under the care of a nurse of my own choosing."
+
+She listened with an evil smile.
+
+"I know who furnished you with your reasons," she answered.
+"Apologies are quite needless, so far as I am concerned. If you
+had proposed to me to look after the new member of your family
+there, I should have felt it my duty to myself to have refused.
+I am not a nurse--I am an independent single lady. I see by your
+dress that you are a clergyman. Allow me to present myself as
+a mark of respect to your cloth. I am Miss Elizabeth Chance. May
+I ask the favor of your name?"
+
+Too weary and too preoccupied to notice the insolence of
+her manner, the Minister mentioned his name. "I am anxious,"
+he said, "to know if the child has been baptized. Perhaps you
+can enlighten me?"
+
+Still insolent, Miss Elizabeth Chance shook her head carelessly.
+"I never heard--and, to tell you the truth, I never cared to
+hear--whether she was christened or not. Call her by what name
+you like, I can tell you this--you will find your adopted
+daughter a heavy handful."
+
+The Minister turned to me. "What does she mean?"
+
+"I will try to tell you," Miss Chance interposed. "Being
+a clergyman, you know who Deborah was? Very well. I am Deborah
+now; and _I_ prophesy." She pointed to the child. "Remember what
+I say, reverend sir! You will find the tigress-cub take after
+its mother."
+
+With those parting words, she favored us with a low curtsey,
+and left the room.
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+THE DOCTOR DOUBTS.
+
+The Minister looked at me in an absent manner; his attention
+seemed to have been wandering. "What was it Miss Chance said?"
+he asked.
+
+Before I could speak, a friend's voice at the door interrupted
+us. The Doctor, returning to me as he had promised, answered
+the Minister's question in these words:
+
+"I must have passed the person you mean, sir, as I was coming
+in here; and I heard her say: 'You will find the tigress-cub
+take after its mother.' If she had known how to put her meaning
+into good English, Miss Chance--that is the name you mentioned,
+I think--might have told you that the vices of the parents are
+inherited by the children. And the one particular parent she had
+in her mind," the Doctor continued, gently patting the child's
+cheek, "was no doubt the mother of this unfortunate little
+creature--who may, or may not, live to show you that she comes
+of a bad stock and inherits a wicked nature."
+
+I was on the point of protesting against my friend's
+interpretation, when the Minister stopped me.
+
+"Let me thank you, sir, for your explanation," he said to
+the Doctor. "As soon as my mind is free, I will reflect on what
+you have said. Forgive me, Mr. Governor," he went on, "if I leave
+you, now that I have placed the Prisoner's confession in your
+hands. It has been an effort to me to say the little I have said,
+since I first entered this room. I can think of nothing but that
+unhappy criminal, and the death that she must die to-morrow."
+
+"Does she wish you to be present?" I asked.
+
+"She positively forbids it. 'After what you have done for me,'
+she said, 'the least I can do in return is to prevent your being
+needlessly distressed.' She took leave of me; she kissed
+the little girl for the last time--oh, don't ask me to tell
+you about it! I shall break down if I try. Come, my darling!"
+He kissed the child tenderly, and took her away with him.
+
+"That man is a strange compound of strength and weakness,"
+the Doctor remarked. "Did you notice his face, just now? Nine
+men out of ten, suffering as he suffered, would have failed
+to control themselves. Such resolution as his _may_ conquer
+the difficulties that are in store for him yet."
+
+It was a trial of my temper to hear my clever colleague
+justifying, in this way, the ignorant prediction of an insolent
+woman.
+
+"There are exceptions to all rules," I insisted. "And why are
+the virtues of the parents not just as likely to descend to
+the children as the vices? There was a fund of good, I can tell
+you, in that poor baby's father--though I don't deny that he was
+a profligate man. And even the horrible mother--as you heard just
+now--has virtue enough left in her to feel grateful to the man
+who has taken care of her child. These are facts; you can't
+dispute them."
+
+The Doctor took out his pipe. "Do you mind my smoking?" he asked.
+"Tobacco helps me to arrange my ideas."
+
+I gave him the means of arranging his ideas; that is to say,
+I gave him the match-box. He blew some preliminary clouds of
+smoke and then he answered me:
+
+"For twenty years past, my friend, I have been studying
+the question of hereditary transmission of qualities; and I have
+found vices and diseases descending more frequently to children
+than virtue and health. I don't stop to ask why: there is no end
+to that sort of curiosity. What I have observed is what I tell
+you; no more and no less. You will say this is a horribly
+discouraging result of experience, for it tends to show that
+children come into the world at a disadvantage on the day of
+their birth. Of course they do. Children are born deformed;
+children are born deaf, dumb, or blind; children are born with
+the seeds in them of deadly diseases. Who can account for the
+cruelties of creation? Why are we endowed with life--only to end
+in death? And does it ever strike you, when you are cutting your
+mutton at dinner, and your cat is catching its mouse, and your
+spider is suffocating its fly, that we are all, big and little
+together, born to one certain inheritance--the privilege of
+eating each other?"
+
+"Very sad," I admitted. "But it will all be set right in another
+world."
+
+"Are you quite sure of that?" the Doctor asked.
+
+"Quite sure, thank God! And it would be better for you if you
+felt about it as I do."
+
+"We won't dispute, my dear Governor. I don't scoff at comforting
+hopes; I don't deny the existence of occasional compensations.
+But I do see, nevertheless, that Evil has got the upper hand
+among us, on this curious little planet. Judging by my
+observation and experience, that ill-fated baby's chance of
+inheriting the virtues of her parents is not to be compared with
+her chances of inheriting their vices; especially if she happens
+to take after her mother. _There_ the virtue is not conspicuous,
+and the vice is one enormous fact. When I think of the growth of
+that poisonous hereditary taint, which may come with time--when
+I think of passions let loose and temptations lying in ambush--I
+see the smooth surface of the Minister's domestic life with
+dangers lurking under it which make me shake in my shoes. God!
+what a life I should lead, if I happened to be in his place,
+some years hence. Suppose I said or did something (in the just
+exercise of my parental authority) which offended my adopted
+daughter. What figure would rise from the dead in my memory, when
+the girl bounced out of the room in a rage? The image of her
+mother would be the image I should see. I should remember what
+her mother did when _she_ was provoked; I should lock my bedroom
+door, in my own house, at night. I should come down to breakfast
+with suspicions in my cup of tea, if I discovered that my adopted
+daughter had poured it out. Oh, yes; it's quite true that I might
+be doing the girl a cruel injustice all the time; but how am I to
+be sure of that? I am only sure that her mother was hanged for
+one of the most merciless murders committed in our time. Pass
+the match-box. My pipe's out, and my confession of faith has come
+to an end."
+
+It was useless to dispute with a man who possessed his command of
+language. At the same time, there was a bright side to the poor
+Minister's prospects which the Doctor had failed to see. It was
+barely possible that I might succeed in putting my positive
+friend in the wrong. I tried the experiment, at any rate.
+
+"You seem to have forgotten," I reminded him, "that the child
+will have every advantage that education can offer to her, and
+will be accustomed from her earliest years to restraining and
+purifying influences, in a clergyman's household."
+
+Now that he was enjoying the fumes of tobacco, the Doctor was
+as placid and sweet-tempered as a man could be.
+
+"Quite true," he said.
+
+"Do you doubt the influence of religion?" I asked sternly.
+
+He answered, sweetly: "Not at all"
+
+"Or the influence of kindness?"
+
+"Oh, dear, no!"
+
+"Or the force of example?"
+
+"I wouldn't deny it for the world."
+
+I had not expected this extraordinary docility. The Doctor had
+got the upper hand of me again--a state of things that I might
+have found it hard to endure, but for a call of duty which put
+an end to our sitting. One of the female warders appeared with
+a message from the condemned cell. The Prisoner wished to see
+the Governor and the Medical Officer.
+
+"Is she ill?" the Doctor inquired.
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Hysterical? or agitated, perhaps?"
+
+"As easy and composed, sir, as a person can be."
+
+We set forth together for the condemned cell.
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+THE MURDERESS CONSULTS THE AUTHORITIES.
+
+There was a considerate side to my friend's character, which
+showed itself when the warder had left us.
+
+He was especially anxious to be careful of what he said to
+a woman in the Prisoner's terrible situation; especially in
+the event of her having been really subjected to the influence
+of religious belief. On the Minister's own authority, I declared
+that there was every reason to adopt this conclusion; and in
+support of what I had said I showed him the confession. It only
+contained a few lines, acknowledging that she had committed
+the murder and that she deserved her sentence. "From the planning
+of the crime to the commission of the crime, I was in my right
+senses throughout. I knew what I was doing." With that remarkable
+disavowal of the defense set up by her advocate, the confession
+ended.
+
+My colleague read the paper, and handed it back to me without
+making any remark. I asked if he suspected the Prisoner of
+feigning conversion to please the Minister.
+
+"She shall not discover it," he answered, gravely, "if I do."
+
+It would not be true to say that the Doctor's obstinacy had
+shaken my belief in the good result of the Minister's
+interference. I may, however, acknowledge that I felt some
+misgivings, which were not dispelled when I found myself in
+the presence of the Prisoner.
+
+I had expected to see her employed in reading the Bible. The good
+book was closed and was not even placed within her reach.
+The occupation to which she was devoting herself astonished and
+repelled me.
+
+Some carelessness on the part of the attendant had left on
+the table the writing materials that had been needed for her
+confession. She was using them now--when death on the scaffold
+was literally within a few hours of her--to sketch a portrait of
+the female warder, who was on the watch! The Doctor and I looked
+at each other; and now the sincerity of her repentance was
+something that I began to question, too.
+
+She laid down the pen, and proceeded quietly to explain herself.
+
+"Even the little time that is left to me proves to be a weary
+time to get through," she said. "I am making a last use of the
+talent for drawing and catching a likeness, which has been one
+of my gifts since I was a girl. You look as if you didn't approve
+of such employment as this for a woman who is going to be hanged.
+Well, sir, I have no doubt you are right." She paused, and tore
+up the portrait. "If I have misbehaved myself," she resumed,
+"I make amends. To find you in an indulgent frame of mind is of
+importance to me just now. I have a favor to ask of you. May
+the warder leave the cell for a few minutes?"
+
+Giving the woman permission to withdraw for a while, I waited
+with some anxiety to hear what the Prisoner wanted of me.
+
+"I have something to say to you," she proceeded, "on the subject
+of executions. The face of a person who is going to be hanged
+is hidden, as I have been told, by a white cap drawn over it.
+Is that true?"
+
+How another man might have felt, in my place, I cannot, of
+course, say. To my mind, such a question--on _her_ lips--was
+too shocking to be answered in words. I bowed.
+
+"And the body is buried," she went on, "in the prison?"
+
+I could remain silent no longer. "Is there no human feeling left
+in you?" I burst out. "What do these horrid questions mean?"
+
+"Don't be angry with me, sir; you shall hear directly. I want
+to know first if I am to be buried in the prison?"
+
+I replied as before, by a bow.
+
+"Now," she said, "I may tell you what I mean. In the autumn
+of last year I was taken to see some waxworks. Portraits of
+criminals were among them. There was one portrait--" She
+hesitated; her infernal self-possession failed her at last. The
+color left her face; she was no longer able to look at me firmly.
+"There was one portrait," she resumed, "that had been taken after
+the execution. The face was so hideous; it was swollen to such
+a size in its frightful deformity--oh, sir, don't let me be seen
+in that state, even by the strangers who bury me! Use your
+influence--forbid them to take the cap off my face when I am
+dead--order them to bury me in it, and I swear to you I'll meet
+death tomorrow as coolly as the boldest man that ever mounted the
+scaffold!" Before I could stop her, she seized me by the hand,
+and wrung it with a furious power that left the mark of her grasp
+on me, in a bruise, for days afterward. "Will you do it?" she
+cried. "You're an honorable man; you will keep your word. Give me
+your promise!"
+
+I gave her my promise.
+
+The relief to her tortured spirit expressed itself horribly in
+a burst of frantic laughter. "I can't help it," she gasped; "I'm
+so happy."
+
+My enemies said of me, when I got my appointment, that I was too
+excitable a man to be governor of a prison. Perhaps they were not
+altogether wrong. Anyhow, the quick-witted Doctor saw some change
+in me, which I was not aware of myself. He took my arm and led me
+out of the cell. "Leave her to me," he whispered. "The fine edge
+of my nerves was worn off long ago in the hospital."
+
+When we met again, I asked what had passed between the Prisoner
+and himself.
+
+"I gave her time to recover," he told me; "and, except that she
+looked a little paler than usual, there was no trace left of
+the frenzy that you remember. 'I ought to apologize for troubling
+you,' she said; 'but it is perhaps natural that I should think,
+now and then, of what is to happen to me to-morrow morning. As
+a medical man, you will be able to enlighten me. Is death by
+hanging a painful death?' She had put it so politely that I felt
+bound to answer her. 'If the neck happens to be broken,' I said,
+'hanging is a sudden death; fright and pain (if there is any
+pain) are both over in an instant. As to the other form of death
+which is also possible (I mean death by suffocation), I must own
+as an honest man that I know no more about it than you do.' After
+considering a little, she made a sensible remark, and followed it
+by an embarrassing request. 'A great deal,' she said, 'must
+depend on the executioner. I am not afraid of death, Doctor.
+Why should I be? My anxiety about my little girl is set at rest;
+I have nothing left to live for. But I don't like pain. Would you
+mind telling the executioner to be careful? Or would it be better
+if I spoke to him myself?' I said I thought it would come with
+a better grace from herself. She understood me directly; and we
+dropped the subject. Are you surprised at her coolness, after
+your experience of her?"
+
+I confessed that I was surprised.
+
+"Think a little," the Doctor said. "The one sensitive place in
+that woman's nature is the place occupied by her self-esteem."
+
+I objected to this that she had shown fondness for her child.
+
+My friend disposed of the objection with his customary readiness.
+
+"The maternal instinct," he said. "A cat is fond of her kittens;
+a cow is fond of her calf. No, sir, the one cause of that
+outbreak of passion which so shocked you--a genuine outbreak,
+beyond all doubt--is to be found in the vanity of a fine feminine
+creature, overpowered by a horror of looking hideous, even after
+her death. Do you know I rather like that woman?"
+
+"Is it possible that you are in earnest?" I asked.
+
+"I know as well as you do," he answered, that this is neither a
+time nor a place for jesting. The fact is, the Prisoner carries
+out an idea of mine. It is my positive conviction that the worst
+murders--I mean murders deliberately planned--are committed by
+persons absolutely deficient in that part of the moral
+organization which _feels_. The night before they are hanged they
+sleep. On their last morning they eat a breakfast. Incapable of
+realizing the horror of murder, they are incapable of realizing
+the horror of death. Do you remember the last murderer who was
+hanged here--a gentleman's coachman who killed his wife? He had
+but two anxieties while he was waiting for execution. One was to
+get his allowance of beer doubled, and the other was to be hanged
+in his coachman's livery. No! no! these wretches are all alike;
+they are human creatures born with the temperaments of tigers.
+Take my word for it, we need feel no anxiety about to-morrow.
+The Prisoner will face the crowd round the scaffold with
+composure; and the people will say, 'She died game.' "
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+THE MINISTER SAYS GOOD-BY.
+
+The Capital Punishment of the Prisoner is in no respect connected
+with my purpose in writing the present narrative. Neither do
+I desire to darken these pages by describing in detail an act
+of righteous retribution which must present, by the nature of it,
+a scene of horror. For these reasons I ask to be excused, if
+I limit what I must needs say of the execution within the compass
+of a few words--and pass on.
+
+The one self-possessed person among us was the miserable woman
+who suffered the penalty of death.
+
+Not very discreetly, as I think, the Chaplain asked her if she
+had truly repented. She answered: "I have confessed the crime,
+sir. What more do you want?" To my mind--still hesitating between
+the view that believes with the Minister, and the view that
+doubts with the Doctor--this reply leaves a way open to hope of
+her salvation. Her last words to me, as she mounted the steps of
+the scaffold, were: "Remember your promise." It was easy for me
+to be true to my word. At that bygone time, no difficulties were
+placed in my way by such precautions as are now observed in
+the conduct of executions within the walls of the prison. From
+the time of her death to the time of her burial, no living
+creature saw her face. She rests, veiled in her prison grave.
+
+Let me now turn to living interests, and to scenes removed from
+the thunder-clouds of crime.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+On the next day I received a visit from the Minister.
+
+His first words entreated me not to allude to the terrible event
+of the previous day. "I cannot escape thinking of it," he said,
+"but I may avoid speaking of it." This seemed to me to be the
+misplaced confidence of a weak man in the refuge of silence. By
+way of changing the subject, I spoke of the child. There would be
+serious difficulties to contend with (as I ventured to suggest),
+if he remained in the town, and allowed his new responsibilities
+to become the subject of public talk.
+
+His reply to this agreeably surprised me. There were no
+difficulties to be feared.
+
+The state of his wife's health had obliged him (acting under
+medical advice) to try the influence of her native air. An
+interval of some months might elapse before the good effect of
+the change had sufficiently declared itself; and a return to the
+peculiar climate of the town might bring on a relapse. There had
+consequently been no alternative to but resign his charge. Only
+on that day the resignation had been accepted--with expressions
+of regret sincerely reciprocated by himself. He proposed to leave
+the town immediately; and one of the objects of his visit was to
+bid me good-by.
+
+"The next place I live in," he said, "will be more than a hundred
+miles away. At that distance I may hope to keep events concealed
+which must be known only to ourselves. So far as I can see, there
+are no risks of discovery lurking in this place. My servants
+(only two in number) have both been born here, and have both told
+my wife that they have no wish to go away. As to the person who
+introduced herself to me by the name of Miss Chance, she was
+traced to the railway station yesterday afternoon, and took
+her ticket for London."
+
+I congratulated the Minister on the good fortune which had
+befriended him, so far.
+
+"You will understand how carefully I have provided against being
+deceived," he continued, "when I tell you what my plans are. The
+persons among whom my future lot is cast--and the child herself,
+of course--must never suspect that the new member of my family
+is other than my own daughter. This is deceit, I admit; but it is
+deceit that injures no one. I hope you see the necessity for it,
+as I do."
+
+There could be no doubt of the necessity.
+
+If the child was described as adopted, there would be curiosity
+about the circumstances, and inquiries relating to the parents.
+Prevaricating replies lead to suspicion, and suspicion to
+discovery. But for the wise course which the Minister had decided
+on taking, the poor child's life might have been darkened by
+the horror of the mother's crime, and the infamy of the mother's
+death.
+
+Having quieted my friend's needless scruples by this perfectly
+sincere expression of opinion, I ventured to approach the central
+figure in his domestic circle, by means of a question relating
+to his wife. How had that lady received the unfortunate little
+creature, for whose appearance on the home-scene she must have
+been entirely unprepared?
+
+The Minister's manner showed some embarrassment; he prefaced what
+he had to tell me with praises of his wife, equally creditable no
+doubt to both of them. The beauty of the child, the pretty ways
+of the child, he said, fascinated the admirable woman at first
+sight. It was not to be denied that she had felt, and had
+expressed, misgivings, on being informed of the circumstances
+under which the Minister's act of mercy had been performed.
+But her mind was too well balanced to incline to this state of
+feeling, when her husband had addressed her in defense of his
+conduct. She then understood that the true merit of a good action
+consisted in patiently facing the sacrifices involved. Her
+interest in the new daughter being, in this way, ennobled by
+a sense of Christian duty, there had been no further difference
+of opinion between the married pair.
+
+I listened to this plausible explanation with interest, but, at
+the same time, with doubts of the lasting nature of the lady's
+submission to circumstances; suggested, perhaps, by the
+constraint in the Minister's manner. It was well for both of us
+when we changed the subject. He reminded me of the discouraging
+view which the Doctor had taken of the prospect before him.
+
+"I will not attempt to decide whether your friend is right or
+wrong," he said. "Trusting, as I do, in the mercy of God, I look
+hopefully to a future time when all that is brightest and best
+in the nature of my adopted child will be developed under my
+fostering care. If evil tendencies show themselves, my reliance
+will be confidently placed on pious example, on religious
+instruction, and, above all, on intercession by prayer. Repeat
+to your friend," he concluded, "what you have just heard me say.
+Let him ask himself if he could confront the uncertain future
+with my cheerful submission and my steadfast hope."
+
+He intrusted me with that message, and gave me his hand. So we
+parted.
+
+I agreed with him, I admired him; but my faith seemed to want
+sustaining power, as compared with his faith. On his own showing
+(as it appeared to me), there would be two forces in a state of
+conflict in the child's nature as she grew up--inherited evil
+against inculcated good. Try as I might, I failed to feel
+the Minister's comforting conviction as to which of the two
+would win.
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+THE GOVERNOR RECEIVES A VISIT.
+
+A few days after the good man had left us, I met with a serious
+accident, caused by a false step on the stone stairs of
+the prison.
+
+The long illness which followed this misfortune, and my removal
+afterward (in the interests of my recovery) to a milder climate
+than the climate of England, obliged me to confide the duties of
+governor of the prison to a representative. I was absent from
+my post for rather more than a year. During this interval no news
+reached me from my reverend friend.
+
+Having returned to the duties of my office, I thought of writing
+to the Minister. While the proposed letter was still in
+contemplation, I was informed that a lady wished to see me. She
+sent in her card. My visitor proved to be the Minister's wife.
+
+I observed her with no ordinary attention when she entered
+the room.
+
+Her dress was simple; her scanty light hair, so far as I could
+see it under her bonnet, was dressed with taste. The paleness of
+her lips, and the faded color in her face, suggested that she was
+certainly not in good health. Two peculiarities struck me in
+her personal appearance. I never remembered having seen any other
+person with such a singularly narrow and slanting forehead as
+this lady presented; and I was impressed, not at all agreeably,
+by the flashing shifting expression in her eyes. On the other
+hand, let me own that I was powerfully attracted and interested
+by the beauty of her voice. Its fine variety of compass, and its
+musical resonance of tone, fell with such enchantment on the ear,
+that I should have liked to put a book of poetry into her hand,
+and to have heard her read it in summer-time, accompanied by
+the music of a rocky stream.
+
+The object of her visit--so far as she explained it at
+the outset--appeared to be to offer her congratulations on
+my recovery, and to tell me that her husband had assumed
+the charge of a church in a large town not far from
+her birthplace.
+
+Even those commonplace words were made interesting by
+her delicious voice. But however sensitive to sweet sounds
+a man may be, there are limits to his capacity for deceiving
+himself--especially when he happens to be enlightened by
+experience of humanity within the walls of a prison. I had,
+it may be remembered, already doubted the lady's good temper,
+judging from her husband's over-wrought description of her
+virtues. Her eyes looked at me furtively; and her manner,
+gracefully self-possessed as it was, suggested that she had
+something of a delicate, or disagreeable, nature to say to me,
+and that she was at a loss how to approach the subject so as to
+produce the right impression on my mind at the outset. There was
+a momentary silence between us. For the sake of saying something,
+I asked how she and the Minister liked their new place of
+residence.
+
+"Our new place of residence," she answered, "has been made
+interesting by a very unexpected event--an event (how shall
+I describe it?) which has increased our happiness and enlarged
+our family circle."
+
+There she stopped: expecting me, as I fancied, to guess what she
+meant. A woman, and that woman a mother, might have fulfilled
+her anticipations. A man, and that man not listening attentively,
+was simply puzzled.
+
+"Pray excuse my stupidity," I said; "I don't quite understand
+you."
+
+The lady's temper looked at me out of the lady's shifting eyes,
+and hid itself again in a moment. She set herself right
+in my estimation by taking the whole blame of our little
+misunderstanding on her own innocent shoulders.
+
+"I ought to have spoken more plainly," she said. "Let me try
+what I can do now. After many years of disappointment in
+my married life, it has pleased Providence to bestow on me
+the happiness--the inexpressible happiness--of being a mother.
+My baby is a sweet little girl; and my one regret is that
+I cannot nurse her myself."
+
+My languid interest in the Minister's wife was not stimulated
+by the announcement of this domestic event.
+
+I felt no wish to see the "sweet little girl"; I was not even
+reminded of another example of long-deferred maternity, which
+had occurred within the limits of my own family circle. All my
+sympathies attached themselves to the sad little figure of the
+adopted child. I remembered the poor baby on my knee, enchanted
+by the ticking of my watch--I thought of her, peacefully and
+prettily asleep under the horrid shelter of the condemned
+cell--and it is hardly too much to say that my heart was
+heavy, when I compared her prospects with the prospects of
+her baby-rival. Kind as he was, conscientious as he was, could
+the Minister be expected to admit to an equal share in his love
+the child endeared to him as a father, and the child who merely
+reminded him of an act of mercy? As for his wife, it seemed
+the merest waste of time to put her state of feeling (placed
+between the two children) to the test of inquiry. I tried
+the useless experiment, nevertheless.
+
+"It is pleasant to think," I began, "that your other daughter--"
+
+She interrupted me, with the utmost gentleness: "Do you mean
+the child that my husband was foolish enough to adopt?"
+
+"Say rather fortunate enough to adopt," I persisted. "As your own
+little girl grows up, she will want a playfellow. And she will
+find a playfellow in that other child, whom the good Minister has
+taken for his own."
+
+"No, my dear sir--not if I can prevent it."
+
+The contrast between the cruelty of her intention, and the
+musical beauty of the voice which politely expressed it in those
+words, really startled me. I was at a loss how to answer her,
+at the very time when I ought to have been most ready to speak.
+
+"You must surely understand," she went on, "that we don't want
+another person's child, now we have a little darling of our own?"
+
+"Does your husband agree with you in that view?" I asked.
+
+"Oh dear, no! He said what you said just now, and (oddly enough)
+almost in the same words. But I don't at all despair of
+persuading him to change his mind--and you can help me."
+
+She made that audacious assertion with such an appearance of
+feeling perfectly sure of me, that my politeness gave way under
+the strain laid on it. "What do you mean?" I asked sharply.
+
+Not in the least impressed by my change of manner, she took from
+the pocket of her dress a printed paper. "You will find what
+I mean there," she replied--and put the paper into my hand.
+
+It was an appeal to the charitable public, occasioned by the
+enlargement of an orphan-asylum, with which I had been connected
+for many years. What she meant was plain enough now. I said
+nothing: I only looked at her.
+
+Pleased to find that I was clever enough to guess what she meant,
+on this occasion, the Minister's wife informed me that the
+circumstances were all in our favor. She still persisted in
+taking me into partnership--the circumstances were in _our_
+favor.
+
+"In two years more," she explained, "the child of that detestable
+creature who was hanged--do you know, I cannot even look at
+the little wretch without thinking of the gallows?--will be old
+enough (with your interest to help us) to be received into the
+asylum. What a relief it will be to get rid of that child! And
+how hard I shall work at canvassing for subscribers' votes! Your
+name will be a tower of strength when I use it as a reference.
+Pardon me--you are not looking so pleasantly as usual. Do you see
+some obstacles in our way?"
+
+"I see two obstacles."
+
+"What can they possibly be?"
+
+For the second time, my politeness gave way under the strain
+laid on it. "You know perfectly well," I said, "what one of
+the obstacles is."
+
+"Am I to understand that you contemplate any serious resistance
+on the part of my husband?"
+
+"Certainly!"
+
+She was unaffectedly amused by my simplicity.
+
+"Are you a single man?" she asked.
+
+"I am a widower."
+
+"Then your experience ought to tell you that I know every weak
+point in the Minister's character. I can tell him, on your
+authority, that the hateful child will be placed in competent and
+kindly hands--and I have my own sweet baby to plead for me. With
+these advantages in my favor, do you actually suppose I can fail
+to make _my_ way of thinking _his_ way of thinking? You must have
+forgotten your own married life! Suppose we go on to the second
+of your two obstacles. I hope it will be better worth considering
+than the first."
+
+"The second obstacle will not disappoint you," I answered;
+"I am the obstacle, this time."
+
+"You refuse to help me?"
+
+"Positively."
+
+"Perhaps reflection may alter your resolution?"
+
+"Reflection will do nothing of the kind."
+
+"You are rude, sir!"
+
+"In speaking to you, madam, I have no alternative but to speak
+plainly."
+
+She rose. Her shifting eyes, for once, looked at me steadily.
+
+"What sort of enemy have I made of you?" she asked. "A passive
+enemy who is content with refusing to help me? Or an active enemy
+who will write to my husband?"
+
+"It depends entirely," I told her, "on what your husband does.
+If he questions me about you, I shall tell him the truth."
+
+"And if not?"
+
+"In that case, I shall hope to forget that you ever favored me
+with a visit."
+
+In making this reply I was guiltless of any malicious intention.
+What evil interpretation she placed on my words it is impossible
+for me to say; I can only declare that some intolerable sense of
+injury hurried her into an outbreak of rage. Her voice, strained
+for the first time, lost its tuneful beauty of tone.
+
+"Come and see us in two years' time," she burst out--"and
+discover the orphan of the gallows in our house if you can!
+If your Asylum won't take her, some other Charity will. Ha, Mr.
+Governor, I deserve my disappointment! I ought to have remembered
+that you are only a jailer after all. And what is a jailer?
+Proverbially a brute. Do you hear that? A brute!"
+
+Her strength suddenly failed her. She dropped back into the chair
+from which she had risen, with a faint cry of pain. A ghastly
+pallor stole over her face. There was wine on the sideboard;
+I filled a glass. She refused to take it. At that time in
+the day, the Doctor's duties required his attendance in
+the prison. I instantly sent for him. After a moment's look at
+her, he took the wine out of my hand, and held the glass to
+her lips.
+
+"Drink it," he said. She still refused. "Drink it," he
+reiterated, "or you will die."
+
+That frightened her; she drank the wine. The Doctor waited for a
+while with his fingers on her pulse. "She will do now," he said.
+
+"Can I go?" she asked.
+
+"Go wherever you please, madam--so long as you don't go upstairs
+in a hurry."
+
+She smiled: "I understand you, sir--and thank you for your
+advice."
+
+I asked the Doctor, when we were alone, what made him tell her
+not to go upstairs in a hurry.
+
+"What I felt," he answered, "when I had my fingers on her pulse.
+You heard her say that she understood me."
+
+"Yes; but I don't know what she meant."
+
+"She meant, probably, that her own doctor had warned her as
+I did."
+
+"Something seriously wrong with her health?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Heart."
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+MISS CHANCE REAPPEARS.
+
+A week had passed, since the Minister's wife had left me,
+when I received a letter from the Minister himself.
+
+After surprising me, as he innocently supposed, by announcing
+the birth of his child, he mentioned some circumstances connected
+with that event, which I now heard for the first time.
+
+"Within an easy journey of the populous scene of my present
+labors," he wrote, "there is a secluded country village called
+Low Lanes. The rector of the place is my wife's brother. Before
+the birth of our infant, he had asked his sister to stay for
+a while at his house; and the doctor thought she might safely
+be allowed to accept the invitation. Through some error in
+the customary calculations, as I suppose, the child was born
+unexpectedly at the rectory; and the ceremony of baptism was
+performed at the church, under circumstances which I am not able
+to relate within the limits of a letter: Let me only say that
+I allude to this incident without any sectarian bitterness of
+feeling--for I am no enemy to the Church of England. You have no
+idea what treasures of virtue and treasures of beauty maternity
+has revealed in my wife's sweet nature. Other mothers, in her
+proud position, might find their love cooling toward the poor
+child whom we have adopted. But my household is irradiated by the
+presence of an angel, who gives an equal share in her affections
+to the two little ones alike."
+
+In this semi-hysterical style of writing, the poor man
+unconsciously told me how cunningly and how cruelly his wife
+was deceiving him.
+
+I longed to exhibit that wicked woman in her true character--but
+what could I do? She must have been so favored by circumstances
+as to be able to account for her absence from home, without
+exciting the slightest suspicion of the journey which she had
+really taken, if I declared in my reply to the Minister's letter
+that I had received her in my rooms, and if I repeated the
+conversation that had taken place, what would the result be? She
+would find an easy refuge in positive denial of the truth--and,
+in that case, which of us would her infatuated husband believe?
+
+The one part of the letter which I read with some satisfaction
+was the end of it.
+
+I was here informed that the Minister's plans for concealing
+the parentage of his adopted daughter had proved to be entirely
+successful. The members of the new domestic household believed
+the two children to be infant-sisters. Neither was there any
+danger of the adopted child being identified (as the oldest child
+of the two) by consultation of the registers.
+
+Before he left our town, the Minister had seen for himself that
+no baptismal name had been added, after the birth of the daughter
+of the murderess had been registered, and that no entry of
+baptism existed in the registers kept in places of worship.
+He drew the inference--in all probability a true inference,
+considering the characters of the parents--that the child had
+never been baptized; and he performed the ceremony privately,
+abstaining, for obvious reasons, from adding her Christian name
+to the imperfect register of her birth. "I am not aware,"
+he wrote, "whether I have, or have not, committed an offense
+against the Law. In any case, I may hope to have made atonement
+by obedience to the Gospel."
+
+Six weeks passed, and I heard from my reverend friend once more.
+
+His second letter presented a marked contrast to the first. It
+was written in sorrow and anxiety, to inform me of an alarming
+change for the worse in his wife's health. I showed the letter
+to my medical colleague. After reading it he predicted the event
+that might be expected, in two words:--Sudden death.
+
+On the next occasion when I heard from the Minister, the Doctor's
+grim reply proved to be a prophecy fulfilled.
+
+When we address expressions of condolence to bereaved friends,
+the principles of popular hypocrisy sanction indiscriminate lying
+as a duty which we owe to the dead--no matter what their lives
+may have been--because they are dead. Within my own little
+sphere, I have always been silent, when I could not offer to
+afflicted persons expressions of sympathy which I honestly felt.
+To have condoled with the Minister on the loss that he had
+sustained by the death of a woman, self-betrayed to me as
+shamelessly deceitful, and pitilessly determined to reach her own
+cruel ends, would have been to degrade myself by telling
+a deliberate lie. I expressed in my answer all that an honest man
+naturally feels, when he is writing to a friend in distress;
+carefully abstaining from any allusion to the memory of his wife,
+or to the place which her death had left vacant in his household.
+My letter, I am sorry to say, disappointed and offended him. He
+wrote to me no more, until years had passed, and time had exerted
+its influence in producing a more indulgent frame of mind. These
+letters of a later date have been preserved, and will probably be
+used, at the right time, for purposes of explanation with which
+I may be connected in the future.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+The correspondent whom I had now lost was succeeded by
+a gentleman entirely unknown to me.
+
+Those reasons which induced me to conceal the names of persons,
+while I was relating events in the prison, do not apply to
+correspondence with a stranger writing from another place. I may,
+therefore, mention that Mr. Dunboyne, of Fairmount, on the west
+coast of Ireland, was the writer of the letter now addressed to
+me. He proved, to my surprise, to be one of the relations whom
+the Prisoner under sentence of death had not cared to see, when
+I offered her the opportunity of saying farewell. Mr. Dunboyne
+was a brother-in-law of the murderess. He had married her sister.
+
+His wife, he informed me, had died in childbirth, leaving him
+but one consolation--a boy, who already recalled all that was
+brightest and best in his lost mother. The father was naturally
+anxious that the son should never become acquainted with
+the disgrace that had befallen the family.
+
+The letter then proceeded in these terms:
+
+"I heard yesterday, for the first time, by means of an old
+newspaper-cutting sent to me by a friend, that the miserable
+woman who suffered the ignominy of public execution has left
+an infant child. Can you tell me what has become of the orphan?
+If this little girl is, as I fear, not well provided for, I only
+do what my wife would have done if she had lived, by offering to
+make the child's welfare my especial care. I am willing to place
+her in an establishment well known to me, in which she will be
+kindly treated, well educated, and fitted to earn her own living
+honorably in later life.
+
+"If you feel some surprise at finding that my good intentions
+toward this ill-fated niece of mine do not go to the length of
+receiving her as a member of my own family, I beg to submit some
+considerations which may perhaps weigh with you as they have
+weighed with me.
+
+"In the first place, there is at least a possibility--however
+carefully I might try to conceal it--that the child's parentage
+would sooner or later be discovered. In the second place (and
+assuming that the parentage had been successfully concealed),
+if this girl and my boy grew up together, there is another
+possibility to be reckoned with: they might become attached
+to each other. Does the father live who would allow his son
+ignorantly to marry the daughter of a convicted murderess? I
+should have no alternative but to part them cruelly by revealing
+the truth." The letter ended with some complimentary expressions
+addressed to myself. And the question was: how ought I to answer
+it?
+
+My correspondent had strongly impressed me in his favor; I could
+not doubt that he was an honorable man. But the interest of
+the Minister in keeping his own benevolent action secure from
+the risk of discovery--increased as that interest was by
+the filial relations of the two children toward him, now publicly
+established--had, as I could not doubt, the paramount claim
+on me. The absolutely safe course to take was to admit no one,
+friend or stranger, to our confidence. I replied, expressing
+sincere admiration of Mr. Dunboyne's motives, and merely
+informing him that the child was already provided for.
+
+After that, I heard no more of the Irish gentleman.
+
+It is perhaps hardly necessary to add that I kept the Minister in
+ignorance of my correspondence with Mr. Dunboyne. I was too well
+acquainted with my friend's sensitive and self-tormenting nature
+to let him know that a relative of the murderess was living, and
+was aware that she had left a child.
+
+A last event remains to be related, before I close these pages.
+
+During the year of which I am now writing, our Chaplain added
+one more to the many examples that I have seen of his generous
+readiness to serve his friends. He had arranged to devote his
+annual leave of absence to a tour among the English Lakes, when
+he received a letter from a clergyman resident in London, whom he
+had known from the time when they had been school-fellows. This
+old friend wrote under circumstances of the severest domestic
+distress, which made it absolutely necessary that he should
+leave London for a while. Having failed to find a representative
+who could relieve him of his clerical duties, he applied to
+the Chaplain to recommend a clergyman who might be in a position
+to help him. My excellent colleague gave up his holiday-plans
+without hesitation, and went to London himself.
+
+On his return, I asked if he had seen anything of some
+acquaintances of his and of mine, who were then visitors to
+the metropolis. He smiled significantly when he answered me.
+
+"I have a card to deliver from an acquaintance whom you have not
+mentioned," he said; "and I rather think it will astonish you."
+
+It simply puzzled me. When he gave me the card, this is what
+I found printed on it:
+
+"MRS. TENBRUGGEN (OF SOUTH BEVELAND)."
+
+"Well?" said the Chaplain.
+
+"Well," I answered; "I never even heard of Mrs. Tenbruggen,
+of South Beveland. Who is she?"
+
+"I married the lady to a foreign gentleman, only last week, at
+my friend's church," the Chaplain replied. "Perhaps you may
+remember her maiden name?"
+
+He mentioned the name of the dangerous creature who had first
+presented herself to me, in charge of the Prisoner's
+child--otherwise Miss Elizabeth Chance. The reappearance of this
+woman on the scene--although she was only represented by her
+card--caused me a feeling of vague uneasiness, so contemptibly
+superstitious in its nature that I now remember it with shame.
+I asked a stupid question:
+
+"How did it happen?"
+
+"In the ordinary course of such things," my friend said. "They
+were married by license, in their parish church. The bridegroom
+was a fine tall man, with a bold eye and a dashing manner. The
+bride and I recognized each other directly. When Miss Chance had
+become Mrs. Tenbruggen, she took me aside, and gave me her card.
+'Ask the Governor to accept it,' she said, 'in remembrance of
+the time when he took me for a nursemaid. Tell him I am married
+to a Dutch gentleman of high family. If he ever comes to Holland,
+we shall be glad to see him in our residence at South Beveland.'
+There is her message to you, repeated word for word."
+
+"I am glad she is going to live out of England."
+
+"Why? Surely you have no reason to fear her?"
+
+"None whatever."
+
+"You are thinking, perhaps, of somebody else?"
+
+I was thinking of the Minister; but it seemed to be safest not
+to say so.
+
+-------
+
+My pen is laid aside, and my many pages of writing have been
+sent to their destination. What I undertook to do, is now done.
+To take a metaphor from the stage--the curtain falls here on
+the Governor and the Prison.
+
+
+
+Second Period: 1875.
+
+THE GIRLS AND THE JOURNALS.
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY.
+
+We both said good-night, and went up to our room with a new
+object in view. By our father's advice we had resolved on keeping
+diaries, for the first time in our lives, and had pledged
+ourselves to begin before we went to bed.
+
+Slowly and silently and lazily, my sister sauntered to her end of
+the room and seated herself at her writing-table. On the desk lay
+a nicely bound book, full of blank pages. The word "Journal" was
+printed on it in gold letters, and there was fitted to the covers
+a bright brass lock and key. A second journal, exactly similar in
+every respect to the first, was placed on the writing-table at my
+end of the room. I opened my book. The sight of the blank leaves
+irritated me; they were so smooth, so spotless, so entirely ready
+to do _their_ duty. I took too deep a dip of ink, and began the
+first entry in my diary by making a blot. This was discouraging.
+I got up, and looked out of window.
+
+"Helena!"
+
+My sister's voice could hardly have addressed me in a more weary
+tone, if her pen had been at work all night, relating domestic
+events. "Well!" I said. "What is it?"
+
+"Have you done already?" she asked.
+
+I showed her the blot. My sister Eunice (the strangest as well as
+the dearest of girls) always blurts out what she has in her mind
+at the time. She fixed her eyes gravely on my spoiled page, and
+said: "That comforts me." I crossed the room, and looked at
+her book. She had not even summoned energy enough to make a blot.
+"What will papa think of us," she said, "if we don't begin
+to-night?"
+
+"Why not begin," I suggested, "by writing down what he said,
+when he gave us our journals? Those wise words of advice will be
+in their proper place on the first page of the new books."
+
+Not at all a demonstrative girl naturally; not ready with her
+tears, not liberal with her caresses, not fluent in her talk,
+Eunice was affected by my proposal in a manner wonderful to see.
+She suddenly developed into an excitable person--I declare she
+kissed me. "Oh," she burst out, "how clever you are! The very
+thing to write about; I'll do it directly."
+
+She really did it directly; without once stopping to consider,
+without once waiting to ask my advice. Line after line, I heard
+her noisy pen hurrying to the bottom of a first page, and getting
+three-parts of the way toward the end of a second page, before
+she closed her diary. I reminded her that she had not turned the
+key, in the lock which was intended to keep her writing private.
+
+"It's not worth while," she answered. "Anybody who cares to do it
+may read what I write. Good-night."
+
+The singular change which I had noticed in her began to
+disappear, when she set about her preparations for bed. I noticed
+the old easy indolent movements again, and that regular and
+deliberate method of brushing her hair, which I can never
+contemplate without feeling a stupefying influence that has
+helped me to many a delicious night's sleep. She said her prayers
+in her favorite corner of the room, and laid her head on the
+pillow with the luxurious little sigh which announces that she
+is falling asleep. This reappearance of her usual habits was
+really a relief to me. Eunice in a state of excitement is Eunice
+exhibiting an unnatural spectacle.
+
+The next thing I did was to take the liberty which she had
+already sanctioned--I mean the liberty of reading what she had
+written. Here it is, copied exactly:
+
+"I am not half so fond of anybody as I am of papa. He is always
+kind, he is always right. I love him, I love him, I love him.
+
+"But this is not how I meant to begin. I must tell how he talked
+to us; I wish he was here to tell it himself.
+
+"He said to me: 'You are getting lazier than ever, Eunice.'
+He said to Helena: 'You are feeling the influence of Eunice's
+example.' He said to both of us: 'You are too ready, my dear
+children, to sit with your hands on your laps, looking at nothing
+and thinking of nothing; I want to try a new way of employing
+your leisure time.'
+
+"He opened a parcel on the table. He made each of us a present
+of a beautiful book, called 'Journal.' He said: 'When you have
+nothing to do, my dears, in the evening, employ yourselves in
+keeping a diary of the events of the day. It will be a useful
+record in many ways, and a good moral discipline for young
+girls.' Helena said: 'Oh, thank you!' I said the same, but not
+so cheerfully.
+
+"The truth is, I feel out of spirits now if I think of papa; I am
+not easy in my mind about him. When he is very much interested,
+there is a quivering in his face which I don't remember in past
+times. He seems to have got older and thinner, all on a sudden.
+He shouts (which he never used to do) when he threatens sinners
+at sermon-time. Being in dreadful earnest about our souls, he is
+of course obliged to speak of the devil; but he never used to hit
+the harmless pulpit cushion with his fist as he does now. Nobody
+seems to have seen these things but me; and now I have noticed
+them what ought I to do? I don't know; I am certain of nothing,
+except what I have put in at the top of page one: I love him,
+I love him, I love him."
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+There this very curious entry ended. It was easy enough to
+discover the influence which had made my slow-minded sister
+so ready with her memory and her pen--so ready, in short, to
+do anything and everything, provided her heart was in it, and
+her father was in it.
+
+But Eunice is wrong, let me tell her, in what she says of myself.
+
+I, too, have seen the sad change in my father; but I happen to
+know that he dislikes having it spoken of at home, and I have
+kept my painful discoveries to myself. Unhappily, the best
+medical advice is beyond our reach. The one really competent
+doctor in this place is known to be an infidel. But for that
+shocking obstacle I might have persuaded my father to see him.
+As for the other two doctors whom he has consulted, at different
+times, one talked about suppressed gout, and the other told him
+to take a year's holiday and enjoy himself on the Continent.
+
+The clock has just struck twelve. I have been writing and copying
+till my eyes are heavy, and I want to follow Eunice's example and
+sleep as soundly as she does. We have made a strange beginning
+of this journalizing experiment. I wonder how long it will go on,
+and what will come of it.
+
+
+SECOND DAY.
+
+I begin to be afraid that I am as stupid--no; that is not a nice
+word to use--let me say as simple as dear Eunice. A diary means
+a record of the events of the day; and not one of the events of
+yesterday appears in my sister's journal or in mine. Well, it
+is easy to set that mistake right. Our lives are so dull (but
+I would not say so in my father's hearing for the world) that
+the record of one day will be much the same as the record of
+another.  
+After family prayers and breakfast I suffer my customary
+persecution at the hands of the cook. That is to say, I am
+obliged, being the housekeeper, to order what we have to eat.
+Oh, how I hate inventing dinners! and how I admire the enviable
+slowness of mind and laziness of body which have saved Eunice
+from undertaking the worries of housekeeping in her turn! She
+can go and work in her garden, while I am racking my invention
+to discover variety in dishes without overstepping the limits
+of economy. I suppose I may confess it privately to myself--how
+sorry I am not to have been born a man!
+
+My next employment leads me to my father's study, to write under
+his dictation. I don't complain of this; it flatters my pride to
+feel that I am helping so great a man. At the same time, I do
+notice that here again Eunice's little defects have relieved her
+of another responsibility. She can neither keep dictated words
+in her memory, nor has she ever been able to learn how to put
+in her stops.
+
+After the dictation, I have an hour's time left for practicing
+music. My sister comes in from the garden, with her pencil and
+paint-box, and practices drawing. Then we go out for a walk--a
+delightful walk, if my father goes too. He has something always
+new to tell us, suggested by what we pass on the way. Then,
+dinner-time comes--not always a pleasant part of the day to me.
+Sometimes I hear paternal complaints (always gentle complaints)
+of my housekeeping; sometimes my sister (I won't say the greedy
+sister) tells me I have not given her enough to eat. Poor father!
+Dear Eunice!
+
+Dinner having reached its end, we stroll in the garden when the
+weather is fine. When it rains, we make flannel petticoats for
+poor old women. What a horrid thing old age is to look at! To be
+ugly, to be helpless, to be miserably unfit for all the pleasures
+of life--I hope I shall not live to be an old woman. What would
+my father say if he saw this? For his sake, to say nothing of
+my own feelings, I shall do well if I make it a custom to use
+the lock of my journal.
+
+Our next occupation is to join the Scripture class for girls,
+and to help the teacher. This is a good discipline for Eunice's
+temper, and--oh, I don't deny it!--for my temper, too. I may long
+to box the ears of the whole class, but it is my duty to keep
+a smiling face and to be a model of patience. From the Scripture
+class we sometimes go to my father's lecture. At other times,
+we may amuse ourselves as well as we can till the tea is ready.
+After tea, we read books which instruct us, poetry and novels
+being forbidden. When we are tired of the books we talk. When
+supper is over, we have prayers again, and we go to bed. There
+is our day. Oh, dear me! there is our day.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+And how has Eunice succeeded in her second attempt at keeping
+a diary? Here is what she has written. It has one merit that
+nobody can deny--it is soon read:
+
+"I hope papa will excuse me; I have nothing to write about
+to-day."
+
+Over and over again I have tried to point out to my sister
+the absurdity of calling her father by the infantile nickname
+of papa. I have reminded her that she is (in years, at least) no
+longer a child. "Why don't you call him father, as I do?" I asked
+only the other day.
+
+She made an absurd reply: "I used to call him papa when I was
+a little girl."
+
+"That," I reminded her, "doesn't justify you in calling him papa
+now."
+
+And she actually answered: "Yes it does." What a strange state
+of mind! And what a charming girl, in spite of her mind!
+
+
+THIRD DAY.
+
+The morning post has brought with it a promise of some little
+variety in our lives--or, to speak more correctly, in the life
+of my sister.
+
+Our new and nice friends, the Staveleys, have written to invite
+Eunice to pay them a visit at their house in London. I don't
+complain at being left at home. It would be unfilial, indeed,
+if we both of us forsook our father; and last year it was
+my turn to receive the first invitation, and to enjoy the change
+of scene.  The Staveleys are excellent people--strictly pious
+members of the Methodist Connection--and exceedingly kind to
+my sister and me.  But it was just as well for my moral welfare
+that I ended my visit to our friends when I did. With my fondness
+for music, I felt the temptation of the Evil One trying me, when
+I saw placards in the street announcing that the Italian Opera
+was open. I had no wish to be a witness of the shameful and
+sinful dancing which goes on (I am told) at the opera; but
+I did feel my principles shaken when I thought of the wonderful
+singers and the entrancing music. And this, when I knew what
+an atmosphere of wickedness people breathe who enter a theater!
+I reflect with horror on what _might_ have happened if I had
+remained a little longer in London.
+
+Helping Eunice to pack up, I put her journal into the box.
+
+"You will find something to write about now," I told her. "While
+I record everything that happens at home, you will keep your
+diary of all that you do in London, and when you come back we
+will show each other what we have written." My sister is a dear
+creature. "I don't feel sure of being able to do it," she
+answered; "but I promise to try." Good Eunice!
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+EUNICE'S DIARY.
+
+The air of London feels very heavy. There is a nasty smell of
+smoke in London. There are too many people in London. They seem
+to be mostly people in a hurry. The head of a country girl, when
+she goes into the streets, turns giddy--I suppose through not
+being used to the noise.
+
+I do hope that it is London that has put me out of temper.
+Otherwise, it must be I myself who am ill-tempered. I have not
+yet been one whole day in the Staveleys' house, and they have
+offended me already. I don't want Helena to hear of this from
+other people, and then to ask me why I concealed it from her.
+We are to read each other's journals when we are both at home
+again. Let her see what I have to say for myself here.
+
+There are seven Staveleys in all: Mr. and Mrs. (two); three young
+Masters (five); two young Misses (seven). An eldest miss and
+the second young Master are the only ones at home at the present
+time.
+
+Mr., Mrs., and Miss kissed me when I arrived. Young Master only
+shook hands. He looked as if he would have liked to kiss me too.
+Why shouldn't he? It wouldn't have mattered. I don't myself like
+kissing. What is the use of it? Where is the pleasure of it?
+
+Mrs. was so glad to see me; she took hold of me by both hands.
+She said: "My dear child, you are improving. You were wretchedly
+thin when I saw you last. Now you are almost as well-developed
+as your sister. I think you are prettier than your sister." Mr.
+didn't agree to that. He and his wife began to dispute about me
+before my face. I do call that an aggravating thing to endure.
+
+Mr. said: "She hasn't got her sister's pretty gray eyes."
+
+Mrs. said; "She has got pretty brown eyes, which are just as
+good."
+
+Mr. said: "You can't compare her complexion with Helena's."
+
+Mrs. said: "I like Eunice's pale complexion. So delicate."
+
+Young Miss struck in: "I admire Helena's hair--light brown."
+
+Young Master took his turn: "I prefer Eunice's hair--dark brown."
+
+Mr. opened his great big mouth, and asked a question: "Which
+of you two sisters is the oldest? I forget."
+
+Mrs. answered for me: "Helena is the oldest; she told us so when
+she was here last."
+
+I really could _not_ stand that. "You must be mistaken," I burst
+out.
+
+"Certainly not, my dear."
+
+"Then Helena was mistaken." I was unwilling to say of my sister
+that she had been deceiving them, though it did seem only too
+likely.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. looked at each other. Mrs. said: "You seem to be
+very positive, Eunice. Surely, Helena ought to know."
+
+I said: "Helena knows a good deal; but she doesn't know which
+of us is the oldest of the two."
+
+Mr. put in another question: "Do _you_ know?"
+
+"No more than Helena does."
+
+Mrs. said: "Don't you keep birthdays?"
+
+I said: "Yes; we keep both our birthdays on the same day."
+
+"On what day?"
+
+"The first day of the New Year."
+
+Mr. tried again: "You can't possibly be twins?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Perhaps Helena knows?"
+
+"Not she!"
+
+Mrs. took the next question out of her husband's mouth: "Come,
+come, my dear! you must know how old you are."
+
+"Yes; I do know that. I'm eighteen."
+
+"And how old is Helena?"
+
+"Helena's eighteen."
+
+Mrs. turned round to Mr.: "Do you hear that?"
+
+Mr. said: "I shall write to her father, and ask what it means."
+
+I said: "Papa will only tell you what he told us--years ago."
+
+"What did your father say?"
+
+"He said he had added our two ages together, and he meant to
+divide the product between us. It's so long since, I don't
+remember what the product was then. But I'll tell you what the
+product is now. Our two ages come to thirty-six. Half thirty-six
+is eighteen. I get one half, and Helena gets the other. When we
+ask what it means, and when friends ask what it means, papa has
+got the same answer for everybody, 'I have my reasons.' That's
+all he says--and that's all I say."
+
+I had no intention of making Mr. angry, but he did get angry.
+He left off speaking to me by my Christian name; he called me by
+my surname. He said: "Let me tell you, Miss Gracedieu, it is not
+becoming in a young lady to mystify her elders."
+
+I had heard that it was respectful in a young lady to call an old
+gentleman, Sir, and to say, If you please. I took care to be
+respectful now. "If you please, sir, write to papa. You will find
+that I have spoken the truth."
+
+A woman opened the door, and said to Mrs. Staveley: "Dinner,
+ma'am." That stopped this nasty exhibition of our tempers. We had
+a very good dinner.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+The next day I wrote to Helena, asking her what she had really
+said to the Staveleys about her age and mine, and telling her
+what I had said. I found it too great a trial of my patience to
+wait till she could see what I had written about the dispute in
+my journal. The days, since then, have passed, and I have been
+too lazy and stupid to keep my diary.
+
+To-day it is different. My head is like a dark room with the
+light let into it. I remember things; I think I can go on again.
+
+We have religious exercises in this house, morning and evening,
+just as we do at home. (Not to be compared with papa's religious
+exercises.) Two days ago his answer came to Mr. Staveley's
+letter. He did just what I had expected--said I had spoken truly,
+and disappointed the family by asking to be excused if he
+refrained from entering into explanations. Mr. said: "Very odd;"
+and Mrs. agreed with him. Young Miss is not quite as friendly now
+as she was at first. And young Master was impudent enough to ask
+me if "I had got religion." To conclude the list of my worries,
+I received an angry answer from Helena. "Nobody but a simpleton,"
+she wrote, "would have contradicted me as you did. Who but you
+could have failed to see that papa's strange objection to let
+it be known which of us is the elder makes us ridiculous before
+other people? My presence of mind prevented that. You ought to
+have been grateful, and held your tongue." Perhaps Helena is
+right--but I don't feel it so.
+
+On Sunday we went to chapel twice. We also had a sermon read
+at home, and a cold dinner. In the evening, a hot dispute on
+religion between Mr. Staveley and his son. I don't blame them.
+After being pious all day long on Sunday, I have myself felt
+my piety give way toward evening.
+
+There is something pleasant in prospect for to-morrow. All London
+is going just now to the exhibition of pictures. We are going
+with all London.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+I don't know what is the matter with me tonight. I have
+positively been to bed, without going to sleep! After tossing and
+twisting and trying all sorts of positions, I am so angry with
+myself that I have got up again. Rather than do nothing, I have
+opened my ink-bottle, and I mean to go on with my journal.
+
+Now I think of it, it seems likely that the exhibition of works
+of art may have upset me.
+
+I found a dreadfully large number of pictures, matched by
+a dreadfully large number of people to look at them. It is not
+possible for me to write about what I saw: there was too much
+of it. Besides, the show disappointed me. I would rather write
+about a disagreement (oh, dear, another dispute!) I had with
+Mrs. Staveley. The cause of it was a famous artist; not himself,
+but his works. He exhibited four pictures--what they call figure
+subjects. Mrs. Staveley had a pencil. At every one of the great
+man's four pictures, she made a big mark of admiration on her
+catalogue. At the fourth one, she spoke to me: "Perfectly
+beautiful, Eunice, isn't it?"
+
+I said I didn't know. She said: "You strange girl, what do you
+mean by that?"
+
+It would have been rude not to have given the best answer I could
+find. I said: "I never saw the flesh of any person's face like
+the flesh in the faces which that man paints. He reminds me of
+wax-work. Why does he paint the same waxy flesh in all four of
+his pictures? I don't see the same colored flesh in all the faces
+about us." Mrs. Staveley held up her hand, by way of stopping me.
+She said: "Don't speak so loud, Eunice; you are only exposing
+your own ignorance."
+
+A voice behind us joined in. The voice said: "Excuse me, Mrs.
+Staveley, if I expose _my_ ignorance. I entirely agree with
+the young lady."
+
+I felt grateful to the person who took my part, just when I was
+at a loss what to say for myself, and I looked round. The person
+was a young gentleman.
+
+He wore a beautiful blue frock-coat, buttoned up. I like a
+frock-coat to be buttoned up. He had light-colored trousers and
+gray gloves and a pretty cane. I like light-colored trousers and
+gray gloves and a pretty cane. What color his eyes were is more
+than I can say; I only know they made me hot when they looked
+at me. Not that I mind being made hot; it is surely better than
+being made cold. He and Mrs. Staveley shook hands.
+
+They seemed to be old friends. I wished I had been an old
+friend--not for any bad reason, I hope. I only wanted to shake
+hands, too. What Mrs. Staveley said to him escaped me, somehow.
+I think the picture escaped me also; I don't remember noticing
+anything except the young gentleman, especially when he took off
+his hat to me. He looked at me twice before he went away. I got
+hot again. I said to Mrs. Staveley: "Who is he?"
+
+She laughed at me. I said again: "Who is he?" She said: "He is
+young Mr. Dunboyne." I said: "Does he live in London?" She
+laughed again. I said again: "Does he live in London?" She said:
+"He is here for a holiday; he lives with his father at Fairmount,
+in Ireland."
+
+Young Mr. Dunboyne--here for a holiday--lives with his father
+at Fairmount, in Ireland. I have said that to myself fifty times
+over. And here it is, saying itself for the fifty-first time in
+my Journal. I must indeed be a simpleton, as Helena says. I had
+better go to bed again.
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+EUNICE'S DIARY.
+
+Not long before I left home, I heard one of our two servants
+telling the other about a person who had been "bewitched." Are
+you bewitched when you don't understand your own self? That has
+been my curious case, since I returned from the picture show.
+This morning I took my drawing materials out of my box, and tried
+to make a portrait of young Mr. Dunboyne from recollection. I
+succeeded pretty well with his frock-coat and cane; but, try as
+I might, his face was beyond me. I have never drawn anything so
+badly since I was a little girl; I almost felt ready to cry. What
+a fool I am!
+
+This morning I received a letter from papa--it was in reply
+to a letter that I had written to him--so kind, so beautifully
+expressed, so like himself, that I felt inclined to send him a
+confession of the strange state of feeling that has come over me,
+and to ask him to comfort and advise me. On second thoughts,
+I was afraid to do it. Afraid of papa! I am further away from
+understanding myself than ever.
+
+Mr. Dunboyne paid us a visit in the afternoon. Fortunately,
+before we went out.
+
+I thought I would have a good look at him; so as to know his face
+better than I had known it yet. Another disappointment was
+in store for me. Without intending it, I am sure, he did what
+no other young man has ever done--he made me feel confused.
+Instead of looking at him, I sat with my head down, and listened
+to his talk. His voice--this is high praise--reminded me
+of papa's voice. It seemed to persuade me as papa persuades
+his congregation. I felt quite at ease again. When he went away,
+we shook hands. He gave my hand a little squeeze. I gave him back
+the squeeze--without knowing why. When he was gone, I wished
+I had not done it--without knowing why, either.
+
+I heard his Christian name for the first time to-day. Mrs.
+Staveley said to me: "We are going to have a dinner-party. Shall
+I ask Philip Dunboyne?" I said to Mrs. Staveley: "Oh, do!"
+
+She is an old woman; her eyes are dim. At times, she can look
+mischievous. She looked at me mischievously now. I wished I had
+not been so eager to have Mr. Dunboyne asked to dinner.
+
+A fear has come to me that I may have degraded myself. My spirits
+are depressed. This, as papa tells us in his sermons, is a
+miserable world. I am sorry I accepted the Staveleys' invitation.
+I am sorry I went to see the pictures. When that young man comes
+to dinner, I shall say I have got a headache, and shall stop
+upstairs by myself. I don't think I like his Christian name.
+I hate London. I hate everybody.
+
+What I wrote up above, yesterday, is nonsense. I think his
+Christian name is perfect. I like London. I love everybody.
+
+He came to dinner to-day. I sat next to him. How beautiful a
+dress-coat is, and a white cravat! We talked. He wanted to know
+what my Christian name was. I was so pleased when I found he was
+one of the few people who like it. His hair curls naturally.
+In color, it is something between my hair and Helena's. He wears
+his beard. How manly! It curls naturally, like his hair; it
+smells deliciously of some perfume which is new to me. He has
+white hands; his nails look as if he polished them; I should like
+to polish my nails if I knew how. Whatever I said, he agreed with
+me; I felt satisfied with my own conversation, for the first time
+in my life. Helena won't find me a simpleton when I go home. What
+exquisite things dinner-parties are!
+
+
+My sister told me (when we said good-by) to be particular in
+writing down my true opinion of the Staveleys. Helena wishes
+to compare what she thinks of them with what I think of them.
+
+My opinion of Mr. Staveley is--I don't like him. My opinion of
+Miss Staveley is--I can't endure her. As for Master Staveley,
+my clever sister will understand that _he_ is beneath notice.
+But, oh, what a wonderful woman Mrs. Staveley is! We went out
+together, after luncheon today, for a walk in Kensington Gardens.
+Never have I heard any conversation to compare with Mrs.
+Staveley's. Helena shall enjoy it here, at second hand. I am
+quite changed in two things. First: I think more of myself than I
+ever did before. Second: writing is no longer a difficulty to me.
+I could fill a hundred journals, without once stopping to think.
+
+Mrs. Staveley began nicely; "I suppose, Eunice, you have often
+been told that you have a good figure, and that you walk well?"
+
+I said: "Helena thinks my figure is better than my face. But do
+I really walk well? Nobody ever told me that."
+
+She answered: "Philip Dunboyne thinks so. He said to me, 'I
+resist the temptation because I might be wanting in respect if
+I gave way to it. But I should like to follow her when she goes
+out--merely for the pleasure of seeing her walk.' "
+
+I stood stockstill. I said nothing. When you are as proud as
+a peacock (which never happened to me before), I find you can't
+move and can't talk. You can only enjoy yourself.
+
+Kind Mrs. Staveley had more things to tell me. She said: "I am
+interested in Philip. I lived near Fairmount in the time before
+I was married; and in those days he was a child. I want him to
+marry a charming girl, and be happy."
+
+What made me think directly of Miss Staveley? What made me mad
+to know if she was the charming girl? I was bold enough to ask
+the question. Mrs. Staveley turned to me with that mischievous
+look which I have noticed already. I felt as if I had been
+running at the top of my speed, and had not got my breath
+again, yet.
+
+But this good motherly friend set me at my ease. She explained
+herself: "Philip is not much liked, poor fellow, in our house.
+My husband considers him to be weak and vain and fickle. And
+my daughter agrees with her father. There are times when she is
+barely civil to Philip. He is too good-natured to complain, but
+_I_ see it. Tell me, my dear, do you like Philip?"
+
+"Of course I do!" Out it came in those words, before I could
+stop it. Was there something unbecoming to a young lady in saying
+what I had just said? Mrs. Staveley seemed to be more amused
+than angry with me. She took my arm kindly, and led me along
+with her. "My dear, you are as clear as crystal, and as true
+as steel. You are a favorite of mine already."
+
+What a delightful woman! as I said just now. I asked if she
+really liked me as well as she liked my sister.
+
+She said: "Better."
+
+I didn't expect that, and didn't want it. Helena is my superior.
+She is prettier than I am, cleverer than I am, better worth
+liking than I am. Mrs. Staveley shifted the talk back to Philip.
+I ought to have said Mr. Philip. No, I won't; I shall call him
+Philip. If I had a heart of stone, I should feel interested in
+him, after what Mrs. Staveley has told me.
+
+Such a sad story, in some respects. Mother dead; no brothers or
+sisters. Only the father left; he lives a dismal life on a lonely
+stormy coast. Not a severe old gentleman, for all that. His
+reasons for taking to retirement are reasons (so Mrs. Staveley
+says) which nobody knows. He buries himself among his books, in
+an immense library; and he appears to like it. His son has not
+been brought up. like other young men, at school and college.
+He is a great scholar, educated at home by his father. To hear
+this account of his learning depressed me. It seemed to put such
+a distance between us. I asked Mrs. Staveley if he thought me
+ignorant. As long as I live I shall remember the reply: "He
+thinks you charming."
+
+Any other girl would have been satisfied with this. I am the
+miserable creature who is always making mistakes. My stupid
+curiosity spoiled the charm of Mrs. Staveley's conversation.
+And yet it seemed to be a harmless question; I only said I should
+like to know what profession Philip belonged to.
+
+Mrs. Staveley answered: "No profession."
+
+I foolishly put a wrong meaning on this. I said: "Is he idle?"
+
+Mrs. Staveley laughed. "My dear, he is an only son--and his
+father is a rich man."
+
+That stopped me--at last.
+
+We have enough to live on in comfort at home--no more. Papa has
+told us himself that he is not (and can never hope to be) a rich
+man. This is not the worst of it. Last year, he refused to marry
+a young couple, both belonging to our congregation. This was
+very unlike his usual kind self. Helena and I asked him for
+his reasons. They were reasons that did not take long to give.
+The young gentleman's father was a rich man. He had forbidden
+his son to marry a sweet girl--because she had no fortune.
+
+I have no fortune. And Philip's father is a rich man.
+
+The best thing I can do is to wipe my pen, and shut up
+my Journal, and go home by the next train.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+I have a great mind to burn my Journal. It tells me that I had
+better not think of Philip any more.
+
+On second thoughts, I won't destroy my Journal; I will only put
+it away. If I live to be an old woman, it may amuse me to open
+my book again, and see how foolish the poor wretch was when she
+was young.
+
+What is this aching pain in my heart?
+
+I don't remember it at any other time in my life. Is it trouble?
+How can I tell?--I have had so little trouble. It must be many
+years since I was wretched enough to cry. I don't even understand
+why I am crying now. My last sorrow, so far as I can remember,
+was the toothache. Other girls' mothers comfort them when they
+are wretched. If my mother had lived--it's useless to think about
+that. We lost her, while I and my sister were too young to
+understand our misfortune.
+
+I wish I had never seen Philip.
+
+This seems an ungrateful wish. Seeing him at the picture-show was
+a new enjoyment. Sitting next to him at dinner was a happiness
+that I don't recollect feeling, even when Papa has been most
+sweet and kind to me. I ought to be ashamed of myself to confess
+this. Shall I write to my sister? But how should she know what is
+the matter with me, when I don't know it myself? Besides, Helena
+is angry; she wrote unkindly to me when she answered my last
+letter.
+
+There is a dreadful loneliness in this great house at night.
+I had better say my prayers, and try to sleep. If it doesn't
+make me feel happier, it will prevent me spoiling my Journal
+by dropping tears on it.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+What an evening of evenings this has been! Last night it was
+crying that kept me awake. To-night I can't sleep for joy.
+
+Philip called on us again to-day. He brought with him tickets
+for the performance of an Oratorio. Sacred music is not forbidden
+music among our people. Mrs. Staveley and Miss Staveley went to
+the concert with us. Philip and I sat next to each other.
+
+My sister is a musician--I am nothing. That sounds bitter; but
+I don't mean it so. All I mean is, that I like simple little
+songs, which I can sing to myself by remembering the tune. There,
+my musical enjoyment ends. When voices and instruments burst out
+together by hundreds, I feel bewildered. I also get attacked
+by fidgets. This last misfortune is sure to overtake me when
+choruses are being performed. The unfortunate people employed
+are made to keep singing the same words, over and over and over
+again, till I find it a perfect misery to listen to them. The
+choruses were unendurable in the performance to-night. This is
+one of them: "Here we are all alone in the wilderness--alone in
+the wilderness--in the wilderness alone, alone, alone--here we
+are in the wilderness--alone in the wilderness--all all alone
+in the wilderness," and soon, till I felt inclined to call for
+the learned person who writes Oratorios, and beg him to give
+the poor music a more generous allowance of words.
+
+Whenever I looked at Philip, I found him looking at me. Perhaps
+he saw from the first that the music was wearying music to my
+ignorant ears. With his usual delicacy he said nothing for some
+time. But when he caught me yawning (though I did my best to hide
+it, for it looked like being ungrateful for the tickets), then he
+could restrain himself no longer. He whispered in my ear:
+
+"You are getting tired of this. And so am I."
+
+"I am trying to like it," I whispered back.
+
+"Don't try," he answered. "Let's talk."
+
+He meant, of course, talk in whispers. We were a good deal
+annoyed--especially when the characters were all alone in the
+wilderness--by bursts of singing and playing which interrupted us
+at the most interesting moments. Philip persevered with a manly
+firmness. What could I do but follow his example--at a distance?
+
+He said: "Is it really true that your visit to Mrs. Staveley is
+coming to an end?"
+
+I answered: "It comes to an end the day after to-morrow."
+
+"Are you sorry to be leaving your friends in London?"
+
+What I might have said if he had made that inquiry a day earlier,
+when I was the most miserable creature living, I would rather not
+try to guess. Being quite happy as things were, I could honestly
+tell him I was sorry.
+
+"You can't possibly be as sorry as I am, Eunice. May I call you
+by your pretty name?"
+
+"Yes, if you please."
+
+"Eunice!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You will leave a blank in my life when you go away--"
+
+There another chorus stopped him, just as I was eager for more.
+It was such a delightfully new sensation to hear a young
+gentleman telling me that I had left a blank in his life.
+The next change in the Oratorio brought up a young lady, singing
+alone. Some people behind us grumbled at the smallness of her
+voice. We thought her voice perfect. It seemed to lend itself
+so nicely to our whispers.
+
+He said: "Will you help me to think of you while you are away?
+I want to imagine what your life is at home. Do you live in
+a town or in the country?"
+
+I told him the name of our town. When we give a person
+information, I have always heard that we ought to make it
+complete. So I mentioned our address in the town. But I was
+troubled by a doubt. Perhaps he preferred the country. Being
+anxious about this, I said: "Would you rather have heard that
+I live in the country?"
+
+"Live where you may, Eunice, the place will be a favorite place
+of mine. Besides, your town is famous. It has a public attraction
+which brings visitors to it."
+
+I made another of those mistakes which no sensible girl, in
+my position, would have committed. I asked if he alluded to
+our new market-place.
+
+He set me right in the sweetest manner: "I alluded  to a building
+hundreds of years older than your market-place--your beautiful
+cathedral."
+
+Fancy my not having thought of the cathedral! This is what comes
+of being a Congregationalist. If I had belonged to the Church of
+England, I should have forgotten the market-place, and remembered
+the cathedral. Not that I want to belong to the Church of
+England. Papa's chapel is good enough for me.
+
+The song sung by the lady with the small voice was so pretty
+that the audience encored it. Didn't Philip and I help them! With
+the sweetest smiles the lady sang it all over again. The people
+behind us left the concert.
+
+He said: "Do you know, I take the greatest interest in
+cathedrals. I propose to enjoy the privilege and pleasure of
+seeing _your_ cathedral early next week."
+
+I had only to look at him to see that I was the cathedral. It was
+no surprise to hear next that he thought of "paying his respects
+to Mr. Gracedieu." He begged me to tell him what sort of
+reception he might hope to meet with when he called at our house.
+I got so excited in doing justice to papa that I quite forgot
+to whisper when the next question came. Philip wanted to know if
+Mr. Gracedieu disliked strangers. When I answered, "Oh dear, no!"
+I said it out loud, so that the people heard me. Cruel, cruel
+people! They all turned round and stared. One hideous old woman
+actually said, "Silence!" Miss Staveley looked disgusted. Even
+kind Mrs. Staveley lifted her eyebrows in astonishment.
+
+Philip, dear Philip, protected and composed me.
+
+He held my hand devotedly till the end of the performance. When
+he put us into the carriage, I was last. He whispered in my ear:
+"Expect me next week." Miss Staveley might be as ill-natured as
+she pleased, on the way home. It didn't matter what she said.
+The Eunice of yesterday might have been mortified and offended.
+The Eunice of to-day was indifferent to the sharpest things that
+could be said to her.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+All through yesterday's delightful evening, I never once thought
+of Philip's father. When I woke this morning, I remembered that
+old Mr. Dunboyne was a rich man. I could eat no breakfast for
+thinking of the poor girl who was not allowed to marry her young
+gentleman, because she had no money.
+
+Mrs. Staveley waited to speak to me till the rest of them had
+left us together. I had expected her to notice that I looked dull
+and dismal. No! her cleverness got at my secret in quite another
+way.
+
+She said: "How do you feel after the concert? You must be hard to
+please indeed if you were not satisfied with the accompaniments
+last night."
+
+"The accompaniments of the Oratorio?"
+
+"No, my dear. The accompaniments of Philip."
+
+I suppose I ought to have laughed. In my miserable state of mind,
+it was not to be done. I said: "I hope Mr. Dunboyne's father will
+not hear how kind he was to me."
+
+Mrs. Staveley asked why.
+
+My bitterness overflowed at my tongue. I said: "Because papa
+is a poor man."
+
+"And Philip's papa is a rich man," says Mrs. Staveley, putting
+my own thought into words for me. "Where do you get these ideas,
+Eunice? Surely, you are not allowed to read novels?"
+
+"Oh no!"
+
+"And you have certainly never seen a play?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"Clear your head, child, of the nonsense that has got into it--I
+can't think how. Rich Mr. Dunboyne has taught his heir to despise
+the base act of marrying for money. He knows that Philip will
+meet young ladies at my house; and he has written to me on
+the subject of his son's choice of a wife. 'Let Philip find good
+principles, good temper, and good looks; and I promise beforehand
+to find the money.' There is what he says. Are you satisfied with
+Philip's father, now?"
+
+I jumped up in a state of ecstasy. Just as I had thrown my arms
+round Mrs. Staveley's neck, the servant came in with a letter,
+and handed it to me.
+
+Helena had written again, on this last day of my visit. Her
+letter was full of instructions for buying things that she wants,
+before I leave London. I read on quietly enough until I came to
+the postscript. The effect of it on me may be told in two words:
+I screamed. Mrs. Staveley was naturally alarmed. "Bad news?"
+she asked. Being quite unable to offer an opinion, I read
+the postscript out loud, and left her to judge for herself.
+
+This was Helena's news from home:
+
+"I must prepare you for a surprise, before your return. You will
+find a strange lady established at home. Don't suppose there is
+any prospect of her bidding us good-by, if we only wait long
+enough. She is already (with father's full approval) as much a
+member of the family as we are. You shall form your own unbiased
+opinion of her, Eunice. For the present, I say no more."
+
+I asked Mrs. Staveley what she thought of my news from home.
+She said: "Your father approves of the lady, my dear. I suppose
+it's good news."
+
+But Mrs. Staveley did not look as if she believed in the good
+news, for all that.
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY.
+
+To-day I went as usual to the Scripture-class for girls. It was
+harder work than ever, teaching without Eunice to help me.
+Indeed, I felt lonely all day without my sister. When I got home,
+I rather hoped that some friend might have come to see us, and
+have been asked to stay to tea. The housemaid opened the door
+to me. I asked Maria if anybody had called.
+
+"Yes, miss; a lady, to see the master."
+
+"A stranger?"
+
+"Never saw her before, miss, in all my life." I put no more
+questions. Many ladies visit my father. They call it consulting
+the Minister. He advises them in their troubles, and guides them
+in their religious difficulties, and so on. They come and go in
+a sort of secrecy. So far as I know, they are mostly old maids,
+and they waste the Minister's time.
+
+When my father came in to tea, I began to feel some curiosity
+about the lady who had called on him. Visitors of that sort,
+in general, never appear to dwell on his mind after they have
+gone away; he sees too many of them, and is too well accustomed
+to what they have to say. On this particular evening, however,
+I perceived appearances that set me thinking; he looked worried
+and anxious.
+
+"Has anything happened, father, to vex you?" I said.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Is the lady concerned in it?"
+
+"What lady, my dear?"
+
+"The lady who called on you while I was out."
+
+"Who told you she had called on me?"
+
+"I asked Maria--"
+
+"That will do, Helena, for the present."
+
+He drank his tea and went back to his study, instead of staying
+a while, and talking pleasantly as usual. My respect submitted
+to his want of confidence in me; but my curiosity was in a state
+of revolt. I sent for Maria, and proceeded to make my own
+discoveries, with this result:
+
+No other person had called at the house. Nothing had happened,
+except the visit of the mysterious lady. "She looked between
+young and old. And, oh dear me, she was certainly not pretty.
+Not dressed nicely, to my mind; but they do say dress is a matter
+of taste."
+
+Try as I might, I could get no more than that out of our stupid
+young housemaid.
+
+Later in the evening, the cook had occasion to consult me about
+supper. This was a person possessing the advantages of age and
+experience. I asked if she had seen the lady. The cook's reply
+promised something new: "I can't say I saw the lady; but I heard
+her."
+
+"Do you mean that you heard her speaking?"
+
+"No, miss--crying."
+
+"Where was she crying?"
+
+"In the master's study."
+
+"How did you come to hear her?"
+
+"Am I to understand, miss, that you suspect me of listening?"
+
+Is a lie told by a look as bad as a lie told by words? I looked
+shocked at the bare idea of suspecting a respectable person of
+listening. The cook's sense of honor was satisfied; she readily
+explained herself: "I was passing the door, miss, on my way
+upstairs."
+
+Here my discoveries came to an end. It was certainly possible
+that an afflicted member of my father's congregation might have
+called on him to be comforted. But he sees plenty of afflicted
+ladies, without looking worried and anxious after they leave him.
+Still suspecting something out of the ordinary course of events,
+I waited hopefully for our next meeting at supper-time. Nothing
+came of it. My father left me by myself again, when the meal was
+over. He is always courteous to his daughters; and he made an
+apology: "Excuse me, Helena, I want to think."
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+I went to bed in a vile humor, and slept badly; wondering, in
+the long wakeful hours, what new rebuff I should meet with on
+the next day.
+
+At breakfast this morning I was agreeably surprised. No signs
+of anxiety showed themselves in my father's face. Instead of
+retiring to his study when we rose from the table, he proposed
+taking a turn in the garden: "You are looking pale, Helena, and
+you will be the better for a little fresh air. Besides, I have
+something to say to you."
+
+Excitement, I am sure, is good for young women. I saw in his
+face, I heard in his last words, that the mystery of the lady
+was at last to be revealed. The sensation of languor and fatigue
+which follows a disturbed night left me directly.
+
+My father gave me his arm, and we walked slowly up and down the
+lawn.
+
+"When that lady called on me yesterday," he began, "you wanted
+to know who she was, and you were surprised and disappointed when
+I refused to gratify your curiosity. My silence was not a selfish
+silence, Helena. I was thinking of you and your sister; and I was
+at a loss how to act for the best. You shall hear why my children
+were in my mind, presently. I must tell you first that I have
+arrived at a decision; I hope and believe on reasonable grounds.
+Ask me any questions you please; my silence will be no longer
+an obstacle in your way."
+
+This was so very encouraging that I said at once: "I should like
+to know who the lady is."
+
+"The lady is related to me," he answered. "We are cousins."
+
+Here was a disclosure that I had not anticipated. In the little
+that I have seen of the world, I have observed that cousins
+--when they happen to be brought together under interesting
+circumstances--can remember their relationship, and forget
+their relationship, just as it suits them. "Is your cousin
+a married lady?" I ventured to inquire.
+
+"No."
+
+Short as it was, that reply might perhaps mean more than appeared
+on the surface. The cook had heard the lady crying. What sort of
+tender agitation was answerable for those tears? Was it possible,
+barely possible, that Eunice and I might go to bed, one night,
+a widower's daughters, and wake up the next day to discover
+a stepmother?
+
+"Have I or my sister ever seen the lady?" I asked.
+
+"Never. She has been living abroad; and I have not seen her
+myself since we were both young people."
+
+My excellent innocent father! Not the faintest idea of what I had
+been thinking of was in his mind. Little did he suspect how
+welcome was the relief that he had afforded to his daughter's
+wicked doubts of him. But he had not said a word yet about
+his cousin's personal appearance. There might be remains of good
+looks which the housemaid was too stupid to discover.
+
+"After the long interval that has passed since you met," I said,
+"I suppose she has become an old woman?"
+
+"No, my dear. Let us say, a middle-aged woman."
+
+"Perhaps she is still an attractive person?"
+
+He smiled. "I am afraid, Helena, that would never have been
+a very accurate description of her."
+
+I now knew all that I wanted to know about this alarming person,
+excepting one last morsel of information which my father had
+strangely forgotten.
+
+"We have been talking about the lady for some time," I said;
+"and you have not yet told me her name."
+
+Father looked a little embarrassed "It's not a very pretty name,"
+he answered. "My cousin, my unfortunate cousin, is--Miss
+Jillgall."
+
+I burst out with such a loud "Oh!" that he laughed. I caught
+the infection, and laughed louder still. Bless Miss Jillgall!
+The interview promised to become an easy one for both of us,
+thanks to her name. I was in good spirits, and I made no attempt
+to restrain them. "The next time Miss Jillgall honors you with
+a visit," I said, "you must give me an opportunity of being
+presented to her."
+
+He made a strange reply: "You may find your opportunity, Helena,
+sooner than you anticipate."
+
+Did this mean that she was going to call again in a day or two?
+I am afraid I spoke flippantly. I said: "Oh, father, another lady
+fascinated by the popular preacher?"
+
+The garden chairs were near us. He signed to me gravely to be
+seated by his side, and said to himself: "This is my fault."
+
+"What is your fault?" I asked.
+
+"I have left you in ignorance, my dear, of my cousin's sad story.
+It is soon told; and, if it checks your merriment, it will make
+amends by deserving your sympathy. I was indebted to her father,
+when I was a boy, for acts of kindness which I can never forget.
+He was twice married. The death of his first wife left him with
+one child--once my playfellow; now the lady whose visit has
+excited your curiosity. His second wife was a Belgian. She
+persuaded him to sell his business in London, and to invest
+the money in a partnership with a brother of hers, established
+as a sugar-refiner at Antwerp. The little daughter accompanied
+her father to Belgium. Are you attending to me, Helena?"
+
+I was waiting for the interesting part of the story, and was
+wondering when he would get to it.
+
+"As time went on," he resumed, "the new partner found that
+the value of the business at Antwerp had been greatly overrated.
+After a long struggle with adverse circumstances, he decided on
+withdrawing from the partnership before the whole of his capital
+was lost in a failing commercial speculation. The end of it was
+that he retired, with his daughter, to a small town in East
+Flanders; the wreck of his property having left him with an
+income of no more than two hundred pounds a year."
+
+I showed my father that I was attending to him now, by inquiring
+what had become of the Belgian wife. Those nervous quiverings,
+which Eunice has mentioned in her diary, began to appear in
+his face.
+
+"It is too shameful a story," he said, "to be told to a young
+girl. The marriage was dissolved by law; and the wife was
+the person to blame. I am sure, Helena, you don't wish to hear
+any more of _this_ part of the story."
+
+I did wish. But I saw that he expected me to say No--so I said
+it.
+
+"The father and daughter," he went on, "never so much as thought
+of returning to their own country. They were too poor to live
+comfortably in England. In Belgium their income was sufficient
+for their wants. On the father's death, the daughter remained
+in the town. She had friends there, and friends nowhere else;
+and she might have lived abroad to the end of her days, but for
+a calamity to which we are all liable. A long and serious illness
+completely prostrated her. Skilled medical attendance, costing
+large sums of money for the doctors' traveling expenses, was
+imperatively required. Experienced nurses, summoned from a
+distant hospital, were in attendance night and day. Luxuries, far
+beyond the reach of her little income, were absolutely required
+to support her wasted strength at the time of her tedious
+recovery. In one word, her resources were sadly diminished, when
+the poor creature had paid her debts, and had regained her hold
+on life. At that time, she unhappily met with the man who has
+ruined her."
+
+It was getting interesting at last. "Ruined her?" I repeated.
+"Do you mean that he robbed her?"
+
+"That, Helena, is exactly what I mean--and many and many a
+helpless woman has been robbed in the same way. The man of whom
+I am now speaking was a lawyer in large practice. He bore an
+excellent character, and was highly respected for his exemplary
+life. My cousin (not at all a discreet person, I am bound to
+admit) was induced to consult him on her pecuniary affairs.
+He expressed the most generous sympathy--offered to employ
+her little capital in his business--and pledged himself to pay
+her double the interest for her money, which she had been in
+the habit of receiving from the sound investment chosen by
+her father."
+
+"And of course he got the money, and never paid the interest?"
+Eager to hear the end, I interrupted the story in those
+inconsiderate words. My father's answer quietly reproved me.
+
+"He paid the interest regularly as long as he lived."
+
+"And what happened when he died?"
+
+"He died a bankrupt; the secret profligacy of his life was
+at last exposed. Nothing, actually nothing, was left for his
+creditors. The unfortunate creature, whose ugly name has amused
+you, must get help somewhere, or must go to the workhouse."
+
+If I had been in a state of mind to attend to trifles, this would
+have explained the reason why the cook had heard Miss Jillgall
+crying. But the prospect before me--the unendurable prospect
+of having a strange woman in the house--had showed itself too
+plainly to be mistaken. I could think of nothing else. With
+infinite difficulty I assumed a momentary appearance of
+composure, and suggested that Miss Jillgall's foreign friends
+might have done something to help her.
+
+My father defended her foreign friends. "My dear, they were poor
+people, and did all they could afford to do. But for their
+kindness, my cousin might not have been able to return to
+England."
+
+"And to cast herself on your mercy," I added, "in the character
+of a helpless woman."
+
+"No, Helena! Not to cast herself on my mercy--but to find my
+house open to her, as her father's house was open to me in the
+bygone time. I am her only surviving relative; and, while I live,
+she shall not be a helpless woman."
+
+I began to wish that I had not spoken out so plainly. My father's
+sweet temper--I do so sincerely wish I had inherited it!--made
+the kindest allowances for me.
+
+"I understand the momentary bitterness of feeling that has
+escaped you," he said; "I may almost say that I expected it. My
+only hesitation in this matter has been caused by my sense of
+what I owe to my children. It was putting your endurance, and
+your sister's endurance, to a trial to expect you to receive a
+stranger (and that stranger not a young girl like yourselves) as
+one of the household, living with you in the closest intimacy of
+family life. The consideration which has decided me does justice,
+I hope, to you and Eunice, as well as to myself. I think that
+some allowance is due from my daughters to the father who has
+always made loving allowance for _them_. Am I wrong in believing
+that my good children have not forgotten this, and have only
+waited for the occasion to feel the pleasure of rewarding me?"
+
+It was beautifully put. There was but one thing to be done--I
+kissed him. And there was but one thing to be said. I asked at
+what time we might expect to receive Miss Jillgall.
+
+"She is staying, Helena, at a small hotel in the town. I have
+already sent to say that we are waiting to see her. Perhaps you
+will look at the spare bedroom?"
+
+"It shall be got ready, father, directly."
+
+I ran into the house; I rushed upstairs into the room that is
+Eunice's and mine; I locked the door, and then I gave way to my
+rage, before it stifled me. I stamped on the floor, I clinched my
+fists, I cast myself on the bed, I reviled that hateful woman by
+every hard word that I could throw at her. Oh, the luxury of it!
+the luxury of it!
+
+Cold water and my hairbrush soon made me fit to be seen again.
+
+As for the spare room, it looked a great deal too comfortable for
+an incubus from foreign parts. The one improvement that I could
+have made, if a friend of mine had been expected, was suggested
+by the window-curtains. I was looking at a torn place in one of
+them, and determined to leave it unrepaired, when I felt an arm
+slipped round my waist from behind. A voice, so close that it
+tickled my neck, said: "Dear girl, what friends we shall be!"
+I turned round, and confronted Miss Jillgall.
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY.
+
+If I am not a good girl, where is a good girl to be found? This
+is in Eunice's style. It sometimes amuses me to mimic my simple
+sister.
+
+I have just torn three pages out of my diary, in deference
+to the expression of my father's wishes. He took the first
+opportunity which his cousin permitted him to enjoy of speaking
+to me privately; and his object was to caution me against hastily
+relying on first impressions of anybody--especially of Miss
+Jillgall. "Wait for a day or two," he said; "and then form
+your estimate of the new member of our household."
+
+The stormy state of my temper had passed away, and had left
+my atmosphere calm again. I could feel that I had received good
+advice; but unluckily it reached me too late.
+
+I had formed my estimate of Miss Jillgall, and had put it in
+writing for my own satisfaction, at least an hour before my
+father found himself at liberty to speak to me. I don't agree
+with him in distrusting first impressions; and I had proposed to
+put my opinion to the test, by referring to what I had written
+about his cousin at a later time. However, after what he had
+said to me, I felt bound in filial duty to take the pages out
+of my book, and to let two days pass before I presumed to enjoy
+the luxury of hating Miss Jillgall.
+
+On one thing I am determined: Eunice shall not form a hasty
+opinion, either. She shall undergo the same severe discipline of
+self-restraint to which her sister is obliged to submit. Let us
+be just, as somebody says, before we are generous. No more for
+to-day.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+I open my diary again--after the prescribed interval has elapsed.
+The first impression produced on me by the new member of our
+household remains entirely unchanged.
+
+Have I already made the remark that, when one removes a page from
+a book, it does not necessarily follow that one destroys the page
+afterward? or did I leave this to be inferred? In either case,
+my course of proceeding was the same. I ordered some paste to be
+made. Then I unlocked a drawer, and found my poor ill-used
+leaves, and put them back in my Journal. An act of justice is
+surely not the less praiseworthy because it is an act of justice
+done to one's self.
+
+My father has often told me that he revises his writings on
+religious subjects. I may harmlessly imitate that good example,
+by revising my restored entry. It is now a sufficiently
+remarkable performance to be distinguished by a title. Let
+me call it:
+
+Impressions of Miss Jillgall.
+
+My first impression was a strong one--it was produced by
+the state of this lady's breath. In other words, I was obliged
+to let her kiss me. It is a duty to be considerate toward human
+infirmity. I will only say that I thought I should have fainted.
+
+My second impression draws a portrait, and produces a striking
+likeness.
+
+Figure, little and lean--hair of a dirty drab color which we see
+in string--small light gray eyes, sly and restless, and deeply
+sunk in the head--prominent cheekbones, and a florid complexion--
+an inquisitive nose, turning up at the end--a large mouth and
+a servile smile--raw-looking hands, decorated with black
+mittens--a misfitting white jacket and a limp skirt--manners
+familiar--temper cleverly hidden--voice too irritating to be
+mentioned. Whose portrait is this? It is the portrait of Miss
+Jillgall, taken in words.
+
+Her true character is not easy to discover; I suspect that it
+will only show itself little by little. That she is a born
+meddler in other people's affairs, I think I can see already.
+I also found out that she trusted to flattery as the easiest
+means of making herself agreeable. She tried her first experiment
+on myself.
+
+"You charming girl," she began, "your bright face encourages me
+to ask a favor. Pray make me useful! The one aspiration of my
+life is to be useful. Unless you employ me in that way, I have no
+right to intrude myself into your family circle. Yes, yes, I know
+that your father has opened his house and his heart to me. But
+I dare not found any claim--your name is Helena, isn't it? Dear
+Helena, I dare not found any claim on what I owe to your father's
+kindness."
+
+"Why not?" I inquired.
+
+"Because your father is not a man--"
+
+I was rude enough to interrupt her: "What is he, then?"
+
+"An angel," Miss Jillgall answered, solemnly. "A destitute
+earthly creature like me must not look up as high as your father.
+I might be dazzled."
+
+This was rather more than I could endure patiently. "Let us try,"
+I suggested, "if we can't understand each other, at starting."
+
+Miss Jillgall's little eyes twinkled in their bony caverns.
+"The very thing I was going to propose!" she burst out.
+
+"Very well," I went on; "then, let me tell you plainly that
+flattery is not relished in this house."
+
+"Flattery?" She put her hand to her head as she repeated the
+word, and looked quite bewildered. "Dear Helena, I have lived all
+my life in East Flanders, and my own language is occasionally
+strange to me. Can you tell me what flattery is in Flemish?"
+
+"I don't understand Flemish."
+
+"How very provoking! You don't understand Flemish, and I don't
+understand Flattery. I should so like to know what it means.
+Ah, I see books in this lovely room. Is there a dictionary among
+them?" She darted to the bookcase, and discovered a dictionary.
+"Now I shall understand Flattery," she remarked--"and then we
+shall understand each other. Oh, let me find it for myself!" She
+ran her raw red finger along the alphabetical headings at the top
+of each page. "'FAD.' That won't do. 'FIE.' Further on still.
+'FLE.' Too far the other way. 'FLA.' Here we are! 'Flattery:
+False praise. Commendation bestowed for the purpose of gaining
+favor and influence.' Oh, Helena, how cruel of you!" She dropped
+the book, and sank into a chair--the picture, if such a thing can
+be, of a broken-hearted old maid.
+
+I should most assuredly have taken the opportunity of leaving her
+to her own devices, if I had been free to act as I pleased. But
+my interests as a daughter forbade me to make an enemy of my
+father's cousin, on the first day when she had entered the house.
+I made an apology, very neatly expressed.
+
+She jumped up--let me do her justice; Miss Jillgall is as nimble
+as a monkey--and (Faugh!) she kissed me for the second time.
+If I had been a man, I am afraid I should have called for that
+deadly poison (we are all temperance people in this house) known
+by the name of Brandy.
+
+"If you will make me love you," Miss Jillgall explained, "you
+must expect to be kissed. Dear girl, let us go back to my poor
+little petition. Oh, do make me useful! There are so many things
+I can do: you will find me a treasure in the house. I write
+a good hand; I understand polishing furniture; I can dress hair
+(look at my own hair); I play and sing a little when people want
+to be amused; I can mix a salad and knit stockings--who is this?"
+The cook came in, at the moment, to consult me; I introduced her.
+"And, oh," cried Miss Jillgall, in ecstasy, "I can cook! Do,
+please, let me see the kitchen."
+
+The cook's face turned red. She had come to me to make a
+confession; and she had not (as she afterward said) bargained for
+the presence of a stranger. For the first time in her life she
+took the liberty of whispering to me: "I must ask you, miss, to
+let me send up the cauliflower plain boiled; I don't understand
+the directions in the book for doing it in the foreign way."
+
+Miss Jillgall's ears--perhaps because they are so large--possess
+a quickness of hearing quite unparalleled in my experience. Not
+one word of the cook's whispered confession had escaped her.
+
+"Here," she declared, "is an opportunity of making myself useful!
+What is the cook's name? Hannah? Take me downstairs, Hannah, and
+I'll show you how to do the cauliflower in the foreign way. She
+seems to hesitate. Is it possible that she doesn't believe me?
+Listen, Hannah, and judge for yourself if I am deceiving you.
+Have you boiled the cauliflower? Very well; this is what you must
+do next. Take four ounces of grated cheese, two ounces of best
+butter, the yolks of four eggs, a little bit of glaze,
+lemon-juice, nutmeg--dear, dear, how black she looks. What have
+I said to offend her?"
+
+The cook passed over the lady who had presumed to instruct her,
+as if no such person had been present, and addressed herself
+to me: "If I am to be interfered with in my own kitchen, miss,
+I will ask you to suit yourself at a month's notice."
+
+Miss Jillgall wrung her hands in despair.
+
+"I meant so kindly," she said; "and I seem to have made mischief.
+With the best intentions, Helena, I have set you and your servant
+at variance. I really didn't know you had such a temper, Hannah,"
+she declared, following the cook to the door. "I'm sure there's
+nothing I am not ready to do to make it up with you. Perhaps you
+have not got the cheese downstairs? I'm ready to go out and buy
+it for you. I could show you how to keep eggs sweet and fresh
+for weeks together. Your gown doesn't fit very well; I shall
+be glad to improve it, if you will leave it out for me after
+you have gone to bed. There!" cried Miss Jillgall, as the cook
+majestically left the room, without even looking at her, "I have
+done my best to make it up, and you see how my advances are
+received. What more could I have done? I really ask you, dear,
+as a friend, what more _could_ I have done?"
+
+I had it on the tip of my tongue to say: "The cook doesn't ask
+you to buy cheese for her, or to teach her how to keep eggs,
+or to improve the fit of her gown; all she wants is to have her
+kitchen to herself." But here again it was necessary to remember
+that this odious person was my father's guest.
+
+"Pray don't distress yourself," I began; "I am sure you are not
+to blame, Miss Jillgall--"
+
+"Oh, don't!"
+
+"Don't--what?"
+
+"Don't call me Miss Jillgall. I call you Helena. Call me Selina."
+
+I had really not supposed it possible that she could be more
+unendurable than ever. When she mentioned her Christian name,
+she succeeded nevertheless in producing that result. In the whole
+list of women's names, is there any one to be found so absolutely
+sickening as "Selina"? I forced myself to pronounce it; I made
+another neatly-expressed apology; I said English servants were
+so very peculiar. Selina was more than satisfied; she was quite
+delighted.
+
+"Is that it, indeed? An explanation was all I wanted. How good of
+you! And now tell me--is there no chance, in the house or out of
+the house, of my making myself useful? Oh, what's that? Do I see
+a chance? I do! I do!"
+
+Miss Jillgall's eyes are more than mortal. At one time, they are
+microscopes. At another time, they are telescopes. She discovered
+(right across the room) the torn place in the window-curtain. In
+an instant, she snatched a dirty little leather case out of her
+pocket, threaded her needle and began darning the curtain. She
+sang over her work. "My heart is light, my will is free--" I can
+repeat no more of it. When I heard her singing voice, I became
+reckless of consequences, and ran out of the room with my hands
+over my ears.
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY.
+
+When I reached the foot of the stairs, my father called me
+into his study.
+
+I found him at his writing-table, with such a heap of torn-up
+paper in his waste-basket that it overflowed on to the floor. He
+explained to me that he had been destroying a large accumulation
+of old letters, and had ended (when his employment began to grow
+wearisome) in examining his correspondence rather carelessly. The
+result was that he had torn up a letter, and a copy of the reply,
+which ought to have been set aside as worthy of preservation.
+After collecting the fragments, he had heaped them on the table.
+If I could contrive to put them together again on fair sheets of
+paper, and fasten them in their right places with gum, I should
+be doing him a service, at a time when he was too busy to set
+his mistake right for himself.
+
+Here was the best excuse that I could desire for keeping out of
+Miss Jillgall's way. I cheerfully set to work on the restoration
+of the letters, while my father went on with his writing.
+
+Having put the fragments together--excepting a few gaps caused
+by morsels that had been lost--I was unwilling to fasten them
+down with gum, until I could feel sure of not having made any
+mistakes; especially in regard to some of the lost words which
+I had been obliged to restore by guess-work. So I copied the
+letters, and submitted them, in the first place, to my father's
+approval.
+
+He praised me in the prettiest manner for the care that I had
+taken. But, when he began, after some hesitation, to read my
+copy, I noticed a change. The smile left his face, and the
+nervous quiverings showed themselves again.
+
+"Quite right, my child," he said, in low sad tones.
+
+On returning to my side of the table, I expected to see him
+resume his writing. He crossed the room to the window and stood
+(with his back to me) looking out.
+
+When I had first discovered the sense of the letters, they failed
+to interest me. A tiresome woman, presuming on the kindness
+of a good-natured man to beg a favor which she had no right
+to ask, and receiving a refusal which she had richly deserved,
+was no remarkable event in my experience as my father's
+secretary and copyist. But the change in his face, while he read
+the correspondence, altered my opinion of the letters. There was
+more in them evidently than I had discovered. I kept my manuscript
+copy--here it is:
+
+
+From Miss Elizabeth Chance to the Rev. Abel Gracedieu.
+
+(Date of year, 1859. Date of month, missing.)
+
+
+"DEAR SIR--You have, I hope, not quite forgotten the interesting
+conversation that we had last year in the Governor's rooms. I am
+afraid I spoke a little flippantly at the time; but I am sure
+you will believe me when I say that this was out of no want
+of respect to yourself. My pecuniary position being far from
+prosperous, I am endeavoring to obtain the vacant situation of
+housekeeper in a public institution the prospectus of which I
+inclose. You will see it is a rule of the place that a candidate
+must be a single woman (which I am), and must be recommended
+by a clergyman. You are the only reverend gentleman whom it is
+my good fortune to know, and the thing is of course a mere
+formality.  Pray excuse this application, and oblige me by acting
+as my reference.
+
+"Sincerely yours,
+
+"ELIZABETH CHANCE."
+
+
+"P. S.--Please address: Miss E. Chance, Poste Restante, St.
+Martin's-le-Grand, London."
+
+
+"From the Rev. Abel Gracedieu to Miss Chance.
+
+(Copy.)
+
+
+"MADAM--The brief conversation to which your letter alludes, took
+place at an accidental meeting between us. I then saw you for
+the first time, and I have not seen you since. It is impossible
+for me to assert the claim of a perfect stranger, like yourself,
+to fill a situation of trust. I must beg to decline acting as
+your reference.
+
+"Your obedient servant,
+
+"ABEL GRACEDIEU."
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+My father was still at the window.
+
+In that idle position he could hardly complain of me for
+interrupting him, if I ventured to talk about the letters which
+I had put together. If my curiosity displeased him, he had only
+to say so, and there would be an end to any allusions of mine
+to the subject. My first idea was to join him at the window.
+On reflection, and still perceiving that he kept his back turned
+on me, I thought it might be more prudent to remain at the table.
+
+"This Miss Chance seems to be an impudent person?" I said.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Was she a young woman, when you met with her?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What sort of a woman to look at? Ugly?"
+
+"No."
+
+Here were three answers which Eunice herself would have been
+quick enough to interpret as three warnings to say no more.
+I felt a little hurt by his keeping his back turned on me. At
+the same time, and naturally, I think, I found my interest in
+Miss Chance (I don't say my friendly interest) considerably
+increased by my father's unusually rude behavior. I was also
+animated by an irresistible desire to make him turn round and
+look at me.
+
+"Miss Chance's letter was written many years ago," I resumed.
+"I wonder what has become of her since she wrote to you."
+
+"I know nothing about her."
+
+"Not even whether she is alive or dead?"
+
+"Not even that. What do these questions mean, Helena?"
+
+"Nothing, father."
+
+I declare he looked as if he suspected me!
+
+"Why don't you speak out?" he said. "Have I ever taught you
+to conceal your thoughts? Have I ever been a hard father, who
+discouraged you when you wished to confide in him? What are you
+thinking about? Do _you_ know anything of this woman?"
+
+"Oh, father, what a question! I never even heard of her till
+I put the torn letters together. I begin to wish you had not
+asked me to do it."
+
+"So do I. It never struck me that you would feel such
+extraordinary--I had almost said, such vulgar--curiosity about
+a worthless letter."
+
+This roused my temper. When a young lady is told that she is
+vulgar, if she has any self-conceit--I mean self-respect--she
+feels insulted. I said something sharp in my turn. It was in
+the way of argument. I do not know how it may be with other young
+persons, I never reason so well myself as when I am angry.
+
+"You call it a worthless letter," I said, "and yet you think it
+worth preserving."
+
+"Have you nothing more to say to me than that?" he asked.
+
+"Nothing more," I answered.
+
+He changed again. After having looked unaccountably angry, he now
+looked unaccountably relieved.
+
+"I will soon satisfy you," he said, "that I have a good reason
+for preserving a worthless letter. Miss Chance, my dear, is not
+a woman to be trusted. If she saw her advantage in making a bad
+use of my reply, I am afraid she would not hesitate to do it.
+Even if she is no longer living, I don't know into what vile
+hands my letter may not have fallen, or how it might be falsified
+for some wicked purpose. Do you see now how a correspondence may
+become accidentally important, though it is of no value in
+itself?"
+
+I could say "Yes" to this with a safe conscience.
+
+But there were some perplexities still left in my mind. It seemed
+strange that Miss Chance should (apparently) have submitted to
+the severity of my father's reply. "I should have thought,"
+I said to him, "that she would have sent you another impudent
+letter--or perhaps have insisted on seeing you, and using her
+tongue instead of her pen."
+
+"She could do neither the one nor the other, Helena. Miss Chance
+will never find out my address again; I have taken good care of
+that."
+
+He spoke in a loud voice, with a flushed face--as if it was quite
+a triumph to have prevented this woman from discovering his
+address. What reason could he have for being so anxious to keep
+her away from him? Could I venture to conclude that there was
+a mystery in the life of a man so blameless, so truly pious?
+It shocked one even to think of it.
+
+There was a silence between us, to which the housemaid offered
+a welcome interruption. Dinner was ready.
+
+He kissed me before we left the room. "One word more, Helena,"
+he said, "and I have done. Let there be no more talk between us
+about Elizabeth Chance."
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIL
+
+HELENA'S DIARY.
+
+Miss Jillgall joined us at the dinner-table, in a state of
+excitement, carrying a book in her hand.
+
+I am inclined, on reflection, to suspect that she is quite clever
+enough to have discovered that I hate her--and that many of
+the aggravating things she says and does are assumed, out of
+retaliation, for the purpose of making me angry. That ugly face
+is a double face, or I am much mistaken.
+
+To return to the dinner-table, Miss Jillgall addressed herself,
+with an air of playful penitence, to my father.
+
+"Dear cousin, I hope I have not done wrong. Helena left me all by
+myself. When I had finished darning the curtain, I really didn't
+know what to do. So I opened all the bedroom doors upstairs and
+looked into the rooms. In the big room with two beds--oh, I am
+so ashamed--I found this book. Please look at the first page."
+
+My father looked at the title-page: "Doctor Watts's Hymns. Well,
+Selina, what is there to be ashamed of in this?"
+
+"Oh, no! no! It's the wrong page. Do look at the other page--the
+one that comes first before that one."
+
+My patient father turned to the blank page.
+
+"Ah," he said quietly, "my other daughter's name is written in
+it--the daughter whom you have not seen. Well?"
+
+Miss Jillgall clasped her hands distractedly. "It's my ignorance
+I'm so ashamed of. Dear cousin, forgive me, enlighten me. I don't
+know how to pronounce your other daughter's name. Do you call her
+Euneece?"
+
+The dinner was getting cold. I was provoked into saying: "No, we
+don't."
+
+She had evidently not forgiven me for leaving her by herself.
+"Pardon me, Helena, when I want information I don't apply to you:
+I sit, as it were, at the feet of your learned father. Dear
+cousin, is it--"
+
+Even my father declined to wait for his dinner any longer.
+"Pronounce it as you like, Selina. Here we say Euni'ce--with the
+accent on the 'i' and with the final 'e' sounded: Eu-ni'-see. Let
+me give you some soup."
+
+Miss Jillgall groaned. "Oh, how difficult it seems to be! Quite
+beyond my poor brains! I shall ask the dear girl's leave to call
+her Euneece. What very strong soup! Isn't it rather a waste of
+meat? Give me a little more, please."
+
+I discovered another of Miss Jillgall's peculiarities. Her
+appetite was enormous, and her ways were greedy. You heard her
+eat her soup. She devoured the food on her plate with her eyes
+before she put it into her mouth; and she criticised our English
+cookery in the most impudent manner, under pretense of asking
+humbly how it was done. There was, however, some temporary
+compensation for this. We had less of her talk while she was
+eating her dinner.
+
+With the removal of the cloth, she recovered the use of her
+tongue; and she hit on the one subject of all others which proves
+to be the sorest trial to my father's patience.
+
+"And now, dear cousin, let us talk of your other daughter,
+our absent Euneece. I do so long to see her. When is she
+coming back?"
+
+"In a few days more."
+
+"How glad I am! And do tell me--which is she? Your oldest girl
+or your youngest?"
+
+"Neither the one nor the other, Selina."
+
+"Oh, my head! my head! This is even worse than the accent on
+the 'i' and the final 'e.' Stop! I am cleverer than I thought
+I was.  You mean that the girls are twins. Are they both so
+exactly like each other that I shan't know which is which?
+What fun!"
+
+When the subject of our ages was unluckily started at Mrs.
+Staveley's, I had slipped out of the difficulty easily by
+assuming the character of the eldest sister--an example of ready
+tact which my dear stupid Eunice doesn't understand. In my
+father's presence, it is needless to say that I kept silence,
+and left it to him. I was sorry to be obliged to do this. Owing
+to his sad state of health, he is easily irritated--especially
+by inquisitive strangers.
+
+"I must leave you," he answered, without taking the slightest
+notice of what Miss Jillgall had said to him. "My work is waiting
+for me."
+
+She stopped him on his way to the door. "Oh, tell me--can't
+I help you?"
+
+"Thank you; no."
+
+"Well--but tell me one thing. Am I right about the twins?"
+
+"You are wrong."
+
+Miss Jillgall's demonstrative hands flew up into the air again,
+and expressed the climax of astonishment by quivering over her
+head. "This is positively maddening," she declared. "What does
+it mean?"
+
+"Take my advice, cousin. Don't attempt to find out what it
+means."
+
+He left the room. Miss Jillgall appealed to me. I imitated my
+father's wise brevity of expression: "Sorry to disappoint you,
+Selina; I know no more about it than you do. Come upstairs."
+
+Every step of the way up to the drawing-room was marked by
+a protest or an inquiry. Did I expect her to believe that I
+couldn't say which of us was the elder of the two? that I didn't
+really know what my father's motive was for this extraordinary
+mystification? that my sister and I had submitted to be robbed,
+as it were, of our own ages, and had not insisted on discovering
+which of us had come into the world first? that our friends had
+not put an end to this sort of thing by comparing us personally,
+and discovering which was the elder sister by investigation of
+our faces? To all this I replied: First, that I did certainly
+expect her to believe whatever I might say: Secondly, that what
+she was pleased to call the "mystification" had begun when we
+were both children; that habit had made it familiar to us in
+the course of years; and above all, that we were too fond of our
+good father to ask for explanations which we knew by experience
+would distress him: Thirdly, that friends did try to discover,
+by personal examination, which was the elder sister, and differed
+perpetually in their conclusions; also that we had amused
+ourselves by trying the same experiment before our
+looking-glasses, and that Eunice thought Helena was the oldest,
+and Helena thought Eunice was the oldest: Fourthly (and finally),
+that the Reverend Mr. Gracedieu's cousin had better drop
+the subject, unless she was bent on making her presence in
+the house unendurable to the Reverend Mr. Gracedieu himself.
+
+I write it with a sense of humiliation; Miss Jillgall listened
+attentively to all I had to say--and then took me completely by
+surprise. This inquisitive, meddlesome, restless, impudent woman
+suddenly transformed herself into a perfect model of amiability
+and decorum. She actually said she agreed with me, and was much
+obliged for my good advice!
+
+A stupid young woman, in my place, would have discovered that
+this was not natural, and that Miss Jillgall was presenting
+herself to me in disguise, to reach some secret end of her own.
+I am not a stupid young woman; I ought to have had at my service
+penetration enough to see through and through Cousin Selina.
+Well! Cousin Selina was an impenetrable mystery to me.
+
+The one thing to be done was to watch her. I was at least sly
+enough to take up a book, and pretend to be reading it. How
+contemptible!
+
+She looked round the room, and discovered our pretty
+writing-table; a present to my father from his congregation.
+After a little consideration, she sat down to write a letter.
+
+"When does the post go out?" she asked.
+
+I mentioned the hour; and she began her letter. Before she could
+have written more than the first two or three lines, she turned
+round on her seat, and began talking to me.
+
+"Do you like writing letters, my dear?"
+
+"Yes--but then I have not many letters to write."
+
+"Only a few friends, Helena, but those few worthy to be loved?
+My own case exactly. Has your father told you of my troubles? Ah,
+I am glad of that. It spares me the sad necessity of confessing
+what I have suffered. Oh, how good my friends, my new friends,
+were to me in that dull little Belgian town! One of them was
+generosity personified--ah, she had suffered, too! A vile husband
+who had deceived and deserted her. Oh, the men! When she heard
+of the loss of my little fortune, that noble creature got up
+a subscription for me, and went round herself to collect. Think
+of what I owe to her! Ought I to let another day pass without
+writing to my benefactress? Am I not bound in gratitude to make
+her happy in the knowledge of _my_ happiness--I mean the refuge
+opened to me in this hospitable house?"
+
+She twisted herself back again to the writing-table, and went on
+with her letter.
+
+I have not attempted to conceal my stupidity. Let me now record
+a partial recovery of my intelligence.
+
+It was not to be denied that Miss Jillgall had discovered a good
+reason for writing to her friend; but I was at a loss to
+understand why she should have been so anxious to mention the
+reason. Was it possible--after the talk which had passed between
+us--that she had something mischievous to say in her letter,
+relating to my father or to me? Was she afraid I might suspect
+this? And had she been so communicative for the purpose of
+leading my suspicions astray? These were vague guesses; but, try
+as I might, I could arrive at no clearer view of what was passing
+in Miss Jillgall's mind. What would I not have given to be able
+to look over her shoulder, without discovery!
+
+She finished her letter, and put the address, and closed the
+envelope. Then she turned round toward me again.
+
+"Have you got a foreign postage stamp, dear?"
+
+If I could look at nothing else, I was resolved to look at her
+envelope. It was only necessary to go to the study, and to apply
+to my father. I returned with the foreign stamp, and I stuck it
+on the envelope with my own hand.
+
+There was nothing to interest _me_ in the address, as I ought
+to have foreseen, if I had not been too much excited for
+the exercise of a little common sense. Miss Jillgall's wonderful
+friend was only remarkable by her ugly foreign name--MRS.
+TENBRUGGEN.
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+EUNICE'S DIARY.
+
+Here I am, writing my history of myself, once more, by my own
+bedside. Some unexpected events have happened while I have been
+away. One of them is the absence of my sister.
+
+Helena has left home on a visit to a northern town by the
+seaside. She is staying in the house of a minister (one of papa's
+friends), and is occupying a position of dignity in which I
+should certainly lose my head. The minister and his wife and
+daughters propose to set up a Girls' Scripture Class, on the plan
+devised by papa; and they are at a loss, poor helpless people, to
+know how to begin. Helena has volunteered to set the thing going.
+And there she is now, advising everybody, governing everybody,
+encouraging everybody--issuing directions, finding fault,
+rewarding merit--oh, dear, let me put it all in one word,
+and say: thoroughly enjoying herself.
+
+Another event has happened, relating to papa. It so distressed me
+that I even forgot to think of Philip--for a little while.
+
+Traveling by railway (I suppose because I am not used to it)
+gives me the headache. When I got to our station here, I thought
+it would do me more good to walk home than to ride in the noisy
+omnibus. Half-way between the railway and the town, I met one
+of the doctors. He is a member of our congregation; and he it was
+who recommended papa, some time since, to give up his work as
+a minister and take a long holiday in foreign parts.
+
+"I am glad to have met with you," the doctor said. "Your sister,
+I find, is away on a visit; and I want to speak to one of you
+about your father."
+
+It seemed that he had been observing papa, in chapel, from what
+he called his own medical point of view. He did not conceal from
+me that he had drawn conclusions which made him feel uneasy. "It
+may be anxiety," he said, "or it may be overwork. In either case,
+your father is in a state of nervous derangement, which is likely
+to lead to serious results--unless he takes the advice that
+I gave him when he last consulted me. There must be no more
+hesitation about it. Be careful not to irritate him--but remember
+that he must rest. You and your sister have some influence over
+him; he won't listen to me."
+
+Poor dear papa! I did see a change in him for the worse--though
+I had only been away for so short a time.
+
+When I put my arms round his neck, and kissed him, he turned
+pale, and then flushed up suddenly: the tears came into his eyes.
+Oh, it was hard to follow the doctor's advice, and not to cry,
+too; but I succeeded in controlling myself. I sat on his knee,
+and made him tell me all that I have written here about Helena.
+This led to our talking next of the new lady, who is to live with
+us as a member of the family. I began to feel less uneasy at the
+prospect of being introduced to this stranger, when I heard that
+she was papa's cousin. And when he mentioned her name, and saw
+how it amused me, his poor worn face brightened into a smile. "Go
+and find her," he said, "and introduce yourself. I want to hear,
+Eunice, if you and my cousin are likely to get on well together."
+
+The servants told me that Miss Jillgall was in the garden.
+
+I searched here, there, and everywhere, and failed to find her.
+The place was so quiet, it looked so deliciously pure and bright,
+after smoky dreary London, that I sat down at the further end of
+the garden and let my mind take me back to Philip. What was he
+doing at that moment, while I was thinking of him? Perhaps he was
+in the company of other young ladies, who drew all his thoughts
+away to themselves? Or perhaps he was writing to his father in
+Ireland, and saying something kindly and prettily about me? Or
+perhaps he was looking forward, as anxiously as I do, to our
+meeting next week.
+
+I have had my plans, and I have changed my plans.
+
+On the railway journey, I thought I would tell papa at once
+of the new happiness which seems to have put a new life into me.
+It would have been delightful to make my confession to that first
+and best and dearest of friends; but my meeting with the doctor
+spoiled it all. After what he had said to me, I discovered a
+risk. If I ventured to tell papa that my heart was set on a young
+gentleman who was a stranger to him, could I be sure that he
+would receive my confession favorably? There was a chance that
+it might irritate him--and the fault would then be mine of doing
+what I had been warned to avoid. It might be safer in every way
+to wait till Philip paid his visit, and he and papa had been
+introduced to each other and charmed with each other. Could
+Helena herself have arrived at a wiser conclusion? I declare
+I felt proud of my own discretion.
+
+In this enjoyable frame of mind I was disturbed by a woman's
+voice. The tone was a tone of distress, and the words reached
+my ears from the end of the garden: "Please, miss, let me in."
+
+A shrubbery marks the limit of our little bit of pleasure-ground.
+On the other side of it there is a cottage standing on the edge
+of the common. The most good-natured woman in the world lives
+here. She is our laundress--married to a stupid young fellow
+named Molly, and blessed with a plump baby as sweet-tempered
+at herself. Thinking it likely that the piteous voice which had
+disturbed me might be the voice of Mrs. Molly, I was astonished
+to hear her appealing to anybody (perhaps to me?) to "let her
+in." So I passed through the shrubbery, wondering whether
+the gate had been locked during my absence in London. No;
+it was as easy to open as ever.
+
+The cottage door was not closed.
+
+I saw our amiable laundress in the passage, on her knees, trying
+to open an inner door which seemed to be locked. She had her eye
+at the keyhole; and, once again, she called out: "Please, miss,
+let me in." I waited to see if the door would be opened--nothing
+happened. I waited again, to hear if some person inside would
+answer--nobody spoke. But somebody, or something, made a sound
+of splashing water on the other side of the door.
+
+I showed myself, and asked what was the matter.
+
+Mrs. Molly looked at me helplessly. She said: "Miss Eunice,
+it's the baby."
+
+"What has the baby done?" I inquired.
+
+Mrs. Molly got on her feet, and whispered in my ear: "You know
+he's a fine child?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, miss, he's bewitched a lady."
+
+"What lady?"
+
+"Miss Jillgall."
+
+The very person I had been trying to find! I asked where she was.
+
+The laundress pointed dolefully to the locked door: "In there."
+
+"And where is your baby?"
+
+The poor woman still pointed to the door: "I'm beginning to
+doubt, miss, whether it is my baby."
+
+"Nonsense, Mrs. Molly. If it isn't yours, whose baby can it be?"
+
+"Miss Jillgall's."
+
+Her puzzled face made this singular reply more funny still.
+The splashing of water on the other side of the door began
+again.  "What is Miss Jillgall doing now?" I said.
+
+"Washing the baby, miss. A week ago, she came in here, one
+morning; very pleasant and kind, I must own. She found me putting
+on the baby's things. She says: 'What a cherub!' which I took
+as a compliment. She says: 'I shall call again to-morrow.' She
+called again so early that she found the baby in his crib. 'You
+be a good soul,' she says, 'and go about your work, and leave
+the child to me.' I says: 'Yes, miss, but please to wait till
+I've made him fit to be seen.' She says: 'That's just what I mean
+to do myself.' I stared; and I think any other person would have
+done the same in my place. 'If there's one thing more than
+another I enjoy,' she says, 'it's making myself useful. Mrs.
+Molly, I've taken a fancy to your boy-baby,' she says, 'and
+I mean to make myself useful to _him_.' If you will believe me,
+Miss Jillgall has only let me have one opportunity of putting my
+own child tidy. She was late this morning, and I got my chance,
+and had the boy on my lap, drying him--when in she burst like
+a blast of wind, and snatched the baby away from me. 'This is
+your nasty temper,' she says; 'I declare I'm ashamed of you!' And
+there she is, with the door locked against me, washing the child
+all over again herself. Twice I've knocked, and asked her to let
+me in, and can't even get an answer. They do say there's luck in
+odd numbers; suppose I try again?" Mrs. Molly knocked, and the
+proverb proved to be true; she got an answer from Miss Jillgall
+at last: "If you don't be quiet and go away, you shan't have the
+baby back at all." Who could help it?--I burst out laughing. Miss
+Jillgall (as I supposed from the tone of her voice) took severe
+notice of this act of impropriety. "Who's that laughing?" she
+called out; "give yourself a name." I gave my name. The door was
+instantly thrown open with a bang. Papa's cousin appeared, in
+a disheveled state, with splashes of soap and water all over her.
+She held the child in one arm, and she threw the other arm round
+my neck. "Dearest Euneece, I have been longing to see you. How do
+you like Our baby?"
+
+To the curious story of my introduction to Miss Jillgall, I ought
+perhaps to add that I have got to be friends with her already.
+I am the friend of anybody who amuses me. What will Helena say
+when she reads this?
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+EUNICE'S DIARY.
+
+When people are interested in some event that is coming, do they
+find the dull days, passed in waiting for it, days which they are
+not able to remember when they look back? This is my unfortunate
+case. Night after night, I have gone to bed without so much
+as opening my Journal. There was nothing worth writing about,
+nothing that I could recollect, until the postman came to-day.
+I ran downstairs, when I heard his ring at the bell, and stopped
+Maria on her way to the study. There, among papa's usual handful
+of letters, was a letter for me.
+
+"DEAR MISS EUNICE:
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+"Yours ever truly."
+
+I quote the passages in Philip's letter which most deeply
+interested me--I am his dear miss; and he is mine ever truly.
+The other part of the letter told me that he had been detained
+in London, and he lamented it. At the end was a delightful
+announcement that he was coming to me by the afternoon train.
+I ran upstairs to see how I looked in the glass.
+
+My first feeling was regret. For the thousandth time, I was
+obliged to acknowledge that I was not as pretty as Helena. But
+this passed off. A cheering reflection occurred to me. Philip
+would not have found, in my sister's face, what seems to have
+interested him in my face. Besides, there is my figure.
+
+The pity of it is that I am so ignorant about some things. If
+I had been allowed to read novels, I might (judging by what papa
+said against them in one of his sermons) have felt sure of my own
+attractions; I might even have understood what Philip really
+thought of me. However, my mind was quite unexpectedly set at
+ease on the subject of my figure. The manner in which it happened
+was so amusing--at least, so amusing to me--that I cannot resist
+mentioning it.
+
+My sister and I are forbidden to read newspapers, as well as
+novels. But the teachers at the Girls' Scripture Class are too
+old to be treated in this way. When the morning lessons were
+over, one of them was reading the newspaper to the other, in
+the empty schoolroom; I being in the passage outside, putting on
+my cloak.
+
+It was a report of "an application made to the magistrates by
+the lady of his worship the Mayor." Hearing this, I stopped to
+listen. The lady of his worship (what a funny way of describing
+a man's wife!) is reported to be a little too fond of notoriety,
+and to like hearing the sound of her own voice on public
+occasions. But this is only my writing; I had better get back
+to the report. "In her address to the magistrates, the Mayoress
+stated that she had seen a disgusting photograph in the shop
+window of a stationer, lately established in the town. She
+desired to bring this person within reach of the law, and to have
+all his copies of the shameless photograph destroyed. The usher
+of the court was thereupon sent to purchase the photograph."--On
+second thoughts, I prefer going back to my own writing again;
+it is so uninteresting to copy other people's writing. Two
+of the magistrates were doing justice. They looked at the
+photograph--and what did it represent? The famous statue called
+the Venus de' Medici! One of the magistrates took this discovery
+indignantly. He was shocked at the gross ignorance which could
+call the classic ideal of beauty and grace a disgusting work.
+The other one made polite allowances. He thought the lady was
+much to be pitied; she was evidently the innocent victim of
+a neglected education. Mrs. Mayor left the court in a rage,
+telling the justices she knew where to get law. "I shall expose
+Venus," she said, "to the Lord Chancellor."
+
+When the Scripture Class had broken up for the day, duty ought
+to have taken me home. Curiosity led me astray--I mean, led me
+to the stationer's window.
+
+There I found our two teachers, absorbed in the photograph;
+having got to the shop first by a short cut. They seemed to think
+I had taken a liberty whom I joined them. "We are here," they
+were careful to explain, "to get a lesson in the ideal of beauty
+and grace." There was quite a little crowd of townsfolk collected
+before the window. Some of them giggled; and some of them
+wondered whether it was taken from the life. For my own part,
+gratitude to Venus obliges me to own that she effected a great
+improvement in the state of my mind. She encouraged me. If that
+stumpy little creature--with no waist, and oh, such uncertain
+legs!--represented the ideal of beauty and grace, I had reason
+indeed to be satisfied with my own figure, and to think it quite
+possible that my sweetheart's favorable opinion of me was not
+ill-bestowed.
+
+I was at the bedroom window when the time approached for Philip's
+arrival.
+
+Quite at the far end of the road, I discovered him. He was on
+foot; he walked like a king. Not that I ever saw a king, but I
+have my ideal. Ah, what a smile he gave me, when I made him look
+up by waving my handkerchief out of the window! "Ask for papa,"
+I whispered as he ascended the house-steps.
+
+The next thing to do was to wait, as patiently as I could, to be
+sent for downstairs. Maria came to me in a state of excitement.
+"Oh, miss, what a handsome young gentleman, and how beautifully
+dressed! Is he--?" Instead of finishing what she had to say, she
+looked at me with a sly smile. I looked at her with a sly smile.
+We were certainly a couple of fools. But, dear me, how happy
+sometimes a fool can be!
+
+My enjoyment of that delightful time was checked when I went into
+the drawing-room.
+
+I had expected to see papa's face made beautiful by his winning
+smile. He was not only serious; he actually seemed to be ill
+at ease when he looked at me. At the same time, I saw nothing
+to make me conclude that Philip had produced an unfavorable
+impression. The truth is, we were all three on our best behavior,
+and we showed it. Philip had brought with him a letter from Mrs.
+Staveley, introducing him to papa. We spoke of the Staveleys,
+of the weather, of the Cathedral--and then there seemed to be
+nothing more left to talk about.
+
+In the silence that followed--what a dreadful thing silence
+is!--papa was sent for to see somebody who had called on
+business. He made his excuses in the sweetest manner, but still
+seriously. When he and Philip had shaken hands, would he leave us
+together? No; he waited. Poor Philip had no choice but to take
+leave of me. Papa then went out by the door that led into his
+study, and I was left alone.
+
+Can any words say how wretched I felt?
+
+I had hoped so much from that first meeting--and where were my
+hopes now? A profane wish that I had never been born was finding
+its way into my mind, when the door of the room was opened
+softly, from the side of the passage. Maria, dear Maria, the best
+friend I have, peeped in. She whispered: "Go into the garden,
+miss, and you will find somebody there who is dying to see you.
+Mind you let him out by the shrubbery gate." I squeezed her hand;
+I asked if she had tried the shrubbery gate with a sweetheart of
+her own. "Hundreds of times, miss."
+
+Was it wrong for me to go to Philip, in the garden? Oh, there is
+no end to objections! Perhaps I did it _because_ it was wrong.
+Perhaps I had been kept on my best behavior too long for human
+endurance.
+
+How sadly disappointed he looked! And how rashly he had placed
+himself just where he could be seen from the back windows! I took
+his arm and led him to the end of the garden. There we were out
+of the reach of inquisitive eyes; and there we sat down together,
+under the big mulberry tree.
+
+"Oh, Eunice, your father doesn't like me!"
+
+Those were his first words. In justice to papa (and a little for
+my own sake too) I told him he was quite wrong. I said: "Trust
+my father's goodness, trust his kindness, as I do."
+
+He made no reply. His silence was sufficiently expressive;
+he looked at me fondly.
+
+I may be wrong, but fond looks surely require an acknowledgment
+of some kind? Is a young woman guilty of boldness who only
+follows her impulses? I slipped my hand into his hand. Philip
+seemed to like it. We returned to our conversation.
+
+He began: "Tell me, dear, is Mr. Gracedieu always as serious
+as he is to-day?"
+
+"Oh no!"
+
+"When he takes exercise, does he ride? or does he walk?"
+
+"Papa always walks."
+
+"By himself?"
+
+"Sometimes by himself. Sometimes with me. Do you want to meet him
+when he goes out?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"When he is out with me?"
+
+"No. When he is out by himself."
+
+Was it possible to tell me more plainly that I was not wanted?
+I did my best to express indignation by snatching my hand away
+from him. He was completely taken by surprise.
+
+"Eunice! don't you understand me?"
+
+I was as stupid and as disagreeable as I could possibly be:
+"No; I don't!"
+
+"Then let me help you," he said, with a patience which I had not
+deserved.
+
+Up to that moment I had been leaning against the back of a garden
+chair. Something else now got between me and my chair. It stole
+round my waist--it held me gently--it strengthened its hold--it
+improved my temper--it made me fit to understand him. All done by
+what? Only an arm!
+
+Philip went on:
+
+"I want to ask your father to do me the greatest of all
+favors--and there is no time to lose. Every day, I expect to get
+a letter which may recall me to Ireland."
+
+My heart sank at this horrid prospect; and in some mysterious way
+my head must have felt it too. I mean that I found my head
+resting on his shoulder. He went on:
+
+"How am I to get my opportunity of speaking to Mr. Gracedieu?
+I mustn't call on him again as soon as to-morrow or next day. But
+I might meet him, out walking alone, if you will tell me how to
+do it. A note to my hotel is all I want. Don't tremble, my sweet.
+If you are not present at the time, do you see any objection to
+my owning to your father that I love you?"
+
+I felt his delicate consideration for me--I did indeed feel it
+gratefully. If he only spoke first, how well I should get on
+with papa afterward! The prospect before me was exquisitely
+encouraging. I agreed with Philip in everything; and I waited
+(how eagerly was only known to myself) to hear what he would say
+to me next. He prophesied next:
+
+"When I have told your father that I love you, he will expect me
+to tell him something else. Can you guess what it is?"
+
+If I had not been confused, perhaps I might have found the answer
+to this. As it was, I left him to reply to himself. He did it,
+in words which I shall remember as long as I live.
+
+"Dearest Eunice, when your father has heard my confession, he
+will suspect that there is another confession to follow it--he
+will want to know if you love me. My angel, will my hopes be your
+hopes too, when I answer him?"
+
+What there was in this to make my heart beat so violently that
+I felt as if I was being stifled, is more than I can tell. He
+leaned so close to me, so tenderly, so delightfully close, that
+our faces nearly touched. He whispered: "Say you love me, in
+a kiss!"
+
+His lips touched my lips, pressed them, dwelt on them--oh, how
+can I tell of it! Some new enchantment of feeling ran deliciously
+through and through me. I forgot my own self; I only knew of one
+person in the world. He was master of my lips; he was master of
+my heart. When he whispered, "kiss me," I kissed. What a moment
+it was! A faintness stole over me; I felt as if I was going to
+die some exquisite death; I laid myself back away from him--I was
+not able to speak. There was no need for it; my thoughts and
+his thoughts were one--he knew that I was quite overcome; he
+saw that he must leave me to recover myself alone. I pointed to
+the shrubbery gate. We took one long last look at each other for
+that day; the trees hid him; I was left by myself.
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+EUNICE'S DIARY.
+
+How long a time passed before my composure came back to me, I
+cannot remember now. It seemed as if I was waiting through some
+interval of my life that was a mystery to myself. I was content
+to wait, and feel the light evening air in the garden wafting
+happiness over me. And all this had come from a kiss! I can call
+the time to mind when I used to wonder why people made such a
+fuss about kissing.
+
+I had been indebted to Maria for my first taste of Paradise. I
+was recalled by Maria to the world that I had been accustomed to
+live in; the world that was beginning to fade away in my memory
+already. She had been sent to the garden in search of me; and
+she had a word of advice to offer, after noticing my face when
+I stepped out of the shadow of the tree: "Try to look more like
+yourself, miss, before you let them see you at the tea-table."
+
+
+Papa and Miss Jillgall were sitting together talking, when I
+opened the door. They left off when they saw me; and I supposed,
+quite correctly as it turned out, that I had been one of the
+subjects in their course of conversation. My poor father seemed
+to be sadly anxious and out of sorts. Miss Jillgall, if I had
+been in the humor to enjoy it, would have been more amusing than
+ever. One of her funny little eyes persisted in winking at me;
+and her heavy foot had something to say to my foot, under the
+table, which meant a great deal perhaps, but which only succeeded
+in hurting me.
+
+My father left us; and Miss Jillgall explained herself.
+
+"I know, dearest Euneece, that we have only been acquainted for
+a day or two and that I ought not perhaps to have expected you
+to confide in me so soon. Can I trust you not to betray me if
+I set an example of confidence? Ah, I see I can trust you! And,
+my dear, I do so enjoy telling secrets to a friend. Hush! Your
+father, your excellent father, has been talking to me about young
+Mr. Dunboyne."
+
+She provokingly stopped there. I entreated her to go on. She
+invited me to sit on her knee. "I want to whisper," she said. It
+was too ridiculous--but I did it. Miss Jillgall's whisper told me
+serious news.
+
+"The minister has some reason, Euneece, for disapproving of Mr.
+Dunboyne; but, mind this, I don't think he has a bad opinion of
+the young man himself. He is going to return Mr. Dunboyne's call.
+Oh, I do so hate formality; I really can't go on talking of _Mr._
+Dunboyne. Tell me his Christian name. Ah, what a noble name! How
+I long to be useful to him! Tomorrow, my dear, after the one
+o'clock dinner, your papa will call on Philip, at his hotel.
+I hope he won't be out, just at the wrong time."
+
+I resolved to prevent that unlucky accident by writing to Philip.
+If Miss Jillgall would have allowed it, I should have begun my
+letter at once. But she had more to say; and she was stronger
+than I was, and still kept me on her knee.
+
+"It all looks bright enough so far, doesn't it, dear sister?
+Will you let me be your second sister? I do so love you, Euneece.
+Thank you! thank you! But the gloomy side of the picture is to
+come next! The minister--no! now I am your sister I must call him
+papa; it makes me feel so young again! Well, then, papa has asked
+me to be your companion whenever you go out. 'Euneece is too
+young and too attractive to be walking about this great town
+(in Helena's absence) by herself.' That was how he put it. Slyly
+enough, if one may say so of so good a man. And he used your
+sister (didn't he?) as a kind of excuse. I wish your sister was
+as nice as you are. However, the point is, why am I to be your
+companion? Because, dear child, you and your young gentleman
+are not to make appointments and to meet each other alone. Oh,
+yes--that's it! Your father is quite willing to return Philip's
+call; he proposes (as a matter of civility to Mrs. Staveley) to
+ask Philip to dinner; but, mark my words, he doesn't mean to let
+Philip have you for his wife."
+
+I jumped off her lap; it was horrible to hear her. "Oh," I said,
+"_can_ you be right about it?" Miss Jillgall jumped up too. She
+has foreign ways of shrugging her shoulders and making signs with
+her hands. On this occasion she laid both hands on the upper part
+of her dress, just below her throat, and mysteriously shook her
+head.
+
+"When my views are directed by my affections," she assured me,
+"I never see wrong. My bosom is my strong point."
+
+She has no bosom, poor soul--but I understood what she meant. It
+failed to have any soothing effect on my feelings. I felt grieved
+and angry and puzzled, all in one. Miss Jillgall stood looking
+at me, with her hands still on the place where her bosom was
+supposed to be. She made my temper hotter than ever.
+
+"I mean to marry Philip," I said.
+
+"Certainly, my dear Euneece. But please don't be so fierce about
+it."
+
+"If my father does really object to my marriage," I went on,
+"it must be because he dislikes Philip. There can be no other
+reason."
+
+"Oh, yes, dear--there can."
+
+"What is the reason, then?"
+
+"That, my sweet girl, is one of the things that we have got to
+find out."
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+The post of this morning brought a letter from my sister. We were
+to expect her return by the next day's train. This was good news.
+Philip and I might stand in need of clever Helena's help, and we
+might be sure of getting it now.
+
+In writing to Philip, I had asked him to let me hear how papa and
+he had got on at the hotel.
+
+I won't say how often I consulted my watch, or how often I looked
+out of the window for a man with a letter in his hand. It will be
+better to get on at once to the discouraging end of it, when
+the report of the interview reached me at last. Twice Philip had
+attempted to ask for my hand in marriage--and twice my father
+had "deliberately, obstinately" (Philip's own words) changed the
+subject. Even this was not all. As if he was determined to show
+that Miss Jillgall was perfectly right, and I perfectly wrong,
+papa (civil to Philip as long as he did not talk of Me) had asked
+him to dine with us, and Philip had accepted the invitation!
+
+What were we to think of it? What were we to do?
+
+I wrote back to my dear love (so cruelly used) to tell him that
+Helena was expected to return on the next day, and that her
+opinion would be of the greatest value to both of us. In a
+postscript I mentioned the hour at which we were going to the
+station to meet my sister. When I say "we," I mean Miss Jillgall
+as well as myself.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+We found him waiting for us at the railway. I am afraid he
+resented papa's incomprehensible resolution not to give him
+a hearing. He was silent and sullen. I could not conceal that
+to see this state of feeling distressed me. He showed how truly
+he deserved to be loved--he begged my pardon, and he became
+his own sweet self again directly. I am more determined to marry
+him than ever.
+
+When the train entered the station, all the carriages were full.
+I went one way, thinking I had seen Helena. Miss Jillgall went
+the other way, under the same impression. Philip was a little way
+behind me.
+
+Not seeing my sister, I had just turned back, when a young man
+jumped out of a carriage, opposite Philip, and recognized and
+shook hands with him. I was just near enough to hear the stranger
+say, "Look at the girl in our carriage." Philip looked. "What
+a charming creature!" he said, and then checked himself for fear
+the young lady should hear him. She had just handed her traveling
+bag and wraps to a porter, and was getting out. Philip politely
+offered his hand to help her. She looked my way. The charming
+creature of my sweetheart's admiration was, to my infinite
+amusement, Helena herself.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY.
+
+The day of my return marks an occasion which I am not likely
+to forget. Hours have passed since I came home--and my agitation
+still forbids the thought of repose.
+
+As I sit at my desk I see Eunice in bed, sleeping peacefully,
+except when she is murmuring enjoyment in some happy dream. To
+what end has my sister been advancing blindfold, and (who knows?)
+dragging me with her, since that disastrous visit to our friends
+in London? Strange that there should be a leaven of superstition
+in _my_ nature! Strange that I should feel fear of something--I
+hardly know what!
+
+I have met somewhere (perhaps in my historical reading) with the
+expression: "A chain of events." Was I at the beginning of that
+chain, when I entered the railway carriage on my journey home?
+
+Among the other passengers there was a young gentleman,
+accompanied by a lady who proved to be his sister. They were both
+well-bred people. The brother evidently admired me, and did his
+best to make himself agreeable. Time passed quickly in pleasant
+talk, and my vanity was flattered--and that was all.
+
+My fellow-travelers were going on to London. When the train
+reached our station the young lady sent her brother to buy some
+fruit, which she saw in the window of the refreshment-room. The
+first man whom he encountered on the platform was one of his
+friends; to whom he said something which I failed to hear. When
+I handed my traveling bag and my wraps to the porter, and showed
+myself at the carriage door, I heard the friend say: "What a
+charming creature!" Having nothing to conceal in a journal which
+I protect by a lock, I may own that the stranger's personal
+appearance struck me, and that what I felt this time was not
+flattered vanity, but gratified pride. He was young, he was
+remarkably handsome, he was a distinguished-looking man.
+
+All this happened in one moment. In the moment that followed, I
+found myself in Eunice's arms. That odious person, Miss Jillgall,
+insisted on embracing me next. And then I was conscious of
+an indescribable feeling of surprise. Eunice presented the
+distinguished-looking gentleman to me as a friend of hers--Mr.
+Philip Dunboyne.
+
+"I had the honor of meeting your sister," he said, "in London, at
+Mr. Staveley's house." He went on to speak easily and gracefully
+of the journey I had taken, and of his friend who had been my
+fellow-traveler; and he attended us to the railway omnibus before
+he took his leave. I observed that Eunice had something to say to
+him confidentially, before they parted. This was another example
+of my sister's childish character; she is instantly familiar with
+new acquaintances, if she happens to like them. I anticipated
+some amusement from hearing how she had contrived to establish
+confidential relations with a highly-cultivated man like Mr.
+Dunboyne. But, while Miss Jillgall was with us, it was just as
+well to keep within the limits of commonplace conversation.
+
+Before we got out of the omnibus I had, however, observed one
+undesirable result of my absence from home. Eunice and Miss
+Jillgall--the latter having, no doubt, finely flattered the
+former--appeared to have taken a strong liking to each other.
+
+Two curious circumstances also caught my attention. I saw a
+change to, what I call self-assertion, in my sister's manner;
+something seemed to have raised her in her own estimation. Then,
+again, Miss Jillgall was not like her customary self. She had
+delightful moments of silence; and when Eunice asked how I liked
+Mr. Dunboyne, she listened to my reply with an appearance of
+interest in her ugly face which was quite a new revelation in
+my experience of my father's cousin.
+
+These little discoveries (after what I had already observed at
+the railway-station) ought perhaps to have prepared me for what
+was to come, when my sister and I were alone in our room. But
+Eunice, whether she meant to do it or not, baffled my customary
+penetration. She looked as if she had plenty of news to tell
+me--with some obstacle in the way of doing it, which appeared to
+amuse instead of annoying her. If there is one thing more than
+another that I hate, it is being puzzled. I asked at once if
+anything remarkable had happened during Eunice's visit to London.
+
+She smiled mischievously. "I have got a delicious surprise for
+you, my dear; and I do so enjoy prolonging it. Tell me, Helena,
+what did you propose we should both do when we found ourselves
+at home again?"
+
+My memory was at fault. Eunice's good spirits became absolutely
+boisterous. She called out: "Catch!" and tossed her journal into
+my hands, across the whole length of the room. "We were to read
+each other's diaries," she said. "There is mine to begin with."
+
+Innocent of any suspicion of the true state of affairs, I began
+the reading of Eunice's journal.
+
+If I had not seen the familiar handwriting, nothing would have
+induced me to believe that a girl brought up in a pious
+household, the well-beloved daughter of a distinguished
+Congregational Minister, could have written that shameless record
+of passions unknown to young ladies in respectable English life.
+What to say, what to do, when I had closed the book, was more
+than I felt myself equal to decide. My wretched sister spared me
+the anxiety which I might otherwise have felt. It was she who
+first opened her lips, after the silence that had fallen on us
+while I was reading. These were literally the words that she
+said:
+
+"My darling, why don't you congratulate me?"
+
+No argument could have persuaded me, as this persuaded me, that
+all sisterly remonstrance on my part would be completely thrown
+away.
+
+"My dear Eunice," I said, "let me beg you to excuse me. I am
+waiting--"
+
+There she interrupted me--and, oh, in what an impudent manner!
+She took my chin between her finger and thumb, and lifted my
+downcast face, and looked at me with an appearance of eager
+expectation which I was quite at a loss to understand.
+
+"You have been away from home, too," she said. "Do I see in this
+serious face some astonishing news waiting to overpower me? Have
+_you_ found a sweetheart? Are _you_ engaged to be married?"
+
+I only put her hand away from me, and advised her to return to
+her chair. This perfectly harmless proceeding seemed absolutely
+to frighten her.
+
+"Oh, my dear," she burst out, "surely you are not jealous of me?"
+
+There was but one possible reply to this: I laughed at it. Is
+Eunice's head turned? She kissed me!
+
+"Now you laugh," she said, "I begin to understand you again;
+I ought to have known that you are superior to jealousy. But,
+do tell me, would it be so very wonderful if other girls found
+something to envy in my good luck? Just think of it! Such a
+handsome man, such an agreeable man, such a clever man, such
+a rich man--and, not the least of his merits, by-the-by, a man
+who admires You. Come! if you won't congratulate me, congratulate
+yourself on having such a brother-in-law in prospect!"
+
+Her head _was_ turned. I drew the poor soul's attention
+compassionately to what I had said a moment since.
+
+"Pardon me, dear, for reminding you that I have not yet refused
+to offer my congratulations. I only told you I was waiting."
+
+"For what?"
+
+"Waiting, of course, to hear what my father thinks of your
+wonderful good luck."
+
+This explanation, offered with the kindest intentions, produced
+another change in my very variable sister. I had extinguished her
+good spirits as I might have extinguished a light. She sat down
+by me, and sighed in the saddest manner. The heart must be hard
+indeed which can resist the distress of a person who is dear to
+us. I put my arm round her; she was becoming once more the Eunice
+whom I so dearly loved.
+
+"My poor child," I said. "don't distress yourself by speaking
+of it; I understand. Your father objects to your marrying Mr.
+Dunboyne."
+
+She shook her head. "I can't exactly say, Helena, that papa does
+that. He only behaves very strangely."
+
+"Am I indiscreet, dear, if I ask in what way father's behavior
+has surprised you?"
+
+She was quite willing to enlighten me. It was a simple little
+story which, to my mind, sufficiently explained the strange
+behavior that had puzzled my unfortunate sister.
+
+There could indeed be no doubt that my father considered Eunice
+far too childish in character, as yet, to undertake the duties of
+matrimony. But, with his customary delicacy, and dread of causing
+distress to others, he had deferred the disagreeable duty of
+communicating his opinion to Mr. Dunboyne. The adverse decision
+must, however, be sooner or later announced; and he had arranged
+to inflict disappointment, as tenderly as might be, at his own
+table.
+
+Considerately leaving Eunice in the enjoyment of any vain hopes
+which she may have founded on the event of the dinner-party, I
+passed the evening until supper-time came in the study with my
+father.
+
+Our talk was mainly devoted to the worthy people with whom I had
+been staying, and whose new schools I had helped to found. Not
+a word was said relating to my sister, or to Mr. Dunboyne. Poor
+father looked so sadly weary and ill that I ventured, after what
+the doctor had said to Eunice, to hint at the value of rest and
+change of scene to an overworked man. Oh, dear me, he frowned,
+and waved the subject away from him impatiently, with a wan, pale
+hand.
+
+After supper, I made an unpleasant discovery. Not having
+completely finished the unpacking of my boxes, I left Miss
+Jillgall and Eunice in the drawing-room, and went upstairs.
+In half an hour I returned, and found the room empty. What had
+become of them? It was a fine moonlight night; I stepped into the
+back drawing-room, and looked out of the window. There they were,
+walking arm-in-arm with their heads close together, deep in talk.
+With my knowledge of Miss Jillgall, I call this a bad sign.
+
+An odd thought has just come to me. I wonder what might have
+happened, if I had been visiting at Mrs. Staveley's, instead
+of Eunice, and if Mr. Dunboyne had seen me first.
+
+Absurd! if I was not too tired to do anything more, those last
+lines should be scratched out.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+EUNICE'S DIARY.
+
+I said so to Miss Jillgall, and I say it again here. Nothing will
+induce me to think ill of Helena.
+
+My sister is a good deal tired, and a little out of temper after
+the railway journey. This is exactly what happened to me when
+I went to London. I attribute her refusal to let me read her
+journal, after she had read mine, entirely to the disagreeable
+consequences of traveling by railway. Miss Jillgall accounted
+for it otherwise, in her own funny manner: "My sweet child, your
+sister's diary is full of abuse of poor me." I humored the joke:
+"Dearest Selina, keep a diary of your own, and fill it with abuse
+of my sister." This seemed to be a droll saying at the time. But
+it doesn't look particularly amusing, now it is written down. We
+had ginger wine at supper, to celebrate Helena's return. Although
+I only drank one glass, I daresay it may have got into my head.
+
+However that may be, when the lovely moonlight tempted us into
+the garden, there was an end to our jokes. We had something to
+talk about which still dwells disagreeably on my mind.
+
+Miss Jillgall began it.
+
+"If I trust you, dearest Euneece, with my own precious secrets,
+shall I never, never, never live to repent it?"
+
+I told my good little friend that she might depend on me,
+provided her secrets did no harm to any person whom I loved.
+
+She clasped her hands and looked up at the moon--I can only
+suppose that her sentiments overpowered her. She said, very
+prettily, that her heart and my heart beat together in heavenly
+harmony. It is needless to add that this satisfied me.
+
+Miss Jillgall's generous confidence in my discretion was, I am
+afraid, not rewarded as it ought to have been. I found her
+tiresome at first.
+
+She spoke of an excellent friend (a lady), who had helped her,
+at the time when she lost her little fortune, by raising a
+subscription privately to pay the expenses of her return to
+England. Her friend's name--not very attractive to English
+ears--was Mrs. Tenbruggen; they had first become acquainted under
+interesting circumstances. Miss Jillgall happened to mention that
+my father was her only living relative; and it turned out that
+Mrs. Tenbruggen was familiar with his name, and reverenced his
+fame as a preacher. When he had generously received his poor
+helpless cousin under his own roof, Miss Jillgall's gratitude and
+sense of duty impelled her to write and tell Mrs. Tenbruggen how
+happy she was as a member of our family.
+
+Let me confess that I began to listen more attentively when the
+narrative reached this point.
+
+"I drew a little picture of our domestic circle here," Miss
+Jillgall said, describing her letter; "and I mentioned the
+mystery in which Mr. Gracedieu conceals the ages of you two dear
+girls. Mrs. Tenbruggen--shall we shorten her ugly name and call
+her Mrs. T.? Very well--Mrs. T. is a remarkably clever woman, and
+I looked for interesting results, if she would give her opinion
+of the mysterious circumstance mentioned in my letter."
+
+By this time, I was all eagerness to hear more.
+
+"Has she written to you?" I asked.
+
+Miss Jillgall looked at me affectionately, and took the reply out
+of her pocket.
+
+"Listen, Euneece; and you shall hear her own words. Thus she
+writes:
+
+"'Your letter, dear Selina, especially interests me by what it
+says about the _two_ Miss Gracedieus. '--Look, dear; she
+underlines the word Two. Why, I can't explain. Can you? Ah, I
+thought not. Well, let us get back to the letter. My accomplished
+friend continues in these terms:
+
+"'I can understand the surprise which you have felt at the
+strange course taken by their father, as a means of concealing
+the difference which there must be in the ages of these young
+ladies. Many years since, I happened to discover a romantic
+incident in the life of your popular preacher, which he has his
+reasons, as I suspect, for keeping strictly to himself. If I may
+venture on a bold guess, I should say that any person who could
+discover which was the oldest of the two daughters, would be
+also likely to discover the true nature of the romance in Mr.
+Gracedieu's life.'--Isn't that very remarkable, Euneece? You
+don't seem to see it--you funny child! Pray pay particular
+attention to what comes next. These are the closing sentences
+in my friend's letter:
+
+"'If you find anything new to tell me which relates to this
+interesting subject, direct your letter as before--provided you
+write within a week from the present time. Afterward, my letters
+will be received by the English physician whose card I inclose.
+You will be pleased to hear that my professional interests call
+me to London at the earliest moment that I can spare.'--There.
+dear child, the letter comes to an end. I daresay you wonder what
+Mrs. T. means, when she alludes to her professional interests?"
+
+No: I was not wondering about anything. It hurt me to hear of a
+strange woman exercising her ingenuity in guessing at mysteries
+in papa's life.
+
+But Miss Jillgall was too eagerly bent on setting forth the
+merits of her friend to notice this. I now heard that Mrs. T.'s
+marriage had turned out badly, and that she had been reduced to
+earn her own bread. Her manner of doing this was something quite
+new to me. She went about, from one place to another, curing
+people of all sorts of painful maladies, by a way she had
+of rubbing them with her hands. In Belgium she was called a
+"Masseuse." When I asked what this meant in English, I was told,
+"Medical Rubber," and that the fame of Mrs. T.'s wonderful cures
+had reached some of the medical newspapers published in London.
+
+After listening (I must say for myself) very patiently, I was
+bold enough to own that my interest in what I had just heard was
+not quite so plain to me as I could have wished it to be.
+
+Miss Jillgall looked shocked at my stupidity. She reminded me
+that there was a mystery in Mrs. Tenbruggen's letter and a
+mystery in papa's strange conduct toward Philip. "Put two and two
+together, darling," she said; "and, one of these days, they may
+make four."
+
+If this meant anything, it meant that the reason which made papa
+keep Helena's age and my age unknown to everybody but himself,
+was also the reason why he seemed to be so strangely unwilling to
+let me be Philip's wife. I really could not endure to take such a
+view of it as that, and begged Miss Jillgall to drop the subject.
+She was as kind as ever.
+
+"With all my heart, dear. But don't deceive yourself--the subject
+will turn up again when we least expect it."
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+EUNICE'S DIARY.
+
+Only two days now, before we give our little dinner-party, and
+Philip finds his opportunity of speaking to papa. Oh, how I wish
+that day had come and gone!
+
+I try not to take gloomy views of things; but I am not quite so
+happy as I had expected to be when my dear was in the same town
+with me. If papa had encouraged him to call again, we might have
+had some precious time to ourselves. As it is, we can only meet
+in the different show-places in the town--with Helena on one
+side, and Miss Jillgall on the other, to take care of us.
+I do call it cruel not to let two young people love each other,
+without setting third persons to watch them. If I was Queen
+of England, I would have pretty private bowers made for lovers,
+in the summer, and nice warm little rooms to hold two, in
+the winter. Why not? What harm could come of it, I should like
+to know?
+
+The cathedral is the place of meeting which we find most
+convenient, under the circumstances. There are delightful nooks
+and corners about this celebrated building in which lovers can
+lag behind. If we had been in papa's chapel I should have
+hesitated to turn it to such a profane use as this; the cathedral
+doesn't so much matter.
+
+Shall I own that I felt my inferiority to Helena a little keenly?
+She could tell Philip so many things that I should have liked to
+tell him first. My clever sister taught him how to pronounce the
+name of the bishop who began building the cathedral; she led him
+over the crypt, and told him how old it was. He was interested
+in the crypt; he talked to Helena (not to me) of his ambition
+to write a work on cathedral architecture in England; he made a
+rough little sketch in his book of our famous tomb of some king.
+Helena knew the late royal personage's name, and Philip showed
+his sketch to her before he showed it to me. How can I blame him,
+when I stood there the picture of stupidity, trying to recollect
+something that I might tell him, if it was only the Dean's name?
+Helena might have whispered it to me, I think. She remembered it,
+not I--and mentioned it to Philip, of course. I kept close by him
+all the time, and now and then he gave me a look which raised my
+spirits. He might have given me something better than that--I
+mean a kiss--when we had left the cathedral, and were by
+ourselves for a moment in a corner of the Dean's garden. But he
+missed the opportunity. Perhaps he was afraid of the Dean himself
+coming that way, and happening to see us. However, I am far from
+thinking the worse of Philip. I gave his arm a little
+squeeze--and that was better than nothing.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+He and I took a walk along the bank of the river to-day; my
+sister and Miss Jillgall looking after us as usual.
+
+On our way through the town, Helena stopped to give an order at a
+shop. She asked us to wait for her. That best of good creatures,
+Miss Jillgall, whispered in my ear: "Go on by yourselves, and
+leave me to wait for her." Philip interpreted this act of
+kindness in a manner which would have vexed me, if I had not
+understood that it was one of his jokes. He said to me: "Miss
+Jillgall sees a chance of annoying your sister, and enjoys the
+prospect."
+
+Well, away we went together; it was just what I wanted; it gave
+me an opportunity of saying something to Philip, between
+ourselves.
+
+I could now beg of him, in his interests and mine, to make the
+best of himself when he came to dinner. Clever people, I told
+him, were people whom papa liked and admired. I said: "Let him
+see, dear, how clever _you_ are, and how many things you
+know--and you can't imagine what a high place you will have in
+his opinion. I hope you don't think I am taking too much on
+myself in telling you how to behave."
+
+He relieved that doubt in a manner which I despair of describing.
+His eyes rested on me with such a look of exquisite sweetness and
+love that I was obliged to hold by his arm, I trembled so with
+the pleasure of feeling it.
+
+"I do sincerely believe," he said, "that you are the most
+innocent girl, the sweetest, truest girl that ever lived. I wish
+I was a better man, Eunice; I wish I was good enough to be worthy
+of you!"
+
+To hear him speak of himself in that way jarred on me. If such
+words had fallen from any other man's lips, I should have been
+afraid that he had done something, or thought something, of which
+he had reason to feel ashamed. With Philip this was impossible.
+
+He was eager to walk on rapidly, and to turn a corner in the
+path, before we could be seen. "I want to be alone with you,"
+he said.
+
+I looked back. We were too late; Helena and Miss Jillgall had
+nearly overtaken us. My sister was on the point of speaking to
+Philip, when she seemed to change her mind, and only looked at
+him. Instead of looking at her in return, he kept his eyes cast
+down and drew figures on the pathway with his stick. I think
+Helena was out of temper; she suddenly turned my way. "Why didn't
+you wait for me?" she asked.
+
+Philip took her up sharply. "If Eunice likes seeing the river
+better than waiting in the street," he said, "isn't she free to
+do as she pleases?"
+
+Helena said nothing more; Philip walked on slowly by himself.
+Not knowing what to make of it, I turned to Miss Jillgall.
+
+"Surely Philip can't have quarreled with Helena?" I said.
+
+Miss Jillgall answered in an odd off-hand manner: "Not he! He is
+a great deal more likely to have quarreled with himself."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Suppose you ask him why?"
+
+It was not to be thought of; it would have looked like prying
+into his thoughts. "Selina!" I said, "there is something odd
+about you to-day. What is the matter? I don't understand you."
+
+"My poor dear, you will find yourself understanding me before
+long." I thought I saw something like pity in her face when she
+said that.
+
+"My poor dear?" I repeated. "What makes you speak to me in that
+way?"
+
+"I don't know--I'm tired; I'm an old fool-- I'll go back to the
+house."
+
+Without another word, she left me. I turned to look for Philip,
+and saw that my sister had joined him while I had been speaking
+to Miss Jillgall. It pleased me to find that they were talking in
+a friendly way when I joined them. A quarrel between Helena and
+my husband that is to be--no, my husband that _shall_ be--would
+have been too distressing, too unnatural I might almost call it.
+
+Philip looked along the backward path, and asked what had become
+of Miss Jillgall. "Have you any objection to follow her example?"
+he said to me, when I told him that Selina had returned to the
+town. "I don't care for the banks of this river."
+
+Helena, who used to like the river at other times, was as ready
+as Philip to leave it now. I fancy they had both been kindly
+waiting to change our walk, till I came to them, and they could
+study my wishes too. Of course I was ready to go where they
+pleased. I asked Philip if there was anything he would like to
+see, when we got into the streets again.
+
+Clever Helena suggested what seemed to be a strange amusement to
+offer to Philip. "Let's take him to the Girls' School," she said.
+
+It appeared to be a matter of perfect indifference to him;
+he was, what they call, ironical. "Oh, yes, of course. Deeply
+interesting! deeply interesting!" He suddenly broke into the
+wildest good spirits, and tucked my hand under his arm with a
+gayety which it was impossible to resist. "What a boy you are!"
+Helena said, enjoying his delightful hilarity as I did.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+EUNICE'S DIARY.
+
+On entering the schoolroom we lost our gayety, all in a moment.
+Something unpleasant had evidently happened.
+
+Two of the eldest girls were sitting together in a corner,
+separated from the rest, and looking most wickedly sulky. The
+teachers were at the other end of the room, appearing to be ill
+at ease. And there, standing in the midst of them, with his face
+flushed and his eyes angry--there was papa, sadly unlike his
+gentle self in the days of his health and happiness. On former
+occasions, when the exercise of his authority was required in the
+school, his forbearing temper always set things right. When I saw
+him now, I thought of what the doctor had said of his health,
+on my way home from the station.
+
+Papa advanced to us the moment we showed ourselves at the door.
+
+He shook hands--cordially shook hands--with Philip. It was
+delightful to see him, delightful to hear him say: "Pray don't
+suppose, Mr. Dunboyne, that you are intruding; remain with us by
+all means if you like." Then he spoke to Helena and to me, still
+excited, still not like himself: "You couldn't have come here,
+my dears, at a time when your presence was more urgently needed."
+He turned to the teachers. "Tell my daughters what has happened;
+tell them why they see me here--shocked and distressed, I don't
+deny it."
+
+We now heard that the two girls in disgrace had broken the rules,
+and in such a manner as to deserve severe punishment.
+
+One of them had been discovered hiding a novel in her desk. The
+other had misbehaved herself more seriously still--she had gone
+to the theater. Instead of expressing any regret, they had
+actually dared to complain of having to learn papa's improved
+catechism. They had even accused him of treating them with
+severity, because they were poor girls brought up on charity.
+"If we had been young ladies," they were audacious enough to say,
+"more indulgence would have been shown to us; we should have been
+allowed to read stories and to see plays."
+
+All this time I had been asking myself what papa meant, when
+he told us we could not have come to the schoolroom at a better
+time. His meaning now appeared. When he spoke to the offending
+girls, he pointed to Helena and to me.
+
+"Here are my daughters," he said. "You will not deny that they
+are young ladies. Now listen. They shall tell you themselves
+whether my rules make any difference between them and you.
+Helena! Eunice! do I allow you to read novels? do I allow you
+to go to the play?"
+
+We said, "No"--and hoped it was over. But he had not done yet.
+He turned to Helena.
+
+"Answer some of the questions," he went on, "from my Manual of
+Christian Obligation, which the girls call my catechism." He
+asked one of the questions: "If you are told to do unto others as
+you would they should do unto you, and if you find a difficulty
+in obeying that Divine Precept, what does your duty require?"
+
+It is my belief that Helena has the materials in her for making
+another Joan of Arc. She rose, and answered without the slightest
+sign of timidity: "My duty requires me to go to the minister,
+and to seek for advice and encouragement."
+
+"And if these fail?"
+
+"Then I am to remember that my pastor is my friend. He claims
+no priestly authority or priestly infallibility. He is my
+fellow-Christian who loves me. He will tell me how he has himself
+failed; how he has struggled against himself; and what a blessed
+reward has followed his victory--a purified heart, a peaceful
+mind."
+
+Then papa released my sister, after she had only repeated two out
+of all the answers in Christian Obligation, which we first began
+to learn when we were children. He then addressed himself again
+to the girls.
+
+"Is what you have just heard a part of my catechism? Has my
+daughter been excused from repeating it because she is a young
+lady? Where is the difference between the religious education
+which is given to my own child, and that given to you?"
+
+The wretched girls still sat silent and obstinate, with their
+heads down. I tremble again as I write of what happened next.
+Papa fixed his eyes on me. He said, out loud: "Eunice!"--and
+waited for me to rise and answer, as my sister had done.
+
+It was entirely beyond my power to get on my feet.
+
+Philip had (innocently, I am sure) discouraged me; I saw
+displeasure, I saw contempt in his face. There was a dead silence
+in the room. Everybody looked at me. My heart beat furiously,
+my hands turned cold, the questions and answers in Christian
+Obligation all left my memory together. I looked imploringly
+at papa.
+
+For the first time in his life, he was hard on me. His eyes were
+as angry as ever; they showed me no mercy. Oh, what had come
+to me? what evil spirit possessed me? I felt resentment; horrid,
+undutiful resentment, at being treated in this cruel way. My
+fists clinched themselves in my lap, my face felt as hot as fire.
+Instead of asking my father to excuse me, I said: "I can't do
+it." He was astounded, as well he might be. I went on from bad
+to worse. I said: "I won't do it."
+
+He stooped over me; he whispered: "I am going to ask you
+something; I insist on your answering, Yes or No." He raised
+his voice, and drew himself back so that they could all see me.
+
+"Have you been taught like your sister?" he asked. "Has the
+catechism that has been her religious lesson, for all her life,
+been your religious lesson, for all your life, too?"
+
+I said: "Yes"--and I was in such a rage that I said it out loud.
+If Philip had handed me his cane, and had advised me to give
+the young hussies who were answerable for this dreadful state
+of things a good beating, I believe I should have done it.
+Papa turned his back on me and offered the girls a last chance:
+"Do you feel sorry for what you have done? Do you ask to be
+forgiven?"
+
+Neither the one nor the other answered him. He called across the
+room to the teachers: "Those two pupils are expelled the school."
+
+Both the women looked horrified. The elder of the two approached
+him, and tried to plead for a milder sentence. He answered in one
+stern word: "Silence!"--and left the schoolroom, without even
+a passing bow to Philip. And this, after he had cordially shaken
+hands with my poor dear, not half an hour before.
+
+I ought to have made affectionate allowance for his nervous
+miseries; I ought to have run after him, and begged his pardon.
+There must be something wrong, I am afraid, in girls loving
+anybody but their fathers. When Helena led the way out by another
+door, I ran after Philip; and I asked _him_ to forgive me.
+
+I don't know what I said; it was all confusion. The fear of
+having forfeited his fondness must, I suppose, have shaken my
+mind. I remember entreating Helena to say a kind word for me.
+She was so clever, she had behaved so well, she had deserved
+that Philip should listen to her. "Oh," I cried out to him
+desperately, "what must you think of me?"
+
+"I will tell you what I think of you," he said. "It is your
+father who is in fault, Eunice--not you. Nothing could have been
+in worse taste than his management of that trumpery affair in
+the schoolroom; it was a complete mistake from beginning to end.
+Make your mind easy; I don't blame You."
+
+"Are you, really and truly, as fond of me as ever?"
+
+"Yes, to be sure!"
+
+Helena seemed to be hardly as much interested in this happy
+ending of my anxieties as I might have anticipated. She walked on
+by herself. Perhaps she was thinking of poor papa's strange
+outbreak of excitement, and grieving over it.
+
+We had only a little way to walk, before we passed the door of
+Philip's hotel. He had not yet received the expected letter from
+his father--the cruel letter which might recall him to Ireland.
+It was then the hour of delivery by our second post; he went
+to look at the letter-rack in the hall. Helena saw that I was
+anxious. She was as kind again as ever; she consented to wait
+with me for Philip, at the door.
+
+He came out to us with an open letter in his hand.
+
+"From my father, at last," he said--and gave me the letter
+to read. It only contained these few lines:
+
+"Do not be alarmed, my dear boy, at the change for the worse in
+my handwriting. I am suffering for my devotion to the studious
+habits of a lifetime: my right hand is attacked by the malady
+called Writer's Cramp. The doctor here can do nothing. He tells
+me of some foreign woman, mentioned in his newspaper, who cures
+nervous derangements of all kinds by hand-rubbing, and who is
+coming to London. When you next hear from me, I may be in London
+too."--There the letter ended.
+
+Of course I knew who the foreign woman, mentioned in the
+newspaper, was.
+
+But what does Miss Jillgall's friend matter to me? The one
+important thing is, that Philip has not been called back to
+Ireland. Here is a fortunate circumstance, which perhaps means
+more good luck. I may be Mrs. Philip Dunboyne before the year
+is out.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY.
+
+They all notice at home that I am looking worn and haggard. That
+hideous old maid, Miss Jillgall, had her malicious welcome ready
+for me when we met at breakfast this morning: "Dear Helena, what
+has become of your beauty? One would think you had left it in
+your room!" Poor deluded Eunice showed her sisterly sympathy:
+"Don't joke about it, Selina: can't you see that Helena is ill?"
+
+I _have_ been ill; ill of my own wickedness.
+
+But the recovery to my tranquillity will bring with it the
+recovery of my good looks. My fatal passion for Philip promises
+to be the utter destruction of everything that is good in me.
+Well! what is good in me may not be worth keeping. There is a
+fate in these things. If I am destined to rob Eunice of the one
+dear object of her love and hope--how can I resist? The one kind
+thing I can do is to keep her in ignorance of what is coming,
+by acts of affectionate deceit.
+
+Besides, if she suffers, I suffer too. In the length and breadth
+of England, I doubt if there is a much more wicked young woman to
+be found than myself. Is it nothing to feel that, and to endure
+it as I do?
+
+Upon my word, there is no excuse for me!
+
+Is this sheer impudence? No; it is the bent of my nature. I have
+a tendency to self-examination, accompanied by one merit--I don't
+spare myself.
+
+There are excuses for Eunice. She lives in a fools' paradise;
+and she sees in her lover a radiant creature, shining in the halo
+thrown over him by her own self-delusion, Nothing of this sort
+is to be said for me. I see Philip as he is. My penetration looks
+into the lowest depths of his character--when I am not in his
+company. There seems to be a foundation of good, somewhere in
+his nature. He despises and hates himself (he has confessed it
+to me), when Eunice is with him--still believing in her false
+sweetheart. But how long do these better influences last? I have
+only to show myself, in my sister's absence, and Philip is mine
+body and soul. His vanity and his weakness take possession of him
+the moment he sees my face. He is one of those men--even in
+my little experience I have met with them--who are born to be
+led by women. If Eunice had possessed my strength of character,
+he would have been true to her for life.
+
+Ought I not, in justice to myself, to have lifted my heart high
+above the reach of such a creature as this? Certainly I ought! I
+know it, I feel it. And yet, there is some fascination in having
+him which I am absolutely unable to resist.
+
+What, I ask myself, has fed the new flame which is burning in me?
+Did it begin with gratified pride? I might well feel proud when
+I found myself admired by a man of his beauty, set off by such
+manners and such accomplishments as his. Or, has the growth of
+this masterful feeling been encouraged by the envy and jealousy
+stirred in me, when I found Eunice (my inferior in every respect)
+distinguished by the devotion of a handsome lover, and having a
+brilliant marriage in view--while I was left neglected, with no
+prospect of changing my title from Miss to Mrs.? Vain inquiries!
+My wicked heart seems to have secrets of its own, and to keep
+them a mystery to me.
+
+What has become of my excellent education? I don't care to
+inquire; I have got beyond the reach of good books and religious
+examples. Among my other blamable actions there may now be
+reckoned disobedience to my father. I have been reading novels
+in secret.
+
+At first I tried some of the famous English works, published
+at a price within the reach of small purses. Very well written,
+no doubt--but with one unpardonable drawback, so far as I am
+concerned. Our celebrated native authors address themselves
+to good people, or to penitent people who want to be made good;
+not to wicked readers like me.
+
+Arriving at this conclusion, I tried another experiment. In
+a small bookseller's shop I discovered some cheap translations
+of French novels. Here, I found what I wanted--sympathy with sin.
+Here, there was opened to me a new world inhabited entirely by
+unrepentant people; the magnificent women diabolically beautiful;
+the satanic men dead to every sense of virtue, and alive--perhaps
+rather dirtily alive--to the splendid fascinations of crime.
+I know now that Love is above everything but itself. Love is
+the one law that we are bound to obey. How deep! how consoling!
+how admirably true! The novelists of England have reason indeed
+to hide their heads before the novelists of France. All that I
+have felt, and have written here, is inspired by these wonderful
+authors.
+
+
+I have relieved my mind, and may now return to the business of
+my diary--the record of domestic events.
+
+An overwhelming disappointment has fallen on Eunice. Our
+dinner-party has been put off.
+
+The state of father's health is answerable for this change in
+our arrangements. That wretched scene at the school, complicated
+by my sister's undutiful behavior at the time, so seriously
+excited him that he passed a sleepless night, and kept his
+bedroom throughout the day. Eunice's total want of discretion
+added, no doubt, to his sufferings: she rudely intruded on him
+to express her regret and to ask his pardon. Having carried
+her point, she was at leisure to come to me, and to ask (how
+amazingly simple of her!) what she and Philip were to do next.
+
+"We had arranged it all so nicely," the poor wretch began.
+"Philip was to have been so clever and agreeable at dinner,
+and was to have chosen his time so very discreetly, that papa
+would have been ready to listen to anything he said. Oh, we
+should have succeeded; I haven't a doubt of it! Our only hope,
+Helena, is in you. What are we to do now?"
+
+"Wait," I answered.
+
+"Wait?" she repeated, hotly. "Is my heart to be broken? and, what
+is more cruel still, is Philip to be disappointed? I expected
+something more sensible, my dear, from you. What possible reason
+can there be for waiting?"
+
+The reason--if I could only have mentioned it--was beyond
+dispute. I wanted time to quiet Philip's uneasy conscience,
+and to harden his weak mind against outbursts of violence, on
+Eunice's part, which would certainly exhibit themselves when she
+found that she had lost her lover, and lost him to me. In the
+meanwhile, I had to produce my reason for advising her to wait.
+It was easily done. I reminded her of the irritable condition
+of our father's nerves, and gave it as my opinion that he would
+certainly say No, if she was unwise enough to excite him on
+the subject of Philip, in his present frame of mind.
+
+These unanswerable considerations seemed to produce the right
+effect on her. "I suppose you know best," was all she said.
+And then she left me.
+
+I let her go without feeling any distrust of this act of
+submission on her part; it was such a common experience,
+in my life, to find my sister guiding herself by my advice.
+But experience is not always to be trusted. Events soon showed
+that I had failed to estimate Eunice's resources of obstinacy
+and cunning at their true value.
+
+Half an hour later I heard the street door closed, and looked
+out of the window. Miss Jillgall was leaving the house; no one
+was with her. My dislike of this person led me astray once more.
+I ought to have suspected her of being bent on some mischievous
+errand, and to have devised some means of putting my suspicions
+to the test. I did nothing of the kind. In the moment when I
+turned my head away from the window, Miss Jillgall was a person
+forgotten--and I was a person who had made a serious mistake.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY.
+
+The event of to-day began with the delivery of a message
+summoning me to my father's study. He had decided--too hastily,
+as I feared--that he was sufficiently recovered to resume his
+usual employments. I was writing to his dictation, when we were
+interrupted. Maria announced a visit from Mr. Dunboyne.
+
+Hitherto Philip had been content to send one of the servants
+of the hotel to make inquiry after Mr. Gracedieu's health.
+Why had he now called personally? Noticing that father seemed
+to be annoyed, I tried to make an opportunity of receiving
+Philip myself. "Let me see him," I suggested; "I can easily say
+you are engaged."
+
+Very unwillingly, as it was easy to see, my father declined to
+allow this. "Mr. Dunboyne's visit pays me a compliment," he said;
+"and I must receive him." I made a show of leaving the room, and
+was called back to my chair. "This is not a private interview,
+Helena; stay where you are."
+
+Philip came in--handsomer than ever, beautifully dressed--and
+paid his respects to my father with his customary grace. He was
+too well-bred to allow any visible signs of embarrassment to
+escape him. But when he shook hands with me, I felt a little
+trembling in his fingers, through the delicate gloves which
+fitted him like a second skin. Was it the true object of
+his visit to try the experiment designed by Eunice and himself,
+and deferred by the postponement of our dinner-party? Impossible
+surely that my sister could have practiced on his weakness,
+and persuaded him to return to his first love! I waited,
+in breathless interest, for his next words. They were not worth
+listening to. Oh, the poor commonplace creature!
+
+"I am glad, Mr. Gracedieu, to see that you are well enough to be
+in your study again," he said. The writing materials on the table
+attracted his attention. "Am I one of the idle people," he asked,
+with his charming smile, "who are always interrupting useful
+employment?"
+
+He spoke to my father, and he was answered by my father. Not once
+had he addressed a word to me--no, not even when we shook hands.
+I was angry enough to force him into taking some notice of me,
+and to make an attempt to confuse him at the same time.
+
+"Have you seen my sister?" I asked.
+
+"No."
+
+It was the shortest reply that he could choose. Having flung it
+at me, he still persisted in looking at my father and speaking to
+my father: "Do you think of trying change of air, Mr. Gracedieu,
+when you feel strong enough to travel?"
+
+"My duties keep me here," father answered; "and I cannot honestly
+say that I enjoy traveling. I dislike manners and customs that
+are strange to me; I don't find that hotels reward me for giving
+up the comforts of my own house. How do you find the hotel here?"
+
+"I submit to the hotel, sir. They are sad savages in the kitchen;
+they put mushroom ketchup into their soup, and mustard and
+cayenne pepper into their salads. I am half-starved at
+dinner-time, but I don't complain."
+
+Every word he said was an offense to me. With or without reason,
+I attacked him again.
+
+"I have heard you acknowledge that the landlord and landlady are
+very obliging people," I said. "Why don't you ask them to let you
+make your own soup and mix your own salad?"
+
+I wondered whether I should succeed in attracting his notice,
+after this. Even in these private pages, my self-esteem finds it
+hard to confess what happened. I succeeded in reminding Philip
+that he had his reasons for requesting me to leave the room.
+
+"Will you excuse me, Miss Helena," he said, "if I ask leave
+to speak to Mr. Gracedieu in private?"
+
+The right thing for me to do was, let me hope, the thing that
+I did. I rose, and waited to see if my father would interfere.
+He looked at Philip with suspicion in his face, as well as
+surprise.  "May I ask," he said, coldly, "what is the object
+of the interview?"
+
+"Certainly," Philip answered, "when we are alone." This cool
+reply placed my father between two alternatives; he must either
+give way, or be guilty of an act of rudeness to a guest in his
+own house. The choice reserved for me was narrower still--I had
+to decide between being told to go, or going of my own accord.
+Of course, I left them together.
+
+The door which communicated with the next room was pulled to,
+but not closed. On the other side of it, I found Eunice.
+
+"Listening!" I said, in a whisper.
+
+"Yes," she whispered back. "You listen, too!"
+
+I was so indignant with Philip, and so seriously interested
+in what was going on in the study, that I yielded to temptation.
+We both degraded ourselves. We both listened.
+
+Eunice's base lover spoke first. Judging by the change in
+his voice, he must have seen something in my father's face
+that daunted him. Eunice heard it, too. "He's getting nervous,"
+she whispered; "he'll forget to say the right thing at the right
+time."
+
+"Mr. Gracedieu," Philip began, "I wish to speak to you--"
+
+Father interrupted him: "We are alone now, Mr. Dunboyne. I want
+to know why you consult me in private?"
+
+"I am anxious to consult you, sir, on a subject--"
+
+"On what subject? Any religious difficulty?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Anything I can do for you in the town?"
+
+"Not at all. If you will only allow me--"
+
+"I am still waiting, sir, to know what it is about."
+
+Philip's voice suddenly became an angry voice. "Once for all,
+Mr. Gracedieu," he said, "will you let me speak? It's about
+your daughter--"
+
+"No more of it, Mr. Dunboyne!" (My father was now as loud as
+Philip.) "I don't desire to hold a private conversation with you
+on the subject of my daughter."
+
+"If you have any personal objection to me, sir, be so good as
+to state it plainly."
+
+"You have no right to ask me to do that."
+
+"You refuse to do it?"
+
+"Positively."
+
+"You are not very civil, Mr. Gracedieu."
+
+"If I speak without ceremony, Mr. Dunboyne, you have yourself
+to thank for it."
+
+Philip replied to this in a tone of savage irony. "You are a
+minister of religion, and you are an old man. Two privileges--and
+you presume on them both. Good-morning."
+
+I drew back into a corner, just in time to escape discovery
+in the character of a listener. Eunice never moved. When Philip
+dashed into the room, banging the door after him, she threw
+herself impulsively on his breast: "Oh, Philip! Philip! what
+have you done? Why didn't you keep your temper?"
+
+"Did you hear what your father said to me?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, dear; but you ought to have controlled yourself--you ought,
+indeed, for my sake."
+
+Her arms were still round him. It struck me that he felt her
+influence. "If you wish me to recover myself," he said, gently,
+"you had better let me go."
+
+"Oh, how cruel, Philip, to leave me when I am so wretched! Why
+do you want to go?"
+
+"You told me just now what I ought to do," he answered, still
+restraining himself. "If I am to get the better of my temper,
+I must be left alone."
+
+"I never said anything about your temper, darling."
+
+"Didn't you tell me to control myself?"
+
+"Oh, yes! Go back to Papa, and beg him to forgive you."
+
+"I'll see him damned first!"
+
+If ever a stupid girl deserved such an answer as this, the girl
+was my sister. I had hitherto (with some difficulty) refrained
+from interfering. But when Eunice tried to follow Philip out
+of the house, I could hesitate no longer; I held her back.
+"You fool," I said; "haven't you made mischief enough already?"
+
+"What am I to do?" she burst out, helplessly.
+
+"Do what I told you to do yesterday--wait."
+
+Before she could reply, or I could say anything more, the door
+that led to the landing was opened softly and slyly, and Miss
+Jillgall peeped in. Eunice instantly left me, and ran to the
+meddling old maid. They whispered to each other. Miss Jillgall's
+skinny arm encircled my sister's waist; they disappeared
+together.
+
+I was only too glad to get rid of them both, and to take the
+opportunity of writing to Philip. I insisted on an explanation
+of his conduct while I was in the study--to be given within
+an hour's time, at a place which I appointed. "You are not to
+attempt to justify yourself in writing," I added in conclusion.
+"Let your reply merely inform me if you can keep the appointment.
+The rest, when we meet."
+
+Maria took the letter to the hotel, with instructions to wait.
+
+Philip's reply reached me without delay. It pledged him to
+justify himself as I had desired, and to keep the appointment.
+My own belief is that the event of to-day will decide his future
+and mine.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+EUNICE'S DIARY.
+
+Indeed, I am a most unfortunate creature; everything turns out
+badly with me. My good, true friend, my dear Selina, has become
+the object of a hateful doubt in my secret mind. I am afraid she
+is keeping something from me.
+
+Talking with her about my troubles, I heard for the first time
+that she had written again to Mrs. Tenbruggen. The object of
+her letter was to tell her friend of my engagement to young Mr.
+Dunboyne. I asked her why she had done this. The answer informed
+me that there was no knowing, in the present state of my affairs,
+how soon I might not want the help of a clever woman. I ought,
+I suppose, to have been satisfied with this. But there seemed
+to be something not fully explained yet.
+
+Then again, after telling Selina what I heard in the study, and
+how roughly Philip had spoken to me afterward, I asked her what
+she thought of it. She made an incomprehensible reply: "My sweet
+child, I mustn't think of it--I am too fond of you."
+
+It was impossible to make her explain what this meant. She began
+to talk of Philip; assuring me (which was quite needless) that
+she had done her best to fortify and encourage him, before he
+called on papa. When I asked her to help me in another way--that
+is to say, when I wanted to find out where Philip was at that
+moment--she had no advice to give me. I told her that I should
+not enjoy a moment's ease of mind until I and my dear one were
+reconciled. She only shook her head and declared that she was
+sorry for me. When I hit on the idea of ringing for Maria, this
+little woman, so bright, and quick and eager to help me at other
+times, said "I leave it to you, dear," and turned to the piano
+(close to which I was sitting), and played softly and badly
+stupid little tunes.
+
+"Maria, did you open the door for Mr. Dunboyne when he went away
+just now?"
+
+"No, miss."
+
+Nothing but ill-luck for me! If I had been left to my own
+devices, I should now have let the housemaid go. But Selina
+contrived to give me a hint, on a strange plan of her own.
+Still at the piano, she began to confuse talking to herself
+with playing to herself. The notes went _tinkle, tinkle_--and
+the tongue mixed up words with the notes in this way: "Perhaps
+they have been talking in the kitchen about Philip?"
+
+The suggestion was not lost on me. I said to Maria--who was
+standing at the other end of the room, near the door--"Did you
+happen to hear which way Mr. Dunboyne went when he left us?"
+
+"I know where he was, miss, half an hour ago."
+
+"Where was he?"
+
+"At the hotel."
+
+Selina went on with her hints in the same way as before. "How
+does she know--ah, how does she know?" was the vocal part of
+the performance this time. My clever inquiries followed the vocal
+part as before:
+
+"How do you know that Mr. Dunboyne was at the hotel?"
+
+"I was sent there with a letter for him, and waited for
+the answer."
+
+There was no suggestion required this time. The one possible
+question was: "Who sent you?"
+
+Maria replied, after first reserving a condition: "You won't
+tell upon me, miss?"
+
+I promised not to tell. Selina suddenly left off playing.
+
+"Well," I repeated, "who sent you?"
+
+"Miss Helena."
+
+Selina looked round at me. Her little eyes seemed to have
+suddenly become big, they stared me so strangely in the face.
+I don't know whether she was in a state of fright or of wonder.
+As for myself, I simply lost the use of my tongue. Maria, having
+no more questions to answer, discreetly left us together.
+
+Why should Helena write to Philip at all--and especially without
+mentioning it to me? Here was a riddle which was more than I
+could guess. I asked Selina to help me. She might at least have
+tried, I thought; but she looked uneasy, and made excuses.
+
+I said: "Suppose I go to Helena, and ask her why she wrote
+to Philip?" And Selina said: "Suppose you do, dear."
+
+I rang for Maria once more: "Do you know where my sister is?"
+
+"Just gone out, miss."
+
+There was no help for it but to wait till she came back, and
+to get through the time in the interval as I best might. But for
+one circumstance, I might not have known what to do. The truth
+is, there was a feeling of shame in me when I remembered having
+listened at the study door. Curious notions come into one's
+head--one doesn't know how or why. It struck me that I might make
+a kind of atonement for having been mean enough to listen, if
+I went to papa, and offered to keep him company in his solitude.
+If we fell into pleasant talk, I had a sly idea of my own--I
+meant to put in a good word for poor Philip.
+
+When I confided my design to Selina, she shut up the piano and
+ran across the room to me. But somehow she was not like her old
+self again, yet.
+
+"You good little soul, you are always right. Look at me again,
+Euneece. Are you beginning to doubt me? Oh, my darling, don't do
+that! It isn't using me fairly. I can't bear it--I can't bear
+it!"
+
+I took her hand; I was on the point of speaking to her with
+the kindness she deserved from me. On a sudden she snatched
+her hand away and ran back to the piano. When she was seated on
+the music-stool, her face was hidden from me. At that moment she
+broke into a strange cry--it began like a laugh, and it ended
+like a sob.
+
+"Go away to papa! Don't mind me--I'm a creature of impulse--ha!
+ha! ha! a little hysterical--the state of the weather--I get rid
+of these weaknesses, my dear, by singing to myself. I have
+a favorite song: 'My heart is light, my will is free.'--Go away!
+oh, for God's sake, go away!"
+
+I had heard of hysterics, of course; knowing nothing about them,
+however, by my own experience. What could have happened to
+agitate her in this extraordinary manner?
+
+Had Helena's letter anything to do with it? Was my sister
+indignant with Philip for swearing in my presence; and had she
+written him an angry letter, in her zeal on my behalf? But Selina
+could not possibly have seen the letter--and Helena (who is often
+hard on me when I do stupid things) showed little indulgence for
+me, when I was so unfortunate as to irritate Philip. I gave up
+the hopeless attempt to get at the truth by guessing, and went
+away to forget my troubles, if I could, in my father's society.
+
+After knocking twice at the door of the study, and receiving no
+reply, I ventured to look in.
+
+The sofa in this room stood opposite the door. Papa was resting
+on it, but not in comfort. There were twitching movements in his
+feet, and he shifted his arms this way and that as if no restful
+posture could he found for them. But what frightened me was this.
+His eyes, staring straight at the door by which I had gone in,
+had an inquiring expression, as if he actually did not know me!
+I stood midway between the door and the sofa, doubtful about
+going nearer to him.
+
+He said: "Who is it?" This to me--to his own daughter. He said:
+"What do you want?"
+
+I really could _not_ bear it. I went up to him. I said: "Papa,
+have you forgotten Eunice?"
+
+My name seemed (if one may say such a thing) to bring him to
+himself again. He sat upon the sofa--and laughed as he answered
+me.
+
+"My dear child, what delusion has got into that pretty little
+head of yours? Fancy her thinking that I had forgotten my own
+daughter! I was lost in thought, Eunice. For the moment, I was
+what they call an absent man. Did I ever tell you the story of
+the absent man? He went to call upon some acquaintance of his;
+and when the servant said, 'What name, sir?' He couldn't answer.
+He was obliged to confess that he had forgotten his own name.
+The servant said, 'That's very strange.' The absent man at once
+recovered himself. 'That's it!' he said: 'my name is Strange.'
+Droll, isn't it? If I had been calling on a friend to-day,
+I daresay _I_ might have forgotten my name, too. Much to think
+of, Eunice--too much to think of."
+
+Leaving the sofa with a sigh. as if he was tired of it, he began
+walking up and down. He seemed to be still in good spirits.
+"Well, my dear," he said, "what can I do for you?"
+
+"I came here, papa to see if there was anything I could do for
+You."
+
+He looked at some sheets of paper, strung together, and laid on
+the table. They were covered with writing (from his dictation)
+in my sister's hand. "I ought to get on with my work," he said.
+"Where is Helena?"
+
+I told him that she had gone out, and begged leave to try what
+I could do to supply her place.
+
+The request seemed to please him; but he wanted time to think.
+I waited; noticing that his face grew gradually worried and
+anxious. There came a vacant look into his eyes which it grieved
+me to see; he appeared to have quite lost himself again. "Read
+the last page," he said, pointing to the manuscript on the table;
+"I don't remember where I left off."
+
+I turned to the last page. As well as I could tell, it related to
+some publication, which he was recommending to religious persons
+of our way of thinking.
+
+Before I had read half-way through it, he began to dictate,
+speaking so rapidly that my pen was not always able to follow
+him. My handwriting is as bad as bad can be when I am hurried. To
+make matters worse still, I was confused. What he was now saying
+seemed to have nothing to do with what I had been reading.
+
+Let me try if I can call to mind the substance of it.
+
+He began in the most strangely sudden way by asking: "Why should
+there be any fear of discovery, when every possible care had
+been taken to prevent it? The danger from unexpected events was
+far more disquieting. A man might find himself bound in honor
+to disclose what it had been the chief anxiety of his life
+to conceal. For example, could he let an innocent person be
+the victim of deliberate suppression of the truth--no matter
+how justifiable that suppression might appear to be? On the other
+hand, dreadful consequences might follow an honorable confession.
+There might be a cruel sacrifice of tender affection; there might
+be a shocking betrayal of innocent hope and trust."
+
+I remember those last words, just as he dictated them, because
+he suddenly stopped there; looking, poor dear, distressed and
+confused. He put his hand to his head, and went back to the sofa.
+
+"I'm tired," he said. "Wait for me while I rest."
+
+In a few minutes he fell asleep. It was a deep repose that
+came to him now; and, though I don't think it lasted much longer
+than half an hour, it produced a wonderful change in him for
+the better when he woke. He spoke quietly and kindly; and when
+he returned to me at the table and looked at the page on which
+I had been writing, he smiled.
+
+"Oh, my dear, what bad writing! I declare I can't read what I
+myself told you to write. No! no! don't be downhearted about it.
+You are not used to writing from dictation; and I daresay I have
+been too quick for you." He kissed me and encouraged me. "You
+know how fond I am of my little girl," he said; "I am afraid
+I like my Eunice just the least in the world more than I like
+my Helena. Ah, you are beginning to look a little happier now!"
+
+He had filled me with such confidence and such pleasure that
+I could not help thinking of my sweetheart. Oh dear, when shall
+I learn to be distrustful of my own feelings? The temptation to
+say a good word for Philip quite mastered any little discretion
+that I possessed.
+
+I said to papa: "If you knew how to make me happier than I have
+ever been in all my life before, would you do it?"
+
+"Of course I would."
+
+"Then send for Philip, dear, and be a little kinder to him,
+this time."
+
+His pale face turned red with anger; he pushed me away from him.
+
+"That man again!" he burst out. "Am I never to hear the last of
+him? Go away, Eunice. You are of no use here." He took up my
+unfortunate page of writing and ridiculed it with a bitter laugh.
+"What is this fit for?" He crumpled it up in his hand and tossed
+it into the fire.
+
+I ran out of the room in such a state of mortification that
+I hardly knew what I was about. If some hard-hearted person had
+come to me with a cup of poison, and had said: "Eunice, you are
+not fit to live any longer; take this," I do believe I should
+have taken it. If I thought of anything, I thought of going back
+to Selina. My ill luck still pursued me; she had disappeared.
+I looked about in a helpless way, completely at a loss what to do
+next--so stupefied, I may even say, that it was some time before
+I noticed a little three-cornered note on the table by which
+I was standing. The note was addressed to me:
+
+
+"EVER-DEAREST EUNEECE--I have tried to make myself useful
+to you, and have failed. But how can I see the sad sight of
+your wretchedness, and not feel the impulse to try again? I have
+gone to the hotel to find Philip, and to bring him back to you
+a penitent and faithful man. Wait for me, and hope for great
+things. A. hundred thousand kisses to my sweet Euneece.
+
+"S. J."
+
+
+Wait for her, after reading that note! How could she expect it?
+I had only to follow her, and to find Philip. In another minute,
+I was on my way to the hotel.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY.
+
+Looking at the last entry in my Journal, I see myself
+anticipating that the event of to-day will decide Philip's future
+and mine. This has proved prophetic. All further concealment
+is now at an end.
+
+Forced to it by fate, or helped to it by chance, Eunice has made
+the discovery of her lover's infidelity. "In all human
+probability" (as my father says in his sermons), we two sisters
+are enemies for life.
+
+
+I am not suspected, as Eunice is, of making appointments with
+a sweetheart. So I am free to go out alone, and to go where
+I please. Philip and I were punctual to our appointment this
+afternoon.
+
+Our place of meeting was in a secluded corner of the town park.
+We found a rustic seat in our retirement, set up (one would
+suppose) as a concession to the taste of visitors who are fond
+of solitude. The view in front of us was bounded by the park wall
+and railings, and our seat was prettily approached on one side
+by a plantation of young trees. No entrance gate was near; no
+carriage road crossed the grass. A more safe and more solitary
+nook for conversation, between two persons desiring to be alone,
+it would be hard to find in most public parks. Lovers are said
+to know it well, and to be especially fon d of it toward evening.
+We were there in broad daylight, and we had the seat to
+ourselves.
+
+My memory of what passed between us is, in some degree, disturbed
+by the formidable interruption which brought our talk to an end.
+
+But among other things, I remember that I showed him no mercy
+at the outset. At one time I was indignant; at another I was
+scornful. I declared, in regard to my object in meeting him, that
+I had changed my mind, And had decided to shorten a disagreeable
+interview by waiving my right to an explanation, and bidding him
+farewell. Eunice, as I pointed out, had the first claim to him;
+Eunice was much more likely to suit him, as a companion for life,
+than I was. "In short," I said, in conclusion, "my inclination
+for once takes sides with my duty, and leaves my sister in
+undisturbed possession of young Mr. Dunboyne." With this
+satirical explanation, I rose to say good-by.
+
+I had merely intended to irritate him. He showed a superiority
+to anger for which I was not prepared.
+
+"Be so kind as to sit down again," he said quietly.
+
+He took my letter from his pocket, and pointed to that part of it
+which alluded to his conduct, when we had met in my father's
+study.
+
+"You have offered me the opportunity of saying a word in my own
+defense," he went on. "I prize that privilege far too highly to
+consent to your withdrawing it, merely because you have changed
+your mind. Let me at least tell you what my errand was, when
+I called on your father. Loving you, and you only, I had forced
+myself to make a last effort to be true to your sister. Remember
+that, Helena, and then say--is it wonderful if I was beside
+myself, when I found You in the study?"
+
+"When you tell me you were beside yourself," I said, "do you
+mean, ashamed of yourself?"
+
+That touched him. "I mean nothing of the kind," he burst out.
+"After the hell on earth in which I have been living between
+you two sisters, a man hasn't virtue enough left in him to be
+ashamed. He's half mad--that's what he is. Look at my position! I
+had made up my mind never to see you again; I had made up my mind
+(if I married Eunice) to rid myself of my own miserable life when
+I could endure it no longer. In that state of feeling, when my
+sense of duty depended on my speaking with Mr. Gracedieu alone,
+whose was the first face I saw when I entered the room? If I had
+dared to look at you, or to speak to you, what do you think would
+have become of my resolution to sacrifice myself?"
+
+"What has become of it now?" I asked.
+
+"Tell me first if I am forgiven," he said--"and you shall know."
+
+"Do you deserve to be forgiven?"
+
+It has been discovered by wiser heads than mine that weak people
+are always in extremes. So far, I had seen Philip in the vain
+and violent extreme. He now shifted suddenly to the sad and
+submissive extreme. When I asked him if he deserved to be
+forgiven, he made the humblest of all replies--he sighed and
+said nothing.
+
+"If I did my duty to my sister," I reminded him, "I should refuse
+to forgive you, and send you back to Eunice."
+
+"Your father's language and your father's conduct," he answered,
+"have released me from that entanglement. I can never go back
+to Eunice. If you refuse to forgive me, neither you nor she will
+see anything more of Philip Dunboyne; I promise you that. Are you
+satisfied now?"
+
+After holding out against him resolutely, I felt myself beginning
+to yield. When a man has once taken their fancy, what helplessly
+weak creatures women are! I saw through his vacillating
+weakness--and yet I trusted him, with both eyes open. My looking-
+glass is opposite to me while I write. It shows me a contemptible
+Helena. I lied, and said I was satisfied--to please _him_.
+
+"Am I forgiven?" he asked.
+
+It is absurd to put it on record. Of course, I forgave him.
+What a good Christian I am, after all!
+
+He took my willing hand. "My lovely darling," he said, "our
+marriage rests with you. Whether your father approves of it
+or not, say the word; claim me, and I am yours for life."
+
+I must have been infatuated by his voice and his look; my heart
+must have been burning under the pressure of his hand on mine.
+Was it my modesty or my self-control that deserted me? I let him
+take me in his arms. Again, and again, and again I kissed him. We
+were deaf to what we ought to have heard; we were blind to what
+we ought to have seen. Before we were conscious of a movement
+among the trees, we were discovered. My sister flew at me like a
+wild animal. Her furious hands fastened themselves on my throat.
+Philip started to his feet. When he touched her, in the act of
+forcing her back from me, Eunice's raging strength became utter
+weakness in an instant. Her arms fell helpless at her sides--her
+head drooped--she looked at him in silence which was dreadful,
+at such a moment as that. He shrank from the unendurable reproach
+in those tearless eyes. Meanly, he turned away from her. Meanly,
+I followed him. Looking back for an instant, I saw her step
+forward; perhaps to stop him, perhaps to speak to him. The effort
+was too much for her strength; she staggered back against
+the trunk of a tree. Like strangers, walking separate one from
+the other, we left her to her companion--the hideous traitress
+who was my enemy and her friend.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY.
+
+On reaching the street which led to Philip's hotel, we spoke
+to each other for the first time.
+
+"What are we to do?" I said.
+
+"Leave this place," he answered.
+
+"Together?" I asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+To leave us (for a while), after what had happened, might be
+the wisest thing which a man, in Philip's critical position,
+could do. But if I went with him--unprovided as I was with any
+friend of my own sex, whose character and presence might sanction
+the step I had taken--I should be lost beyond redemption.
+Is any man that ever lived worth that sacrifice? I thought of
+my father's house closed to me, and of our friends ashamed of me.
+I have owned, in some earlier part of my Journal, that I am not
+very patient under domestic cares. But the possibility of Eunice
+being appointed housekeeper, with my power, in my place, was
+more than I could calmly contemplate. "No," I said to Philip.
+"Your absence, at such a time as this, may help us both; but,
+come what may of it, I must remain at home."
+
+He yielded, without an attempt to make me alter my mind. There
+was a sullen submission in his manner which it was not pleasant
+to see. Was he despairing already of himself and of me? Had
+Eunice aroused the watchful demons of shame and remorse?
+
+"Perhaps you are right," he said, gloomily. "Good-by."
+
+My anxiety put the all-important question to him without
+hesitation.
+
+"Is it good-by forever, Philip?"
+
+His reply instantly relieved me: "God forbid!"
+
+But I wanted more: "You still love me?" I persisted.
+
+"More dearly than ever!"
+
+"And yet you leave me!"
+
+He turned pale. "I leave you because I am afraid."
+
+"Afraid of what?"
+
+"Afraid to face Eunice again."
+
+The only possible way out of our difficulty that I could see, now
+occurred to me. "Suppose my sister can be prevailed on to give
+you up?" I suggested. "Would you come back to us in that case?"
+
+"Certainly!"
+
+"And you would ask my father to consent to our marriage?"
+
+"On the day of my return, if you like."
+
+"Suppose obstacles get in our way," I said--"suppose time passes
+and tries your patience--will you still consider yourself engaged
+to me?"
+
+"Engaged to you," he answered, "in spite of obstacles and
+in spite of time."
+
+"And while you are away from me," I ventured to add, "we shall
+write to each other?"
+
+"Go where I may," he said, "you shall always hear from me."
+
+I could ask no more, and he could concede no more. The impression
+evidently left on him by Eunice's terrible outbreak, was far more
+serious than I had anticipated. I was myself depressed and ill
+at ease. No expressions of tenderness were exchanged between us.
+There was something horrible in our barren farewell. We merely
+clasped hands, at parting. He went his way--and I went mine.
+
+There are some occasions when women set an example of courage
+to men. I was ready to endure whatever might happen to me, when
+I got home. What a desperate wretch! some people might say,
+if they could look into this diary!
+
+Maria opened the door; she told me that my sister had already
+returned, accompanied by Miss Jillgall. There had been apparently
+some difference of opinion between them, before they entered
+the house. Eunice had attempted to go on to some other place;
+and Miss Jillgall had remonstrated. Maria had heard her say:
+"No, you would degrade yourself"--and, with that, she had led
+Eunice indoors. I understood, of course, that my sister had been
+prevented from following Philip to the hotel. There was probably
+a serious quarrel in store for me. I went straight to the
+bedroom, expecting to find Eunice there, and prepared to brave
+the storm that might burst on me. There was a woman at Eunice's
+end of the room, removing dresses from the wardrobe. I could only
+see her back, but it was impossible to mistake _that_ figure--
+Miss Jillgall.
+
+She laid the dresses on Eunice's bed, without taking the
+slightest notice of me. In significant silence I pointed to the
+door. She went on as coolly with her occupation as if the room
+had been, not mine but hers; I stepped up to her, and spoke
+plainly.
+
+"You oblige me to remind you," I said, "that you are not in
+your own room." There, I waited a little, and found that I had
+produced no effect. "With every disposition," I resumed, "to make
+allowance for the disagreeable peculiarities of your character,
+I cannot consent to overlook an act of intrusion, committed by
+a Spy. Now, do you understand me?"
+
+She looked round her. "I see no third person here," she said.
+"May I ask if you mean me?"
+
+"I mean you."
+
+"Will you be so good, Miss Helena, as to explain yourself?"
+
+Moderation of language would have been thrown away on this woman.
+"You followed me to the park," I said. "It was you who found me
+with Mr. Dunboyne, and betrayed me to my sister. You are a Spy,
+and you know it. At this very moment you daren't look me in
+the face."
+
+Her insolence forced its way out of her at last. Let me record
+it--and repay it, when the time comes.
+
+"Quite true," she replied. "If I ventured to look you in
+the face, I am afraid I might forget myself. I have always been
+brought up like a lady, and I wish to show it even in the company
+of such a wretch as you are. There is not one word of truth
+in what you have said of me. I went to the hotel to find Mr.
+Dunboyne. Ah, you may sneer! I haven't got your good looks--and
+a vile use you have made of them. My object was to recall that
+base young man to his duty to my dear charming injured Euneece.
+The hotel servant told me that Mr. Dunboyne had gone out. Oh,
+I had the means of persuasion in my pocket! The man directed me
+to the park, as he had already directed Mr. Dunboyne. It was only
+when I had found the place, that I heard some one behind me.
+Poor innocent Euneece had followed me to the hotel, and had got
+her directions, as I had got mine. God knows how hard I tried to
+persuade her to go back, and how horribly frightened I was--No!
+I won't distress myself by saying a word more. It would be
+too humiliating to let _you_ see an honest woman in tears.
+Your sister has a spirit of her own, thank God! She won't inhabit
+the same room with you; she never desires to see your false face
+again. I take the poor soul's dresses and things away--and as
+a religious person I wait, confidently wait, for the judgment
+that will fall on you!"
+
+She caught up the dresses all together; some of them were in
+her arms, some of them fell on her shoulders, and one of them
+towered over her head. Smothered in gowns, she bounced out
+of the room like a walking milliner's shop. I have to thank
+the wretched old creature for a moment of genuine amusement,
+at a time of devouring anxiety. The meanest insect, they say,
+has its use in this world--and why not Miss Jillgall?
+
+In half an hour more, an unexpected event raised my spirits.
+I heard from Philip.
+
+On his return to the hotel he had found a telegram waiting for
+him. Mr. Dunboyne the elder had arrived in London; and Philip
+had arranged to join his father by the next train. He sent me
+the address, and begged that I would write and tell him my news
+from home by the next day's post.
+
+Welcome, thrice welcome, to Mr. Dunboyne the elder! If Philip can
+manage, under my advice, to place me favorably in the estimation
+of this rich old man, his presence and authority may do for us
+what we cannot do for ourselves. Here is surely an influence to
+which my father must submit, no matter how unreasonable or how
+angry he may be when he hears what has happened. I begin already
+to feel hopeful of the future.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+EUNICE'S DIARY.
+
+Through the day, and through the night, I feel a misery that
+never leaves me--I mean the misery of fear.
+
+I am trying to find out some harmless means of employing myself,
+which will keep evil remembrances from me. If I don't succeed,
+my fear tells me what will happen. I shall be in danger of going
+mad.
+
+I dare not confide in any living creature. I don't know what
+other persons might think of me, or how soon I might find myself
+perhaps in an asylum. In this helpless condition, doubt and
+fright seem to be driving me back to my Journal. I wonder whether
+I shall find harmless employment here.
+
+I have heard of old people losing their memories. What would I
+not give to be old! I remember! oh, how I remember! One day after
+another I see Philip, I see Helena, as I first saw them when I
+was among the trees in the park. My sweetheart's arms, that once
+held me, hold my sister now. She kisses him, kisses him, kisses
+him.
+
+Is there no way of making myself see something else? I want to
+get back to remembrances that don't burn in my head and tear at
+my heart. How is it to be done?
+
+I have tried books--no! I have tried going out to look at
+the shops--no! I have tried saying my prayers--no! And now I am
+making my last effort; trying my pen. My black letters fall from
+it, and take their places on the white paper. Will my black
+letters help me? Where can I find something consoling to write
+down? Where? Where?
+
+Selina--poor Selina, so fond of me, so sorry for me. When I was
+happy, she was happy, too. It was always amusing to hear her
+talk. Oh, my memory, be good to me! Save me from Philip and
+Helena. I want to remember the pleasant days when my kind little
+friend and I used to gossip in the garden.
+
+No: the days in the garden won't come back. What else can I think
+of?
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+The recollections that I try to encourage keep away from me.
+The other recollections that I dread, come crowding back. Still
+Philip! Still Helena!
+
+But Selina mixes herself up with them. Let me try again if I can
+think of Selina.
+
+How delightfully good to me and patient with me she was, on our
+dismal way home from the park! And how affectionately she excused
+herself for not having warned me of it, when she first suspected
+that my own sister and my worst enemy were one and the same!
+
+"I know I was wrong, my dear, to let my love and pity close
+my lips. But remember how happy you were at the time. The thought
+of making you miserable was more than I could endure--I am so
+fond of you! Yes; I began to suspect them, on the day when they
+first met at the station. And, I am afraid, I thought it just
+likely that you might be as cunning as I was, and have noticed
+them, too."
+
+Oh, how ignorant she must have been of my true thoughts and
+feelings! How strangely people seem to misunderstand their
+dearest friends! knowing, as I did, that I could never love any
+man but Philip, could I be wicked enough to suppose that Philip
+would love any woman but me?
+
+I explained to Selina how he had spoken to me, when we were
+walking together on the bank of the river. Shall I ever forget
+those exquisite words? "I wish I was a better man, Eunice; I wish
+I was good enough to be worthy of you." I asked Selina if she
+thought he was deceiving me when he said that. She comforted me
+by owning that he must have been in earnest, at the time--and
+then she distressed me by giving the reason why.
+
+"My love, you must have innocently said something to him, when
+you and he were alone, which touched his conscience (when he
+_had_ a conscience), and made him ashamed of himself. Ah, you
+were too fond of him to see how he changed for the worse, when
+your vile sister joined you, and took possession of him again. It
+made my heart ache to see you so unsuspicious of them. You asked
+me, my poor dear, if they had quarreled--you believed they were
+tired of walking by the river, when it was you they were tired
+of--and you wondered why Helena took him to see the school.
+My child! she was the leading spirit at the school, and you
+were nobody. Her vanity saw the chance of making him compare you
+at a disadvantage with your clever sister. I declare, Euneece,
+I lose my head if I only think of it! All the strong points in
+my character seem to slip away from me. Would you believe it?--I
+have neglected that sweet infant at the cottage; I have even
+let Mrs. Molly have her baby back again. If I had the making of
+the laws, Philip Dunboyne and Helena Gracedieu should be hanged
+together on the same gallows. I see I shock you. Don't let us
+talk of it! Oh, don't let us talk of it!"
+
+And here am I writing of it! What I had determined not to do, is
+what I have done. Am I losing my senses already? The very names
+that I was most anxious to keep out of my memory stare me in the
+face in the lines that I have just written. Philip again! Helena
+again!
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+Another day, and something new that must and will be remembered,
+shrink from it as I may. This afternoon, I met Helena on the
+stairs.
+
+She stopped, and eyed me with a wicked smile; she held out
+her hand. "We are likely to meet often, while we are in the same
+house," she said; "hadn't we better consult appearances, and
+pretend to be as fond of each other as ever?"
+
+I took no notice of her hand; I took no notice of her shameless
+proposal. She tried again: "After all, it isn't my fault if
+Philip likes me better than he likes you. Don't you see that?"
+I still refused to speak to her. She still persisted. "How black
+you look, Eunice! Are you sorry you didn't kill me, when you had
+your hands on my throat?"
+
+I said: "Yes."
+
+She laughed, and left me. I was obliged to sit down on the stair
+--I trembled so. My own reply frightened me. I tried to find
+out why I had said Yes. I don't remember being conscious of
+meaning anything. It was as if somebody else had said Yes--not
+I. Perhaps I was provoked, and the word escaped me before I could
+stop it. Could I have stopped it? I don't know.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+Another sleepless night.
+
+Did I pass the miserable hours in writing letters to Philip and
+then tearing them up? Or did I only fancy that I wrote to him? I
+have just looked at the fireplace. The torn paper in it tells me
+that I did write. Why did I destroy my letters? I might have sent
+one of them to Philip. After what has happened? Oh, no! no!
+
+Having been many days away from the Girls' Scripture Class,
+it seemed to be possible that going back to the school and
+the teaching might help me to escape from myself.
+
+Nothing succeeds with me. I found it impossible to instruct
+the girls as usual; their stupidity soon reached the limit of
+my patience--suffocated me with rage. One of them, a poor, fat,
+feeble creature, began to cry when I scolded her. I looked with
+envy at the tears rolling over her big round cheeks. If I could
+only cry, I might perhaps bear my hard fate with submission.
+
+I walked toward home by a roundabout way; feeling as if want
+of sleep was killing me by inches.
+
+In the High Street, I saw Helena; she was posting a letter, and
+was not aware that I was near her. Leaving the post-office, she
+crossed the street, and narrowly escaped being run over. Suppose
+the threatened accident had really taken place--how should I have
+felt, if it had ended fatally? What a fool I am to be putting
+questions to myself about things that have not happened!
+
+The walking tired me; I went straight home.
+
+Before I could ring the bell, the house door opened, and the
+doctor came out. He stopped to speak to me. While I had been away
+(he said), something had happened at home (he neither knew nor
+wished to know what) which had thrown my father into a state
+of violent agitation. The doctor had administered composing
+medicine. "My patient is asleep now," he told me; "but remember
+what I said to you the last time we met; a longer rest than any
+doctor's prescription can give him is what he wants. You are not
+looking well yourself, my dear. What is the matter?"
+
+I told him of my wretched restless nights; and asked if I might
+take some of the composing medicine which he had given to
+my father. He forbade me to touch a drop of it. "What is physic
+for your father, you foolish child, is not physic for a young
+creature like you," he said. "Count a thousand, if you can't
+sleep to-night, or turn your pillow. I wish you pleasant dreams."
+He went away, amused at his own humor.
+
+I found Selina waiting to speak with me, on the subject of poor
+papa.
+
+She had been startled on hearing his voice, loud in anger. In the
+fear that something serious had happened, she left her room to
+make inquiries, and saw Helena on the landing of the flight of
+stairs beneath, leaving the study. After waiting till my sister
+was out of the way, Selina ventured to present herself at the
+study door, and to ask if she could be of any use. My father,
+walking excitedly up and down the room, declared that both his
+daughters had behaved infamously, and that he would not suffer
+them to speak to him again until they had come to their senses,
+on the subject of Mr. Dunboyne. He would enter into no further
+explanation; and he had ordered, rather than requested, Selina to
+leave him. Having obeyed, she tried next to find me, and had just
+looked into the dining-room to see if I was there, when she was
+frightened by the sound of a fall in the room above--that is to
+say, in the study. Running upstairs again, she had found him
+insensible on the floor and had sent for the doctor.
+
+"And mind this," Selina continued, "the person who has done the
+mischief is the person whom I saw leaving the study. What your
+unnatural sister said to provoke her father--"
+
+"That your unnatural sister will tell you herself," Helena's
+voice added. She had opened the door while we were too much
+absorbed in our talk to hear her.
+
+Selina attempted to leave the room. I caught her by the hand,
+and held her back. I was afraid of what I might do if she left me
+by myself. Never have I felt anything like the rage that tortured
+me, when I saw Helena looking at us with the same wicked smile
+on her lips that had insulted me when we met on the stairs. Have
+_we_ anything to be ashamed of?" I said to Selina. "Stay where
+you are."
+
+"You may be of some use, Miss Jillgall, if you stay," my sister
+suggested. "Eunice seems to be trembling. Is she angry, or is she
+ill?"
+
+The sting of this was in the tone of her voice. It was the
+hardest thing I ever had to do in my life--but I did succeed
+in controlling myself.
+
+"Go on with what you have to say," I answered, "and don't notice
+me."
+
+"You are not very polite, my dear, but I can make allowances.
+Oh, come! come! putting up your hands to stop your ears is too
+childish. You would do better to express regret for having misled
+your father. Yes! you did mislead him. Only a few days since,
+you left him to suppose that you were engaged to Philip. It
+became my duty, after that, to open his eyes to the truth; and
+if I unhappily provoked him, it was your fault. I was strictly
+careful in the language I used. I said: 'Dear father, you have
+been misinformed on a very serious subject. The only marriage
+engagement for which your kind sanction is requested, is _my_
+engagement. _I_ have consented to become Mrs. Philip Dunboyne.'"
+
+"Stop!" I said.
+
+"Why am I to stop?"
+
+"Because I have something to say. You and I are looking at each
+other. Does my face tell you what is passing in my mind?"
+
+"Your face seems to be paler than usual," she answered--"that's
+all."
+
+"No," I said; "that is not all. The devil that possessed me, when
+I discovered you with Philip, is not cast out of me yet. Silence
+the sneering devil that is in You, or we may both live to regret
+it."
+
+Whether I did or did not frighten her, I cannot say. This only
+I know--she turned away silently to the door, and went out.
+
+I dropped on the sofa. That horrid hungering for revenge, which
+I felt for the first time when I knew how Helena had wronged me,
+began to degrade and tempt me again. In the effort to get away
+from this new evil self of mine, I tried to find sympathy
+in Selina, and called to her to come and sit by me. She seemed
+to be startled when I looked at her, but she recovered herself,
+and came to me, and took my hand.
+
+"I wish I could comfort you!" she said, in her kind simple way.
+
+"Keep my hand in your hand," I told her; "I am drowning in dark
+water--and I have nothing to hold by but you."
+
+"Oh, my darling, don't talk in that way!"
+
+"Good Selina! dear Selina! You shall talk to me. Say something
+harmless--tell me a melancholy story--try to make me cry."
+
+My poor little friend looked sadly bewildered.
+
+"I'm more likely to cry myself," she said. "This is so
+heart-breaking--I almost wish I was back in the time, before
+you came home, the time when your detestable sister first showed
+how she hated me. I was happy, meanly happy, in the spiteful
+enjoyment of provoking her. Oh, Euneece, I shall never recover
+my spirits again! All the pity in the world would not be pity
+enough for _you_. So hardly treated! so young! so forlorn!
+Your good father too ill to help you; your poor mother--"
+
+I interrupted her; she had interested me in something better
+than my own wretched self. I asked directly if she had known
+my mother.
+
+"My dear child, I never even saw her!"
+
+"Has my father never spoken to you about her?"
+
+"Only once, when I asked him how long she had been dead. He told
+me you lost her while you were an infant, and he told me no more.
+I was looking at her portrait in the study, only yesterday.
+I think it must be a bad portrait; your mother's face disappoints
+me."
+
+I had arrived at the same conclusion years since. But I shrank
+from confessing it.
+
+"At any rate," Selina continued, "you are not like her. Nobody
+would ever guess that you were the child of that lady, with
+the long slanting forehead and the restless look in her eyes."
+
+What Selina had said of me and my mother's portrait, other
+friends had said. There was nothing that I know of to interest me
+in hearing it repeated--and yet it set me pondering on the want
+of resemblance between my mother's face and mine, and wondering
+(not for the first time) what sort of woman my mother was. When
+my father speaks of her, no words of praise that he can utter
+seem to be good enough for her. Oh, me, I wish I was a little
+more like my mother!
+
+It began to get dark; Maria brought in the lamp. The sudden
+brightness of the flame struck my aching eyes, as if it had
+been a blow from a knife. I was obliged to hide my face in
+my handkerchief. Compassionate Selina entreated me to go to bed.
+"Rest your poor eyes, my child, and your weary head--and try at
+least to get some sleep." She found me very docile; I kissed her,
+and said good-night. I had my own idea.
+
+When all was quiet in the house, I stole out into the passage
+and listened at the door of my father's room.
+
+I heard his regular breathing, and opened the door and went in.
+The composing medicine, of which I was in search, was not on the
+table by his bedside. I found it in the cupboard--perhaps placed
+purposely out of his reach. They say that some physic is poison,
+if you take too much of it. The label on the bottle told me what
+the dose was. I dropped it into the medicine glass, and swallowed
+it, and went back to my father.
+
+Very gently, so as not to wake him, I touched poor papa's
+forehead with my lips. "I must have some of your medicine,"
+I whispered to him; "I want it, dear, as badly as you do."
+
+Then I returned to my own room--and lay down in bed, waiting
+to be composed.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+EUNICE'S DIARY.
+
+My restless nights are passed in Selina's room.
+
+Her bed remains near the window. My bed has been placed opposite,
+near the door. Our night-light is hidden in a corner, so that
+the faint glow of it is all that we see. What trifles these
+are to write about! But they mix themselves up with what I am
+determined to set down in my Journal, and then to close the book
+for good and all.
+
+I had not disturbed my little friend's enviable repose,
+either when I left our bed-chamber, or when I returned to it.
+The night was quiet, and the stars were out. Nothing moved
+but the throbbing at my temples. The lights and shadows
+in our half-darkened room, which at other times suggest strange
+resemblances to my fancy, failed to disturb me now. I was in
+a darkness of my own making, having bound a handkerchief, cooled
+with water, over my hot eyes. There was nothing to interfere
+with the soothing influence of the dose that I had taken, if
+my father's medicine would only help me.
+
+I began badly. The clock in the hall struck the quarter past
+the hour, the half-past, the three-quarters past, the new hour.
+Time was awake--and I was awake with Time.
+
+It was such a trial to my patience that I thought of going back
+to my father's room, and taking a second dose of the medicine, no
+matter what the risk might be. On attempting to get up, I became
+aware of a change in me. There was a dull sensation in my limbs
+which seemed to bind them down on the bed. It was the strangest
+feeling. My will said, Get up--and my heavy limbs said, No.
+
+I lay quite still, thinking desperate thoughts, and getting
+nearer and nearer to the end that I had been dreading for so many
+days past. Having been as well educated as most girls, my lessons
+in history had made me acquainted with assassination and murder.
+Horrors which I had recoiled from reading in past happy days, now
+returned to my memory; and, this time, they interested instead
+of revolting me. I counted the three first ways of killing as
+I happened to remember them, in my books of instruction:--a way
+by stabbing; a way by poison; a way in a bed, by suffocation with
+a pillow. On that dreadful night, I never once called to mind
+what I find myself remembering now--the harmless past time, when
+our friends used to say: "Eunice is a good girl; we are all fond
+of Eunice." Shall I ever be the same lovable creature again?
+
+While I lay thinking, a strange thing happened. Philip, who
+had haunted me for days and nights together, vanished out of
+my thoughts. My memory of the love which had begun so brightly,
+and had ended so miserably, became a blank. Nothing was left but
+my own horrid visions of vengeance and death.
+
+For a while, the strokes of the clock still reached my ears.
+But it was an effort to count them; I ended in letting them pass
+unheeded. Soon afterward, the round of my thoughts began to
+circle slowly and more slowly. The strokes of the clock died out.
+The round of my thoughts stopped.
+
+All this time, my eyes were still covered by the handkerchief
+which I had laid over them.
+
+The darkness began to weigh on my spirits, and to fill me
+with distrust. I found myself suspecting that there was some
+change--perhaps an unearthly change--passing over the room.
+To remain blindfolded any longer was more than I could endure.
+I lifted my hand--without being conscious of the heavy sensation
+which, some time before, had laid my limbs helpless on the bed--
+I lifted my hand, and drew the handkerchief away from my eyes.
+
+The faint glow of the night-light was extinguished.
+
+But the room was not quite dark. There was a ghastly light
+trembling over it; like nothing that I have ever seen by day;
+like nothing that I have ever seen by night. I dimly discerned
+Selina's bed, and the frame of the window, and the curtains
+on either side of it--but not the starlight, and not the shadowy
+tops of the trees in the garden.
+
+The light grew fainter and fainter; the objects in the room faded
+slowly away. Darkness came.
+
+It may be a saying hard to believe--but, when I declare that
+I was not frightened, I am telling the truth. Whether the room
+was lighted by awful light, or sunk in awful dark, I was equally
+interested in the expectation of what might happen next.
+I listened calmly for what I might hear: I waited calmly for
+what I might feel.
+
+A touch came first. I feel it creeping on my face--like a little
+fluttering breeze. The sensation pleased me for a while. Soon it
+grew colder, and colder, and colder, till it froze me.
+
+"Oh, no more!" I cried out. "You are killing me with an icy
+death!"
+
+The dead-cold touches lingered a moment longer--and left me.
+
+The first sound came.
+
+It was the sound of a whisper on my pillow, close to my ear. My
+strange insensibility to fear remained undisturbed. The whisper
+was welcome, it kept me company in the dark room.
+
+It said to me: "Do you know who I am?"
+
+I answered: "No."
+
+It said: "Who have you been thinking of this evening?"
+
+I answered: "My mother."
+
+The whisper said: "I am your mother."
+
+"Oh, mother, command the light to come back! Show yourself
+to me!"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"My face was hidden when I passed from life to death. My face
+no mortal creature may see."
+
+"Oh, mother, touch me! Kiss me!"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"My touch is poison. My kiss is death."
+
+The sense of fear began to come to me now. I moved my head away
+on the pillow. The whisper followed my movement.
+
+"Leave me," I said. "You are an Evil Spirit."
+
+The whisper answered: "I am your mother."
+
+"You come to tempt me."
+
+"I come to harden your heart. Daughter of mine, whose blood
+is cool; daughter of mine, who tamely submits--you have loved.
+Is it true?"
+
+"It is true."
+
+"The man you loved has deserted you. Is it true?"
+
+"It is true."
+
+"A woman has lured him away to herself. A woman has had no mercy
+on you, or on him. Is it true?"
+
+"It is true."
+
+"If she lives, what crime toward you will she commit next?"
+
+"If she lives, she will marry him."
+
+"Will you let her live?"
+
+"Never."
+
+"Have I hardened your heart against her?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Will you kill her?"
+
+"Show me how."
+
+There was a sudden silence. I was still left in the darkness;
+feeling nothing, hearing nothing. Even the consciousness that
+I was lying on my bed deserted me. I had no idea that I was
+in the bedroom; I had no knowledge of where I was.
+
+The ghastly light that I had seen already dawned on me once more.
+I was no longer in my bed, no longer in my room, no longer in
+the house. Without wonder, without even a feeling of surprise,
+I looked round. The place was familiar to me. I was alone in
+the Museum of our town.
+
+The light flowed along in front of me. I followed, from room
+to room in the Museum, where the light led.
+
+First, through the picture-gallery, hung with the works of modern
+masters; then, through the room filled with specimens of stuffed
+animals. The lion and the tiger, the vulture of the Alps and
+the great albatross, looked like living creatures threatening me,
+in the supernatural light. I entered the third room, devoted to
+the exhibition of ancient armor, and the weapons of all nations.
+Here the light rose higher, and, leaving me in darkness where
+I stood, showed a collection of swords, daggers, and knives
+arranged on the wall in imitation of the form of a star.
+
+The whisper sounded again, close at my ear. It echoed my own
+thought, when I called to mind the ways of killing which history
+had taught me. It said: "Kill her with the knife."
+
+No. My heart failed me when I thought of the blood. I hid
+the dreadful weapons from my view. I cried out: "Let me go!
+let me go!"
+
+Again, I was lost in darkness. Again, I had no knowledge in me
+of where I was. Again, after an interval, the light showed me
+the new place in which I stood.
+
+I was alone in the burial-ground of our parish church. The light
+led me on, among the graves, to the lonely corner in which the
+great yew tree stands; and, rising higher, revealed the solemn
+foliage, brightened by the fatal red fruit which hides in itself
+the seeds of death.
+
+The whisper tempted me again. It followed again the train of
+my own thought. It said: "Kill her by poison."
+
+No. Revenge by poison steals its way to its end. The base
+deceitfulness of Helena's crime against me seemed to call for
+a day of reckoning that hid itself under no disguise. I raised
+my cry to be delivered from the sight of the deadly tree.
+The changes which I have tried to describe followed once more
+the confession of what I felt; the darkness was dispelled for
+the third time.
+
+I was standing in Helena's room, looking at her as she lay asleep
+in her bed.
+
+She was quite still now; but she must have been restless at some
+earlier time. The bedclothes were disordered, her head had sunk
+so low that the pillow rose high and vacant above her. There,
+colored by a tender flush of sleep, was the face whose beauty put
+my poor face to shame. There, was the sister who had committed
+the worst of murders--the wretch who had killed in me all that
+made life worth having. While that thought was in my mind,
+I heard the whisper again. "Kill her openly," the tempter mother
+said. "Kill her daringly. Faint heart, do you still want courage?
+Rouse your spirit; look! see yourself in the act!"
+
+The temptation took a form which now tried me for the first time.
+
+As if a mirror had reflected the scene, I saw myself standing
+by the bedside, with the pillow that was to smother the sleeper
+in my hands. I heard the whispering voice telling me how to speak
+the words that warned and condemned her: "Wake! you who have
+taken him from me! Wake! and meet your doom."
+
+I saw her start up in bed. The sudden movement disordered
+the nightdress over her bosom and showed the miniature portrait
+of a man, hung round her neck.
+
+The man was Philip. The likeness was looking at me.
+
+So dear, so lovely--those eyes that had once been the light of
+my heart, mourned for me and judged me now. They saw the guilty
+thought that polluted me; they brought me to my knees, imploring
+him to help me back to my better self: "One last mercy, dear,
+to comfort me under the loss of you. Let the love that was once
+my life, be my good angel still. Save me, Philip, even though
+you forsake me--save me from myself!"
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+There was a sudden cry.
+
+The agony of it pierced my brain--drove away the ghastly light--
+silenced the tempting whispers. I came to myself.  I saw--and not
+in a dream.
+
+Helena _had_ started up in her bed. That cry of terror, at
+the sight of me in her room at night, _had_ burst from her lips.
+The miniature of Philip hung round her neck, a visible reality.
+Though my head was dizzy, though my heart was sinking, I had
+not lost my senses yet. All that the night lamp could show me,
+I still saw; and I heard the sound, faintly, when the door
+of the bed-chamber was opened. Alarmed by that piercing cry,
+my father came hurrying into the room.
+
+Not a word passed between us three. The whispers that I had heard
+were wicked; the thoughts that had been in my mind were vile.
+Had they left some poison in the air of the room, which killed
+the words on our lips?
+
+My father looked at Helena. With a trembling hand she pointed
+to me. He put his arm round me and held me up. I remember
+his leading me away--and I remember nothing more.
+
+My last words are written. I lock up this journal of misery-
+never, I hope and pray, to open it again.
+
+-----
+
+Second Period (continued).
+
+EVENTS IN THE FAMILY, RELATED BY THE GOVERNOR.
+
+-----
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+THE MIDDLE-AGED LADY.
+
+In the year 1870 I found myself compelled to submit to
+the demands of two hard task-masters.
+
+Advancing age and failing health reminded the Governor of
+the Prison of his duty to his successor, in one unanswerable
+word--Resign.
+
+When they have employed us and interested us, for the greater
+part of our lives, we bid farewell to our duties--even to
+the gloomy duties of a prison--with a sense of regret. My view
+of the future presented a vacant prospect indeed, when I looked
+at my idle life to come, and wondered what I should do with it.
+Loose on the world--at my age!--I drifted into domestic refuge,
+under the care of my two dear and good sons. After a while
+(never mind how long a while) I began to grow restless under
+the heavy burden of idleness. Having nothing else to complain of,
+I complained of my health, and consulted a doctor. That sagacious
+man hit on the right way of getting rid of me--he recommended
+traveling.  
+
+This was unexpected advice. After some hesitation, I accepted it
+reluctantly.
+
+The instincts of age recoil from making new acquaintances,
+contemplating new places, and adopting new habits. Besides,
+I hate railway traveling. However, I contrived to get as far as
+Italy, and stopped to rest at Florence. Here, I found pictures
+by the old masters that I could really enjoy, a public park that
+I could honestly admire, and an excellent friend and colleague of
+former days; once chaplain to the prison, now clergyman in charge
+of the English Church. We met in the gallery of the Pitti Palace;
+and he recognized me immediately. I was pleased to find that
+the lapse of years had made so little difference in my personal
+appearance.
+
+The traveler who advances as far as Florence, and does not go
+on to Rome, must be regardless indeed of the opinions of his
+friends. Let me not attempt to conceal it--I am that insensible
+traveler. Over and over again, I said to myself: "Rome must
+be done"; and over and over again I put off doing it. To own
+the truth, the fascinations of Florence, aided by the society
+of my friend, laid so strong a hold on me that I believe I should
+have ended my days in the delightful Italian city, but for
+the dangerous illness of one of my sons. This misfortune hurried
+me back to England, in dread, every step of the way, of finding
+that I had arrived too late. The journey (thank God!) proved
+to have been taken without need. My son was no longer in danger,
+when I reached London in the year 1875.
+
+At that date I was near enough to the customary limit of human
+life to feel the necessity of rest and quiet. In other words,
+my days of travel had come to their end.
+
+Having established myself in my own country, I did not forget
+to let old friends know where they might find me. Among those
+to whom I wrote was another colleague of past years, who still
+held his medical appointment in the prison. When I received
+the doctor's reply, it inclosed a letter directed to me at
+my old quarters in the Governor's rooms. Who could possibly have
+sent a letter to an address which I had left five years since?
+My correspondent proved to be no less a person than the
+Congregational Minister--the friend whom I had estranged from
+me by the tone in which I had written to him, on the long-past
+occasion of his wife's death.
+
+It was a distressing letter to read. I beg permission to give
+only the substance of it in this place.
+
+Entreating me, with touching expressions of humility and sorrow,
+to forgive his long silence, the writer appealed to my friendly
+remembrance of him. He was in sore need of counsel, under serious
+difficulties; and I was the only person to whom he could apply
+for help. In the disordered state of his health at that time,
+he ventured to hope that I would visit him at his present place
+of abode, and would let him have the happiness of seeing me
+as speedily as possible. He concluded with this extraordinary
+postscript:
+
+"When you see my daughters, say nothing to either of them which
+relates, in any way, to the subject of their ages. You shall hear
+why when we meet."
+
+The reading of this letter naturally reminded me of the claims
+which my friend's noble conduct had established on my admiration
+and respect, at the past time when we met in the prison. I could
+not hesitate to grant his request--strangely as it was expressed,
+and doubtful as the prospect appeared to be of my answering
+the expectations which he had founded on the renewal of
+our intercourse. Answering his letter by telegraph, I promised
+to be with him on the next day.
+
+On arriving at the station, I found that I was the only traveler,
+by a first-class carriage, who left the train. A young lady,
+remarkable by her good looks and good dressing, seemed to have
+noticed this trifling circumstance. She approached me with
+a ready smile. "I believe I am speaking to my father's friend,"
+she said; "my name is Helena Gracedieu."
+
+Here was one of the Minister's two "daughters"; and that one of
+the two--as I discovered the moment I shook hands with her--who
+was my friend's own child. Miss Helena recalled to me her
+mother's face, infinitely improved by youth and health, and by
+a natural beauty which that cruel and deceitful woman could never
+have possessed. The slanting forehead and the shifting, flashing
+eyes, that I recollected in the parent, were reproduced (slightly
+reproduced, I ought to say) in the child. As for the other
+features, I had never seen a more beautiful nose and mouth,
+or a more delicately-shaped outline, than was presented by
+the lower part of the face. But Miss Helena somehow failed
+to charm me.  I doubt if I should have fallen in love with her,
+even in the days when I was a foolish young man.
+
+The first question that I put, as we drove from the station
+to the house, related naturally to her father.
+
+"He is very ill," she began; "I am afraid you must prepare
+yourself to see a sad change. Nerves. The mischief first showed
+itself, the doctor tells us, in derangement of his nervous
+system. He has been, I regret to tell you, obstinate in refusing
+to give up his preaching and pastoral work. He ought to have
+tried rest at the seaside. Things have gone on from bad to worse.
+Last Sunday, at the beginning of his sermon, he broke down. Very,
+very sad, is it not? The doctor says that precious time has been
+lost, and he must make up his mind to resign his charge. He won't
+hear of it. You are his old friend. Please try to persuade him."
+
+Fluently spoken; the words well chosen; the melodious voice
+reminding me of the late Mrs. Gracedieu's advantages in that
+respect; little sighs judiciously thrown in here and there, just
+at the right places; everything, let me own, that could present
+a dutiful daughter as a pattern of propriety--and nothing,
+let me add, that could produce an impression on my insensible
+temperament. If I had not been too discreet to rush at a hasty
+conclusion, I might have been inclined to say: her mother's
+child, every inch of her!
+
+The interest which I was still able to feel in my friend's
+domestic affairs centered in the daughter whom he had adopted.
+
+In her infancy I had seen the child, and liked her; I was the one
+person living (since the death of Mrs. Gracedieu) who knew how
+the Minister had concealed the sad secret of her parentage; and
+I wanted to discover if the hereditary taint had begun to show
+itself in the innocent offspring of the murderess. Just as
+I was considering how I might harmlessly speak of Miss Helena's
+"sister," Miss Helena herself introduced the subject.
+
+"May I ask," she resumed, "if you were disappointed when you
+found nobody but me to meet you at our station?"
+
+Here was an opportunity of paying her a compliment, if I had been
+a younger man, or if she had produced a favorable impression on
+me. As it was, I hit--if I may praise myself--on an ingenious
+compromise.
+
+"What excuse could I have," I asked, "for feeling disappointed?"
+
+"Well, I hear you are an official personage--I ought to say,
+perhaps, a retired official personage. We might have received
+you more respectfully, if _both_ my father's daughters had been
+present at the station. It's not my fault that my sister was not
+with me."
+
+The tone in which she said this strengthened my prejudice against
+her. It told me that the two girls were living together on no
+very friendly terms; and it suggested--justly or unjustly I could
+not then decide--that Miss Helena was to blame.
+
+"My sister is away from home."
+
+"Surely, Miss Helena, that is a good reason for her not coming
+to meet me?"
+
+"I beg your pardon--it is a bad reason. She has been sent away
+for the recovery of her health--and the loss of her health is
+entirely her own fault."
+
+What did this matter to me? I decided on dropping the subject.
+My memory reverted, however, to past occasions on which the loss
+of _my_ health had been entirely my own fault. There was
+something in these personal recollections, which encouraged
+my perverse tendency to sympathize with a young lady to whom
+I had not yet been introduced. The young lady's sister appeared
+to be discouraged by my silence. She said: "I hope you don't
+think the worse of me for what I have just mentioned?"
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"Perhaps you will fail to see any need of my speaking of
+my sister at all? Will you kindly listen, if I try to explain
+myself?"
+
+"With pleasure."
+
+She slyly set the best construction on my perfectly commonplace
+reply.
+
+"Thank you," she said. "The fact is, my father (I can't imagine
+why) wishes you to see my sister as well as me. He has written
+to the farmhouse at which she is now staying, to tell her to come
+home to-morrow. It is possible--if your kindness offers me
+an opportunity--that I may ask to be guided by your experience,
+in a little matter which interests me. My sister is rash,
+and reckless, and has a terrible temper. I should be very sorry
+indeed if you were induced to form an unfavorable opinion of me,
+from anything you might notice if you see us together. You
+understand me, I hope?"
+
+"I quite understand you."
+
+To set me against her sister, in her own private interests--
+there, as I felt sure, was the motive under which she was acting.
+As hard as her mother, as selfish as her mother, and, judging
+from those two bad qualities, probably as cruel as her mother.
+That was how I understood Miss Helena Gracedieu, when our
+carriage drew up at her father's house.
+
+A middle-aged lady was on the doorstep, when we arrived, just
+ringing the bell. She looked round at us both; being evidently
+as complete a stranger to my fair companion as she was to me.
+When the servant opened the door, she said:
+
+"Is Miss Jillgall at home?"
+
+At the sound of that odd name, Miss Helena tossed her head
+disdainfully. She took no sort of notice of the stranger-lady
+who was at the door of her father's house. This young person's
+contempt for Miss Jillgall appeared to extend to Miss Jillgall's
+friends.
+
+In the meantime, the servant's answer was: "Not at home."
+
+The middle aged lady said: "Do you expect her back soon?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am."
+
+"I will call again, later in the day."
+
+"What name, if you please?"
+
+The lady stole another look at me, before she replied.
+
+"Never mind the name," she said--and walked away.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+THE MINISTER'S MISFORTUNE.
+
+"Do you know that lady?" Miss Helena asked, as we entered
+the house.
+
+"She is a perfect stranger to me," I answered.
+
+"Are you sure you have not forgotten her?"
+
+"Why do you think I have forgotten her?"
+
+"Because she evidently remembered you."
+
+The lady had no doubt looked at me twice. If this meant that
+my face was familiar to her, I could only repeat what I have
+already said. Never, to my knowledge, had I seen her before.
+
+Leading the way upstairs, Miss Helena apologized for taking me
+into her father's bedroom. "He is able to sit up in an armchair,"
+she said; "and he might do more, as I think, if he would exert
+himself. He won't exert himself. Very sad. Would you like to look
+at your room, before you see my father? It is quite ready for
+you. We hope"--she favored me with a fascinating smile, devoted
+to winning my heart when her interests required it--"we hope you
+will pay us a long visit; we look on you as one of ourselves."
+
+I thanked her, and said I would shake hands with my old friend
+before I went to my room. We parted at the bedroom door.
+
+It is out of my power to describe the shock that overpowered me
+when I first saw the Minister again, after the long interval
+of time that had separated us. Nothing that his daughter said,
+nothing that I myself anticipated, had prepared me for that
+lamentable change. For the moment, I was not sufficiently
+master of myself to be able to speak to him. He added to my
+embarrassment by the humility of his manner, and the formal
+elaboration of his apologies.
+
+"I feel painfully that I have taken a liberty with you," he said,
+"after the long estrangement between us--for which my want of
+Christian forbearance is to blame. Forgive it, sir, and forget
+it. I hope to show that necessity justifies my presumption,
+in subjecting you to a wearisome journey for my sake."
+
+Beginning to recover myself, I begged that he would make no more
+excuses. My interruption seemed to confuse him.
+
+"I wished to say," he went on, "that you are the one man who
+can understand me. There is my only reason for asking to see
+you, and looking forward as I do to your advice. You remember
+the night--or was it the day?--before that miserable woman was
+hanged? You were the only person present when I agreed to adopt
+the poor little creature, stained already (one may say) by
+its mother's infamy. I think your wisdom foresaw what a terrible
+responsibility I was undertaking; you tried to prevent it. Well!
+well! you have been in my confidence--you only. Mind! nobody
+in this house knows that one of the two girls is not really my
+daughter. Pray stop me, if you find me wandering from the point.
+My wish is to show that you are the only man I can open my heart
+to. She--" He paused, as if in search of a lost idea, and left
+the sentence uncompleted. "Yes," he went on, "I was thinking of
+my adopted child. Did I ever tell you that I baptized her myself?
+and by a good Scripture name too--Eunice. Ah, sir, that little
+helpless baby is a grown-up girl now; of an age to inspire love,
+and to feel love. I blush to acknowledge it; I have behaved with
+a want of self-control, with a cowardly weakness.--No! I am,
+indeed, wandering this time. I ought to have told you first that
+I have been brought face to face with the possibility of Eunice's
+marriage. And, to make it worse still, I can't help liking
+the young man. He comes of a good family--excellent manners,
+highly educated, plenty of money, a gentleman in every sense
+of the word. And poor little Eunice is so fond of him! Isn't
+it dreadful to be obliged to check her dearly-loved Philip?
+The young gentleman's name is Philip. Do you like the name? I say
+I am obliged to cheek her sweetheart in the rudest manner, when
+all he wants to do is to ask me modestly for my sweet Eunice's
+hand. Oh, what have I not suffered, without a word of sympathy
+to comfort me, before I had courage enough to write to you! Shall
+I make a dreadful confession? If my religious convictions had
+not stood in my way, I believe I should have committed suicide.
+Put yourself in my place. Try to see yourself shrinking from
+a necessary explanation, when the happiness of a harmless girl
+--so dutiful, so affectionate--depended on a word of kindness
+from your lips. And that word you are afraid to speak! Don't
+take offense, sir; I mean myself, not you. Why don't you say 
+omething?" he burst out fiercely, incapable of perceiving that
+he had allowed me no opportunity of speaking to him. "Good God!
+don't you understand me, after all?"
+
+The signs of mental confusion in his talk had so distressed me,
+that I had not been composed enough to feel sure of what he
+really meant, until he described himself as "shrinking from
+a necessary explanation." Hearing those words, my knowledge of
+the circumstances helped me; I realized what his situation really
+was.
+
+"Compose yourself," I said, "I understand you at last."
+
+He had suddenly become distrustful.
+
+"Prove it," he muttered, with a furtive look at me. "I want
+to be satisfied that you understand my position."
+
+"This is your position," I told him. "You are placed between
+two deplorable alternatives. If you tell this young gentleman
+that Miss Eunice's mother was a criminal hanged for murder,
+his family--even if he himself doesn't recoil from it--will
+unquestionably forbid the marriage; and your adopted daughter's
+happiness will be the sacrifice."
+
+"True!" he said. "Frightfully true! Go on."
+
+"If, on the other hand, you sanction the marriage, and conceal
+the truth, you commit a deliberate act of deceit; and you leave
+the lives of the young couple at the mercy of a possible
+discovery, which might part husband and wife--cast a slur
+on their children--and break up the household."
+
+He shuddered while he listened to me. "Come to the end of it,"
+he cried.
+
+I had no more to say, and I was obliged to answer him to that
+effect.
+
+"No more to say?" he replied. "You have not told me yet what
+I most want to know."
+
+I did a rash thing; I asked what it was that he most wanted
+to know.
+
+"Can't you see it for yourself?" he demanded indignantly.
+"Suppose you were put between those two alternatives which
+you mentioned just now."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"What would you do, sir, in my place? Would you own the
+disgraceful truth--before the marriage--or run the risk,
+and keep the horrid story to yourself?"
+
+Either way, my reply might lead to serious consequences.
+I hesitated.
+
+He threatened me with his poor feeble hand. It was only the anger
+of a moment;  his humor changed to supplication. He reminded me
+piteously of bygone days: "You used to be a kind-hearted man. Has
+age hardened you? Have you no pity left for your old friend? My
+poor heart is sadly in want of a word of wisdom, spoken kindly."
+
+Who could have resisted this? I took his hand: "Be at ease, dear
+Minister. In your place I should run the risk, and keep that
+horrid story to myself."
+
+He sank back gently in his chair. "Oh, the relief of it!" he
+said. "How can I thank you as I ought for quieting my mind?"
+
+I seized the opportunity of quieting his mind to good purpose by
+suggesting a change of subject. "Let us have done with serious
+talk for the present," I proposed. "I have been an idle man for
+the last five years, and I want to tell you about my travels."
+
+His attention began to wander, he evidently felt no interest
+in my travels. "Are you sure," he asked anxiously, "that we have
+said all we ought to say? No!" he cried, answering his own
+question. "I believe I have forgotten something--I am certain
+I have forgotten something. Perhaps I mentioned it in the letter
+I wrote to you. Have you got my letter?"
+
+I showed it to him. He read the letter, and gave it back to me
+with a heavy sigh. "Not there!" he said despairingly. "Not
+there!"
+
+"Is the lost remembrance connected with anybody in the house?"
+I asked, trying to help him. "Does it relate, by any chance,
+to one of the young ladies?"
+
+"You wonderful man! Nothing escapes you. Yes; the thing I have
+forgotten concerns one of the girls. Stop! Let me get at it by
+myself. Surely it relates to Helena?" He hesitated; his face
+clouded over with an expression of anxious thought. "Yes; it
+relates to Helena," he repeated "but how?" His eyes filled with
+tears. "I am ashamed of my weakness," he said faintly. "You don't
+know how dreadful it is to forget things in this way."
+
+The injury that his mind had sustained now assumed an aspect
+that was serious indeed. The subtle machinery, which stimulates
+the memory, by means of the association of ideas, appeared to
+have lost its working power in the intellect of this unhappy man.
+I made the first suggestion that occurred to me, rather than add
+to his distress by remaining silent.
+
+"If we talk of your daughter," I said, "the merest accident--a
+word spoken at random by. you or me--may be all your memory wants
+to rouse it."
+
+He agreed eagerly to this: "Yes! Yes! Let me begin. Helena met
+you, I think, at the station. Of course, I remember that; it only
+happened a few hours since. Well?" he went on, with a change
+in his manner to parental pride, which it was pleasant to see,
+"did you think my daughter a fine girl? I hope Helena didn't
+disappoint you?"
+
+"Quite the contrary." Having made that necessary reply, I saw
+my way to keeping his mind occupied by a harmless subject.
+"It must, however, be owned," I went on, "that your daughter
+surprised me."
+
+"In what way?"
+
+"When she mentioned her name. Who could have supposed that
+you--an inveterate enemy to the Roman Catholic Church--would have
+christened your daughter by the name of a Roman Catholic Saint?"
+
+He listened to this with a smile. Had I happily blundered on some
+association which his mind was still able to pursue?
+
+"You happen to be wrong this time," he said pleasantly. "I never
+gave my girl the name of Helena; and, what is more, I never
+baptized her. You ought to know that. Years and years ago, I
+wrote to tell you that my poor wife had made me a proud and happy
+father. And surely I said that the child was born while she was
+on a visit to her brother's rectory. Do you remember the name of
+the place? I told you it was a remote little village, called--
+Suppose we put _your_ memory to a test? Can you remember the
+name?" he asked, with a momentary appearance of triumph showing
+itself, poor fellow, in his face.
+
+After the time that had elapsed, the name had slipped my memory.
+When I confessed this, he exulted over me, with an unalloyed
+pleasure which it was cheering to see.
+
+"_Your_ memory is failing you now," he said. "The name is Long
+Lanes. And what do you think my wife did--this is so
+characteristic of her!--when I presented myself at her bedside.
+Instead of speaking of our own baby, she reminded me of the name
+that I had given to our adopted daughter when I baptized the
+child. 'You chose the ugliest name that a girl can have,' she
+said. I begged her to remember that 'Eunice' was a name in
+Scripture. She persisted in spite of me. (What firmness of
+character!) 'I detest the name of Eunice!' she said; 'and now
+that I have a girl of my own, it's my turn to choose the name;
+I claim it as my right.' She was beginning to get excited;
+I allowed her to have her own way, of course. 'Only let me know,'
+I said, 'what the name is to be when you have thought of it.'
+My dear sir, she had the name ready, without thinking about it:
+'My baby shall be called by the name that is sweetest in my ears,
+the name of my dear lost mother.' We had--what shall I call it?--
+a slight difference of opinion when I heard that the name was to
+be Helena. I really could _not_ reconcile it to my conscience to
+baptize a child of mine by the name of a Popish saint. My wife's
+brother set things right between us. A worthy good man; he died
+not very long ago--I forget the date. Not to detain you any
+longer, the rector of Long Lanes baptized our daughter. That
+is how she comes by her un-English name; and so it happens that
+her birth is registered in a village which her father has never
+inhabited. I hope, sir, you think a little better of my memory
+now?"
+
+I was afraid to tell him what I really did think.
+
+He was not fifty years old yet; and he had just exhibited one
+of the sad symptoms which mark the broken memory of old age.
+Lead him back to the events of many years ago, and (as he had
+just proved to me) he could remember well and relate coherently.
+But let him attempt to recall circumstances which had only
+taken place a short time since, and forgetfulness and confusion
+presented the lamentable result, just as I have related it.
+
+The effort that he had made, the agitation that he had undergone
+in talking to me, had confirmed my fears that he would overtask
+his wasted strength. He lay back in his chair. "Let us go on with
+our conversation," he murmured. "We haven't recovered what I had
+forgotten, yet." His eyes closed, and opened again languidly.
+"There was something I wanted to recall--" he resumed, "and you
+were helping me." His weak voice died away; his weary eyes closed
+again. After waiting until there could be no doubt that he was
+resting peacefully in sleep, I left the room.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+THE LIVELY OLD MAID.
+
+A perfect stranger to the interior of the house (seeing that
+my experience began and ended with the Minister's bedchamber),
+I descended the stairs, in the character of a guest in search
+of domestic information.
+
+On my way down, I heard the door of a room on the ground floor
+opened, and a woman' s voice below, speaking in a hurry: "My
+dear, I have not a moment to spare; my patients are waiting for
+me." This was followed by a confidential communication, judging
+by the tone. "Mind! not a word about me to that old gentleman!"
+Her patients were waiting for her--had I discovered a female
+doctor? And there was some old gentleman whom she was not willing
+to trust--surely I was not that much-injured man?
+
+Reaching the hall just as the lady said her last words, I caught
+a glimpse of her face, and discovered the middle-aged stranger
+who had called on "Miss Jillgall," and had promised to repeat her
+visit. A second lady was at the door, with her back to me, taking
+leave of her friend. Having said good-by, she turned round--and
+we confronted each other.
+
+I found her to be a little person, wiry and active; past the
+prime of life, and ugly enough to encourage prejudice, in persons
+who take a superficial view of their fellow-creatures. Looking
+impartially at the little sunken eyes which rested on me with
+a comical expression of embarrassment, I saw signs that said:
+There is some good here, under a disagreeable surface, if you can
+only find it.
+
+She saluted me with a carefully-performed curtsey, and threw open
+the door of a room on the ground floor.
+
+"Pray walk in, sir, and permit me to introduce myself. I am
+Mr. Gracedieu's cousin--Miss Jillgall. Proud indeed to make
+the acquaintance of a gentleman distinguished in the service
+of his country--or perhaps I ought to say, in the service of
+the Law. The Governor offers hospitality to prisoners. And who
+introduces prisoners to board and lodging with the Governor?
+--the Law. Beautiful weather for the time of year, is it not?
+May I ask--have you seen your room?"
+
+The embarrassment which I had already noticed had extended by
+this time to her voice and her manner. She was evidently trying
+to talk herself into a state of confidence. It seemed but too
+probable that I was indeed the person mentioned by her prudent
+friend at the door.
+
+Having acknowledged that I had not seen my room yet, my
+politeness attempted to add that there was no hurry. The wiry
+little lady was of the contrary opinion; she jumped out of
+her chair as if she had been shot out of it. "Pray let me make
+myself useful. The dream of my life is to make myself useful
+to others; and to such a man as you--I consider myself honored.
+Besides, I do enjoy running up and down stairs. This way, dear
+sir; this way to your room."
+
+She skipped up the stairs, and stopped on the first landing.
+"Do you know, I am a timid person, though I may not look like it.
+Sometimes, curiosity gets the better of me--and then I grow bold.
+Did you notice a lady who was taking leave of me just now at
+the house door?"
+
+I replied that I had seen the lady for a moment, but not for
+the first time. "Just as I arrived here from the station,"
+I said, "I found her paying a visit when you were not at home."
+
+"Yes--and do tell me one thing more." My readiness in answering
+seemed to have inspired Miss Jillgall with confidence. I heard
+no more confessions of overpowering curiosity. "Am I right,"
+she proceeded, "in supposing that Miss Helena accompanied you
+ on your way here from the station?"
+
+"Quite right."
+
+"Did she say anything particular, when she saw the lady asking
+for me at the door?"
+
+"Miss Helena thought," I said, "that the lady recognized me as
+a person whom she had seen before."
+
+"And what did you think yourself?"
+
+"I thought Miss Helena was wrong."
+
+"Very extraordinary!" With that remark, Miss Jillgall dropped
+the subject. The meaning of her reiterated inquiries was now,
+as it seemed to me, clear enough. She was eager to discover
+how I could have inspired the distrust of me, expressed in
+the caution addressed to her by her friend.
+
+When we reached the upper floor, she paused before the Minister's
+room.
+
+"I believe many years have passed," she said, "since you last saw
+Mr. Gracedieu. I am afraid you have found him a sadly changed
+man? You won't be angry with me, I hope, for asking more
+questions? I owe Mr. Gracedieu a debt of gratitude which no
+devotion, on my part, can ever repay. You don't know what a favor
+I shall consider it, if you will tell me what you think of him.
+Did it seem to you that he was not quite himself? I don't mean
+in his looks, poor dear--I mean in his mind."
+
+There was true sorrow and sympathy in her face. I believe
+I should hardly have thought her ugly, if we had first met at
+that moment. Thus far, she had only amused me. I began really
+to like Miss Jillgall now.
+
+"I must not conceal from you," I replied, "that the state of Mr.
+Gracedieu's mind surprised and distressed me. But I ought also
+to tell you that I saw him perhaps at his worst. The subject
+on which he wished to speak with me would have agitated any man,
+in his state of health. He consulted me about his daughter's
+marriage."
+
+Miss Jillgall suddenly turned pale.
+
+"His daughter's marriage?" she repeated. "Oh, you frighten me!"
+
+"Why should I frighten you?"
+
+She seemed to find some difficulty in expressing herself.
+"I hardly know how to put it, sir. You will excuse me (won't
+you?) if I say what I feel. You have influence--not the sort
+of influence that finds places for people who don't deserve them,
+and gets mentioned in the newspapers--I only mean influence
+over Mr. Gracedieu. That's what frightens me. How do I know--?
+Oh, dear, I'm asking another question! Allow me, for once,
+to be plain and positive. I'm afraid, sir, you have encouraged
+the Minister to consent to Helena's marriage."
+
+"Pardon me," I answered, "you mean Eunice's marriage."
+
+"No, sir! Helena."
+
+"No, madam! Eunice."
+
+"What does he mean?" said Miss Jillgall to herself.
+
+I heard her. "This is what I mean," I asserted, in my most
+positive manner. "The only subject on which the Minister
+has consulted me is Miss Eunice's marriage."
+
+My tone left her no alternative but to believe me. She looked not
+only bewildered, but alarmed. "Oh, poor man, has he lost himself
+in such a dreadful way as that?" she said to herself. "I daren't
+believe it!" She turned to me. "You have been talking with him
+for some time. Please try to remember. While Mr. Gracedieu was
+speaking of Euneece, did he say nothing of Helena's infamous
+conduct to her sister?"
+
+Not the slightest hint of any such thing, I assured her, had
+reached my ears.
+
+"Then," she cried, "I can tell you what he has forgotten! We
+kept as much of that miserable story to ourselves as we could,
+in mercy to him. Besides, he was always fondest of Euneece; she
+would live in his memory when he had forgotten the other--the
+wretch, the traitress, the plotter, the fiend!" Miss Jillgall's
+good manners slipped, as it were, from under her; she clinched
+her fists as a final means of expressing her sentiments.
+"The wretched English language isn't half strong enough for me,"
+she declared with a look of fury.
+
+I took a liberty. "May I ask what Miss Helena has done?" I said.
+
+"_May_ you ask? Oh, Heavens! you must ask, you shall ask. Mr.
+Governor, if your eyes are not opened to Helena's true character,
+I can tell you what she will do; she will deceive you into taking
+her part. Do you think she went to the station out of regard for
+the great man? Pooh! she went with an eye to her own interests;
+and she means to make the great man useful. Thank God, I can stop
+that!"
+
+She checked herself there, and looked suspiciously at the door
+of Mr. Gracedieu's room.
+
+"In the interest of our conversation," she whispered, "we have
+not given a thought to the place we have been talking in. Do you
+think the Minister has heard us?"
+
+"Not if he is asleep--as I left him,"
+
+Miss Jillgall shook her head ominously. "The safe way is this
+way," she said. "Come with me."
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+THE FUTURE LOOKS GLOOMY.
+
+My ever-helpful guide led me to my room--well out of Mr.
+Gracedieu's hearing, if he happened to be awake--at the other
+end of the passage. Having opened the door, she paused on
+the threshold. The decrees of that merciless English despot,
+Propriety, claimed her for their own. "Oh, dear!" she said
+to herself, "ought I to go in?"
+
+My interest as a man (and, what is more, an old man) in
+the coming disclosure was too serious to be trifled with in
+this way.  I took her arm, and led her into my room as if I was
+at a dinner-party, leading her to the table. Is it the good or
+the evil fortune of mortals that the comic side of life, and
+the serious side of life, are perpetually in collision with each
+other? We burst out laughing, at a moment of grave importance to
+us both. Perfectly inappropriate, and perfectly natural. But we
+were neither of us philosophers, and we were ashamed of our own
+merriment the moment it had ceased.
+
+"When you hear what I have to tell you," Miss Jillgall began,
+"I hope you will think as I do. What has slipped Mr. Gracedieu's
+memory, it may be safer to say--for he is sometimes irritable,
+poor dear--where he won't know anything about it."
+
+With that she told the lamentable story of the desertion of
+Eunice.
+
+In silence I listened, from first to last. How could I trust
+myself to speak, as I must have spoken, in the presence of
+a woman? The cruel injury inflicted on the poor girl, who
+had interested and touched me in the first innocent year of
+her life--who had grown to womanhood to be the victim of two
+wretches, both trusted by her, both bound to her by the sacred
+debt of love--so fired my temper that I longed to be within reach
+of the man, with a horsewhip in my hand. Seeing in my face, as
+I suppose, what was passing in my mind, Miss Jillgall expressed
+sympathy and admiration in her own quaint way: "Ah, I like to see
+you so angry! It's grand to know that a man who has governed
+prisoners has got such a pitying heart. Let me tell you one
+thing, sir. You will be more angry than ever, when you see my
+sweet girl to-morrow. And mind this--it is Helena's devouring
+vanity, Helena's wicked jealousy of her sister's good fortune,
+that has done the mischief. Don't be too hard on Philip? I do
+believe, if the truth was told, he is ashamed of himself."
+
+I felt inclined to be harder on Philip than ever. "Where is he?"
+I asked.
+
+Miss Jillgall started. "Oh, Mr. Governor, don't show the severe
+side of yourself, after the pretty compliment I have just paid
+to you! What a masterful voice! and what eyes, dear sir; what
+terrifying eyes! I feel as if I was one of your prisoners, and
+had misbehaved myself."
+
+I repeated my question with improvement, I hope, in my looks and
+tones: "Don't think me obstinate, my dear lady. I only want to
+know if he is in this town."
+
+Miss Jillgall seemed to take a curious pleasure in disappointing
+me; she had not forgotten my unfortunate abruptness of look and
+manner. "You won't find him here," she said.
+
+"Perhaps he has left England?"
+
+"If you must know, sir, he is in London--with Mr. Dunboyne."
+
+The name startled me.
+
+In a moment more it recalled to my memory a remarkable letter,
+addressed to me many years ago, which will be found in
+my introductory narrative. The writer--an Irish gentleman,
+named Dunboyne confided to me that his marriage had associated
+him with the murderess, who had then been recently executed, as
+brother-in-law to that infamous woman. This circumstance he had
+naturally kept a secret from every one, including his son, then
+a boy. I alone was made an exception to the general rule, because
+I alone could tell him what had become of the poor little girl,
+who in spite of the disgraceful end of her mother was still
+his niece. If the child had not been provided for, he felt it
+his duty to take charge of her education, and to watch over
+her prospects in the future. Such had been his object in writing
+to me; and such was the substance of his letter. I had merely
+informed him, in reply, that his kind intentions had been
+anticipated, and that the child's prosperous future was assured.
+
+Miss Jillgall's keen observation noticed the impression that had
+been produced upon me. "Mr. Dunboyne's name seems to surprise
+you." she said.
+
+"This is the first time I have heard you mention it," I answered.
+
+She looked as if she could hardly believe me. "Surely you must
+have heard the name," she said, "when I told you about poor
+Euneece?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, then, Mr. Gracedieu must have mentioned it?"
+
+"No."
+
+This second reply in the negative irritated her.
+
+"At any rate," she said, sharply, "you appeared to know Mr.
+Dunboyne's name, just now."
+
+"Certainly!"
+
+"And yet," she persisted, "the name seemed to come upon you as
+a surprise. I don't understand it. If I have mentioned Philip's
+name once, I have mentioned it a dozen times."
+
+We were completely at cross-purposes. She had taken something
+for granted which was an unfathomable mystery to me.
+
+"Well," I objected, "if you did mention his name a dozen
+times--excuse me for asking the question---what then?"
+
+"Good heavens!" cried Miss Jillgall, "do you mean to say you
+never guessed that Philip was Mr. Dunboyne's son?"
+
+I was petrified.
+
+His son! Dunboyne's son! How could I have guessed it?
+
+At a later time only, the good little creature who had so
+innocently deceived me, remembered that the mischief might have
+been wrought by the force of habit. While he had still a claim
+on their regard the family had always spoken of Eunice's unworthy
+lover by his Christian name; and what had been familiar in their
+mouths felt the influence of custom, before time enough had
+elapsed to make them think as readily of the enemy as they had
+hitherto thought of the friend.
+
+But I was ignorant of this: and the disclosure by which I found
+myself suddenly confronted was more than I could support. For
+the moment, speech was beyond me.
+
+His son! Dunboyne's son!
+
+What a position that young man had occupied, unsuspected by
+his father, unknown to himself! kept in ignorance of the family
+disgrace, he had been a guest in the house of the man who had
+consoled his infamous aunt on the eve of her execution--who had
+saved his unhappy cousin from poverty, from sorrow, from shame.
+And but one human being knew this. And that human being was
+myself!
+
+Observing my agitation, Miss Jillgall placed her own construction
+on it.
+
+"Do you know anything bad of Philip?" she asked eagerly. "If it's
+something that will prevent Helena from marrying him, tell me
+what it is, I beg and pray."
+
+I knew no more of "Philip" (whom she still called by his
+Christian name!) than she had told me herself: there was no help
+for it but to disappoint her. At the same time I was unable
+to conceal that I was ill at ease, and that it might be well
+to leave me by myself. After a look round the bedchamber to see
+that nothing was wanting to my comfort, she made her quaint
+curtsey, and left me with her own inimitable form of farewell.
+
+"Oh, indeed, I have been here too long! And I'm afraid I have
+been guilty, once or twice, of vulgar familiarity. You will
+excuse me, I hope. This has been an exciting interview--I think
+I am going to cry."
+
+She ran out of the room; and carried away with her some of
+my kindliest feelings, short as the time of our acquaintance
+had been. What a wife and what a mother was lost there--and all
+for want of a pretty face!
+
+Left alone, my thoughts inevitably reverted to Dunboyne the
+elder, and to all that had happened in Mr. Gracedieu's family
+since the Irish gentleman had written to me in bygone years.
+
+The terrible choice of responsibilities which had preyed on
+the Minister's mind had been foreseen by Mr. Dunboyne, when he
+first thought of adopting his infant niece, and had warned him
+to dread what might happen in the future, if he brought her up
+as a member of the family with his own boy, and if the two young
+people became at a later period attached to each other. How had
+the wise foresight, which offered such a contrast to the poor
+Minister's impulsive act of mercy, met with its reward? Fate
+or Providence (call it which we may) had brought Dunboyne's son
+and the daughter of the murderess together; had inspired those
+two strangers with love; and had emboldened them to plight
+their troth by a marriage engagement. Was the man's betrayal
+of the trust placed in him by the faithful girl to be esteemed
+a fortunate circumstance by the two persons who knew the true
+story of her parentage, the Minister and myself? Could we rejoice
+in an act of infidelity which had embittered and darkened
+the gentle harmless life of the victim? Or could we, on the other
+hand, encourage the ruthless deceit, the hateful treachery, which
+had put the wicked Helena--with no exposure to dread if _she_
+married--into her wronged sister's place? Impossible! In the one
+case as in the other, impossible!
+
+Equally hopeless did the prospect appear, when I tried to
+determine what my own individual course of action ought to be.
+
+In my calmer moments, the idea had occurred to my mind of going
+to Dunboyne the younger, and, if he had any sense of shame left,
+exerting my influence to lead him back to his betrothed wife. How
+could I now do this, consistently with my duty to the young man's
+father; knowing what I knew, and not forgetting that I had myself
+advised Mr. Gracedieu to keep the truth concealed, when I was
+equally ignorant of Philip Dunboyne's parentage and of Helena
+Gracedieu's treachery?
+
+Even if events so ordered it that the marriage of Eunice might
+yet take place--without any interference exerted to produce that
+result, one way or the other, on my part--it would be just as
+impossible for me to speak out now, as it had been in the
+long-past years when I had so cautiously answered Mr. Dunboyne's
+letter. But what would he think of me if accident led, sooner or
+later, to the disclosure which I had felt bound to conceal? The
+more I tried to forecast the chances of the future, the darker
+and the darker was the view that faced me.
+
+To my sinking heart and wearied mind, good Dame Nature presented
+a more acceptable prospect, when I happened to look out of
+the window of my room. There I saw the trees and flowerbeds of
+a garden, tempting me irresistibly under the cloudless sunshine
+of a fine day. I was on my way out, to recover heart and hope,
+when a knock at the door stopped me.
+
+Had Miss Jillgall returned? When I said "Come in," Mr. Gracedieu
+opened the door, and entered the room.
+
+He was so weak that he staggered as he approached me. Leading him
+to a chair, I noticed a wild look in his eyes, and a flush on
+his haggard cheeks. Something had happened.
+
+"When you were with me in my room," he began, "did I not tell you
+that I had forgotten something?"
+
+"Certainly you did."
+
+"Well, I have found the lost remembrance. My misfortune--I ought
+to call it the punishment for my sins, is recalled to me now.
+The worst curse that can fall on a father is the curse that has
+come to me. I have a wicked daughter. My own child, sir! my own
+child!"
+
+Had he been awake, while Miss Jillgall and I had been talking
+outside his door? Had he heard her ask me if Mr. Gracedieu had
+said nothing of Helena's infamous conduct to her sister, while
+he was speaking of Eunice? The way to the lost remembrance had
+perhaps been found there. In any case, after that bitter allusion
+to his "wicked daughter" some result must follow. Helena
+Gracedieu and a day of reckoning might be nearer to each other
+already than I had ventured to hope.
+
+I waited anxiously for what he might say to me next.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+THE WANDERING MIND.
+
+For the moment, the Minister disappointed me.
+
+Without speaking, without even looking up, he took out his
+pocketbook, and began to write in it. Constantly interrupted
+either by a trembling in the hand that held the pencil, or by
+a difficulty (as I imagined) in expressing thoughts imperfectly
+realized--his patience gave way; he dashed the book on the floor.
+
+"My mind is gone!" he burst out. "Oh, Father in Heaven, let death
+deliver me from a body without a mind!"
+
+Who could hear him, and be guilty of the cruelty of preaching
+self-control? I picked up the pocketbook, and offered to help
+him.
+
+"Do you think you can?" he asked.
+
+"I can at least try."
+
+"Good fellow! What should I do without you? See now; here is
+my difficulty. I have got so many things to say, I want to
+separate them--or else they will all run into each other. Look
+at the book," my poor friend said mournfully; "they have run
+into each other in spite of me."
+
+The entries proved to be nearly incomprehensible. Here and there
+I discovered some scattered words, which showed themselves more
+or less distinctly in the midst of the surrounding confusion.
+The first word that I could make out was "Education." Helped
+by that hint, I trusted to guess-work to guide me in speaking
+to him.  It was necessary to be positive, or he would have lost
+all faith in me.
+
+"Well?" he said impatiently.
+
+"Well," I answered, "you have something to say to me about
+the education which you have given to your daughters."
+
+"Don't put them together!" he cried. "Dear, patient, sweet Eunice
+must not be confounded with that she-devil--"
+
+"Hush, hush, Mr. Gracedieu! Badly as Miss Helena has behaved,
+she is your own child."
+
+"I repudiate her, sir! Think for a moment of what she has done
+--and then think of the religious education that I have given
+her. Heartless! Deceitful! The most ignorant creature in the
+lowest dens of this town could have done nothing more basely
+cruel. And this, after years on years of patient Christian
+instruction on my part! What is religion? What is education?
+I read a horrible book once (I forget who was the author);
+it called religion superstition, and education empty form.
+I don't know; upon my word I don't know that the book may not
+--Oh, my tongue! Why don't I keep a guard over my tongue? Are you
+a father, too? Don't interrupt me. Put yourself in my place,
+and think of it. Heartless, deceitful, and _my_ daughter. Give me
+the pocketbook; I want to see which memorandum comes first."
+
+He had now wrought himself into a state of excitement, which
+relieved his spirits of the depression that had weighed on them
+up to this time. His harmless vanity, always, as I suspect,
+a latent quality in his kindly nature, had already restored
+his confidence. With a self-sufficient smile he consulted his own
+unintelligible entries, and made his own wild discoveries.
+
+"Ah, yes; 'M' stands for Minister; I come first. Am I to blame?
+Am I--God forgive me my many sins--am I heartless? Am I
+deceitful?"
+
+"My good friend, not even your enemies could say that!"
+
+"Thank you. Who comes next?" He consulted the book again. "Her
+mother, her sainted mother, comes next. People say she is like
+her mother. Was my wife heartless? Was the angel of my life
+deceitful?"
+
+("That," I thought to myself, "is exactly what your wife was--and
+exactly what reappears in your wife's child.")
+
+"Where does her wickedness come from?" he went on. "Not from her
+mother; not from me; not from a neglected education." He suddenly
+stepped up to me and laid his hands on my shoulders; his voice
+dropped to hoarse, moaning, awestruck tones. "Shall I tell you
+what it is? A possession of the devil."
+
+It was so evidently desirable to prevent any continuation of
+such a train of thought as this, that I could feel no hesitation
+in interrupting him.
+
+"Will you hear what I have to say?" I asked bluntly.
+
+His humor changed again; he made me a low bow, and went back to
+his chair. "I will hear you with pleasure," he answered politely.
+"You are the most eloquent man I know, with one exception--
+myself. Of course--myself."
+
+"It is mere waste of time," I continued, "to regret the excellent
+education which your daughter has misused." Making that reply,
+I was tempted to add another word of truth. All education is
+at the mercy of two powerful counter-influences: the influence
+of temperament, and the influence of circumstances. But this was
+philosophy. How could I expect him to submit to philosophy?
+"What we know of Miss Helena," I went on, "must be enough for us.
+She has plotted, and she means to succeed. Stop her."
+
+"Just my idea!" he declared firmly. "I refuse my consent to that
+abominable marriage."
+
+In the popular phrase, I struck while the iron was hot. "You must
+do more than that, sir," I told him.
+
+His vanity suddenly took the alarm--I was leading him rather too
+undisguisedly. He handed his book back to me. "You will find,"
+he said loftily, "that I have put it all down there."
+
+I pretended to find it, and read an imaginary entry to this
+effect: "After what she has already done, Helena is capable
+of marrying in defiance of my wishes and commands. This must be
+considered and provided against." So far, I had succeeded in
+flattering him. But when (thinking of his paternal authority)
+I alluded next to his daughter's age, his eyes rested on me with
+a look of downright terror.
+
+"No more of that!" he said. "I won't talk of the girls' ages
+even with you."
+
+What did he mean? It was useless to ask. I went on with the
+matter in hand--still deliberately speaking to him, as I might
+have spoken to a man with an intellect as clear as my own.
+In my experience, this practice generally stimulates a weak
+intelligence to do its best. We all know how children receive
+talk that is lowered, or books that are lowered, to their
+presumed level.
+
+"I shall take it for granted," I continued, "that Miss Helena
+is still under your lawful authority. She can only arrive at her
+ends by means of a runaway marriage. In that case, much depends
+on the man. You told me you couldn't help liking him. This was,
+of course, before you knew of the infamous manner in which he
+has behaved. You must have changed your opinion now."
+
+He seemed to be at a loss how to reply. "I am afraid," he said,
+"the young man was drawn into it by Helena."
+
+Here was Miss Jillgall's apology for Philip Dunboyne repeated in
+other words. Despising and detesting the fellow as I did, I was
+forced to admit to myself that he must be recommended by personal
+attractions which it would be necessary to reckon with. I tried
+to get some more information from Mr. Gracedieu.
+
+"The excuse you have just made for him," I resumed, "implies that
+he is a weak man; easily persuaded, easily led."
+
+The Minister answered by nodding his head.
+
+"Such weakness as that," I persisted, "is a vice in itself.
+It has led already, sir, to the saddest results."
+
+He admitted this by another nod.
+
+"I don't wish to shock you, Mr. Gracedieu; but I must recommend
+employing the means that present themselves. You must practice
+on this man's weakness, for the sake of the good that may come
+of it. I hear he is in London with his father. Try the strong
+influence, and write to his father. There is another reason
+besides for doing this. It is quite possible that the truth
+has been concealed from Mr. Dunboyne the elder. Take care that
+he is informed of what has really happened. Are you looking
+for pen, ink, and paper? Let me offer you the writing materials
+which I use in traveling."
+
+I placed them before him. He took up the pen; he arranged
+the paper; he was eager to begin.
+
+After writing a few words, he stopped--reflected--tried
+again--stopped again--tore up the little that he had done--and
+began a new letter, ending in the same miserable result. It was
+impossible to witness his helplessness, to see how pitiably
+patient he was over his own incapacity, and to let the melancholy
+spectacle go on. I proposed to write the letter; authenticating
+it, of course, by his signature. When he allowed me to take
+the pen, he turned away his face, ashamed to let me see what
+he suffered. Was this the same man, whose great nature had so
+nobly asserted itself in the condemned cell? Poor mortality!
+
+The letter was easily written.
+
+I had only to inform Mr. Dunboyne of his son's conduct;
+repeating, in the plainest language that I could use, what
+Miss Jillgall had related to me. Arrived at the conclusion,
+I contrived to make Mr. Gracedieu express himself in these strong
+terms: "I protest against the marriage in justice to you, sir, as
+well as to myself. We can neither of us content to be accomplices
+in an act of domestic treason of the basest kind."
+
+In silence, the Minister read the letter, and attached his
+signature to it. In silence, he rose and took my arm. I asked
+if he wished to go to his room. He only replied by a sign.
+I offered to sit with him, and try to cheer him. Gratefully,
+he pressed my hand: gently, he put me back from the door. Crushed
+by the miserable discovery of the decay of his own faculties!
+What could I do? what could I say? Nothing!
+
+
+Miss Jillgall was in the drawing-room. With the necessary
+explanations, I showed her the letter. She read it with
+breathless interest. "It terrifies one to think how much depends
+on old Mr. Dunboyne," she said. "You know him. What sort of man
+is he?"
+
+I could only assure her (after what I remembered of his letter
+to me) that he was a man whom we could depend upon.
+
+Miss Jillgall possessed treasures of information to which I could
+lay no claim. Mr. Dunboyne, she told me, was a scholar, and
+a writer, and a rich man. His views on marriage were liberal in
+the extreme. Let his son find good principles, good temper, and
+good looks, in a wife, and he would promise to find the money.
+
+"I get these particulars," said Miss Jillgall, "from dear
+Euneece. They are surely encouraging? That Helena may carry out
+Mr. Dunboyne's views in her personal appearance is, I regret
+to say, what I can't deny. But as to the other qualifications,
+how hopeful is the prospect! Good principles, and good temper?
+Ha! ha! Helena has the principles of Jezebel, and the temper of
+Lady Macbeth."
+
+After dashing off this striking sketch of character, the fair
+artist asked to look at my letter again, and observed that
+the address was wanting. "I can set this right for you," she
+resumed, "thanks, as before, to my sweet Euneece. And (don't
+be in a hurry) I can make myself useful in another way. Oh, how
+I do enjoy making myself useful! If you trust your letter to the
+basket in the hall, Helena's lovely eyes--capable of the meanest
+conceivable actions--are sure to take a peep at the address.
+In that case, do you think your letter would get to London?
+I am afraid you detect a faint infusion of spitefulness in
+that question. Oh, for shame! I'll post the letter myself."
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+THE SHAMELESS SISTER.
+
+For some reason, which my unassisted penetration was unable
+to discover, Miss Helena Gracedieu kept out of my way.
+
+At dinner, on the day of my arrival, and at breakfast on the next
+morning, she was present of course; ready to make herself
+agreeable in a modest way, and provided with the necessary supply
+of cheerful small-talk. But the meal having come to an end, she
+had her domestic excuse ready, and unostentatiously disappeared
+like a well-bred young lady. I never met her on the stairs, never
+found myself intruding on her in the drawing-room, never caught
+her getting out of my way in the garden. As much at a loss for an
+explanation of these mysteries as I was, Miss Jillgall's interest
+in my welfare led her to caution me in a vague and general way.
+
+"Take my word for it, dear Mr. Governor, she has some design
+on you. Will you allow an insignificant old maid to offer
+a suggestion? Oh, thank you; I will venture to advise. Please
+look back at your experience of the very worst female prisoner
+you ever had to deal with--and be guided accordingly if Helena
+catches you at a private interview."
+
+In less than half an hour afterward, Helena caught me. I was
+writing in my room, when the maidservant came in with a message:
+"Miss Helena's compliments, sir, and would you please spare her
+half an hour, downstairs?"
+
+My first excuse was of course that I was engaged. This was
+disposed of by a second message, provided beforehand, no doubt,
+for an anticipated refusal: "Miss Helena wished me to say, sir,
+that her time is your time." I was still obstinate; I pleaded
+next that my day was filled up. A third message had evidently
+been prepared, even for this emergency: "Miss Helena will regret,
+sir, having the pleasure deferred, but she will leave you to make
+your own appointment for to-morrow." Persistency so inveterate as
+this led to a result which Mr. Gracedieu's cautious daughter had
+not perhaps contemplated: it put me on my guard. There seemed to
+be a chance, to say the least of it, that I might serve Eunice's
+interests if I discovered what the enemy had to say. I locked up
+my writing--declared myself incapable of putting Miss Helena to
+needless inconvenience--and followed the maid to the lower floor
+of the house.
+
+The room to which I was conducted proved to be empty. I looked
+round me.
+
+If I had been told that a man lived there who was absolutely
+indifferent to appearances, I should have concluded that
+his views were faithfully represented by his place of abode.
+The chairs and tables reminded me of a railway waiting-room.
+The shabby little bookcase was the mute record of a life
+indifferent to literature. The carpet was of that dreadful drab
+color, still the cherished favorite of the average English mind,
+in spite of every protest that can be entered against it,
+on behalf of Art. The ceiling, recently whitewashed; made my eyes
+ache when they looked at it. On either side of the window,
+flaccid green curtains hung helplessly with nothing to loop them
+up. The writing-desk and the paper-case, viewed as specimens
+of woodwork, recalled the ready-made bedrooms on show in cheap
+shops. The books, mostly in slate-colored bindings, were devoted
+to the literature which is called religious; I only discovered
+three worldly publications among them--Domestic Cookery,
+Etiquette for Ladies, and Hints on the Breeding of Poultry.
+An ugly little clock, ticking noisily in a black case, and two
+candlesticks of base metal placed on either side of it, completed
+the ornaments on the chimney-piece. Neither pictures nor prints
+hid the barrenness of the walls. I saw no needlework and no
+flowers. The one object in the place which showed any pretensions
+to beauty was a looking-glass in an elegant gilt frame--sacred to
+vanity, and worthy of the office that it filled. Such was Helena
+Gracedieu's sitting-room. I really could not help thinking: How
+like her!
+
+She came in with a face perfectly adapted to the circumstances
+--pleased and smiling; amiably deferential, in consideration of
+the claims of her father's guest--and, to my surprise, in some
+degree suggestive of one of those incorrigible female prisoners,
+to whom Miss Jillgall had referred me when she offered a word
+of advice.
+
+"How kind of you to come so soon! Excuse my receiving you
+in my housekeeping-room; we shall not be interrupted here.
+Very plainly furnished, is it not? I dislike ostentation
+and display.  Ornaments are out of place in a room devoted to
+domestic necessities. I hate domestic necessities. You notice
+the looking-glass? It's a present. I should never have put
+such a thing up. Perhaps my vanity excuses it."
+
+She pointed the last remark by a look at herself in the glass;
+using it, while she despised it. Yes: there was a handsome face,
+paying her its reflected compliment--but not so well matched as
+it might have been by a handsome figure. Her feet were too large;
+her shoulders were too high; the graceful undulations of
+a well-made girl were absent when she walked; and her bosom was,
+to my mind, unduly developed for her time of life.
+
+She sat down by me with her back to the light. Happening to be
+opposite to the window, I offered her the advantage of a clear
+view of my face. She waited for me, and I waited for her--and
+there was an awkward pause before we spoke. She set the example.
+
+"Isn't it curious?" she remarked. "When two people have something
+particular to say to each other, and nothing to hinder them,
+they never seem to know how to say it. You are the oldest, sir.
+Why don't you begin?"
+
+"Because I have nothing particular to say."
+
+"In plain words, you mean that I must begin?"
+
+"If you please."
+
+"Very well. I want to know whether I have given you (and Miss
+Jillgall, of course) as much time as you want, and as many
+opportunities as you could desire?"
+
+"Pray go on, Miss Helena."
+
+"Have I not said enough already?"
+
+"Not enough, I regret to say, to convey your meaning to me."
+
+She drew her chair a little further away from me. "I am sadly
+disappointed," she said. "I had such a high opinion of your
+perfect candor. I thought to myself: There is such a striking
+expression of frankness in his face. Another illusion gone!
+I hope you won't think I am offended, if I say a bold word.
+I am only a young girl, to be sure; but I am not quite such
+a fool as you take me for. Do you really think I don't know that
+Miss Jillgall has been telling you everything that is bad about
+me; putting every mistake that I have made, every fault that
+I have committed, in the worst possible point of view? And you
+have listened to her--quite naturally! And you are prejudiced,
+strongly prejudiced, against me--what else could you be, under
+the circumstances? I don't complain; I have purposely kept out
+of your way, and out of Miss Jillgall's way; in short, I have
+afforded you every facility, as the prospectuses say. I only want
+to know if my turn has come at last. Once more, have I given you
+time enough, and opportunities enough?"
+
+"A great deal more than enough."
+
+"Do you mean that you have made up your mind about me without
+stopping to think?"
+
+"That is exactly what I mean. An act of treachery, Miss Helena,
+_is_ an act of treachery; no honest person need hesitate to
+condemn it. I am sorry you sent for me."
+
+I got up to go. With an ironical gesture of remonstrance,
+she signed to me to sit down again.
+
+"Must I remind you, dear sir, of our famous native virtue? Fair
+play is surely due to a young person who has nobody to take
+her part. You talked of treachery just how. I deny the treachery.
+Please give me a hearing."
+
+I returned to my chair.
+
+"Or would you prefer waiting," she went out, "till my sister
+comes here later in the day, and continues what Miss Jillgall has
+begun, with the great advantage of being young and nice-looking?"
+
+When the female mind gets into this state, no wise man answers
+the female questions.
+
+"Am I to take silence as meaning Go on?" Miss Helena inquired.
+
+I begged her to interpret my silence in the sense most agreeable
+to herself.
+
+This naturally encouraged her. She made a proposal:
+
+"Do you mind changing places, sir?"
+
+"Just as you like, Miss Helena."
+
+We changed chairs; the light now fell full on her face. Had
+she deliberately challenged me to look into her secret mind
+if I could? Anything like the stark insensibility of that young
+girl to every refinement of feeling, to every becoming doubt
+of herself, to every customary timidity of her age and sex
+in the presence of a man who had not disguised his unfavorable
+opinion of her, I never met with in all my experience of
+the world and of women.
+
+"I wish to be quite mistress of myself," she explained; "your
+face, for some reason which I really don't know, irritates me.
+The fact is, I have great pride in keeping my temper. Please make
+allowances. Now about Miss Jillgall. I suppose she told you how
+my sister first met with Philip Dunboyne?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She also mentioned, perhaps, that he was a highly-cultivated
+man?"
+
+"She did."
+
+"Now we shall get on. When Philip came to our town here, and saw
+me for the first time--Do you object to my speaking familiarly
+of him, by his Christian name?"
+
+"In the case of any one else in your position, Miss Helena,
+I should venture to call it bad taste."
+
+I was provoked into saying that. It failed entirely as
+a well-meant effort in the way of implied reproof. Miss Helena
+smiled.
+
+"You grant me a liberty which you would not concede to another
+girl." That was how she viewed it. "We are getting on better
+already. To return to what I was saying. When Philip first saw
+me--I have it from himself, mind--he felt that I should have been
+his choice, if he had met with me before he met with my sister.
+Do you blame him?"
+
+"If you will take my advice," I said, "you will not inquire
+too closely into my opinion of Mr. Philip Dunboyne."
+
+"Perhaps you don't wish me to say anymore?" she suggested.
+
+"On the contrary, pray go on, if you like."
+
+After that concession, she was amiability itself. "Oh, yes," she
+assured me, "that's easily done." And she went on accordingly:
+"Philip having informed me of the state of his affections,
+I naturally followed his example. In fact, we exchanged
+confessions. Our marriage engagement followed as a matter
+of course. Do you blame me?"
+
+"I will wait till you have done."
+
+"I have no more to say."
+
+She made that amazing reply with such perfect composure, that
+I began to fear there must have been some misunderstanding
+between us. "Is that really all you have to say for yourself?"
+I persisted.
+
+Her patience with me was most exemplary. She lowered herself
+to my level. Not trusting to words only on this occasion, she
+(so to say) beat her meaning into my head by gesticulating on
+her fingers, as if she was educating a child.
+
+"Philip and I," she began, "are the victims of an accident,
+which kept us apart when we ought to have met together--we are
+not responsible for an accident." She impressed this on me
+by touching her forefinger. "Philip and I fell in love with each
+other at first sight--we are not responsible for the feelings
+implanted in our natures by an all-wise Providence." She assisted
+me in understanding this by touching her middle finger. "Philip
+and I owe a duty to each other, and accept a responsibility under
+those circumstances--the responsibility of getting married."
+A touch on her third finger, and an indulgent bow, announced
+that the lesson was ended. "I am not a clever man like you,"
+she modestly acknowledged, "but I ask you to help us, when you
+next see my father, with some confidence. You know exactly what
+to say to him, by this time. Nothing has been forgotten."
+
+"Pardon me," I said, "a person has been forgotten."
+
+"Indeed? What person?"
+
+"Your sister."
+
+A little perplexed at first, Miss Helena reflected, and recovered
+herself.
+
+"Ah, yes," she said; "I was afraid I might be obliged to trouble
+you for an explanation--I see it now. You are shocked (very
+properly) when feelings of enmity exist between near relations;
+and you wish to be assured that I bear no malice toward Eunice.
+She is violent, she is  sulky, she is stupid, she is selfish;
+and she cruelly refuses to live in the same house with me. Make
+your mind easy, sir, I forgive my sister."
+
+Let me not attempt to disguise it--Miss Helena Gracedieu
+confounded me.
+
+Ordinary audacity is one of those forms of insolence which
+mature experience dismisses with contempt. This girl's audacity
+struck down all resistance, for one shocking reason: it was
+unquestionably sincere. Strong conviction of her own virtue
+stared at me in her proud and daring eyes. At that time, I was
+not aware of what I have learned since. The horrid hardening of
+her moral sense had been accomplished by herself. In her diary,
+there has been found the confession of a secret course of
+reading--with supplementary reflections flowing from it, which
+need only to be described as worthy of their source.
+
+A person capable of repentance and reform would, in her place,
+have seen that she had disgusted me. Not a suspicion of this
+occurred to Miss Helena. "I see you are embarrassed," she
+remarked, "and I am at no loss to account for it. You are too
+polite to acknowledge that I have not made a friend of you yet.
+Oh, I mean to do it!"
+
+"No," I said, "I think not."
+
+"We shall see," she replied. "Sooner or later, you will find
+yourself saying a kind word to my father for Philip and me."
+She rose, and took a turn in the room--and stopped, eying me
+attentively. "Are you thinking of Eunice?" she asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She has your sympathy, I suppose?"
+
+"My heart-felt sympathy."
+
+"I needn't ask how I stand in your estimation, after that. Pray
+express yourself freely. Your looks confess it--you view me with
+a feeling of aversion."
+
+"I view you with a feeling of horror."
+
+The exasperating influences of her language, her looks, and
+her tones would, as I venture to think, have got to the end of
+another man's self-control before this. Anyway, she had at last
+irritated me into speaking as strongly as I felt. What I said
+had been so plainly (perhaps so rudely) expressed, that
+misinterpretation of it seemed to be impossible. She mistook me,
+nevertheless. The most merciless disclosure of the dreary side
+of human destiny is surely to be found in the failure of words,
+spoken or written, so to answer their purpose that we can trust
+them, in our attempts to communicate with each other. Even when
+he seems to be connected, by the nearest and dearest relations,
+with his fellow-mortals, what a solitary creature, tried by the
+test of sympathy, the human being really is in the teeming world
+that he inhabits! Affording one more example of the impotence of
+human language to speak for itself, my misinterpreted words had
+found their way to the one sensitive place in Helena Gracedieu's
+impenetrable nature. She betrayed it in the quivering and
+flushing of her hard face, and in the appeal to the looking-glass
+which escaped her eyes the next moment. My hasty reply had roused
+the idea of a covert insult addressed to her handsome face.
+In other words, I had wounded her vanity. Driven by resentment,
+out came the secret distrust of me which had been lurking in
+that cold heart, from the moment when we first met.
+
+"I inspire you with horror, and Eunice inspires you with
+compassion," she said. "That, Mr. Governor, is not natural."
+
+"May I ask why?"
+
+"You know why."
+
+"No."
+
+"You will have it?"
+
+"I want an explanation, Miss Helena, if that is what you mean."
+
+"Take your explanation, then! You are not the stranger you are
+said to be to my sister and to me. Your interest in Eunice is
+a personal interest of some kind. I don't pretend to guess what
+it is. As for myself, it is plain that somebody else has been
+setting you against me, before Miss Jillgall got possession of
+your private ear."
+
+In alluding to Eunice, she had blundered, strangely enough,
+on something like the truth. But when she spoke of herself,
+the headlong malignity of her suspicions--making every allowance
+for the anger that had hurried her into them--seemed to call for
+some little protest against a false assertion. I told her that
+she was completely mistaken.
+
+"I am completely right," she answered; "I saw it."
+
+"Saw what?"
+
+"Saw you pretending to be a stranger to me."
+
+"When did I do that?"
+
+"You did it when we met at the station."
+
+The reply was too ridiculous for the preservation of any
+control over my own sense of humor. It was wrong; but it was
+inevitable--I laughed. She looked at me with a fury, revealing
+a concentration of evil passion in her which I had not seen yet.
+I asked her pardon; I begged her to think a little before
+she persisted in taking a view of my conduct unworthy of her,
+and unjust to myself.
+
+"Unjust to You!" she burst out. "Who are You? A man who has
+driven your trade has spies always at his command--yes! and knows
+how to use them. You were primed with private information--you
+had, for all I know, a stolen photograph of me in your pocket--
+before ever you came to our town. Do you still deny it?  Oh, sir,
+why degrade yourself by telling a lie?"
+
+No such outrage as this had ever been inflicted on me, at any
+time in my life. My forbearance must, I suppose, have been more
+severely tried than I was aware of myself. With or without excuse
+for me, I was weak enough to let a girl's spiteful tongue sting
+me, and, worse still, to let her see that I felt it.
+
+"You shall have no second opportunity, Miss Gracedieu, of
+insulting me." With that foolish reply, I opened the door
+violently and went out.
+
+She ran after me, triumphing in having roused the temper of
+a man old enough to have been her grandfather, and caught me by
+the arm. "Your own conduct has exposed you." (That was literally
+how she expressed herself.) "I saw it in your eyes when we met
+at the station. You, the stranger--you who allowed poor ignorant
+me to introduce myself--you knew me all the time, knew me
+by sight!"
+
+I shook her hand off with an inconsiderable roughness,
+humiliating to remember. "It's false!" I cried. "I knew you
+by your likeness to your mother."
+
+The moment the words had passed my lips, I came to my senses
+again; I remembered what fatal words they might prove to be,
+if they reached the Minister's ears.
+
+Heard only by his daughter, my reply seemed to cool the heat
+of her anger in an instant.
+
+"So you knew my mother?" she said. "My father never told us that,
+when he spoke of your being such a very old friend of his.
+Strange, to say the least of it."
+
+I was wise enough--now when wisdom had come too late--not to
+attempt to explain myself, and not to give her an opportunity
+of saying more. "We are neither of us in a state of mind,"
+I answered, "to allow this interview to continue. I must try
+to recover my composure; and I leave you to do the same."
+
+In the solitude of my room, I was able to look my position fairly
+in the face.
+
+Mr. Gracedieu's wife had come to me, in the long-past time,
+without her husband's knowledge. Tempted to a cruel resolve
+by the maternal triumph of having an infant of her own, she had
+resolved to rid herself of the poor little rival in her husband's
+fatherly affection, by consigning the adopted child to the
+keeping of a charitable asylum. She had dared to ask me to help
+her. I had kept the secret of her shameful visit--I can honestly
+say, for the Minister's sake. And now, long after time had doomed
+those events to oblivion, they were revived--and revived by me.
+Thanks to my folly, Mr. Gracedieu's daughter knew what I had
+concealed from Mr. Gracedieu himself.
+
+What course did respect for my friend, and respect for myself,
+counsel me to take?
+
+I could only see before me a choice of two evils. To wait for
+events--with the too certain prospect of a vindictive betrayal
+of my indiscretion by Helena Gracedieu. Or to take the initiative
+into my own hands, and risk consequences which I might regret
+to the end of my life, by making my confession to the Minister.
+
+Before I had decided, somebody knocked at the door. It was
+the maid-servant again. Was it possible she had been sent
+by Helena?
+
+"Another message?"
+
+"Yes, sir. My master wishes to see you."
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+THE GIRLS' AGES.
+
+Had the Minister's desire to see me been inspired by his
+daughter's betrayal of what I had unfortunately said to her?
+Although he would certainly not consent to receive her
+personally, she would be at liberty to adopt a written method
+of communication with him, and the letter might be addressed in
+such a manner as to pique his curiosity. If Helena's vindictive
+purpose had been already accomplished--and if Mr. Gracedieu left
+me no alternative but to present his unworthy wife in her true
+character--I can honestly say that I dreaded the consequences,
+not as they might affect myself, but as they might affect
+my unhappy friend in his enfeebled state of body and mind.
+
+When I entered his room, he was still in bed.
+
+The bed-curtains were so drawn, on the side nearest to
+the window, as to keep the light from falling too brightly on
+his weak eyes. In the shadow thus thrown on him, it was not
+possible to see his face plainly enough, from the open side of
+the bed, to arrive at any definite conclusion as to what might
+be passing in his mind. After having been awake for some hours
+during the earlier part of the night, he had enjoyed a long
+and undisturbed sleep. "I feel stronger this morning," he said,
+"and I wish to speak to you while my mind is clear."
+
+If the quiet tone of his voice was not an assumed tone, he was
+surely ignorant of all that had passed between his daughter and
+myself.
+
+"Eunice will be here soon," he proceeded, "and I ought to explain
+why I have sent for her to come and meet you. I have reasons,
+serious reasons, mind, for wishing you to compare her personal
+appearance with Helena's personal appearance, and then to tell me
+which of the two, on a fair comparison, looks the eldest. Pray
+bear in mind that I attach the greatest importance to the
+conclusion at which you may arrive."
+
+He spoke more clearly and collectedly than I had heard him speak
+yet.
+
+Here and there I detected hesitations and repetitions, which
+I have purposely passed over. The substance of what he said to me
+is all that I shall present in this place. Careful as I have been
+to keep my record of events within strict limits, I have written
+at a length which I was far indeed from contemplating when
+I accepted Mr. Gracedieu's invitation.
+
+Having promised to comply with the strange request which he had
+addressed to me, I ventured to remind him of past occasions
+on which he had pointedly abstained, when the subject presented
+itself, from speaking of the girls' ages. "You have left it to
+my discretion," I added, "to decide a question in which you are
+seriously interested, relating to your daughters. Have I no
+excuse for regretting that I have not been admitted to your
+confidence a little more freely?"
+
+"You have every excuse," he answered. "But you trouble me all
+the same. There was something else that I had to say to you--and
+your curiosity gets in the way."
+
+He said this with a sullen emphasis. In my position, the worst
+of evils was suspense. I told him that my curiosity could wait;
+and I begged that he would relieve his mind of what was pressing
+on it at the moment.
+
+"Let me think a little," he said.
+
+I waited anxiously for the decision at which he might arrive.
+Nothing came of it to justify my misgivings. "Leave what I have
+in my mind to ripen in my mind," he said. "The mystery about
+the girls' ages seems to irritate you. If I put my good friend's
+temper to any further trial, he will be of no use to me. Never
+mind if my head swims; I'm used to that. Now listen!"
+
+Strange as the preface was, the explanation that followed was
+stranger yet. I offer a shortened and simplified version, giving
+accurately the substance of what I heard.
+
+The Minister entered without reserve on the mysterious subject of
+the ages. Eunice, he informed me, was nearly two years older than
+Helena. If she outwardly showed her superiority of age, any
+person acquainted with the circumstances under which the adopted
+infant had been received into Mr. Gracedieu's childless
+household, need only compare the so-called sisters in after-life,
+and would thereupon identify the eldest-looking young lady of the
+two as the offspring of the woman who had been hanged for murder.
+With such a misfortune as this presenting itself as a possible
+prospect, the Minister was bound to prevent the girls from
+ignorantly betraying each other by allusions to their ages and
+their birthdays. After much thought, he had devised a desperate
+means of meeting the difficulty--already made known, as I am
+told, for the information of strangers who may read the pages
+that have gone before mine. My friend's plan of proceeding had,
+by the nature of it, exposed him to injurious comment, to
+embarrassing questions, and to doubts and misconceptions, all
+patiently endured in consideration of the security that had been
+attained. Proud of his explanation, Mr. Gracedieu's vanity called
+upon me to acknowledge that my curiosity had been satisfied, and
+my doubts completely set at rest.
+
+No: my obstinate common sense was not reduced to submission, even
+yet. Looking back over a lapse of seventeen years, I asked what
+had happened, in that long interval, to justify the anxieties
+which still appeared to trouble my friend.
+
+This time, my harmless curiosity could be gratified by a reply
+expressed in three words--nothing had happened.
+
+Then what, in Heaven's name, was the Minister afraid of?
+
+His voice dropped to a whisper. He said: "I am afraid of the
+women."
+
+Who were the women?
+
+Two of them actually proved to be the servants employed in Mr.
+Gracedieu's house, at the bygone time when be had brought the
+child home with him from the prison! To point out the absurdity
+of the reasons that he gave for fearing what female curiosity
+might yet attempt, if circumstances happened to encourage it,
+would have been a mere waste of words. Dismissing the subject, I
+next ascertained that the Minister's doubts extended even to the
+two female warders, who had been appointed to watch the murderess
+in turn, during her last days in prison. I easily relieved his
+mind in this case. One of the warders was dead. The other had
+married a farmer in Australia. Had we exhausted the list of
+suspected persons yet? No: there was one more left; and the
+Minister declared that he had first met with her in my official
+residence, at the time when I was Governor of the prison.
+
+"She presented herself to me by name," he said; "and she spoke
+rudely. A Miss--" He paused to consult his memory, and this time
+(thanks perhaps to his night's rest) his memory answered the
+appeal. "I have got it!" he cried--"Miss Chance."
+
+My friend had interested me in his imaginary perils at last. It
+was just possible that he might have a formidable person to deal
+with now.
+
+During my residence at Florence, the Chaplain and I had taken
+many a retrospective look (as old men will) at past events in
+our lives. My former colleague spoke of the time when he had
+performed clerical duty for his friend, the rector of a parish
+church in London. Neither he nor I had heard again of the "Miss
+Chance" of our disagreeable prison experience, whom he had
+married to the dashing Dutch gentleman, Mr. Tenbruggen. We could
+only wonder what had become of that mysterious married pair.
+
+Mr. Gracedieu being undoubtedly ignorant of the woman's marriage,
+it was not easy to say what the consequence might be, in his
+excitable state, if I informed him of it. He would, in all
+probability, conclude that I knew more of the woman than he did.
+I decided on keeping my own counsel, for the present at least.
+
+Passing at once, therefore, to the one consideration of any
+importance, I endeavored to find out whether Mr. Gracedieu and
+Mrs. Tenbruggen had met, or had communicated with each other
+in any way, during the long period of separation that had taken
+place between the Minister and myself. If he had been so unlucky
+as to offend her, she was beyond all doubt an enemy to be
+dreaded. Apart, however, from a misfortune of this kind, she
+would rank, in my opinion, with the other harmless objects of
+Mr. Gracedieu's distrust.
+
+In making my inquiries, I found that I had an obstacle to contend
+with.
+
+While he felt the renovating influence of the repose that he
+enjoyed, the Minister had been able to think and to express
+himself with less difficulty than usual. But the reserves of
+strength, on which the useful exercise of his memory depended,
+began to fail him as the interview proceeded. He distinctly
+recollected that "something unpleasant had passed between that
+audacious woman and himself." But at what date--and whether by
+word of mouth or by correspondence--was more than his memory
+could now recall. He believed be was not mistaken in telling me
+that he "had been in two minds about her." At one time, he was
+satisfied that he had taken wise measures for his own security,
+if she attempted to annoy him. But there was another and a later
+time, when doubts and fears had laid hold of him again. If
+I wanted to know how this had happened, he fancied it was through
+a dream; and if I asked what the dream was, he could only beg and
+pray that I would spare his poor head.
+
+Unwilling even yet to submit unconditionally to defeat, it
+occurred to me to try a last experiment on my friend, without
+calling for any mental effort on his own part. The "Miss Chance"
+of former days might, by a bare possibility, have written to him.
+I asked accordingly if he was in the habit of keeping his
+letters, and if he would allow me (when he had rested a little)
+to lay them open before him, so that he could look at the
+signatures. "You might find the lost recollection in that way,"
+I suggested, "at the bottom of one of your letters."
+
+He was in that state of weariness, poor fellow, in which a man
+will do anything for the sake of peace. Pointing to a cabinet in
+his room, he gave me a key taken from a little basket on his bed.
+"Look for yourself," he said. After some hesitation--for I
+naturally recoiled from examining another man's correspondence--I
+decided on opening the cabinet, at any rate.
+
+The letters--a large collection--were, to my relief, all neatly
+folded, and indorsed with the names of the writers. I could run
+harmlessly through bundle after bundle in search of the one name
+that I wanted, and still respect the privacy of the letters.
+My perseverance deserved a reward--and failed to get it. The name
+I wanted steadily eluded my search. Arriving at the upper shelf
+of the cabinet, I found it so high that I could barely reach it
+with my hand. Instead of getting more letters to look over,
+I pulled down two newspapers.
+
+One of them was an old copy of the _Times_, dating back as far as
+the 13th December, 1858. It was carefully folded, longwise, with
+the title-page uppermost. On the first column, at the left-hand
+side of the sheet, appeared the customary announcements
+of Births. A mark with a blue pencil, against one of the
+advertisements, attracted my attention. I read these lines:
+
+"On the 10th inst., the wife of the Rev. Abel Gracedieu, of
+a daughter."
+
+The second newspaper bore a later date, and contained nothing
+that interested me. I naturally assumed that the advertisement
+in the _Times_ had been inserted at the desire of Mrs. Gracedieu;
+and, after all that I had heard, there was little difficulty in
+attributing the curious omission of the place in which the child
+had been born to the caution of her husband. If Mrs. Tenbruggen
+(then Miss Chance) had happened to see the advertisement in the
+great London newspaper, Mr. Gracedieu might yet have good reason
+to congratulate himself on his prudent method of providing
+against mischievous curiosity.
+
+I turned toward the bed and looked at him. His eyes were closed.
+Was he sleeping? Or was he trying to remember what he had desired
+to say to me, when the demands which I made on his memory had
+obliged him to wait for a later opportunity?
+
+Either way, there was something that quickened my sympathies, in
+the spectacle of his helpless repose. It suggested to me personal
+reasons for his anxieties, which he had not mentioned, and which
+I had not thought of, up to this time. If the discovery that he
+dreaded took place, his household would be broken up, and his
+position as pastor would suffer in the estimation of the flock.
+His own daughter would refuse to live under the same roof with
+the daughter of an infamous woman. Popular opinion, among his
+congregation, judging a man who had passed off the child of
+other parents as his own, would find that man guilty of an act
+of deliberate deceit.
+
+Still oppressed by reflections which pointed to the future
+in this discouraging way, I was startled by a voice outside
+the door--a sweet, sad voice--saying, "May I come in?"
+
+The Minister's eyes opened instantly: he raised himself in
+his bed.
+
+"Eunice, at last!" he cried. "Let her in."
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+THE ADOPTED CHILD
+
+I opened the door.
+
+Eunice passed me with the suddenness almost of a flash of light.
+When I turned toward the bed, her arms were round her father's
+neck. "Oh, poor papa, how ill you look!" Commonplace expressions
+of fondness, and no more; but the tone gave them a charm that
+subdued me. Never had I felt so indulgent toward Mr. Gracedieu's
+unreasonable fears as when I saw him in the embrace of his
+adopted daughter. She had already reminded me of the bygone day
+when a bright little child had sat on my knee and listened to
+the ticking of my watch.
+
+The Minister gently lifted her head from his breast. "My
+darling," he said, "you don't see my old friend. Love him,
+and look up to him, Eunice. He will be your friend, too, when
+I am gone."
+
+She came to me and offered her cheek to be kissed. It was sadly
+pale, poor soul--and I could guess why. But her heart was now
+full of her father. "Do you think he is seriously ill?" she
+whispered. What I ought to have said I don't know. Her eyes,
+the sweetest, truest, loveliest eyes I ever saw in a human face,
+were pleading with me. Let my enemies make the worst of it, if
+they like--I did certainly lie. And if I deserved my punishment,
+I got it; the poor child believed me! "Now I am happier," she
+said, gratefully. "Only to hear your voice seems to encourage me.
+On our way here, Selina did nothing but talk of you. She told me
+I shouldn't have time to feel afraid of the great man; he would
+make me fond of him directly. I said, 'Are you fond of him?' She
+said, 'Madly in love with him, my dear.' My little friend really
+thinks you like her, and is very proud of it. There are some
+people who call her ugly. I hope you don't agree with them?"
+
+I believe I should have lied again, if Mr. Gracedieu had not
+called me to the bedside
+
+"How does she strike you?" he whispered, eagerly. "Is it too soon
+to ask if she shows her age in her face?"
+
+"Neither in her face nor her figure," I answered: "it astonishes
+me that you can ever have doubted it. No stranger, judging by
+personal appearance, could fail to make the mistake of thinking
+Helena the oldest of the two."
+
+He looked fondly at Eunice. "Her figure seems to bear out what
+you say," he went on. "Almost childish, isn't it?"
+
+I could not agree to that. Slim, supple, simply graceful in every
+movement, Eunice's figure, in the charm of first youth, only
+waited its perfect development. Most men, looking at her as she
+stood at the other end of the room with her back toward us, would
+have guessed her age to be sixteen.
+
+Finding that I failed to agree with him, Mr. Gracedieu's
+misgivings returned. "You speak very confidently," he said,
+"considering that you have not seen the girls together. Think
+what a dreadful blow it would be to me if you made a mistake."
+
+I declared, with perfect sincerity, that there was no fear
+of a mistake. The bare idea of making the proposed comparison
+was hateful to me. If Helena and I had happened to meet at that
+moment, I should have turned away from her by instinct--she would
+have disturbed my impressions of Eunice.
+
+The Minister signed to me to move a little nearer to him. "I must
+say it," he whispered, "and I am afraid of her hearing me.
+Is there anything in her face that reminds you of her miserable
+mother?"
+
+I had hardly patience to answer the question: it was simply
+preposterous. Her hair was by many shades darker than her
+mother's hair; her eyes were of a different color. There was
+an exquisite tenderness and sincerity in their expression--made
+additionally beautiful, to my mind, by a gentle, uncomplaining
+sadness. It was impossible even to think of the eyes of the
+murderess when I looked at her child. Eunice's lower features,
+again, had none of her mother's regularity of proportion. Her
+smile, simple and sweet, and soon passing away, was certainly not
+an inherited smile on the maternal side. Whether she resembled
+her father, I was unable to conjecture--having never seen him.
+The one thing certain was, that not the faintest trace,
+in feature or expression, of Eunice's mother was to be seen
+in Eunice herself. Of the two girls, Helena--judging by something
+in the color of her hair, and by something in the shade of her
+complexion--might possibly have suggested, in those particulars
+only, a purely accidental resemblance to my terrible prisoner
+of past times.
+
+The revival of Mr. Gracedieu's spirits indicated a temporary
+change only, and was already beginning to pass away. The eyes
+which had looked lovingly at Eunice began to look languidly now:
+his head sank on the pillow with a sigh of weak content.
+"My pleasure has been almost too much for me," he said. "Leave me
+for a while to rest, and get used to it."
+
+Eunice kissed his forehead--and we left the room.
+
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+
+THE BRUISED HEART.
+
+When we stepped out on the landing, I observed that my companion
+paused. She looked at the two flights of stairs below us before
+she descended them. It occurred to me that there must be somebody
+in the house whom she was anxious to avoid.
+
+Arrived at the lower hall, she paused again, and proposed in
+a whisper that we should go into the garden. As we advanced
+along the backward division of the hall, I saw her eyes turn
+distrustfully toward the door of the room in which Helena had
+received me. At last, my slow perceptions felt with her and
+understood her. Eunice's sensitive nature recoiled from a chance
+meeting with the wretch who had laid waste all that had once been
+happy and hopeful in that harmless young life.
+
+"Will you come with me to the part of the garden that I am
+fondest of?" she asked.
+
+I offered her my arm. She led me in silence to a rustic seat,
+placed under the shade of a mulberry tree. I saw a change in
+her face as we sat down--a tender and beautiful change. At that
+moment the girl's heart was far away from me. There was some
+association with this corner of the garden, on which I felt that
+I must not intrude.
+
+"I was once very happy here," she said. "When the time of the
+heartache came soon after, I was afraid to look at the old tree
+and the bench under it. But that is all over now. I like to
+remember the hours that were once dear to me, and to see
+the place that recalls them. Do you know who I am thinking of?
+Don't be afraid of distressing me. I never cry now."
+
+"My dear child, I have heard your sad story--but I can't trust
+myself to speak of it."
+
+"Because you are so sorry for me?"
+
+"No words can say how sorry I am!"
+
+"But you are not angry with Philip?"
+
+"Not angry! My poor dear, I am afraid to tell you how angry I am
+with him."
+
+"Oh, no! You mustn't say that. If you wish to be kind to me--and
+I am sure you do wish it--don't think bitterly of Philip."
+
+When I remember that the first feeling she roused in me was
+nothing worthier of a professing Christian than astonishment,
+I drop in my own estimation to the level of a savage. "Do you
+really mean," I was base enough to ask, "that you have forgiven
+him?"
+
+She said, gently: "How could I help forgiving him?"
+
+The man who could have been blessed with such love as this,
+and who could have cast it away from him, can have been nothing
+but an idiot. On that ground--though I dared not confess it
+to Eunice--I forgave him, too.
+
+"Do I surprise you?" she asked simply. "Perhaps love will bear
+any humiliation. Or perhaps I am only a poor weak creature. You
+don't know what a comfort it was to me to keep the few letters
+that I received from Philip. When I heard that he had gone away,
+I gave his letters the kiss that bade him good-by. That was
+the time, I think, when my poor bruised heart got used to
+the pain; I began to feel that there was one consolation still
+left for me--I might end in forgiving him. Why do I tell you all
+this? I think you must have bewitched me. Is this really
+the first time I have seen you?"
+
+She put her little trembling hand into mine; I lifted it to
+my lips, and kissed it. Sorely was I tempted to own that I had
+pitied and loved her in her infancy. It was almost on my lips to
+say: "I remember you an easily-pleased little creature, amusing
+yourself with the broken toys which were once the playthings
+of my own children." I believe I should have said it, if I could
+have trusted myself to speak composedly to her. This was not
+to be done. Old as I was, versed as I was in the hard knowledge
+of how to keep the mask on in the hour of need, this was not
+to be done.
+
+Still trying to understand that I was little better than
+a stranger to her, and still bent on finding the secret of
+the sympathy that united us, Eunice put a strange question to me.
+
+"When you were young yourself," she said, "did you know what it
+was to love, and to be loved--and then to lose it all?"
+
+It is not given to many men to marry the woman who has been
+the object of their first love. My early life had been darkened
+by a sad story; never confided to any living creature; banished
+resolutely from my own thoughts. For forty years past, that part
+of my buried self had lain quiet in its grave--and the chance
+touch of an innocent hand had raised the dead, and set us face
+to face again! Did I know what it was to love, and to be loved,
+and then to lose it all? "Too well, my child; too well!"
+
+That was all I could say to her. In the last days of my life, I
+shrank from speaking of it. When I had first felt that calamity,
+and had felt it most keenly, I might have given an answer
+worthier of me, and worthier of her.
+
+She dropped my hand, and sat by me in silence, thinking. Had
+I--without meaning it, God knows!--had I disappointed her?
+
+"Did you expect me to tell my own sad story," I said, "as frankly
+and as trustfully as you have told yours?"
+
+"Oh, don't think that! I know what an effort it was to you
+to answer me at all. Yes, indeed! I wonder whether I may ask
+something. The sorrow you have just told me of is not the only
+one--is it? You have had other troubles?"
+
+"Many of them."
+
+"There are times," she went on, "when one can't help thinking of
+one's own miserable self. I try to be cheerful, but those times
+come now and then."
+
+She stopped, and looked at me with a pale fear confessing itself
+in her face.
+
+"You know who Selina is?" she resumed. "My friend! The only
+friend I had, till you came here."
+
+I guessed that she was speaking of the quaint, kindly little
+woman, whose ugly surname had been hitherto the only name known
+to me.
+
+"Selina has, I daresay, told you that I have been ill," she
+continued, "and that I am staying in the country for the benefit
+of my health."
+
+It was plain that she had something to say to me, far more
+important than this, and that she was dwelling on trifles to gain
+time and courage. Hoping to help her, I dwelt on trifles, too;
+asking commonplace questions about the part of the country in
+which she was staying. She answered absently--then, little by
+little, impatiently. The one poor proof of kindness that I could
+offer, now, was to say no more.
+
+"Do you know what a strange creature I am?" she broke out. "Shall
+I make you angry with me? or shall I make you laugh at me? What
+I have shrunk from confessing to Selina--what I dare not confess
+to my father--I must, and will, confess to You."
+
+There was a look of horror in her face that alarmed me. I drew
+her to me so that she could rest her head on my shoulder. My own
+agitation threatened to get the better of me. For the first time
+since I had seen this sweet girl, I found myself thinking of the
+blood that ran in her veins, and of the nature of the mother who
+had borne her.
+
+"Did you notice how I behaved upstairs?" she said. "I mean when
+we left my father, and came out on the landing."
+
+It was easily recollected; I begged her to go on.
+
+"Before I went downstairs," she proceeded, "you saw me look
+and listen. Did you think I was afraid of meeting some person?
+and did you guess who it was I wanted to avoid?"
+
+"I guessed that--and I understood you."
+
+"No! You are not wicked enough to understand me. Will you do me
+a favor? I want you to look at me."
+
+It was said seriously. She lifted her head for a moment, so that
+I could examine her face.
+
+"Do you see anything," she asked, "which makes you fear that I am
+not in my right mind?"
+
+"Good God! how can you ask such a horrible question?
+
+She laid her head back on my shoulder with a sad little sigh of
+resignation. "I ought to have known better," she said; "there is
+no such easy way out of it as that. Tell me--is there one kind of
+wickedness more deceitful than another? Can it be hid in a person
+for years together, and show itself when a time of suffering--no;
+I mean when a sense of injury comes? Did you ever see that, when
+you were master in the prison?"
+
+I had seen it--and, after a moment's doubt, I said I had seen it.
+
+"Did you pity those poor wretches?"
+
+"Certainly! They deserved pity."
+
+"I am one of them!" she said. "Pity _me_. If Helena looks at
+me--if Helena speaks to me--if I only see Helena by accident--do
+you know what she does? She tempts me! Tempts me to do dreadful
+things! Tempts me--" The poor child threw her arms round my neck,
+and whispered the next fatal words in my ear.
+
+The mother! Prepared as I was for the accursed discovery,
+the horror of it shook me.
+
+She left me, and started to her feet. The inherited energy showed
+itself in furious protest against the inherited evil. "What does
+it mean?" she cried. "I'll submit to anything. I'll bear my hard
+lot patiently, if you will only tell me what it means. Where does
+this horrid transformation of me out of myself come from? Look at
+my good father. In all this world there is no man so perfect as
+he is. And oh, how he has taught me! there isn't a single good
+thing that I have not learned from him since I was a little
+child. Did you ever hear him speak of my mother? You must have
+heard him. My mother was an angel. I could never be worthy of
+her at my best--but I have tried! I have tried! The wickedest
+girl in the world doesn't have worse thoughts than the thoughts
+that have come to me. Since when? Since Helena--oh, how can
+I call her by her name as if I still loved her? Since my sister
+--can she be my sister, I ask myself sometimes! Since my enemy--
+there's the word for her--since my enemy took Philip away
+from me. What does it mean? I have asked in my prayers--and have
+got no answer. I ask you. What does it mean? You must tell me!
+You shall tell me! What does it mean?"
+
+Why did I not try to calm her? I had vainly tried to calm her--I
+who knew who her mother was, and what her mother had been.
+
+At last, she had forced the sense of my duty on me. The simplest
+way of calming her was to put her back in the place by my side
+that she had left. It was useless to reason with her, it was
+impossible to answer her. I had my own idea of the one way
+in which I might charm Eunice back to her sweeter self.
+
+"Let us talk of Philip," I said.
+
+The fierce flush on her face softened, the swelling trouble of
+her bosom began to subside, as that dearly-loved name passed my
+lips! But there was some influence left in her which resisted me.
+
+"No," she said; "we had better not talk of him."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"I have lost all my courage. If you speak of Philip, you will
+make me cry."
+
+I drew her nearer to me. If she had been my own child, I don't
+think I could have felt for her more truly than I felt at that
+moment. I only looked at her; I only said:
+
+"Cry!"
+
+The love that was in her heart rose, and poured its tenderness
+into her eyes. I had longed to see the tears that would comfort
+her. The tears came.
+
+There was silence between us for a while. It was possible for me
+to think.
+
+In the absence of physical resemblance between parent and child,
+is an unfavorable influence exercised on the tendency to moral
+resemblance? Assuming the possibility of such a result as this,
+Eunice (entirely unlike her mother) must, as I concluded,
+have been possessed of qualities formed to resist, as well as
+of qualities doomed to undergo, the infection of evil.
+While, therefore, I resigned myself to recognize the existence
+of the hereditary maternal taint, I firmly believed in
+the counterbalancing influences for good which had been part
+of the girl's birthright. They had been derived, perhaps,
+from the better qualities in her father's nature; they had been
+certainly developed by the tender care, the religious vigilance,
+which had guarded the adopted child so lovingly in the Minister's
+household; and they had served their purpose until time brought
+with it the change, for which the tranquil domestic influences
+were not prepared. With the great, the vital transformation,
+which marks the ripening of the girl into the woman's maturity
+of thought and passion, a new power for Good, strong enough
+to resist the latent power for Evil, sprang into being, and
+sheltered Eunice under the supremacy of Love. Love ill-fated
+and ill-bestowed--but love that no profanation could stain, that
+no hereditary evil could conquer--the True Love that had been,
+and was, and would be, the guardian angel of Eunice's life.
+
+If I am asked whether I have ventured to found this opinion on
+what I have observed in one instance only, I reply that I have
+had other opportunities of investigation, and that my conclusions
+are derived from experience which refers to more instances than
+one.
+
+No man in his senses can doubt that physical qualities are
+transmitted from parents to children. But inheritance of moral
+qualities is less easy to trace. Here, the exploring mind finds
+its progress beset by obstacles. That those obstacles have been
+sometimes overcome I do not deny. Moral resemblances have been
+traced between parents and children. While, however, I admit
+this, I doubt the conclusion which sees, in inheritance of moral
+qualities, a positive influence exercised on moral destiny. There
+are inherent emotional forces in humanity to which the inherited
+influences must submit; they are essentially influences under
+control--influences which can be encountered and forced back.
+That we, who inhabit this little planet, may be the doomed
+creatures of fatality, from the cradle to the grave, I am not
+prepared to dispute. But I absolutely refuse to believe that
+it is a fatality with no higher origin than can be found in
+our accidental obligation to our fathers and mothers.
+
+
+Still absorbed in these speculations, I was disturbed by a touch
+on my arm.
+
+I looked up. Eunice's eyes were fixed on a shrubbery, at some
+little distance from us, which closed the view of the garden on
+that side. I noticed that she was trembling. Nothing to alarm her
+was visible that I could discover. I asked what she had seen to
+startle her. She pointed to the shrubbery.
+
+"Look again," she said.
+
+This time I saw a woman's dress among the shrubs. The woman
+herself appeared in a moment more. It was Helena. She carried
+a small portfolio, and she approached us with a smile.
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI.
+
+THE WHISPERING VOICE.
+
+I looked at Eunice. She had risen, startled by her first
+suspicion of the person who was approaching us through
+the shrubbery; but she kept her place near me, only changing
+her position so as to avoid confronting Helena. Her quickened
+breathing was all that told me of the effort she was making
+to preserve her self-control.
+
+Entirely free from unbecoming signs of hurry and agitation,
+Helena opened her business with me by means of an apology.
+
+"Pray excuse me for disturbing you. I am obliged to leave the
+house on one of my tiresome domestic errands. If you will kindly
+permit it, I wish to express, before I go, my very sincere regret
+for what I was rude enough to say, when I last had the honor
+of seeing you. May I hope to be forgiven? How-do-you-do, Eunice?
+Have you enjoyed your holiday in the country?"
+
+Eunice neither moved nor answered. Having some doubt of what
+might happen if the two girls remained together, I proposed
+to Helena to leave the garden and to let me hear what she had
+to say, in the house.
+
+"Quite needless," she replied; "I shall not detain you for more
+than a minute. Please look at this."
+
+She offered to me the portfolio that she had been carrying, and
+pointed to a morsel of paper attached to it, which contained this
+inscription:
+
+
+"Philip's Letters To Me. Private. Helena Gracedieu."
+
+
+"I have a favor to ask," she said, "and a proof of confidence in
+you to offer. Will you be so good as to look over what you find
+in my portfolio? I am unwilling to give up the hopes that I had
+founded on our interview, when I asked for it. The letters will,
+I venture to think, plead my cause more convincingly than I was
+able to plead it for myself. I wish to forget what passed
+between us, to the last word. To the last word," she repeated
+emphatically--with a look which sufficiently informed me that
+I had not been betrayed to her father yet. "Will you indulge me?"
+she asked, and offered her portfolio for the second time.
+
+A more impudent bargain could not well have been proposed to me.
+
+I was to read, and to be favorably impressed by, Mr. Philip
+Dunboyne's letters; and Miss Helena was to say nothing of that
+unlucky slip of the tongue, relating to her mother, which she
+had discovered to be a serious act of self-betrayal--thanks to
+my confusion at the time. If I had not thought of Eunice, and
+of the desolate and loveless life to which the poor girl was
+so patiently resigned, I should have refused to read Miss
+Gracedieu's love-letters.
+
+But, as things were, I was influenced by the hope (innocently
+encouraged by Eunice herself) that Philip Dunboyne might not
+be so wholly unworthy of the sweet girl whom he had injured as
+I had hitherto been too hastily disposed to believe. To act on
+this view with the purpose of promoting a reconciliation was
+impossible, unless I had the means of forming a correct estimate
+of the man's character. It seemed to me that I had found the
+means. A fair chance of putting his sincerity to a trustworthy
+test, was surely offered by the letters (the confidential
+letters) which I had been requested to read. To feel this
+as strongly as I felt it, brought me at once to a decision.
+I consented to take the portfolio--on my own conditions.
+
+"Understand, Miss Helena," I said, "that I make no promises.
+I reserve my own opinion, and my own right of action."
+
+"I am not afraid of your opinions or your actions," she answered
+confidently, "if you will only read the letters. In the meantime,
+let me relieve my sister, there, of my presence. I hope you will
+soon recover, Eunice, in the country air."
+
+If the object of the wretch was to exasperate her victim, she had
+completely failed. Eunice remained as still as a statue. To all
+appearance, she had not even heard what had been said to her.
+Helena looked at me, and touched her forehead with a significant
+smile. "Sad, isn't it?" she said--and bowed, and went briskly
+away on her household errand.
+
+We were alone again.
+
+Still, Eunice never moved. I spoke to her, and produced no
+impression. Beginning to feel alarmed, I tried the effect
+of touching her. With a wild cry, she started into a state
+of animation. Almost at the same moment, she weakly swayed
+to and fro as if the pleasant breeze in the garden moved her
+at its will, like the flowers. I held her up, and led her to
+the seat.  
+
+"There is nothing to be afraid of," I said. "She has gone."
+
+Eunice's eyes rested on me in vacant surprise. "How do you know?"
+she asked. "I hear her; but I never see her. Do you see her?"
+
+"My dear child! of what person are you speaking?"
+
+She answered: "Of no person. I am speaking of a Voice that
+whispers and tempts me, when Helena is near."
+
+"What voice, Eunice?"
+
+"The whispering Voice. It said to me, 'I am your mother;'
+it called me Daughter when I first heard it. My father speaks
+of my mother, the angel. That good spirit has never come to me
+from the better world. It is a mock-mother who comes to me--some
+spirit of evil. Listen to this. I was awake in my bed. In
+the dark I heard the mock-mother whispering, close at my ear.
+Shall I tell you how she answered me, when I longed for light
+to see her by, when I prayed to her to show herself to me? She
+said: 'My face was hidden when I passed from life to death;
+my face no mortal creature may see.' I have never seen her--how
+can _you_ have seen her? But I heard her again, just now. She
+whispered to me when Helena was standing there--where you are
+standing. She freezes the life in me. Did she freeze the life
+in _you?_ Did you hear her tempting me? Don't speak of it, if
+you did. Oh, not a word! not a word!"
+
+A man who has governed a prison may say with Macbeth, "I have
+supped full with horrors." Hardened as I was--or ought to have
+been--the effect of what I had just heard turned me cold.
+If I had not known it to be absolutely impossible, I might have
+believed that the crime and the death of the murderess were known
+to Eunice, as being the crime and the death of her mother, and
+that the horrid discovery had turned her brain. This was simply
+impossible. What did it mean? Good God! what did it mean?
+
+My sense of my own helplessness was the first sense in me that
+recovered. I thought of Eunice's devoted little friend. A woman's
+sympathy seemed to be needed now. I rose to lead the way out of
+the garden.
+
+"Selina will think we are lost," I said. "Let us go and find
+Selina."
+
+"Not for the world," she cried.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because I don't feel sure of myself. I might tell Selina
+something which she must never know; I should be so sorry
+to frighten her. Let me stop here with you."
+
+I resumed my place at her side.
+
+"Let me take your hand."
+
+I gave her my hand. What composing influence this simple act may,
+or may not, have exercised, it is impossible to say. She was
+quiet, she was silent. After an interval, I heard her breathe
+a long-drawn sigh of relief.
+
+"I am afraid I have surprised you," she said. "Helena brings
+the dreadful time back to me--" She stopped and shuddered.
+
+"Don't speak of Helena, my dear."
+
+"But I am afraid you will think--because I have said strange
+things--that I have been talking at random," she insisted.
+"The doctor will say that, if you meet with him. He believes I am
+deluded by a dream. I tried to think so myself. It was of no use;
+I am quite sure he is wrong."
+
+I privately determined to watch for the doctor's arrival, and
+to consult with him. Eunice went on:
+
+"I have the story of a terrible night to tell you; but I haven't
+the courage to tell it now. Why shouldn't you come back with me
+to the place that I am staying at? A pleasant farm-house, and
+such kind people. You might read the account of that night in
+my journal. I shall not regret the misery of having written it,
+if it helps you to find out how this hateful second self of mine
+has come to me. Hush! I want to ask you something. Do you think
+Helena is in the house?"
+
+"No--she has gone out."
+
+"Did she say that herself? Are you sure?"
+
+"Quite sure."
+
+She decided on going back to the farm, while Helena was out
+of the way. We left the garden together. For the first time,
+my companion noticed the portfolio. I happened to be carrying it
+in the hand that was nearest to her, as she walked by my side.
+
+"Where did you get that?" she asked.
+
+It was needless to reply in words. My hesitation spoke for me.
+
+"Carry it in your other hand," she said--"the hand that's
+furthest away from me. I don't want to see it! Do you mind
+waiting a moment while I find Selina? You will go to the farm
+with us, won't you?"
+
+I had to look over the letters, in Eunice's own interests;
+and I begged her to let me defer my visit to the farm until
+the next day. She consented, after making me promise to keep
+my appointment. It was of some importance to her, she told me,
+that I should make acquaintance with the farmer and his wife and
+children, and tell her how I liked them. Her plans for the future
+depended on what those good people might be willing to do. When
+she had recovered her health, it was impossible for her to go
+home again while Helena remained in the house. She had resolved
+to earn her own living, if she could get employment as
+a governess. The farmer's children liked her; she had already
+helped their mother in teaching them; and there was reason
+to hope that their father would see his way to employing her
+permanently. His house offered the great advantage of being near
+enough to the town to enable her to hear news of the Minister's
+progress toward recovery, and to see him herself when safe
+opportunities offered, from time to time. As for her salary,
+what did she care about money? Anything would be acceptable,
+if the good man would only realize her hopes for the future.
+
+It was disheartening to hear that hope, at her age, began and
+ended within such narrow limits as these. No prudent man would
+have tried to persuade her, as I now did, that the idea of
+reconciliation offered the better hope of the two.
+
+"Suppose I see Mr. Philip Dunboyne when I go back to London,"
+I began, "what shall I say to him?"
+
+"Say I have forgiven him."
+
+"And suppose," I went on, "that the blame really rests, where you
+all believe it to rest, with Helena. If that young man returns
+to you, truly ashamed of himself, truly penitent, will you--?"
+
+She resolutely interrupted me: "No!"
+
+"Oh, Eunice, you surely mean Yes?"
+
+"I mean No!"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Don't ask me! Good-by till to-morrow."
+
+
+CHAPTER XLII.
+
+THE QUAINT PHILOSOPHER.
+
+No person came to my room, and nothing happened to interrupt me
+while I was reading Mr. Philip Dunboyne's letters.
+
+One of them, let me say at once, produced a very disagreeable
+impression on me. I have unexpectedly discovered Mrs. Tenbruggen
+--in a postscript. She is making a living as a Medical Rubber
+(or Masseuse), and is in professional attendance on Mr. Dunboyne
+the elder. More of this, a little further on.
+
+Having gone through the whole collection of young Dunboyne's
+letters, I set myself to review the differing conclusions which
+the correspondence had produced on my mind.
+
+I call the papers submitted to me a correspondence, because
+the greater part of Philip's letters exhibit notes in pencil,
+evidently added by Helena. These express, for the most part,
+the interpretation which she had placed on passages that
+perplexed or displeased her; and they have, as Philip's
+rejoinders show, been employed as materials when she wrote
+her replies.
+
+On reflection, I find myself troubled by complexities and
+contradictions in the view presented of this young man's
+character. To decide positively whether I can justify to myself
+and to my regard for Eunice, an attempt to reunite the lovers,
+requires more time for consideration than I can reasonably expect
+that Helena's patience will allow. Having a quiet hour or two
+still before me, I have determined to make extracts from the
+letters for my own use; with the intention of referring to them
+while I am still in doubt which way my decision ought to incline.
+I shall present them here, to speak for themselves. Is there any
+objection to this? None that I can see.
+
+In the first place, those extracts have a value of their own.
+They add necessary information to the present history of events.
+
+In the second place, I am under no obligation to Mr. Gracedieu's
+daughter which forbids me to make use of her portfolio. I told
+her that I only consented to receive it, under reserve of my own
+right of action--and her assent to that stipulation was expressed
+in the clearest terms.
+
+
+EXTRACTS FROM MR. PHILIP DUNBOYNE'S LETTERS.
+
+First Extract.
+
+You blame me, dear Helena, for not having paid proper attention
+to the questions put to me in your last letter. I have only been
+waiting to make up my mind, before I replied.
+
+First question: Do I think it advisable that you should write
+to my father? No, my dear; I beg you will defer writing, until
+you hear from me again.
+
+Second question: Considering that he is still a stranger to you,
+is there any harm in your asking me what sort of man my father
+is? No harm, my sweet one; but, as you will presently see, I am
+afraid you have addressed yourself to the wrong person.
+
+My father is kind, in his own odd way--and learned, and rich--
+a more high-minded and honorable man (as I have every reason
+to believe) doesn't live. But if you ask me which he prefers,
+his books or his son, I hope I do him no injustice when I answer,
+his books. His reading and his writing are obstacles between us
+which I have never been able to overcome. This is the more to be
+regretted because he is charming, on the few occasions when
+I find him disengaged. If you wish I knew more about my father,
+we are in complete agreement as usual--I wish, too.
+
+But there is a dear friend of yours and mine, who is just
+the person we want to help us. Need I say that I allude to
+Mrs. Staveley?
+
+I called on her yesterday, not long after she had paid a visit
+to my father. Luck had favored her. She arrived just at the time
+when hunger had obliged him to shut up his books, and ring for
+something to eat. Mrs. Staveley secured a favorable reception
+with her customary tact and delicacy. He had a fowl for his
+dinner. She knows his weakness of old; she volunteered to carve
+it for him.
+
+If I can only repeat what this clever woman told me of their
+talk, you will have a portrait of Mr. Dunboyne the elder--not
+perhaps a highly-finished picture, but, as I hope and believe,
+a good likeness.
+
+Mrs. Staveley began by complaining to him of the conduct of
+his son. I had promised to write to her, and I had never kept
+my word. She had reasons for being especially interested in
+my plans and prospects, just then; knowing me to be attached
+(please take notice that I am quoting her own language) to
+a charming friend of hers, whom I had first met at her house.
+To aggravate the disappointment that I had inflicted, the young
+lady had neglected her, too. No letters, no information. Perhaps
+my father would kindly enlighten her? Was the affair going on?
+or was it broken off?
+
+My father held out his plate and asked for the other wing of
+the fowl. "It isn't a bad one for London," he said; "won't you
+have some yourself?"
+
+"I don't seem to have interested you," Mrs. Staveley remarked.
+
+"What did you expect me to be interested in?" my father
+inquired.  "I was absorbed in the fowl. Favor me by returning
+to the subject."
+
+Mrs. Staveley admits that she answered this rather sharply:
+"The subject, sir, was your son's admiration for a charming girl:
+one of the daughters of Mr. Gracedieu, the famous preacher."
+
+My father is too well-bred to speak to a lady while his attention
+is absorbed by a fowl. He finished the second wing, and then
+he asked if "Philip was engaged to be married."
+
+"I am not quite sure," Mrs. Staveley confessed.
+
+"Then, my dear friend, we will wait till we _are_ sure."
+
+"But, Mr. Dunboyne, there is really no need to wait. I suppose
+your son comes here, now and then, to see you?"
+
+"My son is most attentive. In course of time he will contrive
+to hit on the right hour for his visit. At present, poor fellow,
+he interrupts me every day."
+
+"Suppose he hits upon the right time to-morrow?"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"You might ask him if he is engaged?"
+
+"Pardon me. I think I might wait till Philip mentions it without
+asking."
+
+"What an extraordinary man you are!"
+
+"Oh, no, no--only a philosopher."
+
+This tried Mrs. Staveley's temper. You know what a perfectly
+candid person our friend is. She owned to me that she felt
+inclined to make herself disagreeable. "That's thrown away
+upon me," she said: "I don't know what a philosopher is."
+
+Let me pause for a moment, dear Helena. I have inexcusably
+forgotten to speak of my father's personal appearance. It won't
+take long. I need only notice one interesting feature which,
+so to speak, lifts his face out of the common. He has an eloquent
+nose. Persons possessing this rare advantage are blest
+with powers of expression not granted to their ordinary
+fellow-creatures. My father's nose is a mine of information
+to friends familiarly acquainted with it. It changes color like
+a modest young lady's cheek. It works flexibly from side to side
+like the rudder of a ship. On the present occasion, Mrs. Staveley
+saw it shift toward the left-hand side of his face. A sigh
+escaped the poor lady. Experience told her that my father was
+going to hold forth.
+
+"You don't know what a philosopher is!" he repeated. "Be so kind
+as to look at me. I am a philosopher."
+
+Mrs. Staveley bowed.
+
+"And a philosopher, my charming friend, is a man who has
+discovered a system of life. Some systems assert themselves
+in volumes--_my_ system asserts itself in two words: Never think
+of anything until you have first asked yourself if there is
+an absolute necessity for doing it, at that particular moment.
+Thinking of things, when things needn't be thought of, is
+offering an opportunity to Worry; and Worry is the favorite agent
+of Death when the destroyer handles his work in a lingering way,
+and achieves premature results. Never look back, and never look
+forward, as long as you can possibly help it. Looking back leads
+the way to sorrow. And looking forward ends in the cruelest
+of all delusions: it encourages hope. The present time is
+the precious time. Live for the passing day: the passing day
+is all that we can be sure of. You suggested, just now, that
+I should ask my son if he was engaged to be married. How do we
+know what wear and tear of your nervous texture I succeeded
+in saving when I said. 'Wait till Philip mentions it without
+asking?' There is the personal application of my system.
+I have explained it in my time to every woman on the list of
+my acquaintance, including the female servants. Not one of them
+has rewarded me by adopting my system. How do you feel about it?"
+
+Mrs. Staveley declined to tell me whether she had offered
+a bright example of gratitude to the rest of the sex. When
+I asked why, she declared that it was my turn now to tell her
+what I had been doing.
+
+You will anticipate what followed. She objected to the mystery in
+which my prospects seemed to be involved. In plain English, was
+I, or was I not, engaged to marry her dear Eunice? I said, No.
+What else could I say? If I had told Mrs. Staveley the truth,
+when she insisted on my explaining myself, she would have gone
+back to my father, and would have appealed to his sense of
+justice to forbid our marriage. Finding me obstinately silent,
+she has decided on writing to Eunice. So we parted. But don't
+be disheartened. On my way out of the house, I met Mr. Staveley
+coming in, and had a little talk with him. He and his wife and
+his family are going to the seaside, next week. Mrs. Staveley
+once out of our way, I can tell my father of our engagement
+without any fear of consequences. If she writes to him, the
+moment he sees my name mentioned, and finds violent language
+associated with it, he will hand the letter to me. "Your
+business, Philip: don't interrupt me." He will say that, and
+go back to his books. There is my father, painted to the life!
+Farewell, for the present.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+Remarks by H. G.--Philip's grace and gayety of style might be
+envied by any professional Author. He amuses me, but he rouses my
+suspicion at the same time. This slippery lover of mine tells me
+to defer writing to his father, and gives no reason for offering
+that strange advice to the young lady who is soon to be a member
+of the family. Is this merely one more instance of the weakness
+of his character? Or, now that he is away from my influence,
+is he beginning to regret Eunice already?
+
+Added by the Governor.--I too have my doubts. Is the flippant
+nonsense which Philip has written inspired by the effervescent
+good spirits of a happy young man? Or is it assumed for
+a purpose? In this latter case, I should gladly conclude that
+he was regarding his conduct to Eunice with becoming emotions
+of sorrow and shame.
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIII.
+
+THE MASTERFUL MASSEUSE.
+
+My next quotations will suffer a process of abridgment. I intend
+them to present the substance of three letters, reduced as
+follows:
+
+
+Second Extract.
+
+Weak as he may be, Mr. Philip Dunboyne shows (in his second
+letter) that he can feel resentment, and that he can express
+his feelings, in replying to Miss Helena. He protests against
+suspicions which he has not deserved. That he does sometimes
+think of Eunice he sees no reason to deny. He is conscious of
+errors and misdeeds, which--traceable as they are to Helena's
+irresistible fascinations--may perhaps be considered rather his
+misfortune than his fault. Be that as it may, he does indeed feel
+anxious to hear good accounts of Eunice's health. If this honest
+avowal excites her sister's jealousy, he will be disappointed
+in Helena for the first time.
+
+His third letter shows that this exhibition of spirit has had
+its effect.
+
+The imperious young lady regrets that she has hurt his feelings,
+and is rewarded for the apology by receiving news of the most
+gratifying kind. Faithful Philip has told his father that he
+is engaged to be married to Miss Helena Gracedieu, daughter of
+the celebrated Congregational preacher--and so on, and so on. Has
+Mr. Dunboyne the elder expressed any objection to the young lady?
+Certainly not! He knows nothing of the other engagement to
+Eunice; and he merely objects, on principle, to looking forward.
+"How do we know," says the philosopher, "what accidents may
+happen, or what doubts and hesitations may yet turn up? I am not
+to burden my mind in this matter, till I know that I must do it.
+Let me hear when she is ready to go to church, and I will be
+ready with the settlements. My compliments to Miss and her papa,
+and let us wait a little." Dearest Helena--isn't he funny?
+
+The next letter has been already mentioned.
+
+In this there occurs the first startling reference to Mrs.
+Tenbruggen, by name. She is in London, finding her way to
+lucrative celebrity by twisting, turning, and pinching the flesh
+of credulous persons, afflicted with nervous disorders; and she
+has already paid a few medical visits to old Mr. Dunboyne. He
+persists in poring over his books while Mrs. Tenbruggen operates,
+sometimes on his cramped right hand, sometimes (in the fear that
+his brain may have something to do with it) on the back of
+his neck. One of them frowns over her rubbing, and the other
+frowns over his reading. It would be delightfully ridiculous,
+but for a drawback; Mr. Philip Dunboyne's first impressions
+of Mrs. Tenbruggen do not incline him to look at that lady from
+a humorous point of view.
+
+Helena's remarks follow, as usual. She has seen Mrs. Tenbruggen's
+name on the address of a letter written by Miss Jillgall--which
+is quite enough to condemn Mrs. Tenbruggen. As for Philip
+himself, she feels not quite sure of him, even yet. No more do I.
+
+Third Extract.
+
+The letter that follows must be permitted to speak for itself:
+
+I have flown into a passion, dearest Helena; and I am afraid
+I shall make you fly into a passion, too. Blame Mrs. Tenbruggen;
+don't blame me.
+
+On the first occasion when I found my father under the hands
+of the Medical Rubber, she took no notice of me. On the second
+occasion--when she had been in daily attendance on him for
+a week, at an exorbitant fee--she said in the coolest manner:
+"Who is this young gentleman?" My father laid down his book,
+for a moment only: "Don't interrupt me again, ma'am. The young
+gentleman is my son Philip." Mrs. Tenbruggen eyed me with
+an appearance of interest which I was at a loss to account for.
+I hate an impudent woman. My visit came suddenly to an end.
+
+The next time I saw my father, he was alone.
+
+I asked him how he got on with Mrs. Tenbruggen. As badly as
+possible, it appeared. "She takes liberties with my neck; she
+interrupts me in my reading; and she does me no good. I shall
+end, Philip, in applying a medical rubbing to Mrs. Tenbruggen."
+
+A few days later, I found the masterful "Masseuse" torturing the
+poor old gentleman's muscles again. She had the audacity to say
+to me: "Well, Mr. Philip, when are you going to marry Miss Eunice
+Gracedieu?" My father looked up. "Eunice?" he repeated. "When my
+son told me he was engaged to Miss Gracedieu, he said 'Helena'!
+Philip, what does this mean?" Mrs. Tenbruggen was so obliging as
+to answer for me. "Some mistake, sir; it's Eunice he is engaged
+to." I confess I forgot myself. "How the devil do you know that?"
+I burst out. Mrs. Tenbruggen ignored me and my language. "I am
+sorry to see, sir, that your son's education has been neglected;
+he seems to be grossly ignorant of the laws of politeness."
+"Never mind the laws of politeness," says my father. "You appear
+to be better acquainted with my son's matrimonial prospects than
+he is himself. How is that?" Mrs. Tenbruggen favored him with
+another ready reply: "My authority is a letter, addressed to me
+by a relative of Mr. Gracedieu--my dear and intimate friend, Miss
+Jillgall." My father's keen eyes traveled backward and forward
+between his female surgeon and his son. "Which am I to believe?"
+he inquired. "I am surprised at your asking the question,"
+I said. Mrs. Tenbruggen pointed to me. "Look at Mr. Philip,
+sir--and you will allow him one merit. He is capable of showing
+it, when he knows he has disgraced himself." Without intending
+it, I am sure, my father infuriated me; he looked as if he
+believed her. Out came one of the smallest and strongest words
+in the English language before I could stop it: "Mrs. Tenbruggen,
+you lie!" The illustrious Rubber dropped my father's hand--she
+had been operating on him all the time--and showed us that
+she could assert her dignity when circumstances called for
+the exertion: "Either your son or I, sir, must leave the room.
+Which is it to be?" She met her match in my father. Walking
+quietly to the door, he opened it for Mrs. Tenbruggen with a low
+bow. She stopped on her way out, and delivered her parting words:
+"Messieurs Dunboyne, father and son, I keep my temper, and
+merely regard you as a couple of blackguards." With that pretty
+assertion of her opinion, she left us.
+
+When we were alone, there was but one course to take; I made my
+confession. It is impossible to tell you how my father received
+it--for he sat down at his library table with his back to me.
+The first thing he did was to ask me to help his memory.
+
+"Did you say that the father of these girls was a parson?"
+
+"Yes--a Congregational Minister."
+
+"What does the Minister think of you?"
+
+"I don't know, sir."
+
+"Find out."
+
+That was all; not another word could I extract from him. I don't
+pretend to have discovered what he really has in his mind. I only
+venture on a suggestion. If there is any old friend in your town,
+who has some influence over your father, leave no means untried
+of getting that friend to say a kind word for us. And then ask
+your father to write to mine. This is, as I see it, our only
+chance.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+There the letter ends. Helena's notes on it show that her pride
+is fiercely interested in securing Philip as a husband.
+Her victory over poor Eunice will, as she plainly intimates,
+be only complete when she is married to young Dunboyne. For
+the rest, her desperate resolution to win her way to my good
+graces is sufficiently intelligible, now.
+
+My own impressions vary. Philip rather gains upon me; he appears
+to have some capacity for feeling ashamed of himself. On
+the other hand, I regard the discovery of an intimate friendship
+existing between Mrs. Tenbruggen and Miss Jillgall with
+the gloomiest views. Is this formidable Masseuse likely to ply
+her trade in the country towns? And is it possible that she may
+come to this town? God forbid!
+
+
+Of the other letters in the collection, I need take no special
+notice. I returned the whole correspondence to Helena, and waited
+to hear from her.
+
+The one recent event in Mr. Gracedieu's family, worthy of record,
+is of a melancholy nature. After paying his visit to-day,
+the doctor has left word that nobody but the nurse is to go near
+the Minister. This seems to indicate, but too surely, a change
+for the worse.
+
+Helena has been away all the evening at the Girls' School.
+She left a little note, informing me of her wishes: "I shall
+expect to be favored with your decision to-morrow morning,
+in my housekeeping room."
+
+At breakfast time, the report of the poor Minister was still
+discouraging. I noticed that Helena was absent from the table.
+Miss Jillgall suspected that the cause was bad news from Mr.
+Philip Dunboyne, arriving by that morning's post. "If you will
+excuse the use of strong language by a lady," she said, "Helena
+looked perfectly devilish when she opened the letter. She rushed
+away, and locked herself up in her own shabby room. A serious
+obstacle, as I suspect, in the way of her marriage. Cheering,
+isn't it?" As usual, good Selina expressed her sentiments
+without reserve.
+
+I had to keep my appointment; and the sooner Helena Gracedieu
+and I understood each other the better.
+
+I knocked at the door. It was loudly unlocked, and violently
+thrown open. Helena's temper had risen to boiling heat; she
+stammered with rage when she spoke to me.
+
+"I mean to come to the point at once," she said.
+
+"I am glad to hear it, Miss Helena."
+
+"May I count on your influence to help me? I want a positive
+answer."
+
+I gave her what she wanted. I said: "Certainly not."
+
+She took a crumpled letter from her pocket, opened it, and
+smoothed it out on the table with a blow of her open hand.
+
+"Look at that," she said.
+
+I looked. It was the letter addressed to Mr. Dunboyne the elder,
+which I had written for Mr. Gracedieu--with the one object
+of preventing Helena's marriage.
+
+"Of course, I can depend on you to tell me the truth?"
+she continued.
+
+"Without fear or favor," I answered, "you may depend on _that_."
+
+"The signature to the letter, Mr. Governor, is written by
+my father. But the letter itself is in a different hand. Do you,
+by any chance, recognize the writing?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"Whose writing is it?"
+
+"Mine."
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIV.
+
+THE RESURRECTION OF THE PAST.
+
+After having identified my handwriting, I waited with some
+curiosity to see whether Helena would let her anger honestly show
+itself, or whether she would keep it down. She kept it down.
+
+"Allow me to return good for evil." (The evil was uppermost,
+nevertheless, when Miss Gracedieu expressed herself in these
+self-denying terms.) "You are no doubt anxious to know if
+Philip's father has been won over to serve your purpose. Here is
+Philip's own account of it: the last of his letters that I shall
+trouble you to read."
+
+I looked it over. The memorandum follows which I made for
+my own use:
+
+An eccentric philosopher is as capable as the most commonplace
+human being in existence of behaving like an honorable man.
+Mr. Dunboyne read the letter which bore the Minister's signature,
+and handed it to his son. "Can you answer that?" was all he said.
+Philip's silence confessed that he was unable to answer it--and
+Philip himself, I may add, rose accordingly in my estimation.
+His father pointed to the writing-desk. "I must spare my cramped
+hand," the philosopher resumed, "and I must answer Mr.
+Gracedieu's letter. Write, and leave a place for my signature."
+He began to dictate his reply. "Sir--My son Philip has seen your
+letter, and has no defense to make. In this respect he has set an
+example of candor which I propose to follow. There is no excuse
+for him. What I can do to show that I feel for you, and agree
+with you, shall be done. At the age which this young man has
+reached, the laws of England abolish the authority of his father.
+If he is sufficiently infatuated to place his honor and his
+happiness at the mercy of a lady, who has behaved to her sister
+as your daughter has behaved to Miss Eunice, I warn the married
+couple not to expect a farthing of my money, either during
+my lifetime or after my death. Your faithful servant, DUNBOYNE,
+SENIOR." Having performed his duty as secretary, Philip received
+his dismissal: "You may send my reply to the post," his father
+said; "and you may keep Mr. Gracedieu's letter. Morally speaking,
+I regard that last document as a species of mirror, in which
+a young gentleman like yourself may see how ugly he looks."
+This, Philip declared, was his father's form of farewell.
+
+I handed back the letter to Helena. Not a word passed between us.
+In sinister silence she opened the door and left me alone in
+the room.
+
+That Mrs. Gracedieu and I had met in the bygone time, and--this
+was the only serious part of it--had met in secret, would now
+be made known to the Minister. Was I to blame for having shrunk
+from distressing my good friend, by telling him that his wife
+had privately consulted me on the means of removing his adopted
+child from his house? And, even if I had been cruel enough to
+do this, would he have believed my statement against the positive
+denial with which the woman whom he loved and trusted would
+have certainly met it? No! let the consequences of the coming
+disclosure be what they might, I failed to see any valid reason
+for regretting my conduct in the past time.
+
+I found Miss Jillgall waiting in the passage to see me come out.
+
+Before I could tell her what had happened, there was a ring
+at the house-bell. The visitor proved to be Mr. Wellwood,
+the doctor. I was anxious to speak to him on the subject of
+Mr. Gracedieu's health. Miss Jillgall introduced me, as an
+old and dear friend of the Minister, and left us together in
+the dining-room.
+
+"What do I think of Mr. Gracedieu?" he said, repeating the first
+question that I put. "Well, sir, I think badly of him."
+
+Entering into details, after that ominous reply, Mr. Wellwood
+did not hesitate to say that his patient's nerves were completely
+shattered. Disease of the brain had, as he feared, been already
+set up. "As to the causes which have produced this lamentable
+break-down," the doctor continued, "Mr. Gracedieu has been
+in the habit of preaching extempore twice a day on Sundays, and
+sometimes in the week as well--and has uniformly refused to spare
+himself when he was in most urgent need of rest. If you have
+ever attended his chapel, you have seen a man in a state of fiery
+enthusiasm, feeling intensely every word that he utters. Think of
+such exhaustion as that implies going on for years together, and
+accumulating its wasting influences on a sensitively organized
+constitution. Add that he is tormented by personal anxieties,
+which he confesses to no one, not even to his own children and
+the sum of it all is that a worse case of its kind, I am grieved
+to say, has never occurred in my experience."
+
+Before the doctor left me to go to his patient, I asked leave
+to occupy a minute more of his time. My object was, of course,
+to speak about Eunice.
+
+The change of subject seemed to be agreeable to Mr. Wellwood.
+He smiled good-humoredly.
+
+"You need feel no alarm about the health of that interesting
+girl," he said. "When she complained to me--at her age!--of not
+being able to sleep, I should have taken it more seriously if
+I had been told that she too had her troubles, poor little soul.
+Love-troubles, most likely--but don't forget that my professional
+limits keep me in the dark! Have you heard that she took some
+composing medicine, which I had prescribed for her father?
+The effect (certain, in any case, to be injurious to a young
+girl) was considerably aggravated by the state of her mind at
+the time. A dream that frightened her, and something resembling
+delirium, seems to have followed. And she made matters worse,
+poor child, by writing in her diary about the visions and
+supernatural appearances that had terrified her. I was afraid
+of fever, on the day when they first sent for me. We escaped
+that complication, and I was at liberty to try the best of all
+remedies--quiet and change of air. I have no fears for
+Miss Eunice."
+
+With that cheering reply he went up to the Minister's room.
+
+All that I had found perplexing in Eunice was now made clear.
+I understood how her agony at the loss of her lover, and her keen
+sense of the wrong that she had suffered, had been strengthened
+in their disastrous influence by her experiment on the sleeping
+draught intended for her father. In mind and body, both, the poor
+girl was in the condition which offered its opportunity to
+the lurking hereditary taint. It was terrible to think of what
+might have happened, if the all-powerful counter-influence had
+not been present to save her.
+
+Before I had been long alone the servant-maid came in, and said
+the doctor wanted to see me.
+
+Mr. Wellwood was waiting in the passage, outside the Minister's
+bedchamber. He asked if he could speak to me without
+interruption, and without the fear of being overheard. I led him
+at once to the room which I occupied as a guest.
+
+"At the very time when it is most important to keep Mr. Gracedieu
+quiet," he said, "something has happened to excite--I might
+almost say to infuriate him. He has left his bed, and is walking
+up and down the room; and, I don't scruple to say, he is on
+the verge of madness. He insists on seeing you. Being wholly
+unable to control him in any other way, I have consented to
+this.  But I must not allow you to place yourself in what may be
+a disagreeable position, without a word of warning. Judging by
+his tones and his looks, he seems to have no very friendly motive
+for wishing to see you."
+
+Knowing perfectly well what had happened, and being one of those
+impatient people who can never endure suspense--I offered to go
+at once to Mr. Gracedieu's room. The doctor asked leave to say
+one word more.
+
+"Pray be careful that you neither say nor do anything to thwart
+him," Mr. Wellwood resumed. "If he expresses an opinion, agree
+with him. If he is insolent and overbearing, don't answer him.
+In the state of his brain, the one hopeful course to take is to
+let him have his own way. Pray remember that. I will be within
+call, in case of your wanting me."
+
+
+CHAPTER XLV.
+
+THE FATAL PORTRAIT.
+
+I knocked at the bedroom door.
+
+"Who's there?"
+
+Only two words--but the voice that uttered them, hoarse and
+peremptory, was altered almost beyond recognition. If I had
+not known whose room it was, I might have doubted whether
+the Minister had really spoken to me.
+
+At the instant when I answered him, I was allowed to pass in.
+Having admitted me, he closed the door, and placed himself
+with his back against it. The customary pallor of his face had
+darkened to a deep red; there was an expression of ferocious
+mockery in his eyes. Helena's vengeance had hurt her unhappy
+father far more severely than it seemed likely to hurt me. The
+doctor had said he was on the verge of madness. To my thinking,
+he had already passed the boundary line.
+
+He received me with a boisterous affectation of cordiality.
+
+"My excellent friend! My admirable, honorable, welcome guest,
+you don't know how glad I am to see you. Stand a little nearer
+to the light; I want to admire you."
+
+Remembering the doctor's advice, I obeyed him in silence.
+
+"Ah, you were a handsome fellow when I first knew you," he said,
+"and you have some remains of it still left. Do you remember the
+time when you were a favorite with the ladies? Oh, don't pretend
+to be modest; don't turn your back, now you are old, on what you
+were in the prime of your life. Do you own that I am right?"
+
+What his object might be in saying this--if, indeed, he had
+an object--it was impossible to guess. The doctor's advice left
+me no alternative; I hastened to own that he was right. As I made
+that answer, I observed that he held something in his hand which
+was half hidden up the sleeve of his dressing-gown. What
+the nature of the object was I failed to discover.
+
+"And when I happened to speak of you somewhere," he went on,
+"I forget where--a member of my congregation--I don't recollect
+who it was--told me you were connected with the aristocracy.
+How were you connected?"
+
+He surprised me; but, however he had got his information, he
+had not been deceived. I told him that I was connected, through
+my mother, with the family to which he had alluded.
+
+"The aristocracy!" he repeated. "A race of people who are rich
+without earning their money, and noble because their
+great-grandfathers were noble before them. They live in idleness
+and luxury--profligates who gratify their passions without shame
+and without remorse. Deny, if you dare, that this is a true
+description of them."
+
+It was really pitiable. Heartily sorry for him, I pacified him
+again.
+
+"And don't suppose I forget that you are one of them. Do you hear
+me, my noble friend?"
+
+There was no help for it--I made another conciliatory reply.
+
+"So far," he resumed, "I don't complain of you. You have not
+attempted to deceive me--yet. Absolute silence is what I require
+next. Though you may not suspect it, my mind is in a ferment;
+I must try to think."
+
+To some extent at least, his thoughts betrayed themselves in his
+actions. He put the object that I had half seen in his hand into
+the pocket of his dressing-gown, and moved to the toilet-table.
+Opening one of the drawers, he took from it a folded sheet of
+paper, and came back to me.
+
+"A minister of the Gospel," he said, "is a sacred man, and has
+a horror of crime. You are safe, so far--provided you obey me.
+I have a solemn and terrible duty to perform. This is not
+the right place for it. Follow me downstairs."
+
+He led the way out. The doctor, waiting in the passage,
+was not near the stairs, and so escaped notice. "What is it?"
+Mr. Wellwood whispered. In the same guarded way, I said: "He
+has not told me yet; I have been careful not to irritate him."
+When we descended the stairs, the doctor followed us at a safe
+distance. He mended his pace when the Minister opened the door
+of the study, and when he saw us both pass in. Before he could
+follow, the door was closed and locked in his face. Mr. Gracedieu
+took out the key and threw it through the open window, into
+the garden below.
+
+Turning back into the room, he laid the folded sheet of paper
+on the table. That done, he spoke to me.
+
+"I distrust my own weakness," he said. "A dreadful necessity
+confronts me--I might shrink from the horrid idea, and, if I
+could open the door, might try to get away. Escape is impossible
+now. We are prisoners together. But don't suppose that we are
+alone. There is a third person present, who will judge between
+you and me. Look there!"
+
+He pointed solemnly to the portrait of his wife. It was
+a small picture, very simply framed; representing the face in
+a "three-quarter" view, and part of the figure only. As a work
+of art it was contemptible; but, as a likeness, it answered
+its purpose. My unhappy friend stood before it, in an attitude
+of dejection, covering his face with his hands.
+
+In the interval of silence that followed, I was reminded that
+an unseen friend was keeping watch outside.
+
+Alarmed by having heard the key turned in the lock, and realizing
+the embarrassment of the position in which I was placed, the
+doctor had discovered a discreet way of communicating with me.
+He slipped one of his visiting-cards under the door, with these
+words written on it: "How can I help you?"
+
+I took the pencil from my pocketbook, and wrote on the blank side
+of the card: "He has thrown the key into the garden; look for it
+under the window." A glance at the Minister, before I returned my
+reply, showed that his attitude was unchanged. Without being seen
+or suspected, I, in my turn, slipped the card under the door.
+
+The slow minutes followed each other--and still nothing happened.
+
+My anxiety to see how the doctor's search for the key was
+succeeding, tempted me to approach the window. On my way to it,
+the tail of my coat threw down a little tray containing pens
+and pencils, which had been left close to the edge of the table.
+Slight as the noise of the fall was, it disturbed Mr. Gracedieu.
+He looked round vacantly.
+
+"I have been comforted by prayer," he told me. "The weakness
+of poor humanity has found strength in the Lord." He pointed to
+the portrait once more: "My hands must not presume to touch it,
+while I am still in doubt. Take it down."
+
+I removed the picture and placed it, by his directions, on
+a chair that stood midway between us. To my surprise his tones
+faltered; I saw tears rising in his eyes. "You may think you
+see a picture there," he said. "You are wrong. You see my wife
+herself. Stand here, and look at my wife with me."
+
+We stood together, with our eyes fixed on the portrait.
+
+Without anything said or done on my part to irritate him, he
+suddenly turned to me in a state of furious rage. "Not a sign of
+sorrow!" he burst out. "Not a blush of shame! Wretch, you stand
+condemned by the atrocious composure that I see in your face!"
+
+A first discovery of the odious suspicion of which I was
+the object, dawned on my mind at that moment. My capacity for
+restraining myself completely failed me. I spoke to him as if he
+had been an accountable being. "Once for all," I said, "tell me
+what I have a right to know. You suspect me of something. What
+is it?"
+
+Instead of directly replying, he seized my arm and led me to
+the table. "Take up that paper," he said. "There is writing on
+it. Read--and let Her judge between us. Your life depends on how
+you answer me."
+
+Was there a weapon concealed in the room? or had he got it in
+the pocket of his dressing-gown? I listened for the sound of the
+doctor's returning footsteps in the passage outside, and heard
+nothing. My life had once depended, years since, on my success
+in heading the arrest of an escaped prisoner. I was not conscious,
+then, of feeling my energies weakened by fear. But _that_ man was
+not mad; and I was younger, in those days, by a good twenty years
+or more. At my later time of life, I could show my old friend
+that I was not afraid of him--but I was conscious of an effort
+in doing it.
+
+I opened the paper. "Am I to read this to myself?" I asked.
+"Or am I to read it aloud?"
+
+"Read it aloud!"
+
+In these terms, his daughter addressed him:
+
+
+"I have been so unfortunate, dearest father, as to displease you,
+and I dare not hope that you will consent to receive me. What it
+is my painful duty to tell you, must be told in writing.
+
+"Grieved as I am to distress you, in your present state
+of health, I must not hesitate to reveal what it has been
+my misfortune--I may even say my misery, when I think of
+my mother--to discover.
+
+"But let me make sure, in such a serious matter as this is,
+that I am not mistaken.
+
+"In those happy past days, when I was still dear to my father,
+you said you thought of writing to invite a dearly-valued friend
+to pay a visit to this house. You had first known him, as I
+understood, when my mother was still living. Many interesting
+things you told me about this old friend, but you never mentioned
+that he knew, or that he had even seen, my mother. I was left
+to suppose that those two had remained strangers to each other
+to the day of her death.
+
+"If there is any misinterpretation here of what you said, or
+perhaps of what you meant to say, pray destroy what I have
+written without turning to the next page; and forgive me for
+having innocently startled you by a false alarm."
+
+
+Mr. Gracedieu interrupted me.
+
+"Put it down!" he cried; "I won't wait till you have got to
+the end--I shall question you now. Give me the paper; it will
+help me to keep this mystery of iniquity clear in my own mind."
+
+I gave him the paper.
+
+He hesitated--and looked at the portrait once more. "Turn her
+away from me," he said; "I can't face my wife."
+
+I placed the picture with its back to him.
+
+He consulted the paper, reading it with but little of the
+confusion and hesitation which my experience of him had induced
+me to anticipate. Had the mad excitement that possessed him
+exercised an influence in clearing his mind, resembling in some
+degree the influence exercised by a storm in clearing the air?
+Whatever the right explanation may be, I can only report what
+I saw. I could hardly have mastered what his daughter had written
+more readily, if I had been reading it myself.
+
+"Helena tells me," he began, "that you said you knew her by her
+likeness to her mother. Is that true?"
+
+"Quite true."
+
+"And you made an excuse for leaving her--see! here it is, written
+down. You made an excuse, and left her when she asked for an
+explanation."
+
+"I did."
+
+He consulted the paper again.
+
+"My daughter says--No! I won't be hurried and I won't be
+interrupted--she says you were confused. Is that so?"
+
+"It is so. Let your questions wait for a moment. I wish to tell
+you why I was confused."
+
+"Haven't I said I won't be interrupted? Do you think you can
+shake _my_ resolution?" He referred to the paper again. "I have
+lost the place. It's your fault--find it for me."
+
+The evidence which was intended to convict me was the evidence
+which I was expected to find! I pointed it out to him.
+
+His natural courtesy asserted itself in spite of his anger. He
+said "Thank you," and questioned me the moment after as fiercely
+as ever. "Go back to the time, sir, when we met in your rooms
+at the prison. Did you know my wife then?"
+
+"Certainly not."
+
+"Did you and she see each other--ha! I've got it now--did you
+see each other after I had left the town? No prevarication!
+You own to telling Helena that you knew her by her likeness
+to her mother. You must have seen her mother. Where?"
+
+I made another effort to defend myself. He again refused
+furiously to hear me. It was useless to persist. Whatever
+the danger that threatened me might be, the sooner it showed
+itself the easier I should feel. I told him that Mrs. Gracedieu
+had called on me, after he and his wife had left the town.
+
+"Do you mean  to tell me," he cried, "that she came to you?"
+
+"I do."
+
+After that answer, he no longer required the paper to help him.
+He threw it from him on the floor.
+
+"And you received her," he said, "without inquiring whether
+I knew of her visit or not? Guilty deception on your part--guilty
+deception on her part. Oh, the hideous wickedness of it!"
+
+When his mad suspicion that I had been his wife's lover betrayed
+itself in this way, I made a last attempt, in the face of
+my own conviction that it was hopeless, to place my conduct and
+his wife's conduct before him in the true light.
+
+"Mrs. Gracedieu's object was to consult me--" Before I could
+say the next words, I saw him put his hand into the pocket of
+his dressing-gown.
+
+"An innocent man," he sternly declared, "would have told me that
+my wife had been to see him--you kept it a secret. An innocent
+woman would have given me a reason for wishing to go to you--she
+kept it a secret, when she left my house; she kept it a secret
+when she came back."
+
+"Mr. Gracedieu, I insist on being heard! Your wife's motive--"
+
+He drew from his pocket the thing that he had hidden from me.
+This time, there was no concealment; he let me see that he was
+opening a razor. It was no time for asserting my innocence; I had
+to think of preserving my life. When a man is without firearms,
+what defense can avail against a razor in the hands of a madman?
+A chair was at my side; it offered the one poor means of guarding
+myself that I could see. I laid my hand on it, and kept my eye
+on him.
+
+He paused, looking backward and forward between the picture
+and me.
+
+"Which of them shall I kill first?" he said to himself. "The man
+who was my trusted friend? Or the woman whom I believed to be
+an angel on earth?" He stopped once more, in a state of fierce
+self-concentration, debating what he should do. "The woman,"
+he decided. "Wretch! Fiend! Harlot! How I loved her!!!"
+
+With a yell of fury, he pounced on the picture--ripped the canvas
+out of the frame--and cut it malignantly into fragments. As they
+dropped from the razor on the floor, he stamped on them, and
+ground them under his foot. "Go, wife of my bosom," he cried,
+with a dreadful mockery of voice and look--"go, and burn
+everlastingly in the place of torment!" His eyes glared at me.
+"Your turn now," he said--and rushed at me with his weapon ready
+in his hand. I hurled the chair at his right arm. The razor
+dropped on the floor. I caught him by the wrist. Like a wild
+animal he tried to bite me. With my free hand--if I had known
+how to defend myself in any other way, I would have taken that
+way--with my free hand I seized him by the throat; forced him
+back; and held him against the wall. My grasp on his throat kept
+him quiet. But the dread of seriously injuring him so completely
+overcame me, that I forgot I was a prisoner in the room, and was
+on the point of alarming the household by a cry for help.
+
+I was still struggling to preserve my self-control, when
+the sound of footsteps broke the silence outside. I heard the key
+turn in the lock, and saw the doctor at the open door.
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVI.
+
+THE CUMBERSOME LADIES.
+
+I cannot prevail upon myself to dwell at any length on the events
+that followed.
+
+We secured my unhappy friend, and carried him to his bed. It was
+necessary to have men in attendance who could perform the duty of
+watching him. The doctor sent for them, while I went downstairs
+to make the best I could of the miserable news which it was
+impossible entirely to conceal.
+
+All that I could do to spare Miss Jillgall, I did. I was obliged
+to acknowledge that there had been an outbreak of violence, and
+that the portrait of the Minister's wife had been destroyed by
+the Minister himself. Of Helena's revenge on me I said nothing.
+It had led to consequences which even her merciless malice could
+not have contemplated. There were no obstacles in the way of
+keeping secret the attempt on my life. But I was compelled to own
+that Mr. Gracedieu had taken a dislike to me, which rendered it
+necessary that my visit should be brought to an end. I hastened
+to add that I should go to the hotel, and should wait there until
+the next day, in the hope of hearing better news.
+
+Of the multitude of questions with which poor Miss Jillgall
+overwhelmed me--of the wild words of sorrow and alarm that
+escaped her--of the desperate manner in which she held by my arm,
+and implored me not to go away, when I must see for myself that
+"she was a person entirely destitute of presence of mind"--I
+shall say nothing. The undeserved suffering that is inflicted on
+innocent persons by the sins of others demands silent sympathy;
+and, to that extent at least, I can say that I honestly felt for
+my quaint and pleasant little friend.
+
+In the evening the doctor called on me at the hotel. The medical
+treatment of his patient had succeeded in calming the maddened
+brain under the influence of sleep. If the night passed quietly,
+better news might be hoped for in the morning.
+
+On the next day I had arranged to drive to the farm, being
+resolved not to disappoint Eunice. But I shrank from the prospect
+of having to distress her as I had already distressed Miss
+Jillgall. The only alternative left was to repeat the sad story
+in writing, subject to the concealments which I had already
+observed. This I did, and sent the letter by messenger,
+overnight, so that Eunice might know when to expect me.
+
+The medical report, in the morning, justified some hope. Mr.
+Gracedieu had slept well, and there had been no reappearance
+of insane violence on his waking. But the doctor's opinion was
+far from encouraging when we spoke of the future. He did not
+anticipate the cruel necessity of placing the Minister under
+restraint--unless some new provocation led to a new outbreak.
+The misfortune to be feared was imbecility.
+
+I was just leaving the hotel to keep my appointment with Eunice,
+when the waiter announced the arrival of a young lady who wished
+to speak with me. Before I could ask if she had mentioned her
+name, the young lady herself walked in--Helena Gracedieu.
+
+She explained her object in calling on me, with the exasperating
+composure which was peculiarly her own. No parallel to it occurs
+to me in my official experience of shameless women.
+
+"I don't wish to speak of what happened yesterday, so far as
+I know anything about it," she began. "It is quite enough for me
+that you have been obliged to leave the house and to take refuge
+in this hotel. I have come to say a word about the future. Are
+you honoring me with your attention?"
+
+I signed to her to go on. If I had answered in words, I should
+have told her to leave the room.
+
+"At first," she resumed, "I thought of writing; but it occurred
+to me that you might keep my letter, and show it to Philip, by
+way of lowering me in his good opinion, as you have lowered me
+in the good opinion of his father. My object in coming here is to
+give you a word of warning. If you attempt to make mischief next
+between Philip and myself, I shall hear of it--and you know what
+to expect, when you have me for an enemy. It is not worth while
+to say any more. We understand each other, I hope?"
+
+She was determined to have a reply--and she got it.
+
+"Not quite yet," I said. "I have been hitherto, as becomes
+a gentleman, always mindful of a woman's claims to forbearance.
+You will do well not to tempt me into forgetting that _you_ are
+a woman, by prolonging your visit. Now, Miss Helena Gracedieu,
+we understand each other." She made me a low curtsey, and
+answered in her finest tone of irony: "I only desire to wish you
+a pleasant journey home."
+
+I rang for the waiter. "Show this lady out," I said.
+
+Even this failed to have the slightest effect on her. She
+sauntered to the door, as perfectly at her ease as if the room
+had been hers--not mine.
+
+I had thought of driving to the farm. Shall I confess it? My
+temper was so completely upset that active movement of some kind
+offered the one means of relief in which I could find refuge.
+The farm was not more than five miles distant, and I had been
+a good walker all my life. After making the needful inquiries,
+I set forth to visit Eunice on foot.
+
+My way through the town led me past the Minister's house. I had
+left the door some fifty yards behind me, when I saw two ladies
+approaching. They were walking, in the friendliest manner,
+arm in arm. As they came nearer, I discovered Miss Jillgall.
+Her companion was the middle-aged lady who had declined to give
+her name, when we met accidentally at Mr. Gracedieu's door.
+
+Hysterically impulsive, Miss Jillgall seized both my hands,
+and overwhelmed me with entreaties that I would go back with her
+to the house. I listened rather absently. The middle-aged lady
+happened to be nearer to me now than on either of the former
+occasions on which I had seen her. There was something in the
+expression of her eyes which seemed to be familiar to me. But
+the effort of my memory was not helped by what I observed in
+the other parts of her face. The iron-gray hair, the baggy lower
+eyelids, the fat cheeks, the coarse complexion, and the double
+chin, were features, and very disagreeable features, too, which
+I had never seen at any former time.
+
+"Do pray come back with us," Miss Jillgall pleaded. "We were
+just talking of you. I and my friend--" There she stopped,
+evidently on the point of blurting out the name which she had
+been forbidden to utter in my hearing.
+
+The lady smiled; her provokingly familiar eyes rested on me
+with a humorous enjoyment of the scene.
+
+"My dear," she said to Miss Jillgall, "caution ceases to be a
+virtue when it ceases to be of any use. The Governor is beginning
+to remember me, and the inevitable recognition--with _his_
+quickness of perception--is likely to be a matter of minutes
+now." She turned to me. "In more ways than one, sir, women are
+hardly used by Nature. As they advance in years they lose more
+in personal appearance than the men do. You are white-haired, and
+(pray excuse me) you are too fat; and (allow me to take another
+liberty) you stoop at the shoulders--but you have not entirely
+lost your good looks. _I_ am no longer recognizable. Allow me to
+prompt you, as they say on the stage. I am Mrs. Tenbruggen."
+
+As a man of the world, I ought to have been capable of concealing
+my astonishment and dismay. She struck me dumb.
+
+Mrs. Tenbruggen in the town! The one woman whose appearance Mr.
+Gracedieu had dreaded, and justly dreaded, stood before me--free,
+as a friend of his kinswoman, to enter his house, at the very
+time when he was a helpless man, guarded by watchers at his
+bedside. My first clear idea was to get away from both the women,
+and consider what was to be done next. I bowed--and begged to be
+excused--and said I was in a hurry, all in a breath.
+
+Hearing this, the best of genial old maids was unable to restrain
+her curiosity. "Where are you going?" she asked.
+
+Too confused to think of an excuse, I said I was going to
+the farm.
+
+"To see my dear Euneece?" Miss Jillgall burst out. "Oh, we will
+go with you!" Mrs. Tenbruggen's politeness added immediately,
+"With the greatest pleasure."
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVII.
+
+THE JOURNEY TO THE FARM.
+
+My first ungrateful impulse was to get rid of the two cumbersome
+ladies who had offered to be my companions. It was needless to
+call upon my invention for an excuse; the truth, as I gladly
+perceived, would serve my purpose. I had only to tell them that
+I had arranged to walk to the farm.
+
+Lean, wiry, and impetuous, Miss Jillgall received my excuse with
+the sincerest approval of it, as a new idea. "Nothing could be
+more agreeable to me," she declared; "I have been a wonderful
+walker all my life." She turned to her friend. "We will go with
+him, my dear, won't we?"
+
+Mrs. Tenbruggen's reception of this proposal inspired me with
+hope; she asked how far it was to the farm. "Five miles!" she
+repeated. "And five miles back again, unless the farmer lends
+us a cart. My dear Selina, you might as well ask me to walk to
+the North Pole. You have got rid of one of us, Mr. Governor,"
+she added, pleasantly; "and the other, if you only walk fast
+enough, you will leave behind you on the road. If I believed
+in luck--which I don't--I should call you a fortunate man."
+
+But companionable Selina would not hear of a separation. She
+asked, in her most irresistible manner, if I objected to driving
+instead of walking. Her heart's dearest wish, she said, was
+to make her bosom friend and myself better acquainted with each
+other. To conclude, she reminded me that there was a cab-stand
+in the next street.
+
+Perhaps I might have been influenced by my distrust of Mrs.
+Tenbruggen, or perhaps by my anxiety to protect Eunice. It struck
+me that I might warn the defenseless girl to be on her guard with
+Mrs. Tenbruggen to better purpose, if Eunice was in a position
+to recognize her in any future emergency that might occur. To my
+mind, this dangerous woman was doubly formidable--and for a good
+reason; she was the bosom friend of that innocent and unwary
+person, Miss Jillgall.
+
+So I amiably consented to forego my walk, yielding to the
+superior attraction of Mrs. Tenbruggen's company. On that day
+the sunshine was tempered by a delightful breeze. If we had been
+in the biggest and worst-governed city on the civilised earth,
+we should have found no public vehicle, open to the air, which
+could offer accommodation to three people. Being only in
+a country town, we had a light four-wheeled chaise at our
+disposal, as a matter of course.
+
+No wise man expects to be mercifully treated, when he is shut
+into a carriage with a mature single lady, inflamed by curiosity.
+I was not unprepared for Miss Jillgall when she alluded,
+for the second time, to the sad events which had happened in
+the house on the previous day--and especially to the destruction
+by Mr. Gracedieu of the portrait of his wife.
+
+"Why didn't he destroy something else?" she pleaded, piteously.
+"It is such a disappointment to Me. I never liked that picture
+myself. Of course I ought to have admired the portrait of
+the wife of my benefactor. But no--that disagreeable painted face
+was too much for me. I should have felt inexpressibly relieved,
+if I could have shown it to Elizabeth, and heard her say that
+she agreed with me."
+
+"Perhaps I saw it when I called on you," Mrs. Tenbruggen
+suggested. "Where did the picture hang?"
+
+"My dear! I received you in the dining-room, and the portrait
+hung in Mr. Gracedieu's study."
+
+What they said to each other next escaped my attention. Quite
+unconsciously, Miss Jillgall had revealed to me a danger which
+neither the Minister nor I had discovered, though it had
+conspicuously threatened us both on the wall of the study.
+The act of mad destruction which, if I had possessed the means
+of safely interfering, I should certainly have endeavored
+to prevent, now assumed a new and startling aspect. If Mrs.
+Tenbruggen really had some motive of her own for endeavoring
+to identify the adopted child, the preservation of the picture
+must have led her straight to the end in view. The most casual
+opportunity of comparing Helena with the portrait of Mrs.
+Gracedieu would have revealed the likeness between mother and
+daughter--and, that result attained, the identification of Eunice
+with the infant whom the "Miss Chance" of those days had brought
+to the prison must inevitably have followed. It was perhaps
+natural that Mr. Gracedieu's infatuated devotion to the memory
+of his wife should have blinded him to the betrayal of Helena's
+parentage, which met his eyes every time he entered his study.
+But that I should have been too stupid to discover what he had
+failed to see, was a wound dealt to my self-esteem which I was
+vain enough to feel acutely.
+
+Mrs. Tenbruggen's voice, cheery and humorous, broke in on
+my reflections, with an odd question:
+
+"Mr. Governor, do you ever condescend to read novels?"
+
+"It's not easy to say, Mrs. Tenbruggen, how grateful I am to
+the writers of novels."
+
+"Ah! I read novels, too. But I blush to confess--do I blush?--
+that I never thought of feeling grateful till you mentioned it.
+Selina and I don't complain of your preferring your own
+reflections to our company. On the contrary, you have reminded
+us agreeably of the heroes of fiction, when the author describes
+them as being 'absorbed in thought.' For some minutes, Mr.
+Governor, you have been a hero; absorbed, as I venture to guess,
+in unpleasant remembrances of the time when I was a single lady.
+You have not forgotten how badly I behaved, and what shocking
+things I said, in those bygone days. Am I right?"
+
+"You are entirely wrong."
+
+It is possible that I may have spoken a little too sharply.
+Anyway, faithful Selina interceded for her friend. "Oh, dear
+sir, don't be hard on Elizabeth! She always means well." Mrs.
+Tenbruggen, as facetious as ever, made a grateful return for
+a small compliment. She chucked Miss Jillgall under the chin,
+with the air of an amorous old gentleman expressing his approval
+of a pretty servant-girl. It was impossible to look at the two,
+in their relative situations, without laughing. But Mrs.
+Tenbruggen failed to cheat me into altering my opinion of her.
+Innocent Miss Jillgall clapped her ugly hands, and said: "Isn't
+she good company?"
+
+Mrs. Tenbruggen's social resources were not exhausted yet. She
+suddenly shifted to the serious side of her character.
+
+"Perhaps I have improved a little," she said, "as I have advanced
+in years. The sorrows of an unhappy married life may have had
+a purifying influence on my nature. My husband and I began badly.
+Mr. Tenbruggen thought I had money; and I thought Mr. Tenbruggen
+had money. He was taken in by me; and I was taken in by him. When
+he repeated the words of the marriage service (most impressively
+read by your friend the Chaplain): 'With all my worldly goods
+I thee endow'--his eloquent voice suggested one of the largest
+incomes in Europe. When I promised and vowed, in my turn,
+the delightful prospect of squandering my rich husband's money
+made quite a new woman of me. I declare solemnly, when I said
+I would love, honor, and obey Mr. T., I looked as if I really
+meant it. Wherever he is now, poor dear, he is cheating somebody.
+Such a handsome, gentleman-like man, Selina! And, oh, Mr.
+Governor, such a blackguard!"
+
+Having described her husband in those terms, she got tired of
+the subject. We were now favored with another view of this
+many-sided woman. She appeared in her professional character.
+
+"Ah, what a delicious breeze is blowing, out here in the
+country!" she said. "Will you excuse me if I take off my gloves?
+I want to air my hands." She held up her hands to the breeze;
+firm, muscular, deadly white hands. "In my professional
+occupation," she explained, "I am always rubbing, tickling,
+squeezing, tapping, kneading, rolling, striking the muscles of
+patients. Selina, do you know the movements of your own joints?
+Flexion, extension, abduction, adduction, rotation,
+circumduction, pronation, supination, and the lateral movements.
+Be proud of those accomplishments, my dear, but beware of
+attempting to become a Masseuse. There are drawbacks in that
+vocation--and I am conscious of one of them at this moment."
+She lifted her hands to her nose. "Pah! my hands smell of other
+people's flesh. The delicious country air will blow it away--the
+luxury of purification!" Her fingers twisted and quivered, and
+got crooked at one moment and straight again at another, and
+showed themselves in succession singly, and flew into each other
+fiercely interlaced, and then spread out again like the sticks
+of a fan, until it really made me giddy to look at them. As for
+Miss Jillgall, she lifted her poor little sunken eyes rapturously
+to the sky, as if she called the homiest sunlight to witness that
+this was the most lovable woman on the face of the earth.
+
+But elderly female fascination offers its allurements in vain
+to the rough animal, man. Suspicion of Mrs. Tenbruggen's motives
+had established itself firmly in my mind. Why had the Popular
+Masseuse abandoned her brilliant career in London, and plunged
+into the obscurity of a country town? An opportunity of clearing
+up the doubt thus suggested seemed to have presented itself now.
+"Is it indiscreet to ask," I said, "if you are here in your
+professional capacity?"
+
+Her cunning seized its advantage and put a sly question to me.
+"Do you wish to be one of my patients yourself?"
+
+"That is, unfortunately, impossible," I replied "I have arranged
+to return to London."
+
+"Immediately?"
+
+"To-morrow at the latest."
+
+Artful as she was, Mrs. Tenbruggen failed to conceal a momentary
+expression of relief which betrayed itself, partly in her manner,
+partly in her face. She had ascertained, to her own complete
+satisfaction, that my speedy departure was an event which might
+be relied on.
+
+"But I have not yet answered you," she resumed. "To tell the
+truth, I am eager to try my hands on you. Massage, as I practice
+it, would lighten your weight, and restore your figure; I may
+even say would lengthen your life. You will think of me, one
+of these days, won't you? In the meanwhile--yes! I am here in
+my professional capacity. Several interesting cases; and one very
+remarkable person, brought to death's door by the doctors; a rich
+man who is liberal in paying his fees. There is my quarrel with
+London and Londoners. Some of their papers, medical newspapers,
+of course, declare that my fees are exorbitant; and there is a
+tendency among the patients--I mean the patients who are rolling
+in riches--to follow the lead of the newspapers. I am no worm to
+be trodden on, in that way. The London people shall wait for me,
+until they miss me--and, when I do go back, they will find
+the fees increased. _My_ fingers and thumbs, Mr. Governor, are
+not to be insulted with impunity."
+
+Miss Jillgall nodded her head at me. It was an eloquent nod.
+"Admire my spirited friend," was the interpretation I put on it.
+
+At the same time, my private sentiments suggested that Mrs.
+Tenbruggen's reply was too perfectly satisfactory, viewed as
+an explanation. My suspicions were by no means set at rest; and
+I was resolved not to let the subject drop yet. "Speaking of Mr.
+Gracedieu, and of the chances of his partial recovery," I said,
+"do you think the Minister would benefit by Massage?"
+
+"I haven't a doubt of it, if you can get rid of the doctor."
+
+"You think he would be an obstacle in the way?"
+
+"There are some medical men who are honorable exceptions to
+the general rule; and he may be one of them," Mrs. Tenbruggen
+admitted. "Don't be too hopeful. As a doctor, he belongs to
+the most tyrannical trades-union in existence. May I make
+a personal remark?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"I find something in your manner--pray don't suppose that I am
+angry--which looks like distrust; I mean, distrust of me."
+
+Miss Jillgall's ever ready kindness interfered in my defense:
+"Oh, no, Elizabeth! You are not often mistaken; but indeed
+you are wrong now. Look at my distinguished friend. I remember
+my copy book, when I was a small creature learning to write,
+in England. There were first lines that we copied, in big
+letters, and one of them said, 'Distrust Is Mean.' I know a young
+person, whose name begins with H, who is one mass of meanness.
+But"--excellent Selina paused, and pointed to me with a gesture
+of triumph--"no meanness there!"
+
+Mrs. Tenbruggen waited to hear what I had to say, scornfully
+insensible to Miss Jillgall's well-meant interruption.
+
+"You are not altogether mistaken," I told her. "I can't say that
+my mind is in a state of distrust, but I own that you puzzle me."
+
+"How, if you please?"
+
+"May I presume that you remember the occasion when we met at Mr.
+Gracedieu's house-door? You saw that I failed to recognize you,
+and you refused to give your name when the servant asked for it.
+A few days afterward, I heard you (quite accidentally) forbid
+Miss Jillgall to mention your name in my hearing. I am at a loss
+to understand it."
+
+Before she could answer me, the chaise drew up at the gate of
+the farmhouse. Mrs. Tenbruggen carefully promised to explain
+what had puzzled me, at the first opportunity. "If it escapes
+my memory," she said, "pray remind me of it."
+
+I determined to remind her of it. Whether I could depend on
+her to tell me the truth, might be quite another thing.
+
+
+CHAPTER XLVIII
+
+THE DECISION OF EUNICE.
+
+Eunice ran out to meet us, and opened the gate. She was instantly
+folded in Miss Jillgall's arms. On her release, she came to me,
+eager for news of her father's health. When I had communicated
+all that I thought it right to tell her of the doctor's last
+report, she noticed Mrs. Tenbruggen. The  appearance of a stranger
+seemed to embarrass her. I left Miss Jillgall to introduce them
+to each other.
+
+"Darling Euneece, you remember Mrs. Tenbruggen's name, I am sure?
+Elizabeth, this is my sweet girl; I mentioned her in my letters
+to you."
+
+"I hope she will be _my_ sweet girl, when we know each other
+a little better. May I kiss you, dear? You have lovely eyes; but
+I am sorry to see that they don't look like happy eyes. You want
+Mamma Tenbruggen to cheer you. What a charming old house!"
+
+She put her arm round Eunice's waist and led her to the house
+door. Her enjoyment of the creepers that twined their way up the
+pillars of the porch was simply perfection as a piece of acting.
+When the farmer's wife presented herself, Mrs. Tenbruggen was
+so irresistibly amiable, and took such flattering notice of
+the children, that the harmless British matron actually blushed
+with pleasure. "I'm sure, ma'am, you must have children of your
+own," she said. Mrs. Tenbruggen cast her eyes on the floor, and
+sighed with pathetic resignation. A sweet little family, and all
+cruelly swept away by death. If the performance meant anything,
+it did most assuredly mean that.
+
+"What wonderful self-possession!" somebody whispered in my ear.
+The children in the room were healthy, well-behaved little
+creatures--but the name of the innocent one among them was
+Selina.
+
+Before dinner we were shown over the farm.
+
+The good woman of the house led the way, and Miss Jillgall and
+I accompanied her. The children ran on in front of us. Still
+keeping possession of Eunice, Mrs. Tenbruggen followed at some
+distance behind. I looked back, after no very long interval, and
+saw that a separation had taken place. Mrs. Tenbruggen passed me,
+not looking so pleasantly as usual, joined the children, and
+walked with two of them, hand in hand, a pattern of maternal
+amiability. I dropped back a little, and gave Eunice an
+opportunity of joining me; having purposely left her to form her
+own opinion, without any adverse influence exercised on my part.
+
+"Is that lady a friend of yours?" she asked. "No; only
+an acquaintance. What do you think of her?"
+
+"I thought I should like her at first; she was so kind, and
+seemed to take such an interest in me. But she said such strange
+things--asked if I was reckoned like my mother, and which
+of us was the eldest, my sister or myself, and whether we
+were my father's only two children, and if one of us was more
+his favorite than the other. What I could tell her, I did tell.
+But when I said I didn't know which of us was the oldest, she
+gave me an impudent tap on the cheek, and said, 'I don't believe
+you, child,' and left me. How can Selina be so fond of her? Don't
+mention it to any one else; I hope I shall never see her again."
+
+"I will keep your secret, Eunice; and you must keep mine.
+I entirely agree with you."
+
+"You agree with me in disliking her?"
+
+"Heartily."
+
+We could say no more at that time. Our friends in advance
+were waiting for us. We joined them at once.
+
+If I had felt any doubt of the purpose which had really induced
+Mrs. Tenbruggen to leave London, all further uncertainty on
+my part was at an end. She had some vile interest of her own
+to serve by identifying Mr. Gracedieu's adopted child--but what
+the nature of that interest might be, it was impossible to guess.
+The future, when I thought of it now, filled me with dismay.
+A more utterly helpless position than mine it was not easy to
+conceive. To warn the Minister, in his present critical state of
+health, was simply impossible. My relations with Helena forbade
+me even to approach her. And, as for Selina, she was little less
+than a mere tool in the hands of her well-beloved friend. What,
+in God's name, was I to do?
+
+At dinner-time we found the master of the house waiting to bid us
+welcome.
+
+Personally speaking, he presented a remarkable contrast to the
+typical British farmer. He was neither big nor burly; he spoke
+English as well as I did; and there was nothing in his dress
+which would have made him a fit subject for a picture of rustic
+life. When he spoke, he was able to talk on subjects unconnected
+with agricultural pursuits; nor did I hear him grumble about
+the weather and the crops. It was pleasant to see that his wife
+was proud of him, and that he was, what all fathers ought to be,
+his children's best and dearest friend. Why do I dwell on these
+details, relating to a man whom I was not destined to see again?
+Only because I had reason to feel grateful to him. When
+my spirits were depressed by anxiety, he made my mind easy
+about Eunice, as long as she remained in his house.
+
+The social arrangements, when our meal was over, fell
+of themselves into the right train.
+
+Miss Jillgall went upstairs, with the mother and the children,
+to see the nursery and the bedrooms. Mrs. Tenbruggen discovered
+a bond of union between the farmer and herself; they were
+both skilled players at backgammon, and they sat down to try
+conclusions at their favorite game. Without any wearisome
+necessity for excuses or stratagems, Eunice took my arm and led
+me to the welcome retirement of her own sitting-room.
+
+I could honestly congratulate her, when I heard that she was
+established at the farm as a member of the family. While she was
+governess to the children, she was safe from dangers that might
+have threatened her, if she had been compelled by circumstances
+to return to the Minister's house.
+
+The entry in her Journal, which she was anxious that I should
+read, was placed before me next.
+
+I followed the poor child's account of the fearful night that she
+had passed, with an interest that held me breathless to the end.
+A terrible dream, which had impressed a sense of its reality
+on the sleeper by reaching its climax in somnambulism--this was
+the obvious explanation, no doubt; and a rational mind would not
+hesitate to accept it. But a rational mind is not a universal
+gift, even in a country which prides itself on the idol-worship
+of Fact. Those good friends who are always better acquainted
+with our faults, failings, and weaknesses than we can pretend
+to be ourselves, had long since discovered that my nature was
+superstitious, and my imagination likely to mislead me in the
+presence of events which encouraged it. Well! I was weak enough
+to recoil from the purely rational view of all that Eunice had
+suffered, and heard, and seen, on the fateful night recorded in
+her Journal. Good and Evil walk the ways of this unintelligible
+world, on the same free conditions. If we cling, as many of us
+do, to the comforting belief that departed spirits can minister
+to earthly creatures for good--can be felt moving in us, in
+a train of thought, and seen as visible manifestations, in
+a dream--with what pretense of reason can we deny that the same
+freedom of supernatural influence which is conceded to
+the departed spirit, working for good, is also permitted to
+the departed spirit, working for evil? If the grave cannot wholly
+part mother and child, when the mother's life has been good,
+does eternal annihilation separate them, when the mother's life
+has been wicked? No! If the departed spirit can bring with it a
+blessing, the departed spirit can bring with it a curse. I dared
+not confess to Eunice that the influence of her murderess-mother
+might, as I thought possible, have been supernaturally present
+when she heard temptation whispering in her ear; but I dared not
+deny it to myself. All that I could say to satisfy and sustain
+her, I did say. And when I declared--with my whole heart
+declared--that the noble passion which had elevated her whole
+being, and had triumphed over the sorest trials that desertion
+could inflict, would still triumph to the end, I saw hope,
+in that brave and true heart, showing its bright promise for
+the future in Eunice's eyes.
+
+She closed and locked her Journal. By common consent we sought
+the relief of changing the subject. Eunice asked me if it was
+really necessary that I should return to London.
+
+I shrank from telling her that I could be of no further use
+to her father, while he regarded me with an enmity which I had
+not deserved. But I saw no reason for concealing that it was
+my purpose to see Philip Dunboyne.
+
+"You told me  yesterday," I reminded her, "that I was to say
+you had forgiven him. Do you still wish me to do that?"
+
+"Indeed I do!"
+
+"Have you thought of it seriously? Are you sure of not having
+been hurried by a generous impulse into saying more than you
+mean?"
+
+"I have been thinking of it," she said, "through the wakeful
+hours of last night--and many things are plain to me, which
+I was not sure of in the time when I was so happy. He has caused
+me the bitterest sorrow of my life, but he can't undo the good
+that I owe to him. He has made a better girl of me, in the time
+when his love was mine. I don't forget that. Miserably as it has
+ended, I don't forget that."
+
+Her voice trembled; the tears rose in her eyes. It was impossible
+for me to conceal the distress that I felt. The noble creature
+saw it. "No," she said faintly; "I am not going to cry. Don't
+look so sorry for me." Her hand pressed my hand gently--_she_
+pitied _me_. When I saw how she struggled to control herself,
+and did control herself, I declare to God I could have gone down
+on my knees before her.
+
+She asked to be allowed to speak of Philip again, and for
+the last time.
+
+"When you meet with him in London, he may perhaps ask if you
+have seen Eunice."
+
+"My child! he is sure to ask."
+
+"Break it to him gently--but don't let him deceive himself.
+In this world, he must never hope to see me again."
+
+I tried--very gently--to remonstrate. "At your age, and at
+his age," I said, "surely there is hope?"
+
+"There is no hope." She pressed her hand on her heart. "I know
+it, I feel it, here."
+
+"Oh, Eunice, it's hard for me to say that!"
+
+"I will try to make it easier for you. Say that I have forgiven
+him--and say no more."
+
+
+CHAPTER XLIX.
+
+THE GOVERNOR ON HIS GUARD.
+
+After leaving Eunice, my one desire was to be alone. I had much
+to think of, and I wanted an opportunity of recovering myself.
+On my way out of the house, in search of the first solitary place
+that I could discover, I passed the room in which we had dined.
+The door was ajar. Before I could get by it, Mrs. Tenbruggen
+stepped out and stopped me.
+
+"Will you come in here for a moment?" she said. "The farmer
+has been called away, and I want to speak to you."
+
+Very unwillingly--but how could I have refused without giving
+offense?--I entered the room.
+
+"When you noticed my keeping my name from you," Mrs. Tenbruggen
+began, "while Selina was with us, you placed me in an awkward
+position. Our little friend is an excellent creature, but her
+tongue runs away with her sometimes; I am obliged to be careful
+of taking her too readily into my confidence. For instance,
+I have never told her what my name was before I married. Won't
+you sit down?"
+
+I had purposely remained standing as a hint to her not to prolong
+the interview. The hint was thrown away; I took a chair.
+
+"Selina's letters had informed me," she resumed, "that Mr.
+Gracedieu was a nervous invalid. When I came to England, I had
+hoped to try what massage might do to relieve him. The cure of
+their popular preacher might have advertised me through the whole
+of the Congregational sect. It was essential to my success
+that I should present myself as a stranger. I could trust time
+and change, and my married name (certainly not known to Mr.
+Gracedieu) to keep up my incognito. He would have refused to see
+me if he had known that I was once Miss Chance."
+
+I began to be interested.
+
+Here was an opportunity, perhaps, of discovering what
+the Minister had failed to remember when he had been speaking
+of this woman, and when I had asked if he had ever offended her.
+I was especially careful in making my inquiries.
+
+"I remember how you spoke to Mr. Gracedieu," I said, "when you
+and he met, long ago, in my rooms. But surely you don't think him
+capable of vindictively remembering some thoughtless words, which
+escaped you sixteen or seventeen years since?"
+
+"I am not quite such a fool as that, Mr. Governor. What I was
+thinking of was an unpleasant correspondence between the Minister
+and myself. Before I was so unfortunate as to meet with Mr.
+Tenbruggen, I obtained a chance of employment in a public
+Institution, on condition that I included a clergyman among
+my references. Knowing nobody else whom I could apply to,
+I rashly wrote to Mr. Gracedieu, and received one of those cold
+and cruel refusals which only the strictest religious principle
+can produce. I was mortally offended at the time; and if your
+friend the Minister had been within my reach--" She paused, and
+finished the sentence by a significant gesture.
+
+"Well," I said, "he is within your reach now."
+
+"And out of his mind," she added. "Besides, one's sense of injury
+doesn't last (except in novels and plays) through a series of
+years. I don't pity him--and if an opportunity of shaking his
+high position among his admiring congregation presented itself,
+I daresay I might make a mischievous return for his letter
+to me. In the meanwhile, we may drop the subject. I suppose
+you understand, now, why I concealed my name from you, and why
+I kept out of the house while you were in it."
+
+It was plain enough, of course. If I had known her again,
+or had heard her name, I might have told the Minister that Mrs.
+Tenbruggen and Miss Chance were one and the same. And if I had
+seen her and talked with her in the house, my memory might have
+shown itself capable of improvement. Having politely presented
+the expression of my thanks, I rose to go.
+
+She stopped me at the door.
+
+"One word more," she said, "while Selina is out of the way.
+I need hardly tell you that I have not trusted her with
+the Minister's secret. You and I are, as I take it, the only
+people now living who know the truth about these two girls.
+And we keep our advantage."
+
+"What advantage?" I asked.
+
+"Don't you know?"
+
+"I don't indeed."
+
+"No more do I. Female folly, and a slip of the tongue; I am old
+and ugly, but I am still a woman. About Miss Eunice. Somebody
+has told the pretty little fool never to trust strangers. You
+would have been amused, if you had heard that sly young person
+prevaricating with me. In one respect, her appearance strikes me.
+She is not like either the wretch who was hanged, or the poor
+victim who was murdered. Can she be the adopted child? Or is it
+the other sister, whom I have not seen yet? Oh, come! come!
+Don't try to look as if you didn't know. That is really too
+ridiculous."
+
+"You alluded just now," I answered, "to our 'advantage' in being
+the only persons who know the truth about the two girls. Well,
+Mrs. Tenbruggen, I keep _my_ advantage."
+
+"In other words," she rejoined, "you leave me to make the
+discovery myself. Well, my friend, I mean to do it!"
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+In the evening, my hotel offered to me the refuge of which
+I stood in need. I could think, for the first time that day,
+without interruption.
+
+Being resolved to see Philip, I prepared myself for the interview
+by consulting my extracts once more. The letter, in which Mrs.
+Tenbruggen figures, inspired me with the hope of protection for
+Mr. Gracedieu, attainable through no less a person than Helena
+herself.
+
+To begin with, she would certainly share Philip's aversion to
+the Masseuse, and her dislike of Miss Jillgall would, just as
+possibly, extend to Miss Jillgall's friend. The hostile feeling
+thus set up might be trusted to keep watch on Mrs. Tenbruggen's
+proceedings, with a vigilance not attainable by the coarser
+observation of a man. In the event, of an improvement in
+the Minister's health, I should hear of it both from the doctor
+and from Miss Jillgall, and in that case I should instantly
+return to my unhappy friend and put him on his guard.
+
+I started for London by the early train in the morning.
+
+My way home from the terminus took me past the hotel at which
+the elder Mr. Dunboyne was staying. I called on him. He was
+reported to be engaged; that is to say, immersed in his books.
+The address on one of Philip's letters had informed me that
+he was staying at another hotel. Pursuing my inquiries in
+this direction, I met with a severe disappointment. Mr. Philip
+Dunboyne had left the hotel that morning; for what destination
+neither the landlord nor the waiter could tell me.
+
+The next day's post brought with it the information which
+I had failed to obtain. Miss Jillgall wrote, informing me in
+her strongest language that Philip Dunboyne had returned to
+Helena. Indignant Selina added: "Helena means to make him marry
+her; and I promise you she shall fail, if I can stop it."
+
+In taking leave of Eunice, I had given her my address; had warned
+her to be careful, if she and Mrs. Tenbruggen happened to meet
+again, and had begged her to write to me, or to come to me,
+if anything happened to alarm her in my absence.
+
+In two days more, I received a line from Eunice, written
+evidently in the greatest agitation.
+
+"Philip has discovered me. He has been here, and has insisted
+on seeing me. I have refused. The good farmer has so kindly taken
+my part. I can write no more."
+
+
+CHAPTER L.
+
+THE NEWS FROM THE FARM.
+
+When I next heard from Miss Jillgall, the introductory part
+of her letter merely reminded me that Philip Dunboyne
+was established in the town, and that Helena was in daily
+communication with him. I shall do Selina no injustice if
+my extract begins with her second page.
+
+"You will sympathize, I am sure" (she writes), "with the
+indignation which urged me to call on Philip, and tell him the
+way to the farmhouse. Think of Helena being determined to marry
+him, whether he wants to or not! I am afraid this is bad grammar.
+But there are occasions when even a cultivated lady fails in her
+grammar, and almost envies the men their privilege of swearing
+when they are in a rage. My state of mind is truly indescribable.
+Grief mingles with anger, when I tell you that my sweet Euneece
+has disappointed me, for the first time since I had the happiness
+of knowing and admiring her. What can have been the motive of
+her refusal to receive her penitent lover? Is it pride? We are
+told that Satan fell through pride. Euneece satanic? Impossible!
+I feel inclined to go and ask her what has hardened her heart
+against a poor young man who bitterly regrets his own folly. Do
+you think it was bad advice from the farmer or his wife? In that
+case, I shall exert my influence, and take her away. You would do
+the same, wouldn't you?
+
+"I am ashamed to mention the poor dear Minister in a postscript.
+The truth is, I don't very well know what I am about. Mr.
+Gracedieu is quiet, sleeps better than he did, eats with a keener
+appetite, gives no trouble. But, alas, that glorious intellect
+is in a state of eclipse! Do not suppose, because I write
+figuratively, that I am not sorry for him. He understands
+nothing; he remembers nothing; he has my prayers.
+
+"You might come to us again, if you would only be so kind. It
+would make no difference now; the poor man is so sadly altered.
+I must add, most reluctantly, that the doctor recommends your
+staying at home. Between ourselves, he is little better than
+a coward. Fancy his saying; 'No; we must not run that risk yet.'
+I am barely civil to him, and no more.
+
+"In any other affair (excuse me for troubling you with a second
+postscript), my sympathy with Euneece would have penetrated
+her motives; I should have felt with her feelings. But I have
+never been in love; no gentleman gave me the opportunity when
+I was young. Now I am middle-aged, neglect has done its dreary
+work--my heart is an extinct crater. Figurative again! I had
+better put my pen away, and say farewell for the present."
+
+Miss Jillgall may now give place to Eunice. The same day's post
+brought me both letters.
+
+I should be unworthy indeed of the trust which this affectionate
+girl has placed in me, if I failed to receive her explanation of
+her conduct toward Philip Dunboyne, as a sacred secret confided
+to my fatherly regard. In those later portions of her letter,
+which are not addressed to me confidentially, Eunice writes as
+follows:
+
+
+"I get news--and what heartbreaking news!--of my father,
+by sending a messenger to Selina. It is more than ever impossible
+that I can put myself in the way of seeing Helena again. She has
+written to me about Philip, in a tone so shockingly insolent
+and cruel, that I have destroyed her letter. Philip's visit to
+the farm, discovered I don't know how, seems to have infuriated
+her. She accuses me of doing all that she might herself have done
+in my place, and threatens me--No! I am afraid of the wicked
+whisperings of that second self of mine if I think of it.
+They were near to tempting me when I read Helena's letter. But
+I thought of what you said, after I had shown you my Journal;
+and your words took my memory back to the days when I was happy
+with Philip. The trial and the terror passed away.
+
+"Consolation has come to me from the best of good women.
+Mrs. Staveley writes as lovingly as my mother might have written,
+if death had spared her. I have replied with all the gratitude
+that I really feel, but without taking advantage of the services
+which she offers. Mrs. Staveley has it in her mind, as you
+had it in your mind, to bring Philip back to me. Does she forget,
+do you forget, that Helena claims him? But you both mean kindly,
+and I love you both for the interest that you feel in me.
+
+"The farmer's wife--dear good soul!--hardly understands me so
+well as her husband does. She confesses to pitying Philip. 'He
+is so wretched,' she says. 'And, dear heart, how handsome, and
+what nice, winning manners! I don't think I should have had your
+courage, in your place. To tell the truth, I should have jumped
+for joy when I saw him at the door; and I should have run down
+to let him in--and perhaps been sorry for it afterward. If you
+really wish to forget him, my dear, I will do all I can to help
+you.'
+
+"These are trifling things to mention, but I am afraid you may
+think I am unhappy--and I want to prevent that.
+
+"I have so much to be thankful for, and the children are so fond
+of me. Whether I teach them as well as I might have done, if
+I had been a more learned girl, may perhaps be doubtful. They do
+more for their governess, I am afraid, than their governess does
+for them. When they come into my room in the morning, and rouse
+me with their kisses, the hour of waking, which used to be so
+hard to endure after Philip left me, is now the happiest hour
+of my day."
+
+
+With that reassuring view of her life as a governess, the poor
+child's letter comes to an end.
+
+
+CHAPTER LI.
+
+THE TRIUMPH OF MRS. TENBRUGGEN.
+
+Miss Jillgall appears again, after an interval, on the field
+of my extracts. My pleasant friend deserves this time a serious
+reception. She informs me that Mrs. Tenbruggen has begun
+the inquiries which I have the best reason to dread--for I alone
+know the end which they are designed to reach.
+
+The arrival of this news affected me in two different ways.
+
+It was discouraging to find that circumstances had not justified
+my reliance on Helena's enmity as a counter-influence to Mrs.
+Tenbruggen. On the other hand, it was a relief to be assured
+that my return to London would serve, rather than compromise,
+the interests which it was my chief anxiety to defend. I had
+foreseen that Mrs. Tenbruggen would wait to set her enterprise
+on foot, until I was out of her way; and I had calculated on
+my absence as an event which would at least put an end to
+suspense by encouraging her to begin.
+
+The first sentences in Miss Jillgall's letter explain the nature
+of her interest in the proceedings of her friend, and are, on
+that account, worth reading.
+
+"Things are sadly changed for the worse" (Selina writes); "but
+I don't forget that Philip was once engaged to Euneece, and that
+Mr. Gracedieu's extraordinary conduct toward him puzzled us all.
+The mode of discovery which dear Elizabeth suggested by letter,
+at that time, appears to be the mode which she is following now.
+When I asked why, she said: 'Philip may return to Euneece;
+the Minister may recover--and will be all the more likely to
+do so if he tries Massage. In that case, he will probably repeat
+the conduct which surprised you; and your natural curiosity will
+ask me again to find out what it means. Am I your friend, Selina,
+or am I not?' This was so delightfully kind, and so irresistibly
+conclusive, that I kissed her in a transport of gratitude. With
+what breathless interest I have watched her progress toward
+penetrating the mystery of the girls' ages, it is quite needless
+to tell  you."
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+Mrs. Tenbruggen's method of keeping Miss Jillgall in ignorance
+of what she was really about, and Miss Jillgall's admirable
+confidence in the integrity of Mrs. Tenbruggen, being now set
+forth on the best authority, an exact presentation of the state
+of affairs will be completed if I add a word more, relating
+to the positions actually occupied toward Mrs. Tenbruggen's
+enterprise, by my correspondent and myself.
+
+On her side, Miss Jillgall was entirely ignorant that one of
+the two girls was not Mr. Gracedieu's daughter, but his adopted
+child. On my side, I was entirely ignorant of Mrs. Tenbruggen's
+purpose in endeavoring to identify the daughter of the murderess.
+Speaking of myself, individually, let me add that I only waited
+the event to protect the helpless ones--my poor demented friend,
+and the orphan whom his mercy received into his heart and
+his home.
+
+Miss Jillgall goes on with her curious story, as follows:
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+"Always desirous of making myself useful, I thought I would give
+my dear Elizabeth a hint which might save time and trouble. 'Why
+not begin,' I suggested, 'by asking the Governor to help you?'
+That wonderful woman never forgets anything. She had already
+applied to you, without success.
+
+"In my next attempt to be useful, I did violence to my most
+cherished convictions, by presenting the wretch Helena to
+the admirable Elizabeth. That the former would be cold as ice, in
+her reception of any friend of mine, was nothing wonderful. Mrs.
+Tenbruggen passed it over with the graceful composure of a woman
+of the world. In the course of conversation with Helena, she
+slipped in a question: 'Might I ask if you are older than your
+sister?' The answer was, of course: 'I don't know.' And here,
+for once, the most deceitful girl in existence spoke the truth.
+
+"When we were alone again, Elizabeth made a remark: 'If
+personal appearance could decide the question,' she said,
+'the disagreeable young woman is the oldest of the two. The next
+thing to be done is to discover if looks are to be trusted in
+this case.'
+
+"My friend's lawyer received confidential instructions (not shown
+to me, which seems rather hard) to trace the two Miss Gracedieus'
+registers of birth. Elizabeth described this proceeding (not very
+intelligibly to my mind) as a means of finding out which of
+the girls could be identified by name as the elder of the two.
+
+"The report arrived this morning. I was only informed that
+the result, in one case, had entirely defeated the inquiries. In
+the other case, Elizabeth had helped her agent by referring him
+to a Birth, advertised in the customary columns of the _Times_
+newspaper. Even here, there was a fatal obstacle. The name of
+the place in which Mr. Gracedieu's daughter had been born was not
+added, as usual.
+
+"I still tried to be useful. Had my friend known the Minister's
+wife? My friend had never even seen the Minister's wife. And,
+as if by a fatality, her portrait was no longer in existence. I
+could only mention that Helena was like her mother. But Elizabeth
+seemed to attach very little importance to my evidence, if I may
+call it by so grand a name. 'People have such strange ideas
+about likenesses,' she said, 'and arrive at such contradictory
+conclusions. One can only trust one's own eyes in a matter of
+that kind.'
+
+"My friend next asked me about our domestic establishment. We
+had only a cook and a housemaid. If they were old servants who
+had known the girls as children, they might be made of some use.
+Our luck was as steadily against us as ever. They had both been
+engaged when Mr. Gracedieu assumed his new pastoral duties, after
+having resided with his wife at her native place.
+
+"I asked Elizabeth what she proposed to do next.
+
+"She deferred her answer, until I had first told her whether
+the visit of the doctor might be expected on that day. I could
+reply to this in the negative. Elizabeth, thereupon, made
+a startling request; she begged me to introduce her to Mr.
+Gracedieu.  
+
+"I said: 'Surely, you have forgotten the sad state of his mind?'
+No; she knew perfectly well that he was imbecile. 'I want
+to try,' she explained, 'if I can rouse him for a few minutes.'
+
+"'By Massage?' I inquired.
+
+"She burst out laughing. 'Massage, my dear, doesn't act in that
+way. It is an elaborate process, pursued patiently for weeks
+together. But my hands have more than one accomplishment at
+their finger-ends. Oh, make your mind easy! I shall do no harm,
+if I do no good. Take me, Selina, to the Minister.'
+
+"We went to his room. Don't blame me for giving way; I am
+too fond of Elizabeth to be able to disappoint her.
+
+"It was a sad sight when we went in. He was quite happy,
+playing like a child, at cup-and-ball. The attendant retired at
+my request. I introduced Mrs. Tenbruggen. He smiled and shook
+hands with her. He said: 'Are you a Christian or a Pagan? You are
+very pretty. How many times can you catch the ball in the cup?'
+The effort to talk to her ended there. He went on with his game,
+and seemed to forget that there was anybody in the room. It made
+my heart ache to remember what he was--and to see him now.
+
+"Elizabeth whispered: 'Leave me alone with him.'
+
+"I don't know why I did such a rude thing--I hesitated.
+
+"Elizabeth asked me if I had no confidence in her. I was ashamed
+of myself; I left them together.
+
+"A long half-hour passed. Feeling a little uneasy, I went
+upstairs again and looked into the room. He was leaning back
+in his chair; his plaything was on the floor, and he was looking
+vacantly at the light that came in through the window. I found
+Mrs. Tenbruggen at the other end of the room, in the act of
+ringing the bell. Nothing in the least out of the ordinary way
+seemed to have happened. When the attendant had answered
+the bell, we left the room together. Mr. Gracedieu took no notice
+of us.
+
+"'Well,' I said, 'how has it ended?'
+
+"Quite calmly my noble Elizabeth answered: 'In total failure.'
+
+"'What did you say to him after you sent me away?'
+
+"'I tried, in every possible way, to get him to tell me which
+of his two daughters was the oldest.'
+
+"'Did he refuse to answer?'
+
+"'He was only too ready to answer. First, he said Helena was
+the oldest--then he corrected himself, and declared that Eunice
+was the oldest--then he said they were twins--then he went back
+to Helena and Eunice. Now one was the oldest, and now the other.
+He rang the changes on those two names, I can't tell you how
+often, and seemed to think it a better game than cup-and-ball.'
+
+"'What is to be done?'
+
+"'Nothing is to be done, Selina.'
+
+"'What!' I cried, 'you give it up?'
+
+"My heroic friend answered: 'I know when I am beaten, my dear--
+I give it up.' She looked at her watch; it was time to operate
+on the muscles of one of her patients. Away she went, on
+her glorious mission of Massage, without a murmur of regret.
+What strength of mind! But, oh, dear, what a disappointment for
+poor little me! On one thing I am determined. If I find myself
+getting puzzled or frightened, I shall instantly write to you."
+
+With that expression of confidence in me, Selina's narrative came
+to an end. I wish I could have believed, as she did, that
+the object of her admiration had been telling her the truth.
+
+A few days later, Mrs. Tenbruggen honored me with a visit at my
+house in the neighborhood of London. Thanks to this circumstance,
+I am able to add a postscript which will complete the revelations
+in Miss Jillgall's letter.
+
+The illustrious Masseuse, having much to conceal from
+her faithful Selina, was well aware that she had only one thing
+to keep hidden from me; namely, the advantage which she would
+have gained if her inquiries had met with success.
+
+"I thought I might have got at what I wanted," she told me,
+"by mesmerizing our reverend friend. He is as weak as a woman;
+I threw him into hysterics, and had to give it up, and quiet him,
+or he would have alarmed the house. You look as if you don't
+believe in mesmerism."
+
+"My looks, Mrs. Tenbruggen, exactly express my opinion. Mesmerism
+is a humbug!"
+
+"You amusing old Tory! Shall I throw you into a state of trance?
+No! I'll give you a shock of another kind--a shock of surprise.
+I know as much as you do about Mr. Gracedieu's daughters. What
+do you think of that?"
+
+"I think I should like to hear you tell me, which is the adopted
+child."
+
+"Helena, to be sure!"
+
+Her manner was defiant, her tone was positive; I doubted both.
+Under the surface of her assumed confidence, I saw something
+which told me that she was trying to read my thoughts in my face.
+Many other women had tried to do that. They succeeded when I was
+young. When I had reached the wrong side of fifty, my face had
+learned discretion, and they failed.
+
+"How did you arrive at your discovery?" I asked. "I know
+of nobody who could have helped you."
+
+"I helped myself, sir! I reasoned it out. A wonderful thing
+for a woman to do, isn't it? I wonder whether you could follow
+the process?"
+
+My reply to this was made by a bow. I was sure of my command over
+my face; but perfect control of the voice is a rare power. Here
+and there, a great actor or a great criminal possesses it.
+
+Mrs. Tenbruggen's vanity took me into her confidence. "In
+the first place," she said, "Helena is plainly the wicked one
+of the two. I was not prejudiced by what Selina had told me of
+her: I saw it, and felt it, before I had been five minutes in
+her company. If lying tongues ever provoke her as lying tongues
+provoked her mother, she will follow her mother's example.
+Very well. Now--in the second place--though it is very slight,
+there is a certain something in her hair and her complexion which
+reminds me of the murderess: there is no other resemblance,
+I admit. In the third place, the girls' names point to the same
+conclusion. Mr. Gracedieu is a Protestant and a Dissenter. Would
+he call a child of his own by the name of a Roman Catholic saint?
+No! he would prefer a name in the Bible; Eunice is _his_ child.
+And Helena was once the baby whom I carried into the prison.
+Do you deny that?"
+
+"I don't deny it."
+
+Only four words! But they were deceitfully spoken, and
+the deceit--practiced in Eunice's interest, it is needless
+to say--succeeded. Mrs. Tenbruggen's object in visiting me
+was attained; I had confirmed her belief in the delusion that
+Helena was the adopted child.
+
+She got up to take her leave. I asked if she proposed remaining
+in London. No; she was returning to her country patients that
+night.
+
+As I attended her to the house-door, she turned to me with her
+mischievous smile. "I have taken some trouble in finding the clew
+to the Minister's mystery," she said. "Don't you wonder why?"
+
+"If I did wonder," I answered, "would you tell me why?"
+
+She laughed at the bare idea of it. "Another lesson," she said,
+"to assist a helpless man in studying the weaker sex. I have
+already shown you that a woman can reason. Learn next that
+a woman can keep a secret. Good-by. God bless you!"
+
+Of the events which followed Mrs. Tenbruggen's visit it is not
+possible for me, I am thankful to say, to speak from personal
+experience. Ought I to conclude with an expression of repentance
+for the act of deception to which I have already pleaded guilty?
+I don't know. Yes! the force of circumstances does really compel
+me to say it, and say it seriously--I declare, on my word of
+honor, I don't know.
+
+
+Third period: 1876.
+
+_HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED._
+
+
+CHAPTER LII.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED.
+
+While my father remains in his present helpless condition,
+somebody must assume a position of command in this house.
+There cannot be a moment's doubt that I am the person to do it.
+
+In my agitated state of mind, sometimes doubtful of Philip,
+sometimes hopeful of him, I find Mrs. Tenbruggen simply
+unendurable. A female doctor is, under any circumstances,
+a creature whom I detest. She is, at her very best, a bad
+imitation of a man. The Medical Rubber is worse than this;
+she is a bad imitation of a mountebank. Her grinning good-humor,
+adopted no doubt to please the fools who are her patients, and
+her impudent enjoyment of hearing herself talk, make me regret
+for the first time in my life that I am a young lady. If
+I belonged to the lowest order of the population, I might take
+the first stick I could find, and enjoy the luxury of giving
+Mrs. Tenbruggen a good beating.
+
+She literally haunts the house, encouraged, of course, by
+her wretched little dupe, Miss Jillgall. Only this morning,
+I tried what a broad hint would do toward suggesting that
+her visits had better come to an end.
+
+"Really, Mrs. Tenbruggen," I said, "I must request Miss Jillgall
+to moderate her selfish enjoyment of your company, for your own
+sake. Your time is too valuable, in a professional sense, to be
+wasted on an idle woman who has no sympathy with your patients,
+waiting for relief perhaps, and waiting in vain.
+
+She listened to this, all smiles and good-humor: "My dear, do you
+know how I might answer you, if I was an ill-natured woman?"
+
+"I have no curiosity to hear it, Mrs. Tenbruggen."
+
+"I might ask you," she persisted, "to allow me to mind my own
+business. But I am incapable of making an ungrateful return
+for the interest which you take in my medical welfare. Let me
+venture to ask if you understand the value of time."
+
+"Are you going to say much more, Mrs. Tenbruggen?"
+
+"I am going to make a sensible remark, my child. If you feel
+tired, permit me--here is a chair. Father Time, dear Miss
+Gracedieu, has always been a good friend of mine, because I know
+how to make the best use of him. The author of the famous saying
+_Tempus fugit_ (you understand Latin, of course) was, I take
+leave to think, an idle man. The more I have to do, the readier
+Time is to wait for me. Let me impress this on your mind by
+some interesting examples. The greatest conqueror of the
+century--Napoleon--had time enough for everything. The greatest
+novelist of the century--Sir Walter Scott--had time enough for
+everything. At my humble distance, I imitate those illustrious
+men, and my patients never complain of me."
+
+"Have you done?" I asked.
+
+"Yes, dear--for the present."
+
+"You are a clever woman, Mrs. Tenbruggen and you know it. You
+have an eloquent tongue, and you know it. But you are something
+else, which you don't seem to be aware of. You are a Bore."
+
+She burst out laughing, with the air of a woman who thoroughly
+enjoyed a good joke. I looked back when I left the room, and saw
+the friend of Father Time in the easy chair opening our
+newspaper.
+
+This is a specimen of the customary encounter of our wits.
+I place it on record in my Journal, to excuse myself _to_ myself.
+When she left us at last, later in the day, I sent a letter after
+her to the hotel. Not having kept a copy of it, let me present
+the substance, like a sermon, under three heads: I begged to be
+excused for speaking plainly; I declared that there was a total
+want of sympathy between us, on my side; and I proposed that she
+should deprive me of future opportunities of receiving her in
+this house. The reply arrived immediately in these terms: "Your
+letter received, dear girl. I am not in the least angry; partly
+because I am very fond of you, partly because I know that you
+will ask me to come back again. P. S.: Philip sends his love."
+
+This last piece of insolence was unquestionably a lie. Philip
+detests her. They are both staying at the same hotel. But
+I happen to know that he won't even look at her, if they meet
+by accident on the stairs.
+
+People who can enjoy the melancholy spectacle of human nature in
+a state of degradation would be at a loss which exhibition to
+prefer--an ugly old maid in a rage, or an ugly old maid in tears.
+Miss Jillgall presented herself in both characters when she heard
+what had happened. To my mind, Mrs. Tenbruggen's bosom-friend is
+a creature not fit to be seen or heard when she loses her temper.
+I only told her to leave the room. To my great amusement, she
+shook her bony fist at me, and expressed a frantic wish: "Oh, if
+I was rich enough to leave this wicked house!" I wonder whether
+there is insanity (as well as poverty) in Miss Jillgall's family?
+
+
+Last night my mind was in a harassed state. Philip was, as usual,
+the cause of it.
+
+Perhaps I acted indiscreetly when I insisted on his leaving
+London, and returning to this place. But what else could I have
+done? It was not merely my interest, it was an act of downright
+necessity, to withdraw him from the influence of his hateful
+father--whom I now regard as the one serious obstacle to
+my marriage. There is no prospect of being rid of Mr. Dunboyne
+the elder by his returning to Ireland. He is trying a new remedy
+for his crippled hand--electricity. I wish it was lightning,
+to kill him! If I had given that wicked old man the chance, I am
+firmly convinced he would not have let a day pass without doing
+his best to depreciate me in his son's estimation. Besides, there
+was the risk, if I had allowed Philip to remain long away from
+me, of losing--no, while I keep my beauty I cannot be in such
+danger as that--let me say, of permitting time and absence to
+weaken my hold on him. However sullen and silent he may be, when
+we meet--and I find him in that condition far too often--I can,
+sooner or later, recall him to his brighter self. My eyes
+preserve their charm, my talk can still amuse him, and, better
+even than that, I feel the answering thrill in him, which tells
+me how precious my kisses are--not too lavishly bestowed! But
+the time when I am obliged to leave him to himself is the time
+that I dread. How do I know that his thoughts are not wandering
+away to Eunice? He denies it; he declares that he only went
+to the farmhouse to express his regret for his own thoughtless
+conduct, and to offer her the brotherly regard due to the sister
+of his promised wife. Can I believe it? Oh, what would I not give
+to be able to believe it! How can I feel sure that her refusal
+to see him was not a cunning device to make him long for another
+interview, and plan perhaps in private to go back and try again.
+Marriage! Nothing will quiet these frightful doubts of mine,
+nothing will reward me for all that I have suffered, nothing will
+warm my heart with the delightful sense of triumph over Eunice,
+but my marriage to Philip. And what does he say, when I urge it
+on him?--yes, I have fallen as low as that, in the despair which
+sometimes possesses me. He has his answer, always the same,
+and always ready: "How are we to live? where is the money?"
+The maddening part of it is that I cannot accuse him of raising
+objections that don't exist. We are poorer than ever here, since
+my father's illness--and Philip's allowance is barely enough to
+suffice him as a single man. Oh, how I hate the rich!
+
+It was useless to think of going to bed. How could I hope to
+sleep, with my head throbbing, and my thoughts in this disturbed
+state? I put on my comfortable dressing-gown, and sat down to try
+what reading would do to quiet my mind.
+
+I had borrowed the book from the Library, to which I have been
+a subscriber in secret for some time past. It was an old volume,
+full of what we should now call Gossip; relating strange
+adventures, and scandalous incidents in family history which
+had been concealed from public notice.
+
+One of these last romances in real life caught a strong hold
+on my interest.
+
+It was a strange case of intended poisoning, which had never
+been carried out. A young married lady of rank, whose name was
+concealed under an initial letter, had suffered some unendurable
+wrong (which was not mentioned) at the hands of her husband's
+mother. The wife was described as a woman of strong passions,
+who had determined on a terrible revenge by taking the life
+of her mother-in-law. There were difficulties in the way of
+her committing the crime without an accomplice to help her;
+and she decided on taking her maid, an elderly woman, into
+her confidence. The poison was secretly obtained by this person;
+and the safest manner of administering it was under discussion
+between the mistress and the maid, when the door of the room was
+suddenly opened. The husband, accompanied by his brother, rushed
+in, and charged his wife with plotting the murder of his mother.
+The young lady (she was only twenty-three) must have been
+a person of extraordinary courage and resolution. She saw at once
+that her maid had betrayed her, and, with astonishing presence
+of mind, she turned on the traitress, and said to her husband:
+"There is the wretch who has been trying to persuade me to poison
+your mother!" As it happened, the old lady's temper was violent
+and overbearing; and the maid had complained of being ill-treated
+by her, in the hearing of the other servants. The circumstances
+made it impossible to decide which of the two was really
+the guilty woman. The servant was sent away, and the husband
+and wife separated soon afterward, under the excuse of
+incompatibility of temper. Years passed; and the truth was only
+discovered by the death-bed confession of the wife. A remarkable
+story, which has made such an impression on me that I have
+written it in my Journal. I am not rich enough to buy the book.
+
+
+For the last two days, I have been confined to my room with a bad
+feverish cold--caught, as I suppose, by sitting at an open window
+reading my book till nearly three o'clock in the morning. I sent
+a note to Philip, telling him of my illness. On the first day,
+he called to inquire after me. On the second day, no visit, and
+no letter. Here is the third day--and no news of him as yet. I am
+better, but not fit to go out. Let me wait another hour, and,
+if that exertion of patience meets with no reward, I shall send
+a note to the hotel.
+
+No news of Philip. I have sent to the hotel. The servant has just
+returned, bringing me back my note. The waiter informed her that
+Mr. Dunboyne had gone away to London by the morning train. No
+apology or explanation left for me.
+
+_Can_ he have deserted me? I am in such a frenzy of doubt and
+rage that I can hardly write that horrible question. Is it
+possible--oh, I feel it _is_ possible that he has gone away with
+Eunice. Do I know where to find them? if I did know, what could
+I do? I feel as if I could kill them both!
+
+
+CHAPTER LIII.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED.
+
+After the heat of my anger had cooled, I made two discoveries.
+One cost me a fee to a messenger, and the other exposed me
+to the insolence of a servant. I pay willingly in my purse and
+my pride, when the gain is peace of mind. Through my messenger
+I ascertained that Eunice had never left the farm. Through my own
+inquiries, answered by the waiter with an impudent grin, I heard
+that Philip had left orders to have his room kept for him. What
+misery our stupid housemaid might have spared me, if she had
+thought of putting that question when I sent her to the hotel!
+
+The rest of the day passed in vain speculations on Philip's
+motive for this sudden departure. What poor weak creatures we
+are! I persuaded myself to hope that anxiety for our marriage
+had urged him to make an effort to touch the heart of his mean
+father. Shall I see him to-morrow? And shall I have reason
+to be fonder of him than ever?
+
+
+We met again to-day as usual. He has behaved infamously.
+
+When I asked what had been his object in going to London, I was
+told that it was "a matter of business." He made that idiotic
+excuse as coolly as if he really thought I should believe it.
+I submitted in silence, rather than mar his return to me by
+the disaster of a quarrel. But this was an unlucky day. A harder
+trial of my self-control was still to come. Without the slightest
+appearance of shame, Philip informed me that he was charged
+with a message from Mrs. Tenbruggen! She wanted some Irish lace,
+and would I be so good as to tell her which was the best shop
+at which she could buy it?
+
+Was he really in earnest? "You," I said, "who distrusted and
+detested her--you are on friendly terms with that woman?"
+
+He remonstrated with me. "My dear Helena, don't speak in that way
+of Mrs. Tenbruggen. We have both been mistaken about her. That
+good creature has forgiven the brutal manner in which I spoke to
+her, when she was in attendance on my father. She was the first
+to propose that we should shake hands and forget it. My darling,
+don't let all the good feeling be on one side. You have no idea
+how kindly she speaks of you, and how anxious she is to help us
+to be married. Come! come! meet her half-way. Write down the name
+of the shop on my card, and I will take it back to her."
+
+Sheer amazement kept me silent: I let him go on. He was a mere
+child in the hands of Mrs. Tenbruggen: she had only to determine
+to make a fool of him, and she could do it.
+
+But why did she do it? What advantage had she to gain by
+insinuating herself in this way into his good opinion, evidently
+with the intention of urging him to reconcile us to each other?
+How could we two poor young people be of the smallest use to
+the fashionable Masseuse?
+
+My silence began to irritate Philip. "I never knew before how
+obstinate you could be," he said; "you seem to be doing your
+best--I can't imagine why--to lower yourself in my estimation."
+
+I held my tongue; I assumed my smile. It is all very well for men
+to talk about the deceitfulness of women. What chance (I should
+like to ask somebody who knows about it) do the men give us
+of making our lives with them endurable, except by deceit! I gave
+way, of course, and wrote down the address of the shop.
+
+He was so pleased that he kissed me. Yes! the most fondly
+affectionate kiss that he had given me, for weeks past, was
+my reward for submitting to Mrs. Tenbruggen. She is old enough
+to be his mother, and almost as ugly as Miss Jillgall--and she
+has made her interests his interests already!
+
+
+On the next day, I fully expected to receive a visit from
+Mrs. Tenbruggen. She knew better than that. I only got a polite
+little note, thanking me for the address, and adding an artless
+concession: "I earn more money than I know what to do with;
+and I adore Irish lace."
+
+The next day came, and still she was careful not to show herself
+too eager for a personal reconciliation. A splendid nosegay was
+sent to me, with another little note: "A tribute, dear Helena,
+offered by one of my grateful patients. Too beautiful a present
+for an old woman like me. I agree with the poet: 'Sweets to the
+sweet.' A charming thought of Shakespeare's, is it not? I should
+like to verify the quotation. Would you mind leaving the volume
+for me in the hall, if I call to-morrow?"
+
+Well done, Mrs. Tenbruggen! She doesn't venture to intrude on
+Miss Gracedieu in the drawing-room; she only wants to verify
+a quotation in the hall. Oh, goddess of Humility (if there is
+such a person), how becomingly you are dressed when your milliner
+is an artful old woman!
+
+While this reflection was passing through my mind, Miss Jillgall
+came in--saw the nosegay on the table--and instantly pounced on
+it. "Oh, for me! for me!" she cried. "I noticed it this morning
+on Elizabeth's table. How very kind of her!" She plunged
+her inquisitive nose into the poor flowers, and looked up
+sentimentally at the ceiling. "The perfume of goodness," she
+remarked, "mingled with the perfume of flowers!" "When you have
+quite done with it," I said, "perhaps you will be so good as to
+return my nosegay?" "_Your_ nosegay!" she exclaimed. "There is
+Mrs. Tenbruggen's letter," I replied, "if you would like to look
+at it." She did look at it. All the bile in her body flew up
+into her eyes, and turned them green; she looked as if she longed
+to scratch my face. I gave the flowers afterward to Maria; Miss
+Jillgall's nose had completely spoiled them.
+
+
+It would have been too ridiculous to have allowed Mrs. Tenbruggen
+to consult Shakespeare in the hall. I had the honor of receiving
+her in my own room. We accomplished a touching reconciliation,
+and we quite forgot Shakespeare.
+
+She troubles me; she does indeed trouble me.
+
+Having set herself entirely right with Philip, she is determined
+on performing the same miracle with me. Her reform of herself
+is already complete. Her vulgar humor was kept under strict
+restraint; she was quiet and well-bred, and readier to listen
+than to talk. This change was not presented abruptly. She
+contrived to express her friendly interests in Philip and in me
+by hints dropped here and there, assisted in their effort by
+answers on my part, into which I was tempted so skillfully that
+I only discovered the snare set for me, on reflection. What is
+it, I ask again, that she has in view in taking all this trouble?
+Where is her motive for encouraging a love-affair, which Miss
+Jillgall must have denounced to her as an abominable wrong
+inflicted on Eunice? Money (even if there was a prospect of such
+a thing, in our case) cannot be her object; it is quite true that
+her success sets her above pecuniary anxiety. Spiteful feeling
+against Eunice is out of the question. They have only met once;
+and her opinion was expressed to me with evident sincerity: "Your
+sister is a nice girl, but she is like other nice girls--she
+doesn't interest me." There is Eunice's character, drawn from
+the life in few words. In what an irritating position do I find
+myself placed! Never before have I felt so interested in trying
+to look into a person's secret mind; and never before have I been
+so completely baffled.
+
+I had written as far as this, and was on the point of closing
+my Journal, when a third note arrived from Mrs. Tenbruggen.
+
+She had been thinking about me at intervals (she wrote) all
+through the rest of the day; and, kindly as I had received her,
+she was conscious of being the object of doubts on my part which
+her visit had failed to remove. Might she ask leave to call on
+me, in the hope of improving her position in my estimation?
+An appointment followed for the next day.
+
+What can she have to say to me which she has not already said?
+Is it anything about Philip, I wonder?
+
+
+CHAPTER LIV.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED.
+
+At our interview of the next day, Mrs. Tenbruggen's capacity
+for self-reform appeared under a new aspect. She dropped all
+familiarity with me, and she stated the object of her visit
+without a superfluous word of explanation or apology.
+
+I thought this a remarkable effort for a woman; and I recognized
+the merit of it by leaving the lion's share of the talk to
+my visitor. In these terms she opened her business with me:
+
+"Has Mr. Philip Dunboyne told you why he went to London?"
+
+"He made a commonplace excuse," I answered. "Business, he said,
+took him to London. I know no more."
+
+"You have a fair prospect of happiness, Miss Helena, when you are
+married--your future husband is evidently afraid of you. I am not
+afraid of you; and I shall confide to your private ear something
+which you have an interest in knowing. The business which took
+young Mr. Dunboyne to London was to consult a competent person,
+on a matter concerning himself. The competent person is the
+sagacious (not to say sly) old gentleman--whom we used to call
+the Governor. You know him, I believe?"
+
+"Yes. But I am at a loss to imagine why Philip should have
+consulted him."
+
+"Have you ever heard or read, Miss Helena, of such a thing as
+'an old man's fancy'?"
+
+"I think I have."
+
+"Well, the Governor has taken an old man's fancy to your sister.
+They appeared to understand each other perfectly when I was at
+the farmhouse."
+
+"Excuse me, Mrs. Tenbruggen, that is what I know already. Why did
+Philip go to the Governor?"
+
+She smiled. "If anybody is acquainted with the true state of your
+sister's feelings, the Governor is the man. I sent Mr. Dunboyne
+to consult him--and there is the reason for it."
+
+This open avowal of her motives perplexed and offended me. After
+declaring herself to be interested in my marriage-engagement had
+she changed her mind, and resolved on favoring Philip's return
+to Eunice? What right had he to consult anybody about the state
+of that girl's feelings? _My_ feelings form the only subject
+of inquiry that was properly open to him. I should have said
+something which I might have afterward regretted, if Mrs.
+Tenbruggen had allowed me the opportunity. Fortunately for both
+of us, she went on with her narrative of her own proceedings.
+
+"Philip Dunboyne is an excellent fellow," she continued; "I
+really like him--but he has his faults. He sadly wants strength
+of purpose; and, like weak men in general, he only knows his own
+mind when a resolute friend takes him in hand and guides him.
+I am his resolute friend. I saw him veering about between you
+and Eunice; and I decided for his sake--may I say for your sake
+also?--on putting an end to that mischievous state of indecision.
+You have the claim on him; you are the right wife for him,
+and the Governor was (as I thought likely from what I had myself
+observed) the man to make him see it. I am not in anybody's
+secrets; it was pure guesswork on my part, and it has succeeded.
+There is no more doubt now about Miss Eunice's sentiments.
+The question is settled."
+
+"In my favor?"
+
+"Certainly in your favor--or I should not have said a word
+about it."
+
+"Was Philip's visit kindly received? Or did the old wretch laugh
+at him?"
+
+"My dear Miss Gracedieu, the old wretch is a man of the world,
+and never makes mistakes of that sort. Before he could open
+his lips, he had to satisfy himself that your lover deserved to
+be taken into his confidence, on the delicate subject of Eunice's
+sentiments. He arrived at a favorable conclusion. I can repeat
+Philip's questions and the Governor's answers after putting
+the young man through a stiff examination just as they passed:
+'May I inquire, sir, if she has spoken to you about me?' 'She has
+often spoken about you.' 'Did she seem to be angry with me?' 'She
+is too good and too sweet to be angry with you.' 'Do you think
+she will forgive me?' 'She has forgiven you.' 'Did she say so
+herself?' 'Yes, of her own free will.' 'Why did she refuse to see
+me when I called at the farm?' 'She had her own reasons--good
+reasons.' 'Has she regretted it since?' 'Certainly not.' 'Is it
+likely that she would consent, if I proposed a reconciliation?'
+'I put that question to her myself.' 'How did she take it,
+sir?' 'She declined to take it.' 'You mean that she declined
+a reconciliation?' 'Yes.' 'Are you sure she was in earnest?'
+'I am positively sure.' That last answer seems, by young
+Dunboyne's own confession, to have been enough, and more than
+enough for him. He got up to go--and then an odd thing happened.
+After giving him the most unfavorable answers, the Governor
+patted him paternally on the shoulder, and encouraged him to
+hope. 'Before we say good-by, Mr. Philip, one word more. If
+I was as young as you are, I should not despair.' There is
+a sudden change of front! Who can explain it?"
+
+The Governor's mischievous resolution to reconcile Philip
+and Eunice explained it, of course. With the best intentions
+(perhaps) Mrs. Tenbruggen had helped that design by bringing
+the two men together. "Go on," I said; "I am prepared to hear
+next that Philip has paid another visit to my sister, and has
+been received this time."
+
+I must say this for Mrs. Tenbruggen: she kept her temper
+perfectly.
+
+"He has not been to the farm," she said, "but he has done
+something nearly as foolish. He has written to your sister."
+
+"And he has received a favorable reply, of course?"
+
+She put her hand into the pocket of her dress.
+
+"There is your sister's reply," she said.
+
+Any persons who have had a crushing burden lifted, unexpectedly
+and instantly, from off their minds, will know what I felt when
+I read the reply. In the most positive language, Eunice refused
+to correspond with Philip, or to speak with him. The concluding
+words proved that she was in earnest. "You are engaged to Helena.
+Consider me as a stranger until you are married. After that time
+you will be my brother-in-law, and then I may pardon you for
+writing to me."
+
+Nobody who knows Eunice would have supposed that she possessed
+those two valuable qualities--common-sense and proper pride.
+It is pleasant to feel that I can now send cards to my sister,
+when I am Mrs. Philip Dunboyne.
+
+I returned the letter to Mrs. Tenbruggen, with the sincerest
+expressions of regret for having doubted her. "I have been
+unworthy of your generous interest in me," I said; "I am almost
+ashamed to offer you my hand."
+
+She took my hand, and gave it a good, heady shake.
+
+"Are we friends?" she asked, in the simplest and prettiest
+manner. "Then let us be easy and pleasant again," she went on.
+"Will you call me Elizabeth; and shall I call you Helena? Very
+well. Now I have got something else to say; another secret which
+must be kept from Philip (I call _him_ by his name now, you see)
+for a few days more. Your happiness, my dear, must not depend on
+his miserly old father. He must have a little income of his own
+to marry on. Among the hundreds of unfortunate wretches whom I
+have relieved from torture of mind and body, there is a grateful
+minority. Small! small! but there they are. I have influence
+among powerful people; and I am trying to make Philip private
+secretary to a member of Parliament. When I have succeeded,
+you shall tell him the good news."
+
+What a vile humor I must have been in, at the time, not to have
+appreciated the delightful gayety of this good creature; I went
+to the other extreme now, and behaved like a gushing young miss
+fresh from school. I kissed her.
+
+She burst out laughing. "What a sacrifice!" she cried. "A kiss
+for me, which ought to have been kept for Philip! By-the-by, do
+you know what I should do, Helena, in your place? I should take
+our handsome young man away from that hotel!"
+
+"I will do anything that you advise," I said.
+
+"And you will do well, my child. In the first place, the hotel
+is too expensive for Philip's small means. In the second place,
+two of the chambermaids have audaciously presumed to be charming
+girls; and the men, my dear--well! well! I will leave you to
+find that out for yourself. In the third place, you want to have
+Philip under your own wing; domestic familiarity will make him
+fonder of you than ever. Keep him out of the sort of company that
+he meets with in the billiard-room and the smoking-room. You have
+got a spare bed here, I know, and your poor father is in no
+condition to use his authority. Make Philip one of the family."
+
+This last piece of advice staggered me. I mentioned the
+Proprieties. Mrs. Tenbruggen laughed at the Proprieties.
+
+"Make Selina of some use," she suggested. "While you have got
+_her_ in the house, Propriety is rampant. Why condemn poor
+helpless Philip to cheap lodgings? Time enough to cast him out to
+the feather-bed and the fleas on the night before your marriage.
+Besides, I shall be in and out constantly--for I mean to cure
+your father. The tongue of scandal is silent in my awful
+presence; an atmosphere of virtue surrounds Mamma Tenbruggen.
+Think of it."
+
+
+CHAPTER LV.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED.
+
+I did think of it. Philip came to us, and lived in our house.
+
+Let me hasten to add that the protest of Propriety was duly
+entered, on the day before my promised husband arrived. Standing
+in the doorway--nothing would induce her to take a chair, or
+even to enter the room--Miss Jillgall delivered her opinion
+on Philip's approaching visit. Mrs. Tenbruggen reported it
+in her pocket-book, as if she was representing a newspaper at
+a public meeting. Here it is, copied from her notes:
+
+"Miss Helena Gracedieu, my first impulse under the present
+disgusting circumstances was to leave the house, and earn a bare
+crust in the cheapest garret I could find in the town. But my
+grateful heart remembers Mr. Gracedieu. My poor afflicted cousin
+was good to me when I was helpless. I cannot forsake him when
+_he_ is helpless. At whatever sacrifice of my own self-respect,
+I remain under this roof, so dear to me for the Minister's sake.
+I notice, miss, that you smile. I see my once dear Elizabeth, the
+friend who has so bitterly disappointed me--" she stopped, and
+put her handkerchief to her eyes, and went on again--"the friend
+who has so bitterly disappointed me, taking satirical notes of
+what I say. I am not ashamed of what I say. The virtue which will
+not stretch a little, where the motive is good, is feeble virtue
+indeed. I shall stay in the house, and witness horrors, and rise
+superior to them. Good-morning, Miss Gracedieu. Good-morning,
+Elizabeth." She performed a magnificent curtsey, and (as Mrs.
+Tenbruggen's experience of the stage informed me) made a very
+creditable exit.
+
+
+A week has passed, and I have not opened my Diary.
+
+My days have glided away in one delicious flow of happiness.
+Philip has been delightfully devoted to me. His fervent
+courtship, far exceeding any similar attentions which he may
+once have paid to Eunice, has shown such variety and such
+steadfastness of worship, that I despair of describing it.
+My enjoyment of my new life is to be felt--not to be coldly
+considered, and reduced to an imperfect statement in words.
+
+For the first time I feel capable, if the circumstances
+encouraged me, of acts of exalted virtue. For instance, I could
+save my country if my country was worth it. I could die a martyr
+to religion if I had a religion. In one word, I am exceedingly
+well satisfied with myself. The little disappointments of life
+pass over me harmless. I do not even regret the failure of good
+Mrs. Tenbruggen's efforts to find an employment for Philip,
+worthy of his abilities and accomplishments. The member of
+Parliament to whom she had applied has chosen a secretary
+possessed of political influence. That is the excuse put forward
+in his letter to Mrs. Tenbruggen. Wretched corrupt creature!
+If he was worth a thought I should pity him. He has lost Philip's
+services.
+
+
+Three days more have slipped by. The aspect of my heaven on earth
+is beginning to alter.
+
+Perhaps the author of that wonderful French novel, "L'Ame
+Damne'e," is right when he tells us that human happiness
+is misery in masquerade. It would be wrong to say that I am
+miserable. But I may be on the way to it; I am anxious.
+
+To-day, when he did not know that I was observing him, I
+discovered a preoccupied look in Philip's eyes. He laughed when
+I asked if anything had happened to vex him. Was it a natural
+laugh? He put his arm round me and kissed me. Was it done
+mechanically? I daresay I am out of humor myself. I think
+I had a little headache. Morbid, probably. I won't think of it
+any more.  
+
+It has occurred to me this morning that he may dislike being
+left by himself, while I am engaged in my household affairs.
+If this is the case, intensely as I hate her, utterly as I loathe
+the idea of putting her in command over my domestic dominions,
+I shall ask Miss Jillgall to take my place as housekeeper.
+
+I was away to-day in the kitchen regions rather longer than
+usual. When I had done with my worries, Philip was not to be
+found. Maria, looking out of one of the bedroom windows instead
+of doing her work, had seen Mr. Dunboyne leave the house. It was
+possible that he had charged Miss Jillgall with a message for me.
+I asked if she was in her room. No; she, too, had gone out.
+It was a fine day, and Philip had no doubt taken a stroll--but he
+might have waited till I could join him. There were some orders
+to be given to the butcher and the green-grocer. I, too, left
+the house, hoping to get rid of some little discontent, caused
+by thinking of what had happened. Returning by the way of High
+Street--I declare I can hardly believe it even now--I did
+positively see Miss Jillgall coming out of a pawnbroker's shop!
+
+The direction in which she turned prevented her from seeing me.
+She was quite unaware that I had discovered her; and I have said
+nothing about it since. But I noticed something unusual in the
+manner in which her watch-chain was hanging, and I asked her what
+o'clock it was. She said, "You have got your own watch." I told
+her my watch had stopped. "So has mine," she said. There is no
+doubt about it now; she has pawned her watch. What for? She lives
+here for nothing, and she has not had a new dress since I have
+known her. Why does she want money?
+
+Philip had not returned when I got home. Another mysterious
+journey to London? No. After an absence of more than two hours,
+he came back.
+
+Naturally enough, I asked what he had been about. He had been
+taking a long walk. For his health's sake? No: to think. To think
+of what? Well, I might be surprised to hear it, but his idle life
+was beginning to weigh on his spirits; he wanted employment. Had
+he thought of an employment? Not yet. Which way had he walked?
+Anyway: he had not noticed where he went. These replies were all
+made in a tone that offended me. Besides, I observed there was
+no dust on his boots (after a week of dry weather), and his walk
+of two hours did not appear to have heated or tired him. I took
+an opportunity of consulting Mrs. Tenbruggen.
+
+She had anticipated that I should appeal to her opinion, as
+a woman of the world.
+
+I shall not set down in detail what she said. Some of it
+humiliated me; and from some of it I recoiled. The expression
+of her opinion came to this. In the absence of experience,
+a certain fervor of temperament was essential to success in
+the art of fascinating men. Either my temperament was deficient,
+or my intellect overpowered it. It was natural that I should
+suppose myself to be as susceptible to the tender passion as
+the most excitable woman living. Delusion, my Helena, amiable
+delusion!  Had I ever observed or had any friend told me that
+my pretty hands were cold hands? I had beautiful eyes, expressive
+of vivacity, of intelligence, of every feminine charm, except
+the one inviting charm that finds favor in the eyes of a man.
+She then entered into particulars, which I don't deny showed
+a true interest in helping me. I was ungrateful, sulky,
+self-opinionated. Dating from that day's talk with Mrs.
+Tenbruggen, my new friendship began to show signs of having
+caught a chill.
+
+But I did my best to follow her instructions--and failed.
+
+It is perhaps true that my temperament is overpowered by
+my intellect. Or it is possibly truer still that the fire
+in my heart, when it warms to love, is a fire that burns low.
+My belief is that I surprised Philip instead of charming him.
+He responded to my advances, but I felt that it was not done
+in earnest, not spontaneously. Had I any right to complain?
+Was I in earnest?  Was I spontaneous? We were making love to
+each other under false pretenses. Oh, what a fool I was to ask
+for Mrs. Tenbruggen's advice!
+
+A humiliating doubt has come to me suddenly. Has his heart been
+inclining to Eunice again? After such a letter as she has written
+to him? Impossible!
+
+
+Three events since yesterday, which I consider, trifling as
+they may be, intimations of something wrong.
+
+First, Miss Jillgall, who at one time was eager to take my place,
+has refused to relieve me of my housekeeping duties. Secondly,
+Philip has been absent again, on another long walk. Thirdly,
+when Philip returned, depressed and sulky, I caught Miss Jillgall
+looking at him with interest and pity visible in her skinny face.
+What do these things mean?
+
+
+I am beginning to doubt everybody. Not one of them, Philip
+included, cares for me--but I can frighten them, at any rate.
+Yesterday evening, I dropped on the floor as suddenly as if I had
+been shot: a fit of some sort. The doctor honestly declared that
+he was at a loss to account for it. He would have laid me under
+an eternal obligation if he had failed to bring me back to life
+again.
+
+As it is, I am more clever than the doctor. What brought the fit
+on is well known to me. Rage--furious, overpowering, deadly
+rage--was the cause. I am now in the cold-blooded state, which
+can look back at the event as composedly as if it had happened
+to some other girl. Suppose that girl had let her sweetheart know
+how she loved him as she had never let him know it before.
+Suppose she opened the door again the instant after she had left
+the room, eager, poor wretch, to say once more, for the fiftieth
+time, "My angel, I love you!" Suppose she found her angel
+standing with his back toward her, so that his face was reflected
+in the glass. And suppose she discovered in that face, so smiling
+and so sweet when his head had rested on her bosom only
+the moment before, the most hideous expression of disgust that
+features can betray. There could be no doubt of it; I had made my
+poor offering of love to a man who secretly loathed me. I wonder
+that I survived my sense of my own degradation. Well! I am alive;
+and I know him in his true character at last. Am I a woman who
+submits when an outrage is offered to her? What will happen next?
+Who knows? I am in a fine humor. What I have just written has set
+me laughing at myself. Helena Gracedieu has one merit at
+least--she is a very amusing person.
+
+
+I slept last night.
+
+This morning, I am strong again, calm, wickedly capable
+of deceiving Mr. Philip Dunboyne, as he has deceived me. He has
+not the faintest suspicion that I have discovered him. I wish
+he had courage enough to kill somebody. How I should enjoy hiring
+the nearest window to the scaffold, and seeing him hanged!
+
+Miss Jillgall is in better spirits than ever. She is going to
+take a little holiday; and the cunning creature makes a mystery
+of it. "Good-by, Miss Helena. I am going to stay for a day
+or two with a friend." What friend? Who cares?
+
+
+Last night, I was wakeful. In the darkness a daring idea came to
+me. To-day, I have carried out the idea. Something has followed
+which is well worth entering in my Diary.
+
+I left the room at the usual hour for attending to my domestic
+affairs. The obstinate cook did me a service; she was insolent;
+she wanted to have her own way. I gave her her own way. In less
+than five minutes I was on the watch in the pantry, which has
+a view of the house door. My hat and my parasol were waiting
+for me on the table, in case of my going out, too.
+
+In a few minutes more, I heard the door opened. Mr. Philip
+Dunboyne stepped out. He was going to take another of his long
+walks.
+
+I followed him to the street in which the cabs stand. He hired
+the first one on the rank, an open chaise; while I kept myself
+hidden in a shop door.
+
+The moment he started on his drive, I hired a closed cab.
+"Double your fare," I said to the driver, "whatever it may be,
+if you follow that chaise cleverly, and do what I tell you."
+
+He nodded and winked at me. A wicked-looking old fellow; just
+the man I wanted.
+
+We followed the chaise.
+
+
+CHAPTER LVI.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED.
+
+When we had left the town behind us, the coachman began to drive
+more slowly. In my ignorance, I asked what this change in
+the pace meant. He pointed with his whip to the open road and
+to the chaise in the distance.
+
+"If we keep too near the gentleman, miss, he has only got to look
+back, and he'll see we are following him. The safe thing to do
+is to let the chaise get on a bit. We can't lose sight of it,
+out here."
+
+I had felt inclined to trust in the driver's experience, and he
+had already justified my confidence in him. This encouraged me to
+consult his opinion on a matter of some importance to my present
+interests. I could see the necessity of avoiding discovery when
+we had followed the chaise to its destination; but I was totally
+at a loss to know how it could be done. My wily old man was ready
+with his advice the moment I asked for it.
+
+"Wherever the chaise stops, miss, we must drive past it as if we
+were going somewhere else. I shall notice the place while we go
+by; and you will please sit back in the corner of the cab so that
+the gentleman can't see you."
+
+"Well," I said, "and what next?"
+
+"Next, miss, I shall pull up, wherever it may be, out of sight
+of the driver of the chaise. He bears an excellent character,
+I don't deny it; but I've known him for years--and we had better
+not trust him. I shall tell you where the gentleman stopped;
+and you will go back to the place (on foot, of course), and see
+for yourself what's to be done, specially if there happens to be
+a lady in the case. No offense, miss; it's in my experience that
+there's generally a lady in the case. Anyhow, you can judge for
+yourself, and you'll know where to find me waiting when you want
+me again."
+
+"Suppose something happens," I suggested, "that we don't expect?"
+
+"I shan't lose my head, miss, whatever happens."
+
+"All very well, coachman; but I have only your word for it."
+In the irritable state of my mind, the man's confident way of
+thinking annoyed me.
+
+"Begging your pardon, my young lady, you've got (if I may say so)
+what they call a guarantee. When I was a young man, I drove a cab
+in London for ten years. Will that do?"
+
+"I suppose you mean," I answered, "that you have learned deceit
+in the wicked ways of the great city."
+
+He took this as a compliment. "Thank you, miss. That's it
+exactly."
+
+After a long drive, or so it seemed to my impatience, we passed
+the chaise drawn up at a lonely house, separated by a front
+garden from the road. In two or three minutes more, we stopped
+where the road took a turn, and descended to lower ground.
+The farmhouse which we had left behind us was known to
+the driver. He led the way to a gate at the side of the road,
+and opened it for me.
+
+"In your place, miss," he said slyly, "the private way back
+is the way I should wish to take. Try it by the fields. Turn to
+the right when you have passed the barn, and you'll find yourself
+at the back of the house." He stopped, and looked at his big
+silver watch. "Half-past twelve," he said, "the Chawbacons--I
+mean the farmhouse servants, miss--will be at their dinner.
+All in your favor, so far. If the dog happens to be loose, don't
+forget that his name's Grinder; call him by his name, and pat him
+before he has time enough to think, and he'll let you be. When
+you want me, here you'll find me waiting for orders."
+
+I looked back as I crossed the field. The driver was sitting on
+the gate, smoking his pipe, and the horse was nibbling the grass
+at the roadside. Two happy animals, without a burden on their
+minds!
+
+After passing the barn, I saw nothing of the dog. Far or near,
+no living creature appeared; the servants must have been at
+dinner, as the coachman had foreseen. Arriving at a wooden fence,
+I opened a gate in it, and found myself on a bit of waste ground.
+On my left, there was a large duck-pond. On my right, I saw the
+fowl-house and the pigstyes. Before me was a high impenetrable
+hedge; and at some distance behind it--an orchard or a garden,
+as I supposed, filling the intermediate space--rose the back
+of the house. I made for the shelter of the hedge, in the fear
+that some one might approach a window and see me. Once sheltered
+from observation, I might consider what I should do next. It was
+impossible to doubt that this was the house in which Eunice was
+living. Neither could I fail to conclude that Philip had tried
+to persuade her to see him, on those former occasions when he
+told me he had taken a long walk.
+
+As I crouched behind the hedge, I heard voices approaching
+on the other side of it. At last fortune had befriended me.
+The person speaking at the moment was Miss Jillgall; and
+the person who answered her was Philip.
+
+"I am afraid, dear Mr. Philip, you don't quite understand my
+sweet Euneece. Honorable, high minded, delicate in her feelings,
+and, oh, so unselfish! I don't want to alarm you, but when she
+hears you have been deceiving Helena--"
+
+"Upon my word, Miss Jillgall, you are so provoking! I have not
+been deceiving Helena. Haven't I told you what discouraging
+answers I got, when I went to see the Governor? Haven't I shown
+you Eunice's reply to my letter? You can't have forgotten it
+already?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I have. Why should I remember it? Don't I know poor
+Euneece was in your mind, all the time?"
+
+"You're wrong again! Eunice was not in my mind all the time.
+I was hurt--I was offended by the cruel manner in which she had
+treated me. And what was the consequence? So far was I from
+deceiving Helena--she rose in my estimation by comparison with
+her sister."
+
+"Oh, come, come, Mr. Philip! that won't do. Helena rising in
+anybody's estimation? Ha! ha! ha!"
+
+"Laugh as much as you like, Miss Jillgall, you won't laugh away
+the facts. Helena loved me; Helena was true to me. Don't be hard
+on a poor fellow who is half distracted. What a man finds he can
+do on one day, he finds he can't do on another. Try to understand
+that a change does sometimes come over one's feelings."
+
+"Bless my soul, Mr. Philip, that's just what I have been
+understanding all the time! I know your mind as well as you
+know it yourself. You can't forget my sweet Euneece."
+
+"I tell you I tried to forget her! On my word of honor as
+a gentleman, I tried to forget her, in justice to Helena. Is it
+my fault that I failed? Eunice was in my mind, as you said just
+now.  Oh, my friend--for you are my friend, I am sure--persuade
+her to see me, if it's only for a minute!"
+
+(Was there ever a man's mind in such a state of confusion as
+this! First, I rise in his precious estimation, and Eunice drops.
+Then Eunice rises, and I drop. Idiot! Mischievous idiot! Even
+Selina seemed to be disgusted with him, when she spoke next.)
+
+"Mr. Philip, you are hard and unreasonable. I have tried to
+persuade her, and I have made my darling cry. Nothing you
+can say will induce me to distress her again. Go back, you
+very undetermined man--go back to your Helena."
+
+"Too late."
+
+"Nonsense!"
+
+"I say too late. If I could have married Helena when I first went
+to stay in the house, I might have faced the sacrifice. As it is,
+I can't endure her; and (I tell you this in confidence) she has
+herself to thank for what has happened."
+
+"Is that really true?"
+
+"Quite true."
+
+"Tell me what she did.
+
+"Oh, don't talk of her! Persuade Eunice to see me. I shall come
+back again, and again, and again till you bring her to me."
+
+"Please don't talk nonsense. If she changes her mind, I will
+bring her with pleasure. If she still shrinks from it, I regard
+Euneece's feelings as sacred. Take my advice; don't press her.
+Leave her time to think of you, and to pity you--and that true
+heart may be yours again, if you are worthy of it."
+
+"Worthy of it? What do you mean?"
+
+"Are you quite sure, my young friend, that you won't go back
+to Helena?"
+
+"Go back to _her_? I would cut my throat if I thought myself
+capable of doing it!"
+
+"How did she set you against her? Did the wretch quarrel
+with you?"
+
+"It might have been better for both of us if she had done that.
+Oh, her fulsome endearments! What a contrast to the charming
+modesty of Eunice! If I was rich, I would make it worth the while
+of the first poor fellow I could find to rid me of Helena
+by marrying her. I don't like saying such a thing of a woman,
+but if you will have the truth--"
+
+"Well, Mr. Philip--and what is the truth?"
+
+"Helena disgusts me."
+
+
+CHAPTER LVII.
+
+HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED.
+
+So it was all settled between them. Philip is to throw me away,
+like one of his bad cigars, for this unanswerable reason: "Helena
+disgusts me." And he is to persuade Eunice to take my place,
+and be his wife. Yes! if I let him do it.
+
+I heard no more of their talk. With that last, worst outrage
+burning in my memory, I left the place.
+
+On my way back to the carriage, the dog met me. Truly, a grand
+creature. I called him by his name, and patted him. He licked my
+hand. Something made me speak to him. I said: "If I was to tell
+you to tear Mr. Philip Dunboyne to pieces, would you do it?"
+The great good-natured brute held out his paw to shake hands.
+Well! well! I was not an object of disgust to the dog.
+
+But the coachman was startled, when he saw me again. He said
+something, I did not know what it was; and he produced
+a pocket-flask, containing some spirits, I suppose. Perhaps
+he thought I was going to faint. He little knew me. I told him
+to drive back to the place at which I had hired the cab, and
+earn his money. He earned it.
+
+On getting home, I found Mrs. Tenbruggen walking up and down
+the dining-room, deep in thought. She was startled when we first
+confronted each other. "You look dreadfully ill," she said.
+
+I answered that I had been out for a little exercise, and
+had over-fatigued myself; and then changed the subject. "Does
+my father seem to improve under your treatment?" I asked.
+
+"Very far from it, my dear. I promised that I would try what
+Massage would do for him, and I find myself compelled to give
+it up."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"It excites him dreadfully."
+
+"In what way?"
+
+"He has been talking wildly of events in his past life. His brain
+is in some condition which is beyond my powers of investigation.
+He pointed to a cabinet in his room, and said his past life
+was locked up there. I asked if I should unlock it. He shook
+with fear; he said I should let out the ghost of his dead
+brother-in-law. Have you any idea of what he meant?"
+
+The cabinet was full of old letters. I could tell her that--and
+could tell her no more. I had never heard of his brother-in-law.
+Another of his delusions, no doubt. "Did you ever hear him
+speak," Mrs. Tenbruggen went on, "of a place called Low Lanes?"
+
+She waited for my reply to this last inquiry with an appearance
+of anxiety that surprised me. I had never heard him speak of
+Low Lanes.
+
+"Have you any particular interest in the place?" I asked.
+
+"None whatever."
+
+She went away to attend on a patient. I retired to my bedroom,
+and opened my Diary. Again and again, I read that remarkable
+story of the intended poisoning, and of the manner in which it
+had ended. I sat thinking over this romance in real life till
+I was interrupted by the announcement of dinner.
+
+Mr. Philip Dunboyne had returned. In Miss Jillgall's absence we
+were alone at the table. My appetite was gone. I made a pretense
+of eating, and another pretense of being glad to see my devoted
+lover. I talked to him in the prettiest manner. As a hypocrite,
+he thoroughly matched me; he was gallant, he was amusing.
+If baseness like ours had been punishable by the law, a prison
+was the right place for both of us.
+
+Mrs. Tenbruggen came in again after dinner, still not quite easy
+about my health. "How flushed you are!" she said. "Let me feel
+your pulse." I laughed, and left her with Mr. Philip Dunboyne.
+
+Passing my father's door, I looked in, anxious to see
+if he was in the excitable state which Mrs. Tenbruggen had
+described.  Yes; the effect which she had produced on him--how,
+she knows best--had not passed away yet: he was still talking.
+The attendant told me it had gone on for hours together.
+On my approaching his chair, he called out: "Which are you?
+Eunice or Helena?" When I had answered him, he beckoned me to
+come nearer.  "I am getting stronger every minute," he said.
+"We will go traveling to-morrow, and see the place where you
+were born."
+
+Where had I been born? He had never told me where. Had he
+mentioned the place in Mrs. Tenbruggen's hearing? I asked
+the attendant if he had been present while she was in the room.
+Yes; he had remained at his post; he had also heard the allusion
+to the place with the odd name. Had Mr. Gracedieu said anything
+more about that place? Nothing more; the poor Minister's
+mind had wandered off to other things. He was wandering now.
+Sometimes, he was addressing his congregation; sometimes,
+he wondered what they would give him for supper; sometimes,
+he talked of the flowers in the garden. And then he looked
+at me, and frowned, and said I prevented him from thinking.
+
+I went back to my bedroom, and opened my Diary, and read
+the story again.
+
+Was the poison of which that resolute young wife proposed to make
+use something that acted slowly, and told the doctors nothing
+if they looked for it after death?
+
+Would it be running too great a risk to show the story to the
+doctor, and try to get a little valuable information in that way?
+It would be useless. He would make some feeble joke; he would
+say, girls and poisons are not fit company for each other.
+
+But I might discover what I want to know in another way. I might
+call on the doctor, after he has gone out on his afternoon
+round of visits, and might tell the servant I would wait for
+his master's return. Nobody would be in my way; I might get
+at the medical literature in the consulting-room, and find
+the information for myself.
+
+A knock at my door interrupted me in the midst of my plans.
+Mrs. Tenbruggen again!--still in a fidgety state of feeling
+on the subject of my health. "Which is it?" she said. "Pain
+of body, my dear, or pain of mind? I am anxious about you."
+
+"My dear Elizabeth, your sympathy is thrown away on me. As
+I have told you already, I am over-tired--nothing more."
+
+She was relieved to hear that I had no mental troubles to
+complain of. "Fatigue," she remarked, "sets itself right
+with rest. Did you take a very long walk?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Beyond the limits of the town, of course? Philip has been taking
+a walk in the country, too. He doesn't say that he met you."
+
+These clever people sometimes overreach themselves. How she
+suggested it to me, I cannot pretend to have discovered. But
+I did certainly suspect that she had led Philip, while they
+were together downstairs, into saying to her what he had already
+said to Miss Jillgall. I was so angry that I tried to pump
+my excellent friend, as she had been trying to pump me--a vulgar
+expression, but vulgar writing is such a convenient way of
+writing sometimes. My first attempt to entrap the Masseuse
+failed completely. She coolly changed the subject.
+
+"Have I interrupted you in writing?" she asked, pointing to
+my Diary.
+
+"No; I was idling over what I have written already--an
+extraordinary story which I copied from a book."
+
+"May I look at it?"
+
+I pushed the open Diary across the table. If I was the object of
+any suspicions which she wanted to confirm, it would be curious
+to see if the poisoning story helped her. "It's a piece of family
+history," I said; "I think you will agree with me that it is
+really interesting."
+
+She began to read. As she went on, not all her power of
+controlling herself could prevent her from turning pale. This
+change of color (in such a woman) a little alarmed me. When
+a girl is devoured by deadly hatred of a man, does the feeling
+show itself to other persons in her face? I must practice before
+the glass and train my face into a trustworthy state of
+discipline.
+
+"Coarse melodrama!" Mrs. Tenbruggen declared. "Mere sensation.
+No analysis of character. A made-up story!"
+
+"Well made up, surely?" I answered.
+
+"I don't agree with you." Her voice was not quite so steady
+as usual. She asked suddenly if my clock was right--and declared
+that she should be late for an appointment. On taking leave
+she pressed my hand strongly--eyed me with distrustful attention
+and said, very emphatically: "Take care of yourself, Helena;
+pray take care of yourself."
+
+I am afraid I did a very foolish thing when I showed her
+the poisoning story. Has it helped the wily old creature
+to look into my inmost thoughts?
+
+Impossible!
+
+
+To-day, Miss Jillgall returned, looking hideously healthy and
+spitefully cheerful. Although she tried to conceal it, while
+I was present, I could see that Philip had recovered his place
+in her favor. After what he had said to her behind the hedge
+at the farm, she would be relieved from all fear of my becoming
+his wife, and would joyfully anticipate his marriage to Eunice.
+There are thoughts in me which I don't set down in my book.
+I only say: We shall see.
+
+This afternoon, I decided on visiting the doctor. The servant
+was quite sorry for me when he answered the door. His master had
+just left the house for a round of visits. I said I would wait.
+The servant was afraid I should find waiting very tedious.
+I reminded him that I could go away if I found it tedious.
+At last, the polite old man left me.
+
+I went into the consulting-room, and read the backs of
+the medical books ranged round the walls, and found a volume
+that interested me. There was such curious information in it
+that I amused myself by making extracts, using the first
+sheets of paper that I could find. They had printed directions
+at the top, which showed that the doctor was accustomed
+to write his prescriptions on them. We had many, too many,
+of his prescriptions in our house.
+
+The servant's doubts of my patience proved to have been well
+founded. I got tired of waiting, and went home before the doctor
+returned.
+
+From morning to night, nothing has been seen of Mrs. Tenbruggen
+to-day. Nor has any apology for her neglect of us been received,
+fond as she is of writing little notes. Has that story in my
+Diary driven her away? Let me see what to-morrow may bring forth.
+
+
+To-day has brought forth--nothing. Mrs. Tenbruggen still keeps
+away from us. It looks as if my Diary had something to do with
+the mystery of her absence.
+
+I am not in good spirits to-day. My nerves--if I have such
+things, which is more than I know by my own experience--have been
+a little shaken by a horrid dream. The medical information, which
+my thirst for knowledge absorbed in the doctor's consulting-room,
+turned traitor--armed itself with the grotesque horrors of
+nightmare--and so thoroughly frightened me that I was on
+the point of being foolish enough to destroy my notes. I thought
+better of it, and my notes are safe under lock and key.
+
+Mr. Philip Dunboyne is trying to pave the way for his flight
+from this house. He speaks of friends in London, whose interest
+will help him to find the employment which is the object
+of his ambition. "In a few days more," he said, "I shall ask
+for leave of absence."
+
+Instead of looking at me, his eyes wandered to the window; his
+fingers played restlessly with his watch-chain while he spoke.
+I thought I would give him a chance, a last chance, of making
+the atonement that he owes to me. This shows shameful weakness,
+on my part. Does my own resolution startle me? Or does the wretch
+appeal--to what? To my pity? It cannot be my love; I am
+positively sure that I hate him. Well, I am not the first girl
+who had been an unanswerable riddle to herself.
+
+"Is there any other motive for your departure?" I asked.
+
+"What other motive can there be?" he replied. I put what I had
+to say to him in plainer words still. "Tell me, Philip, are you
+beginning to wish that you were a free man again?"
+
+He still prevaricated. Was this because he is afraid of me,
+or because he is not quite brute enough to insult me to my face?
+I tried again for the third and last time. I almost put the words
+into his mouth.
+
+"I fancy you have been out of temper lately," I said. "You have
+not been your own kinder and better self. Is this the right
+interpretation of the change that I think I see in you?"
+
+He answered: "I have not been very well lately."
+
+"And that is all?"
+
+"Yes--that is all."
+
+There was no more to be said; I turned away to leave the room.
+He followed me to the door. After a momentary hesitation, he
+made the attempt to kiss me. I only looked at him--he drew back
+from me in silence. I left the new Judas, standing alone, while
+the shades of evening began to gather over the room.
+
+
+
+Third Period _(continued)_.
+
+_EVENTS IN THE FAMILY, RELATED BY MISS JILLGALL._
+
+
+CHAPTER LVIII.
+
+DANGER.
+
+"If anything of importance happens, I trust to you to write
+an account of it, and to send the writing to me. I will come
+to you at once, if I see reason to believe that my presence
+is required." Those lines, in your last kind reply to me, rouse
+my courage, dear Mr. Governor, and sharpen the vigilance which
+has always been one of the strong points in my character. Every
+suspicious circumstance which occurs in this house will be (so
+to speak) seized on by my pen, and will find itself (so to speak
+again) placed on its trial, before your unerring judgment! Let
+the wicked tremble! I mention no names.
+
+Taking up my narrative where it came to an end when I last wrote,
+I have to say a word first on the subject of my discoveries,
+in regard to Philip's movements.
+
+The advertisement of a private inquiry office, which I read in
+a newspaper, put the thing into my head. I provided myself with
+money to pay the expenses by--I blush while I write it--pawning
+my watch. This humiliation of my poor self has been rewarded by
+success. Skilled investigation has proved that our young man has
+come to his senses again, exactly as I supposed. On each occasion
+when he was suspiciously absent from the house, he has been
+followed to the farm. I have been staying there myself for a day
+or two, in the hope of persuading Eunice to relent. The hope
+has not yet been realized. But Philip's devotion, assisted by
+my influence, will yet prevail. Let me not despair.
+
+Whether Helena knows positively that she has lost her wicked hold
+on Philip I cannot say. It seems hardly possible that she could
+have made the discovery just yet. The one thing of which I am
+certain is, that she looks like a fiend.
+
+Philip has wisely taken my advice, and employed pious fraud.
+He will get away from the wretch, who has tempted him once and
+may tempt him again, under pretense of using the interest of
+his friends in London to find a place under Government. He has
+not been very well for the last day or two, and the execution
+of our project is in consequence delayed.
+
+I have news of Mrs. Tenbruggen which will, I think, surprise you.
+
+She has kept away from us in a most unaccountable manner.
+I called on her at the hotel, and heard she was engaged with
+her lawyer. On the next day, she suddenly returned to her old
+habits, and paid the customary visit. I observed a similar
+alteration in her state of feeling. She is now coldly civil
+to Helena; and she asks after Eunice with a maternal interest
+touching to see--I said to her: "Elizabeth, you appear to have
+changed your opinion of the two girls, since I saw you." She
+answered, with a delightful candor which reminded me of old
+times: "Completely!" I said: "A woman of your intellectual
+caliber, dear, doesn't change her mind without a good reason
+for it." Elizabeth cordially agreed with me. I ventured to be
+a little more explicit: "You have no doubt made some interesting
+discovery." Elizabeth agreed again; and I ventured again:
+"I suppose I may not ask what the discovery is?" "No, Selina,
+you may not ask."
+
+This is curious; but it is nothing to what I have got to tell
+you next. Just as I was longing to take her to my bosom again
+as my friend and confidante, Elizabeth has disappeared. And,
+alas! alas! there is a reason for it which no sympathetic person
+can dispute.
+
+I have just received some overwhelming news, in the form of
+a neat parcel, addressed to myself.
+
+There has been a scandal at the hotel. That monster in human
+form, Elizabeth's husband, is aware of his wife's professional
+fame, has heard of the large sums of money which she earns as
+the greatest living professor of massage, has been long on the
+lookout for her, and has discovered her at last. He has not only
+forced his way into her sitting-room at the hotel; he insists on
+her living with him again; her money being the attraction, it is
+needless to say. If she refuses, he threatens her with the law,
+the barbarous law, which, to use his own coarse expression, will
+"restore his conjugal rights."
+
+All this I gather from the narrative of my unhappy friend, which
+forms one of the two inclosures in her parcel. She has already
+made her escape. Ha! the man doesn't live who can circumvent
+Elizabeth. The English Court of Law isn't built which can catch
+her when she roams the free and glorious Continent.
+
+The vastness of this amazing woman's mind is what I must pause
+to admire. In the frightful catastrophe that has befallen her,
+she can still think of Philip and Euneece. She is eager to hear
+of their marriage, and renounces Helena with her whole heart.
+"I too was deceived by that cunning young Woman," she writes.
+"Beware of her, Selina. Unless I am much mistaken, she is going
+to end badly. Take care of Philip, take care of Euneece. If
+you want help, apply at once to my favorite hero in real life,
+The Governor." I don't presume to correct Elizabeth's language.
+I should have called you The idol of the Women.
+
+The second inclosure contains, as I suppose, a wedding present.
+It is carefully sealed--it feels no bigger than an ordinary
+letter--and it contains an inscription which your highly-
+cultivated intelligence may be able to explain. I copy it
+as follows:
+
+"To be inclosed in another envelope, addressed to Mr. Dunboyne
+the elder, at Percy's Private Hotel, London, and delivered by
+a trustworthy messenger, on the day when Mr. Philip Dunboyne
+is married to Miss Eunice Gracedieu. Placed meanwhile under
+the care of Miss Selina Jillgall."
+
+Why is this mysterious letter to be sent to Philip's father?
+I wonder whether that circumstance will puzzle you as it has
+puzzled me.
+
+I have kept my report back, so as to send you the last news
+relating to Philip's state of health. To my great regret,
+his illness seems to have made a serious advance since yesterday.
+When I ask if he is in pain, he says: "It isn't exactly pain;
+I feel as if I was sinking. Sometimes I am giddy; and sometimes
+I find myself feeling thirsty and sick." I have no opportunity of
+looking after him as I could wish; for Helena insists on nursing
+him, assisted by the housemaid. Maria is a very good girl in
+her way, but too stupid to be of much use. If he is not better
+to-morrow, I shall insist on sending for the doctor.
+
+
+He is no better; and he wishes to have medical help. Helena
+doesn't seem to understand his illness. It was not until Philip
+had insisted on seeing him that she consented to send for
+the doctor.
+
+You had some talk with this experienced physician when you were
+here, and you know what a clever man he is. When I tell you that
+he hesitates to say what is the matter with Philip, you will feel
+as much alarmed as I do. I will wait to send this to the post
+until I can write in a more definite way.
+
+
+Two days more have passed. The doctor has put two very strange
+questions to me.
+
+He asked, first, if there was anybody staying with us besides
+the regular members of the household. I said we had no visitor.
+He wanted to know, next, if Mr. Philip Dunboyne had made any
+enemies since he has been living in our town. I said none
+that I knew of--and I took the liberty of asking what he meant.
+He answered to this, that he has a few more inquiries to make,
+and that he will tell me what he means to-morrow.
+
+
+For God's sake come here as soon as you possibly can. The whole
+burden is thrown on me--and I am quite unequal to it.
+
+I received the doctor to-day in the drawing-room. To my
+amazement, he begged leave to speak with me in the garden.
+When I asked why, he answered: "I don't want to have a listener
+at the door. Come out on the lawn, where we can be sure that
+we are alone."
+
+When we were in the garden, he noticed that I was trembling.
+
+"Rouse your courage, Miss Jillgall," he said. "In the Minister's
+helpless state there is nobody whom I can speak to but yourself."
+
+I ventured to remind him that he might speak to Helena as well
+as to myself.
+
+He looked as black as thunder when I mentioned her name. All he
+said was, "No!" But, oh, if you had heard his voice--and he so
+gentle and sweet-tempered at other times--you would have felt,
+as I did, that he had Helena in his mind!
+
+"Now, listen to this," he went on. "Everything that my art can
+do for Mr. Philip Dunboyne, while I am at his bedside, is undone
+while I am away by some other person. He is worse to-day than
+I have seen him yet."
+
+"Oh, sir, do you think he will die?"
+
+"He will certainly die unless the right means are taken to save
+him, and taken at once. It is my duty not to flinch from telling
+you the truth. I have made a discovery since yesterday which
+satisfies me that I am right. Somebody is trying to poison Mr.
+Dunboyne; and somebody will succeed unless he is removed from
+this house."
+
+I am a poor feeble creature. The doctor caught me, or I should
+have dropped on the grass. It was not a fainting-fit. I only
+shook and shivered so that I was too weak to stand up. Encouraged
+by the doctor, I recovered sufficiently to be able to ask him
+where Philip was to be taken to. He said: "To the hospital. No
+poisoner can follow my patient there. Persuade him to let me
+take him away, when I call again in an hour's time."
+
+As soon as I could hold a pen, I sent a telegram to you. Pray,
+pray come by the earliest train. I also telegraphed to old Mr.
+Dunboyne, at the hotel in London.
+
+It was impossible for me to face Helena; I own I was afraid.
+The cook kindly went upstairs to see who was in Philip's room.
+It was the housemaid's turn to look after him for a while.
+I went instantly to his bedside.
+
+There was no persuading him to allow himself to be taken
+to the hospital. "I am dying," he said. "If you have any pity
+for me, send for Euneece. Let me see her once more, let me hear
+her say that she forgives me, before I die."
+
+I hesitated. It was too terrible to think of Euneece in the same
+house with her sister. Her life might be in danger! Philip gave
+me a look, a dreadful ghastly look. "If you refuse," he said
+wildly, "the grave won't hold me. I'll haunt you for the rest
+of your life."
+
+"She shall hear that you are ill," I answered--and ran out
+of the room before he could speak again.
+
+What I had promised to write, I did write. But, placed between
+Euneece's danger and Philip's danger, my heart was all for
+Euneece. Would Helena spare her, if she came to Philip's bedside?
+In such terror as I never felt before in my life, I added a word
+more, entreating her not to leave the farm. I promised to keep
+her regularly informed on the subject of Philip's illness;
+and I mentioned that I expected the Governor to return to us
+immediately. "Do nothing," I wrote, "without his advice."
+My letter having been completed, I sent the cook away with it,
+in a chaise. She belonged to the neighborhood, and she knew
+the farmhouse well.
+
+Nearly two hours afterward, I heard the chaise stop at the door,
+and ran out, impatient to hear how my sweet girl had received
+my letter. God help us all! When I opened the door, the first
+person whom I saw was Euneece herself.
+
+
+CHAPTER LIX.
+
+DEFENSE.
+
+One surprise followed another, after I had encountered Euneece
+at the door.
+
+When my fondness had excused her for setting the well-meant
+advice in my letter at defiance, I was conscious of expecting to
+see her in tears; eager, distressingly eager, to hear what hope
+there might be of Philip's recovery. I saw no tears, I heard no
+inquiries. She was pale, and quiet, and silent. Not a word fell
+from her when we met, not a word when she kissed me, not a word
+when she led the way into the nearest room--the dining-room.
+It was only when we were shut in together that she spoke.
+
+"Which is Philip's room?" she asked.
+
+Instead of wanting to know how he was, she desired to know
+where he was! I pointed toward the back dining-room, which had
+been made into a bedroom for Philip. He had chosen it himself,
+when he first came to stay with us, because the window opened
+into the garden. and he could slip out and smoke at any hour
+of the day or night, when he pleased.
+
+"Who is with him now?" was the next strange thing this
+sadly-changed girl said to me.
+
+"Maria is taking her turn," I answered; "she assists in nursing
+Philip."
+
+"Where is--?" Euneece got no further than that. Her breath
+quickened, her color faded away. I had seen people look as she
+was looking now, when they suffered under some sudden pain.
+Before I could offer to help her, she rallied, and went on:
+"Where," she began again, "is the other nurse?"
+
+"You mean Helena?" I said.
+
+"I mean the Poisoner."
+
+When I remind you, dear Mr. Governor, that my letter had
+carefully concealed from her the horrible discovery made by
+the doctor, your imagination will picture my state of mind. She
+saw that I was overpowered. Her sweet nature, so strangely frozen
+up thus far, melted at last. "You don't know what I have heard,"
+she said, "you don't know what thoughts have been roused in me."
+She left her chair, and sat on my knee with the familiarity of
+the dear old times, and took the letter that I had written to her
+from her pocket.
+
+"Look at it yourself," she said, "and tell me if anybody could
+read it, and not see that you were concealing something. My dear,
+I have driven round by the doctor's house--I have seen him--I
+have persuaded him, or perhaps I ought to say surprised him,
+into telling me the truth. But the kind old man is obstinate. He
+wouldn't believe me when I told him I was on my way here to save
+Philip's life. He said: 'My child, you will only put your own
+life in jeopardy. If I had not seen that danger, I should never
+have told you of the dreadful state of things at home. Go back
+to the good people at the farm, and leave the saving of Philip
+to me.'"
+
+"He was right, Euneece, entirely right."
+
+"No, dear, he was wrong. I begged him to come here, and judge
+for himself; and I ask you to do the same."
+
+I was obstinate. "Go back!" I persisted. "Go back to the farm!"
+
+"Can I see Philip?" she asked.
+
+I have heard some insolent men say that women are like cats.
+If they mean that we do, figuratively speaking, scratch at times,
+I am afraid they are not altogether wrong. An irresistible
+impulse made me say to poor Euneece: "This is a change indeed,
+since you refused to receive Philip."
+
+"Is there no change in the circumstances?" she asked sadly.
+"Isn't he ill and in danger?"
+
+I begged her to forgive me; I said I meant no harm.
+
+"I gave him up to my sister," she continued, "when I believed
+that his happiness depended, not on me, but on her. I take him
+back to myself, when he is at the mercy of a demon who threatens
+his life. Come, Selina, let us go to Philip."
+
+She put her arm round me, and made me get up from my chair.
+I was so easily persuaded by her, that the fear of what Helena's
+jealousy and Helena's anger might do was scarcely present in
+my thoughts. The door of communication was locked on the side
+of the bedchamber. I went into the hall, to enter Philip's room
+by the other door. She followed, waiting behind me. I heard what
+passed between them when Maria went out to her.
+
+"Where is Miss Gracedieu?"
+
+"Resting upstairs, miss, in her room."
+
+"Look at the clock, and tell me when you expect her to come down
+here."
+
+"I am to call her, miss, in ten minutes more."
+
+"Wait in the dining-room, Maria, till I come back to you."
+
+She joined me. I held the door open for her to go into Philip's
+room. It was not out of curiosity; the feeling that urged me
+was sympathy, when I waited a moment to see their first meeting.
+She bent over the poor, pallid, trembling, suffering man,
+and raised him in her arms, and laid his head on her bosom.
+"My Philip!" She murmured those words in a kiss. I closed
+the door, I had a good cry; and, oh, how it comforted me!
+
+There was only a minute to spare when she came out of the room.
+Maria was waiting for her. Euneece said, as quietly as ever:
+"Go and call Miss Gracedieu."
+
+The girl looked at her, and saw--I don't know what. Maria became
+alarmed. But she went up the stairs, and returned in haste
+to tell us that her young mistress was coming down.
+
+The faint rustling of Helena's dress as she left her room
+reached us in the silence. I remained at the open door of
+the dining-room, and Maria approached and stood near me. We were
+both frightened. Euneece stepped forward, and stood on the mat
+at the foot of the stairs, waiting. Her back was toward me;
+I could only see that she was as still as a statue. The rustling
+of the dress came nearer. Oh, heavens! what was going to happen?
+My teeth chattered in my head; I held by Maria's shoulder. Drops
+of perspiration showed themselves on the girl's forehead; she
+stared in vacant terror at the slim little figure, posted firm
+and still on the mat.
+
+Helena turned the corner of the stairs, and waited a moment
+on the last landing, and saw her sister.
+
+"You here?" she said. "What do you want?"
+
+There was no reply. Helena descended, until she reached the last
+stair but one. There, she stopped. Her staring eyes grew large
+and wild; her hand shook as she stretched it out, feeling for
+the banister; she staggered as she caught at it, and held herself
+up. The silence was still unbroken. Something in me, stronger
+than myself, drew my steps along the hall nearer and nearer
+to the stair, till I could see the face which had struck that
+murderous wretch with terror.
+
+I looked.
+
+No! it was not my sweet girl; it was a horrid transformation
+of her. I saw a fearful creature, with glittering eyes that
+threatened some unimaginable vengeance. Her lips were drawn back;
+they showed her clinched teeth. A burning red flush dyed
+her face. The hair of her head rose, little by little, slowly.
+And, most dreadful sight of all, she seemed, in the stillness of
+the house, to be _listening to something_. If I could have moved,
+I should have fled to the first place of refuge I could find.
+If I could have raised my voice, I should have cried for help.
+I could do neither the one nor the other. I could only look,
+look, look; held by the horror of it with a hand of iron.
+
+Helena must have roused her courage, and resisted her terror.
+I heard her speak:
+
+"Let me by!"
+
+"No."
+
+Slowly, steadily, in a whisper, Euneece made that reply.
+
+Helena tried once more--still fighting against her own terror:
+I knew it by the trembling of her voice.
+
+"Let me by," she repeated; "I am on my way to Philip's room."
+
+"You will never enter Philip's room again."
+
+"Who will stop me?"
+
+"I will."
+
+She had spoken in the same steady whisper throughout--but now
+she moved. I saw her set her foot on the first stair. I saw
+the horrid glitter in her eyes flash close into Helena's face.
+I heard her say:
+
+"Poisoner, go back to your room."
+
+Silent and shuddering, Helena shrank away from her--daunted
+by her glittering eyes; mastered by her lifted hand pointing up
+the stairs.
+
+Helena slowly ascended till she reached the landing. She turned
+and looked down; she tried to speak. The pointing hand struck her
+dumb, and drove her up the next flight of stairs. She was lost to
+view. Only the small rustling sound of the dress was to be heard,
+growing fainter and fainter; then an interval of stillness; then
+the noise of a door opened and closed again; then no sound more
+--but a change to be seen: the transformed creature was crouching
+on her knees, still and silent, her face covered by her hands.
+I was afraid to approach her; I was afraid to speak to her. After
+a time, she rose. Suddenly, swiftly, with her head turned away
+from me, she opened the door of Philip's room--and was gone.
+
+I looked round. There was only Maria in the lonely hall.
+Shall I try to tell you what my sensations were? It may sound
+strangely, but it is true--I felt like a sleeper, who has
+half-awakened from a dream.
+
+
+CHAPTER LX.
+
+DISCOVERY.
+
+A little later, on that eventful day, when I was most in need
+of all that your wisdom and kindness could do to guide me,
+came the telegram which announced that you were helpless under
+an attack of gout. As soon as I had in some degree got over
+my disappointment, I remembered having told Euneece in my letter
+that I expected her kind old friend to come to us. With
+the telegram in my hand I knocked softly at Philip's door.
+
+The voice that bade me come in was the gentle voice that I knew
+so well. Philip was sleeping. There, by his bedside, with
+his hand resting in her hand, was Euneece, so completely restored
+to her own sweet self that I could hardly believe what I had
+seen, not an hour since. She talked of you, when I showed her
+your message, with affectionate interest and regret. Look back,
+my admirable friend, at what I have written on the two or three
+pages which precede this, and explain the astounding contrast
+if you can.
+
+I was left alone to watch by Philip, while Euneece went away
+to see her father. Soon afterward, Maria took my place; I had
+been sent for to the next room to receive the doctor.
+
+He looked care-worn and grieved. I said I was afraid he had
+brought bad news with him.
+
+"The worst possible news," he answered. "A terrible exposure
+threatens this family, and I am powerless to prevent it,"
+
+He then asked me to remember the day when I had been surprised
+by the singular questions which he had put to me, and when he had
+engaged to explain himself after he had made some inquiries. Why,
+and how, he had set those inquiries on foot was what he had now
+to tell. I will repeat what he said, in his own words, as nearly
+as I can remember them. While he was in attendance on Philip,
+he had observed symptoms which made him suspect that Digitalis
+had been given to the young man, in doses often repeated. Cases
+of attempted poisoning by this medicine were so rare, that he
+felt bound to put his suspicions to the test by going round
+among the chemists's shops--excepting of course the shop at which
+his own prescriptions were made up--and asking if they had lately
+dispensed any preparation of Digitalis, ordered perhaps in
+a larger quantity than usual. At the second shop he visited,
+the chemist laughed. "Why, doctor," he said, "have you forgotten
+your own prescription?" After this, the prescription was asked
+for, and produced. It was on the paper used by the doctor--paper
+which had his address printed at the top, and a notice added,
+telling patients who came to consult him for the second time
+to bring their prescriptions with them. Then, there followed in
+writing: "Tincture of Digitalis, one ounce"--with his signature
+at the end, not badly imitated, but a forgery nevertheless.
+The chemist noticed the effect which this discovery had produced
+on the doctor, and asked if that was his signature. He could
+hardly, as an honest man, have asserted that a forgery was
+a signature of his own writing. So he made the true reply, and
+asked who had presented the prescription. The chemist called to
+his assistant to come forward. "Did you tell me that you knew,
+by sight, the young lady who brought this prescription?"
+The assistant admitted it. "Did you tell me she was Miss Helena
+Gracedieu?" "I did." "Are you sure of not having made any
+mistake?" "Quite sure." The chemist then said: "I myself supplied
+the Tincture of Digitalis, and the young lady paid for it, and
+took it away with her. You have had all the information that
+I can give you, sir; and I may now ask, if you can throw any
+light on the matter." Our good friend thought of the poor
+Minister, so sorely afflicted, and of the famous name so
+sincerely respected in the town and in the country round,
+and said he could not undertake to give an immediate answer.
+The chemist was excessively angry. "You know as well as I do,"
+he said, "that Digitalis, given in certain doses, is a poison,
+and you cannot deny that I honestly believed myself to be
+dispensing your prescription. While you are hesitating to give me
+an answer, my character may suffer; I may be suspected myself."
+He ended in declaring he should consult his lawyer. The doctor
+went home, and questioned his servant. The man remembered the day
+of Miss Helena's visit in the afternoon, and the intention that
+she expressed of waiting for his master's return. He had shown
+her into the parlor which opened into the consulting-room. No
+other visitor was in the house at that time, or had arrived
+during the rest of the day. The doctor's own experience, when
+he got home, led him to conclude that Helena had gone into
+the consulting-room. He had entered that room, for the purpose
+of writing some prescriptions, and had found the leaves of paper
+that he used diminished in number. After what he had heard, and
+what he had discovered (to say nothing of what he suspected), it
+occurred to him to look along the shelves of his medical library.
+He found a volume (treating of Poisons) with a slip of paper
+left between the leaves; the poison described at the place
+so marked being Digitalis, and the paper used being one of his
+own prescription-papers. "If, as I fear, a legal investigation
+into Helena's conduct is a possible event," the doctor concluded,
+"there is the evidence that I shall be obliged to give, when I am
+called as a witness."
+
+It is my belief that I could have felt no greater dismay, if
+the long arm of the Law had laid its hold on me while he was
+speaking. I asked what was to be done.
+
+"If she leaves the house at once," the doctor replied, "she may
+escape the infamy of being charged with an attempt at murder
+by poison; and, in her absence, I can answer for Philip's life.
+I don't urge you to warn her, because that might be a dangerous
+thing to do. It is for you to decide, as a member of the family,
+whether you will run the risk."
+
+I tried to speak to him of Euneece, and to tell him what I had
+already related to yourself. He was in no humor to listen to me.
+"Keep it for a fitter time," he answered; "and think of what
+I have just said to you." With that, he left me, on his way
+to Philip's room.
+
+Mental exertion was completely beyond me. Can you understand a
+poor middle-aged spinster being frightened into doing a dangerous
+thing? That may seem to be nonsense. But if you ask why I took
+a morsel of paper, and wrote the warning which I was afraid to
+communicate by word of mouth--why I went upstairs with my knees
+knocking together, and opened the door of Helena's room just wide
+enough to let my hand pass through--why I threw the paper in,
+and banged the door to again, and ran downstairs as I have never
+run since I was a little girl--I can only say, in the way of
+explanation, what I have said already: I was frightened into
+doing it.
+
+What I have written, thus far, I shall send to you by to-night's
+post.
+
+The doctor came back to me, after he had seen Philip, and spoken
+with Euneece. He was very angry; and, I must own, not without
+reason. Philip had flatly refused to let himself be removed to
+the hospital; and Euneece--"a mere girl"--had declared that she
+would be answerable for consequences! The doctor warned me that
+he meant to withdraw from the case, and to make his declaration
+before the magistrates. At my entreaties he consented to
+return in the evening, and to judge by results before taking
+the terrible step that he had threatened.
+
+While I remained at home on the watch, keeping the doors of
+both rooms locked, Eunice went out to get Philip's medicine.
+She came back, followed by a boy carrying a portable apparatus
+for cooking. "All that Philip wants, and all that we want,"
+she explained, "we can provide for ourselves. Give me a morsel
+of paper to write on."
+
+Unhooking the little pencil attached to her watch-chain, she
+paused and looked toward the door. "Somebody listening," she
+whispered. "Let them listen." She wrote a list of necessaries,
+in the way of things to eat and things to drink, and asked me
+to go out and get them myself. "I don't doubt the servants," she
+said, speaking distinctly enough to be heard outside; "but I am
+afraid of what a Poisoner's cunning and a Poisoner's desperation
+may do, in a kitchen which is open to her." I went away on
+my errand--discovering no listener outside, I need hardly say. On
+my return, I found the door of communication with Philip's room
+closed, but no longer locked. "We can now attend on him in turn,"
+she said, "without opening either of the doors which lead into
+the hall. At night we can relieve each other, and each of us can
+get sleep as we want it in the large armchair in the dining-room.
+Philip must be safe under our charge, or the doctor will insist
+on taking him to the hospital. When we want Maria's help, from
+time to time, we can employ her under our own superintendence.
+Have you anything else, Selina, to suggest?"
+
+There was nothing left to suggest. Young and inexperienced as
+she was, how (I asked) had she contrived to think of all this?
+She answered, simply "I'm sure I don't know; my thoughts came
+to me while I was looking at Philip."
+
+Soon afterward I found an opportunity of inquiring if Helena
+had left the house. She had just rung her bell; and Maria had
+found her, quietly reading, in her room. Hours afterward, when
+I was on the watch at night, I heard Philip's door softly tried
+from the outside. Her dreadful purpose had not been given up,
+even yet.  
+
+The doctor came in the evening, as he had promised, and found
+an improvement in Philip's health. I mentioned what precautions
+we had taken, and that they had been devised by Euneece. "Are you
+going to withdraw from the case?" I asked. "I am coming back
+to the case," he answered, "to-morrow morning."
+
+It had been a disappointment to me to receive no answer
+to the telegram which I had sent to Mr. Dunboyne the elder.
+The next day's post brought the explanation in a letter to Philip
+from his father, directed to him at the hotel here. This showed
+that my telegram, giving my address at this house, had not
+been received.  Mr. Dunboyne announced that he had returned
+to Ireland, finding the air of London unendurable, after the sea-
+breezes at home. If Philip had already married, his father would
+leave him to a life of genteel poverty with Helena Gracedieu. If
+he had thought better of it, his welcome was waiting for him.
+
+Little did Mr. Dunboyne know what changes had taken place since
+he and his son had last met, and what hope might yet present
+itself of brighter days for poor Euneece! I thought of writing
+to him. But how would that crabbed old man receive a confidential
+letter from a lady who was a stranger?
+
+My doubts were set at rest by Philip himself. He asked me
+to write a few lines of reply to his father; declaring that
+his marriage with Helena was broken off--that he had not given up
+all hope of being permitted to offer the sincere expression of
+his penitence to Euneece--and that he would gladly claim his
+welcome, as soon as he was well enough to undertake the journey
+to Ireland. When he had signed the letter, I was so pleased that
+I made a smart remark. I said: "This is a treaty of peace between
+father and son."
+
+When the doctor arrived in the morning, and found the change
+for the better in his patient confirmed, he did justice to us at
+last. He spoke kindly, and even gratefully, to Euneece. No more
+allusions to the hospital as a place of safety escaped him.
+He asked me cautiously for news of Helena. I could only tell him
+that she had gone out at her customary time, and had returned at
+her customary time. He did not attempt to conceal that my reply
+had made him uneasy.
+
+"Are you still afraid that she may succeed in poisoning Philip?"
+I asked.
+
+"I am afraid of her cunning," he said. "If she is charged
+with attempting to poison young Dunboyne, she has some system
+of defense, you may rely on it, for which we are not prepared.
+There, in my opinion, is the true reason for her extraordinary
+insensibility to her own danger."
+
+Two more days passed, and we were still safe under the protection
+of lock and key.
+
+On the evening of the second day (which was a Monday) Maria came
+to me in great tribulation. On inquiring what was the matter,
+I received a disquieting reply: "Miss Helena is tempting me. She
+is so miserable at being prevented from seeing Mr. Philip, and
+helping to nurse him, that it is quite distressing to see her.
+At the same time, miss, it's hard on a poor servant. She asks me
+to take the key secretly out of the door, and lend it to her
+at night for a few minutes only. I'm really afraid I shall be
+led into doing it, if she goes on persuading me much longer."
+
+I commended Maria for feeling scruples which proved her to be
+the best of good girls, and promised to relieve her from all
+fear of future temptation. This was easily done. Euneece kept
+the key of Philip's door in her pocket; and I kept the key of
+the dining-room door in mine.
+
+
+CHAPTER LXI.
+
+ATROCITY.
+
+On the next day, a Tuesday in the week, an event took place
+which Euneece and I viewed with distrust. Early in the afternoon,
+a young man called with a note for Helena. It was to be given
+to her immediately, and no answer was required.
+
+Maria had just closed the house door, and was on her way upstairs
+with the letter, when she was called back by another ring at the
+bell. Our visitor was the doctor. He spoke to Maria in the hall:
+
+"I think I see a note in your hand. Was it given to you by
+the young man who has just left the house?"
+
+"Yes, sir.
+
+"If he's your sweetheart, my dear, I have nothing more to say."
+
+"Good gracious, doctor, how you do talk! I never saw the young
+man before in my life."
+
+"In that case, Maria, I will ask you to let me look at
+the address. Aha! Mischief!"
+
+The moment I heard that I threw open the dining-room door.
+Curiosity is not easily satisfied. When it hears, it wants
+to see; when it sees, it wants to know. Every lady will agree
+with me in this observation.
+
+"Pray come in," I said.
+
+"One minute, Miss Jillgall. My girl, when you give Miss Helena
+that note, try to get a sly look at her when she opens it,
+and come and tell me what you have seen." He joined me in
+the dining-room, and closed the door. "The other day," he went
+on, "when I told you what I had discovered in the chemist's
+shop, I think I mentioned a young man who was called to speak
+to a question of identity--an assistant who knew Miss Helena
+Gracedieu by sight."
+
+"Yes, yes!"
+
+"That young man left the note which Maria has just taken
+upstairs."
+
+"Who wrote it, doctor, and what does it say?"
+
+"Questions naturally asked, Miss Jillgall--and not easily
+answered. Where is Eunice? Her quick wit might help us."
+
+She had gone out to buy some fruit and flowers for Philip.
+
+The doctor accepted his disappointment resignedly. "Let us try
+what we can do without her," he said. "That young man's master
+has been in consultation (you may remember why) with his lawyer,
+and Helena may be threatened by an investigation before
+the magistrates. If this wild guess of mine turns out to have
+hit the mark, the poisoner upstairs has got a warning."
+
+I asked if the chemist had written the note. Foolish enough
+of me when I came to think of it. The chemist would scarcely
+act a friendly part toward Helena, when she was answerable for
+the awkward position in which he had placed himself. Perhaps
+the young man who had left the warning was also the writer
+of the warning. The doctor reminded me that he was all but
+a stranger to Helena. "We are not usually interested,"
+he remarked, "in a person whom we only know by sight."
+
+"Remember that he is a young man," I ventured to say. This was
+a strong hint, but the doctor failed to see it. He had evidently
+forgotten his own youth. I made another attempt.
+
+"And vile as Helena is," I continued, "we cannot deny that
+this disgrace to her sex is a handsome young lady."
+
+He saw it at last. "Woman's wit!" he cried. "You have hit it,
+Miss Jillgall. The young fool is smitten with her, and has given
+her a chance of making her escape."
+
+"Do you think she will take the chance?"
+
+"For all our sakes, I pray God she may! But I don't feel sure
+about it."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Recollect what you and Eunice have done. You have shown your
+suspicion of her without an attempt to conceal it. If you had put
+her in prison you could not have more completely defeated her
+infernal design. Do you think she is a likely person to submit
+to that, without an effort to be even with you?"
+
+Just as he said those terrifying words, Maria came back to us.
+He asked at once what had kept her so long upstairs.
+
+The girl had evidently something to say, which had inflated
+her (if I may use such an expression) with a sense of her own
+importance.
+
+"Please to let me tell it, sir," she answered, "in my own way.
+Miss Helena turned as pale as ashes when she opened the letter,
+and then she took a turn in the room, and then she looked at me
+with a smile--well, miss, I can only say that I felt that smile
+in the small of my back. I tried to get to the door. She stopped
+me. She says: 'Where's Miss Eunice?' I says: 'Gone out.' She
+says: 'Is there anybody in the drawing-room?' I says: 'No, miss.'
+She says: 'Tell Miss Jillgall I want to speak to her, and say
+I am waiting in the drawing-room.' It's every word of it true!
+And, if a poor servant may give an opinion, I don't like the look
+of it."
+
+The doctor dismissed Maria. "Whatever it is," he said to me,
+"you must go and hear it."
+
+I am not a courageous woman; I expressed myself as being willing
+to go to her, if the doctor went with me. He said that was
+impossible; she would probably refuse to speak before any
+witness; and certainly before him. But he promised to look after
+Philip in my absence, and to wait below if it really so happened
+that I wanted him. I need only ring the bell, and he would come
+to me the moment he heard it. Such kindness as this roused my
+courage, I suppose. At any rate, I went upstairs.
+
+She was standing by the fire-place, with her elbow on the
+chimney-piece, and her head, resting on her hand. I stopped just
+inside the door, waiting to hear what she had to say. In this
+position her side-face only was presented to me. It was a ghastly
+face. The eye that I could see turned wickedly on me when I came
+in--then turned away again. Otherwise, she never moved. I confess
+I trembled, but I did my best to disguise it.
+
+She broke out suddenly with what she had to say: "I won't allow
+this state of things to go on any longer. My horror of an
+exposure which will disgrace the family has kept me silent,
+wrongly silent, so far. Philip's life is in danger. I am
+forgetting my duty to my affianced husband, if I allow myself
+to be kept away from him any longer. Open those locked doors,
+and relieve me from the sight of you. Open the doors, I say,
+or you will both of you--you the accomplice, she the wretch
+who directs you--repent it to the end of your lives."
+
+In my own mind, I asked myself if she had gone mad. But I only
+answered: "I don't understand you."
+
+She said again: "You are Eunice's accomplice."
+
+"Accomplice in what?" I asked.
+
+She turned her head slowly and faced me. I shrank from looking
+at her.
+
+"All the circumstances prove it," she went on. "I have supplanted
+Eunice in Philip's affection. She was once engaged to marry him;
+I am engaged to marry him now. She is resolved that he shall
+never make me his wife. He will die if I delay any longer. He
+will die if I don't crush her, like the reptile she is. She comes
+here--and what does she do? Keeps him prisoner under her own
+superintendence. Who gets his medicine? She gets it. Who cooks
+his food? She cooks it. The doors are locked. I might be a
+witness of what goes on; and I am kept out. The servants who
+ought to wait on him are kept out. She can do what she likes
+with his medicine; she can do what she likes with his food: she
+is infuriated with him for deserting her, and promising to marry
+me.  Give him back to my care; or, dreadful as it is to denounce
+my own sister, I shall claim protection from the magistrates."
+
+I lost all fear of her: I stepped close up to the place at which
+she was standing; I cried out: "Of what, in God's name, do you
+accuse your sister?"
+
+She answered: "I accuse her of poisoning Philip Dunboyne."
+
+I ran out of the room; I rushed headlong down the stairs.
+The doctor heard me, and came running into the hall. I caught
+hold of him like a madwoman. "Euneece!" My breath was gone;
+I could only say: "Euneece!"
+
+He dragged me into the dining-room. There was wine on the
+side-board, which he had ordered medically for Philip. He forced
+me to drink some of it. It ran through me like fire; it helped me
+to speak. "Now tell me," he said, "what has she done to Eunice?"
+
+"She brings a horrible accusation against her," I answered.
+
+"What is the accusation?" I told him.
+
+He looked me through and through. "Take care!" he said. "No
+hysterics, no exaggeration. You may lead to dreadful consequences
+if you are not sure of yourself. If it's really true, say it
+again." I said it again--quietly this time.
+
+His face startled me; it was white with rage. He snatched his hat
+off the hall table.
+
+"What are you going to do?" I asked.
+
+"My duty." He was out of the house before I could speak to him
+again.
+
+
+
+Third Period _(concluded)._
+
+_TROUBLES AND TRIUMPHS OF THE FAMILY, RELATED BY THE GOVERNOR._
+
+
+CHAPTER LXII.
+
+THE SENTENCE PRONOUNCED.
+
+MARTYRS to gout know, by sad experience, that they suffer under
+one of the most capricious of maladies. An attack of this disease
+will shift, in the most unaccountable manner, from one part of
+the body to another; or, it will release the victim when there is
+every reason to fear that it is about to strengthen its hold on
+him; or, having shown the fairest promise of submitting to
+medical treatment, it will cruelly lay the patient prostrate
+again in a state of relapse. Adverse fortune, in my case,
+subjected me to this last and worst trial of endurance. Two
+months passed--months of pain aggravated by anxiety--before I was
+able to help Eunice and Miss Jillgall personally with my sympathy
+and advice.
+
+During this interval, I heard regularly from the friendly and
+faithful Selina.
+
+Terror and suspense, courageously endured day after day, seem
+to have broken down her resistance, poor soul, when Eunice's
+good name and Eunice's tranquillity were threatened by the most
+infamous of false accusations. From that time, Miss Jillgall's
+method of expressing herself betrayed a gradual deterioration.
+I shall avoid presenting at a disadvantage a correspondent who
+has claims on my gratitude, if I give the substance only of what
+she wrote--assisted by the newspaper which she sent to me, while
+the legal proceedings were in progress.
+
+
+Honest indignation does sometimes counsel us wisely. When
+the doctor left Miss Jillgall, in anger and in haste, he had
+determined on taking the course from which, as a humane man
+and a faithful friend, he had hitherto recoiled. It was no time,
+now, to shrink from the prospect of an exposure. The one hope of
+successfully encountering the vindictive wickedness of Helena
+lay in the resolution to be beforehand with her, in the appeal
+to the magistrates with which she had threatened Eunice and
+Miss Jillgall. The doctor's sworn information stated the whole
+terrible case of the poisoning, ranging from his first suspicions
+and their confirmation, to Helena's atrocious attempt to
+accuse her innocent sister of her own guilt. So firmly were
+the magistrates convinced of the serious nature of the case
+thus stated, that they did not hesitate to issue their warrant.
+Among the witnesses whose attendance was immediately secured,
+by the legal adviser to whom the doctor applied, were the farmer
+and his wife.
+
+Helena was arrested while she was dressing to go out.
+Her composure was not for a moment disturbed. "I was on my way,"
+she said coolly, "to make a statement before the justices.
+The sooner they hear what I have to say the better."
+
+The attempt of this shameless wretch to "turn the tables" on
+poor Eunice--suggested, as I afterward discovered, by the record
+of family history which she had quoted in her journal--was
+defeated with ease. The farmer and his wife proved the date
+at which Eunice had left her place of residence under their roof.
+The doctor's evidence followed. He proved, by the production of
+his professional diary, that the discovery of the attempt to
+poison his patient had taken place before the day of Eunice's
+departure from the farm, and that the first improvement
+in Mr. Philip Dunboyne's state of health had shown itself after
+that young lady's arrival to perform the duties of a nurse.
+To the wise precautions which she had taken--perverted by Helena
+to the purpose of a false accusation--the doctor attributed
+the preservation of the young man's life.
+
+Having produced the worst possible impression on the minds of
+the magistrates, Helena was remanded. Her legal adviser had
+predicted this result; but the vindictive obstinacy of his client
+had set both experience and remonstrance at defiance.
+
+At the renewed examination, the line of defense adopted by
+the prisoner's lawyer proved to be--mistaken identity.
+
+It was asserted that she had never entered the chemist's shop;
+also, that the assistant had wrongly identified some other lady
+as Miss Helena Gracedieu; also, that there was not an atom
+of evidence to connect her with the stealing of the doctor's
+prescription-paper and the forgery of his writing. Other
+assertions to the same purpose followed, on which it is needless
+to dwell.
+
+The case for the prosecution was, happily, in competent hands.
+With the exception of one witness, cross-examination afforded
+no material help to the evidence for the defense.
+
+The chemist swore positively to the personal appearance
+of Helena, as being the personal appearance of the lady who
+had presented the prescription. His assistant, pressed on
+the question of identity, broke down under cross-examination
+--purposely, as it was whispered, serving the interests of
+the prisoner. But the victory, so far gained by the defense,
+was successfully contested by the statement of the next witness,
+a respectable tradesman in the town. He had seen the newspaper
+report of the first examination, and had volunteered to present
+himself as a witness. A member of Mr. Gracedieu's congregation,
+his pew in the chapel was so situated as to give him a view of
+the minister's daughters occupying their pew. He had seen
+the prisoner on every Sunday, for years past; and he swore that
+he was passing the door of the chemist's shop, at the moment when
+she stepped out into the street, having a bottle covered with
+the customary white paper in her hand. The doctor and his servant
+were the next witnesses called. They were severely cross-
+examined. Some of their statements--questioned technically
+with success--received unexpected and powerful support, due
+to the discovery and production of the prisoner's diary.
+The entries, guardedly as some of them were written, revealed
+her motive for attempting to poison Philip Dunboyne; proved
+that she had purposely called on the doctor when she knew that
+he would be out, that she had entered the consulting-room,
+and examined the medical books, had found (to use her own
+written words) "a volume that interested her," and had used
+the prescription-papers for the purpose of making notes.
+The notes themselves were not to be found; they had doubtless
+been destroyed. Enough, and more than enough, remained to make
+the case for the prosecution complete. The magistrates committed
+Helena Gracedieu for trial at the next assizes.
+
+I arrived in the town, as well as I can remember, about a week
+after the trial had taken place.
+
+Found guilty, the prisoner had been recommended to mercy by
+the jury--partly in consideration of her youth; partly as
+an expression of sympathy and respect for her unhappy father.
+The judge (a father himself) passed a lenient sentence. She was
+condemned to imprisonment for two years. The careful matron
+of the jail had provided herself with a bottle of smelling-salts,
+in the fear that there might be need for it when Helena heard
+her sentence pronounced. Not the slightest sign of agitation
+appeared in her face or her manner. She lied to the last;
+asserting her innocence in a firm voice, and returning from
+the dock to the prison without requiring assistance from anybody.
+
+Relating these particulars to me, in a state of ungovernable
+excitement, good Miss Jillgall ended with a little confession
+of her own, which operated as a relief to my overburdened mind
+after what I had just heard.
+
+"I wouldn't own it," she said, "to anybody but a dear friend. One
+thing, in the dreadful disgrace that has fallen on us, I am quite
+at a loss to account for. Think of Mr. Gracedieu's daughter being
+one of those criminal creatures on whom it was once your terrible
+duty to turn the key! Why didn't she commit suicide?"
+
+"My dear lady, no thoroughly wicked creature ever yet committed
+suicide. Self-destruction, when it is not an act of madness,
+implies some acuteness of feeling--sensibility to remorse or to
+shame, or perhaps a distorted idea of making atonement. There is
+no such thing as remorse or shame, or hope of making atonement,
+in Helena's nature."
+
+"But when she comes out of prison, what will she do?"
+
+"Don't alarm yourself, my good friend. She will do very well."
+
+"Oh, hush! hush! Poetical justice, Mr. Governor!"
+
+"Poetical fiddlesticks, Miss Jillgall."
+
+
+CHAPTER LXIII.
+
+THE OBSTACLE REMOVED.
+
+When the subject of the trial was happily dismissed, my first
+inquiry related to Eunice. The reply was made with an ominous
+accompaniment of sighs and sad looks. Eunice had gone back to
+her duties as governess at the farm. Hearing this, I asked
+naturally what had become of Philip.
+
+Melancholy news, again, was the news that I now heard.
+
+Mr. Dunboyne the elder had died suddenly, at his house in
+Ireland, while Philip was on his way home. When the funeral
+ceremony had come to an end, the will was read. It had been made
+only a few days before the testator's death; and the clause which
+left all his property to his son was preceded by expressions of
+paternal affection, at a time when Philip was in sore need of
+consolation. After alluding to a letter, received from his son,
+the old man added: "I always loved him, without caring to confess
+it; I detest scenes of sentiment, kissings, embracings, tears,
+and that sort of thing. But Philip has yielded to my wishes,
+and has broken off a marriage which would have made him, as well
+as me, wretched for life. After this, I may speak my mind from
+my grave, and may tell my boy that I loved him. If the wish is
+likely to be of any use, I will add (on the chance)--God bless
+him."
+
+"Does Philip submit to separation from Eunice?" I asked. "Does
+he stay in Ireland?"
+
+"Not he, poor fellow! He will be here to-morrow or next day.
+When I last wrote," Miss Jillgall continued, "I told him I hoped
+to see you again soon. If you can't help us (I mean with Eunice)
+that unlucky young man will do some desperate thing. He will join
+those madmen at large who disturb poor savages in Africa, or go
+nowhere to find nothing in the Arctic regions.
+
+"Whatever I can do, Miss Jillgall, shall be gladly done. Is it
+really possible that Eunice refuses to marry him, after having
+saved his life?"
+
+"A little patience, please, Mr. Governor; let Philip tell his own
+story. If I try to do it, I shall only cry--and we have had tears
+enough lately, in this house."
+
+Further consultation being thus deferred, I went upstairs to
+the Minister's room.
+
+He was sitting by the window, in his favorite armchair, absorbed
+in knitting! The person who attended on him, a good-natured,
+patient fellow, had been a sailor in his younger days, and had
+taught Mr. Gracedieu how to use the needles. "You see it amuses
+him," the man said, kindly. "Don't notice his mistakes, he thinks
+there isn't such another in the world for knitting as himself.
+You can see, sir, how he sticks to it." He was so absorbed over
+his employment that I had to speak to him twice, before I could
+induce him to look at me. The utter ruin of his intellect did not
+appear to have exercised any disastrous influence over his bodily
+health. On the contrary, he had grown fatter since I had last
+seen him; his complexion had lost the pallor that I remembered--
+there was color in his cheeks.
+
+"Don't you remember your old friend?" I said. He smiled, and
+nodded, and repeated the words:
+
+"Yes, yes, my old friend." It was only too plain that he had not
+the least recollection of me. "His memory is gone," the man said.
+"When he puts away his knitting, at night, I have to find it for
+him in the morning. But, there! he's happy--enjoys his victuals,
+likes sitting out in the garden and watching the birds. There's
+been a deal of trouble in the family, sir; and it has all passed
+over him like a wet sponge over a slate." The old sailor was
+right. If that wreck of a man had been capable of feeling and
+thinking, his daughter's disgrace would have broken his heart.
+In a world of sin and sorrow, is peaceable imbecility always
+to be pitied? I have known men who would have answered, without
+hesitation: "It is to be envied." And where (some persons might
+say) was the poor Minister's reward for the act of mercy which
+had saved Eunice in her infancy? Where it ought to be! A man who
+worthily performs a good action finds his reward in the action
+itself.
+
+
+At breakfast, on the next day, the talk touched on those passages
+in Helena's diary, which had been produced in court as evidence
+against her.
+
+I expressed a wish to see what revelation of a depraved nature
+the entries in the diary might present; and my curiosity was
+gratified. At a fitter time, I may find an opportunity of
+alluding to the impression produced on me by the diary. In
+the meanwhile, the event of Philip's return claims notice in
+the first place.
+
+The poor fellow was so glad to see me that he shook hands as
+heartily as if we had known each other from the time when he was
+a boy.
+
+"Do you remember how kindly you spoke to me when I called on you
+in London?" he asked. "If I have repeated those words once--but
+perhaps you don't remember them? You said: 'If I was as young as
+you are, I should not despair.' Well! I have said that to myself
+over and over again, for a hundred times at least. Eunice will
+listen to you, sir, when she will listen to nobody else. This
+is the first happy moment I have had for weeks past."
+
+I suppose I must have looked glad to hear that. Anyway, Philip
+shook hands with me again.
+
+Miss Jillgall was present. The gentle-hearted old maid was so
+touched by our meeting that she abandoned herself to the genial
+impulse of the moment, and gave Philip a kiss. The outraged
+claims of propriety instantly seized on her. She blushed as if
+the long-lost days of her girlhood had been found again, and ran
+out of the room.
+
+"Now, Mr. Philip," I said, "I have been waiting, at Miss
+Jillgall's suggestion, to get my information from you. There is
+something wrong between Eunice and yourself. What is it? And who
+is to blame?"
+
+"Her vile sister is to blame," he answered. "That reptile was
+determined to sting us. And she has done it!" he cried, starting
+to his feet, and walking up and down the room, urged into action
+by his own unendurable sense of wrong. "I say, she has done it,
+after Eunice has saved me--done it, when Eunice was ready to be
+my wife."
+
+"How has she done it?"
+
+Between grief and indignation his reply was involved in
+a confusion of vehemently-spoken words, which I shall not attempt
+to reproduce. Eunice had reminded him that her sister had been
+publicly convicted of an infamous crime, and publicly punished
+for it by imprisonment. "If I consent to marry you," she said,
+"I stain you with my disgrace; that shall never be." With this
+resolution, she had left him. "I have tried to convince her,"
+Philip said, "that she will not be associated with her sister's
+disgrace when she bears my name; I have promised to take her
+far away from England, among people who have never even heard of
+her sister. Miss Jillgall has used her influence to help me. All
+in vain! There is no hope for us but in you. I am not thinking
+selfishly only of myself. She tries to conceal it--but, oh, she
+is broken-hearted! Ask the farmer's wife, if you don't believe
+me. Judge for yourself, sir. Go--for God's sake, go to the farm."
+
+I made him sit down and compose himself.
+
+"You may depend on my going to the farm," I answered. "I shall
+write to Eunice to-day, and follow my letter to-morrow." He tried
+to thank me; but I would not allow it. "Before I consent to
+accept the expression of your gratitude," I said, "I must know
+a little more of you than I know now. This is only the second
+occasion on which we have met. Let us look back a little, Mr.
+Philip Dunboyne. You were Eunice's affianced husband; and you
+broke faith with her. That was a rascally action. How do you
+defend it?"
+
+His head sank. "I am ashamed to defend it," he answered.
+
+I pressed him without mercy. "You own yourself," I said, "that
+it was a rascally action?"
+
+"Use stronger language against me, even than that, sir--I deserve
+it."
+
+"In plain words," I went on, "you can find no excuse for
+your conduct?"
+
+"In the past time," he said, "I might have found excuses."
+
+"But you can't find them now?"
+
+"I must not even look for them now."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"I owe it to Eunice to leave my conduct at its worst; with
+nothing said--by me--to defend it."
+
+"What has Eunice done to have such a claim on you as that?"
+
+"Eunice has forgiven me."
+
+It was gratefully and delicately said. Ought I to have allowed
+this circumstance to weigh with me? I ask, in return, had _I_
+never committed any faults? As a fellow-mortal and fellow-sinner,
+had I any right to harden my heart against an expression of
+penitence which I felt to be sincere in its motive?
+
+But I was bound to think of Eunice. I did think of her, before
+I ventured to accept the position--the critical position, as
+I shall presently show--of Philip's friend.
+
+After more than an hour of questions put without reserve, and
+of answers given without prevarication, I had traveled over
+the whole ground laid out by the narratives which appear in
+these pages, and had arrived at my conclusion--so far as Philip
+Dunboyne was concerned.
+
+I found him to be a man with nothing absolutely wicked in
+him--but with a nature so perilously weak, in many respects,
+that it might drift into wickedness unless a stronger nature
+was at hand to bold it back. Married to a wife without force
+of character, the probabilities would point to him as likely
+to yield to examples which might make him a bad husband. Married
+to a wife with a will of her own, and with true love to sustain
+her--a wife who would know when to take the command and how
+to take the command--a wife who, finding him tempted to commit
+actions unworthy of his better self, would be far-sighted enough
+to perceive that her husband's sense of honor might sometimes
+lose its balance, without being on that account hopelessly
+depraved--then, and, in these cases only, the probabilities would
+point to Philip as a man likely to be the better and the happier
+for his situation, when the bonds of wedlock had got him.
+
+But the serious question was not answered yet.
+
+Could I feel justified in placing Eunice in the position toward
+Philip which I have just endeavored to describe? I dared not
+allow my mind to dwell on the generosity which had so nobly
+pardoned him, or on the force of character which had bravely
+endured the bitterest disappointment, the cruelest humiliation.
+The one consideration which I was bound to face, was the sacred
+consideration of her happiness in her life to come.
+
+Leaving Philip, with a few words of sympathy which might help him
+to bear his suspense, I went to my room to think.
+
+The time passed--and I could arrive at no positive conclusion.
+Either way--with or without Philip--the contemplation of Eunice's
+future harassed me with doubt. Even if I had conquered my own
+indecision, and had made up my mind to sanction the union of
+the two young people, the difficulties that now beset me would
+not have been dispersed. Knowing what I alone knew, I could
+certainly remove Eunice's one objection to the marriage. In other
+words, I had only to relate what had happened on the day when
+the Chaplain brought the Minister to the prison, and the obstacle
+of their union would be removed. But, without considering Philip,
+it was simply out of the question to do this, in mercy to Eunice
+herself. What was Helena's disgrace, compared with the infamy
+which stained the name of the poor girl's mother! The other
+alternative of telling her part of the truth only was before me,
+if I could persuade myself to adopt it. I failed to persuade
+myself; my morbid anxiety for her welfare made me hesitate again.
+Human patience could endure no more. Rashness prevailed
+and prudence yielded--I left my decision to be influenced
+by the coming interview with Eunice.
+
+The next day I drove to the farm. Philip's entreaties persuaded
+me to let him be my companion, on one condition--that he waited
+in the carriage while I went into the house.
+
+I had carefully arranged my ideas, and had decided on proceeding
+with the greatest caution, before I ventured on saying the
+all-important words which, once spoken, were not to be recalled.
+The worst of those anxieties, under which the delicate health
+of Mr. Gracedieu had broken down, was my anxiety now. Could I
+reconcile it to my conscience to permit a man, innocent of all
+knowledge of the truth, to marry the daughter of a condemned
+murderess, without honestly telling him what he was about to do?
+Did I deserve to be pitied? did I deserve to be blamed?--my mind
+was still undecided when I entered the house.
+
+She ran to meet me as if she had been my daughter; she kissed me
+as if she had been my daughter; she fondly looked up at me as if
+she had been my daughter. At the sight of that sweet young face,
+so sorrowful, and so patiently enduring sorrow, all my doubts
+and hesitations, everything artificial about me with which I had
+entered the room, vanished in an instant.
+
+After she had thanked me for coming to see her, I saw her tremble
+a little. The uppermost interest in her heart was forcing its way
+outward to expression, try as she might to keep it back. "Have
+you seen Philip?" she asked. The tone in which she put that
+question decided me--I was resolved to let her marry him.
+Impulse! Yes, impulse, asserting itself inexcusably in a man at
+the end of his life. I ought to have known better than to have
+given way. Very likely. But am I the only mortal who ought to
+have known better--and did not?
+
+When Eunice asked if I had seen Philip, I owned that he was
+outside in the carriage. Before she could reproach me, I went on
+with what I had to say: "My child, I know what a sacrifice you
+have made; and I should honor your scruples, if you had any
+reason for feeling them."
+
+"Any reason for feeling them?" She turned pale as she repeated
+the words.
+
+An idea came to me. I rang for the servant, and sent her to
+the carriage to tell Philip to come in. "My dear, I am not
+putting you to any unfair trial," I assured her; "I am going
+to prove that I love you as truly as if you were my own child."
+
+When they were both present, I resolved that they should not
+suffer a moment of needless suspense. Standing between them, I
+took Eunice's hand, and laid my other hand on Philip's shoulder,
+and spoke out plainly.
+
+"I am here to make you both happy," I said. "I can remove
+the only obstacle to your marriage, and I mean to do it. But
+I must insist on one condition. Give me your promise, Philip,
+that you will ask for no explanations, and that you will be
+satisfied with the one true statement which is all that I can
+offer to you."
+
+He gave me his promise, without an instant's hesitation.
+
+"Philip grants what I ask," I said to Eunice. "Do you grant it,
+too?"
+
+Her hand turned cold in mine; but she spoke firmly when she said:
+"Yes."
+
+I gave her into Philip's care. It was his privilege to console
+and support her. It was my duty to say the decisive words:
+
+"Rouse your courage, dear Eunice; you are no more affected by
+Helena's disgrace than I am. You are not her sister. Her father
+is not your father; her mother was not your mother. I was
+present, in the time of your infancy, when Mr. Gracedieu's
+fatherly kindness received you as his adopted child. This,
+I declare to you both, on my word of honor, is the truth."
+
+How she bore it I am not able to say. My foolish old eyes were
+filling with tears. I could just see plainly enough to find
+my way to the door, and leave them together.
+
+In my reckless state of mind, I never asked myself if Time would
+be my accomplice, and keep the part of the secret which I had not
+revealed--or be my enemy, and betray me. The chances, either way,
+were perhaps equal. The deed was done.
+
+
+CHAPTER LXIV.
+
+THE TRUTH TRIUMPHANT.
+
+The marriage was deferred, at Eunice's request, as an expression
+of respect to the memory of Philip's father.
+
+When the time of delay had passed, it was arranged that
+the wedding ceremony should be held--after due publication
+of Banns--at the parish church of the London suburb in which
+my house was situated. Miss Jillgall was bridesmaid, and I gave
+away the bride. Before we set out for the church, Eunice asked
+leave to speak with me for a moment in private.
+
+"Don't think," she said, "that I am forgetting my promise to be
+content with what you have told me about myself. I am not so
+ungrateful as that. But I do want, before I consent to be
+Philip's wife, to feel sure that I am not quite unworthy of him.
+Is it because I am of mean birth that you told me I was Mr.
+Gracedieu's adopted child--and told me no more?"
+
+I could honestly satisfy her, so far. "Certainly not!" I said.
+
+She put her arms round my neck. "Do you say that," she asked,
+"to make my mind easy? or do you say it on your word of honor?"
+
+"On my word of honor."
+
+We arrived at the church. Let Miss Jillgall describe
+the marriage, in her own inimitable way.
+
+"No wedding breakfast, when you don't want to eat it. No wedding
+speeches, when nobody wants to make them, and nobody wants to
+hear them. And no false sentiment, shedding tears and reddening
+noses, on the happiest day in the whole year. A model marriage!
+I could desire nothing better, if I had any prospect of being
+a bride myself."
+
+They went away for their honeymoon to a quiet place by
+the seaside, not very far from the town in which Eunice had
+passed some of the happiest and the wretchedest days in her life.
+She persisted in thinking it possible that Mr. Gracedieu might
+recover the use of his faculties, at the last, and might wish
+to see her on his death-bed. "His adopted daughter," she gently
+reminded me, "is his only daughter now." The doctor shook
+his head when I told him what Eunice had said to me--and,
+the sad truth must be told, the doctor was right.
+
+Miss Jillgall returned, on the wedding-day, to take care of
+the good man who had befriended her in her hour of need.
+
+Before the end of the week, I heard from her, and was
+disagreeably reminded of an incident which we had both forgotten,
+absorbed as we were in other and greater interests, at the time.
+
+Mrs. Tenbruggen had again appeared on the scene! She had written
+to Miss Jillgall, from Paris, to say that she had heard of old
+Mr. Dunboyne's death, and that she wished to have the letter
+returned, which she had left for delivery to Philip's father
+on the day when Philip and Eunice were married. I had my own
+suspicions of what that letter might contain; and I regretted
+that Miss Jillgall had sent it back without first waiting to
+consult me. My misgivings, thus excited, were increased by more
+news of no very welcome kind. Mrs. Tenbruggen had decided on
+returning to her professional pursuits in England. Massage,
+now the fashion everywhere, had put money into her pocket among
+the foreigners; and her husband, finding that she persisted in
+keeping out of his reach, had consented to a compromise. He was
+ready to submit to a judicial separation; in consideration of
+a little income which his wife had consented to settle on him,
+under the advice of her lawyer.
+
+Some days later, I received a delightful letter from Philip and
+Eunice; reminding me that I had engaged to pay them a visit at
+the seaside. My room was ready for me, and I was left to choose
+my own day. I had just begun to write my reply, gladly accepting
+the invitation, when an ominous circumstance occurred. My servant
+announced "a lady"; and I found myself face to face with--Mrs.
+Tenbruggen!
+
+She was as cheerful as ever, and as eminently agreeable as ever.
+
+"I have heard it all from Selina," she said. "Philip's marriage
+to Eunice (I shall go and congratulate them, of course), and
+the catastrophe (how dramatic!) of Helena Gracedieu. I warned.
+Selina that Miss Helena would end badly. To tell the truth, she
+frightened me. I don't deny that I am a mischievous woman when
+I find myself affronted, quite capable of taking my revenge in my
+own small spiteful way. But poison and murder--ah, the frightful
+subject! let us drop it, and talk of something that doesn't make
+my hair (it's really my own hair) stand on end. Has Selina told
+you that I have got rid of my charming husband, on easy pecuniary
+terms? Oh, you know that? Very well. I will tell you something
+that you don't know. Mr. Governor, I have found you out."
+
+"May I venture to ask how?"
+
+"When I guessed which was which of those two girls," she
+answered, "and guessed wrong, you deliberately encouraged
+the mistake. Very clever, but you overdid it. From that moment,
+though I kept it to myself, I began to fear I might be wrong.
+Do you remember Low Lanes, my dear sir? A charming old church.
+I have had another consultation with my lawyer. His questions
+led me into mentioning how it happened that I heard of Low Lanes.
+After looking again at his memorandum of the birth advertised
+in the newspaper without naming the place--he proposed trying
+the church register at Low Lanes. Need I tell you the result?
+I know, as well as you do, that Philip has married the adopted
+child. He has had a mother-in-law who was hanged, and, what
+is more, he has the honor, through his late father, of being
+otherwise connected with the murderess by marriage--as his aunt!"
+
+Bewilderment and dismay deprived me of my presence of mind.
+"How did you discover that?" I was foolish enough to ask.
+
+"Do you remember when I brought the baby to the prison?" she
+said. "The father--as I mentioned at the time--had been a dear
+and valued friend of mine. No person could be better qualified
+to tell me who had married his wife's sister. If that lady had
+been living, I should never have been troubled with the charge
+of the child. Any more questions?"
+
+"Only one. Is Philip to hear of this?"
+
+"Oh, for shame! I don't deny that Philip insulted me grossly,
+in one way; and that Philip's late father insulted me grossly,
+in another way. But Mamma Tenbruggen is a Christian. She returns
+good for evil, and wouldn't for the world disturb the connubial
+felicity of Mr. and Mrs. Philip Dunboyne."
+
+The moment the woman was out of my house, I sent a telegram to
+Philip to say that he might expect to see me that night. I caught
+the last train in the evening; and I sat down to supper with
+those two harmless young creatures, knowing I must prepare
+the husband for what threatened them, and weakly deferring it,
+when I found myself in their presence, until the next day. Eunice
+was, in some degree, answerable for this hesitation on my part.
+No one could look at her husband, and fail to see that he was
+a supremely happy man. But I detected signs of care in the wife's
+face.
+
+Before breakfast the next morning I was out on the beach, trying
+to decide how the inevitable disclosure might be made. Eunice
+joined me. Now, when we were alone, I asked if she was really
+and completely happy. Quietly and sadly she answered: "Not yet."
+
+I hardly knew what to say. My face must have expressed
+disappointment and surprise.
+
+"I shall never be quite happy," she resumed, "till I know what
+it is that you kept from me on that memorable day. I don't like
+having a secret from my husband--though it is not _my_ secret."
+
+"Remember your promise," I said
+
+"I don't forget it," she answered. "I can only wish that
+my promise would keep back the thoughts that come to me in
+spite of myself."
+
+"What thoughts?"
+
+"There is something, as I fear, in the story of my parents which
+you are afraid to confide to me. Why did Mr. Gracedieu allow me
+to believe and leave everybody to believe, that I was his own
+child?"
+
+"My dear, I relieved your mind of those doubts on the morning
+of your marriage."
+
+"No. I was only thinking of myself at that time. My mother--
+the doubt of _her_ is the doubt that torments me now."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+She put her arm in mine, and held by it with both hands.
+
+"The mock-mother!" she whispered. "Do you remember that dreadful
+Vision, that horrid whispering temptation in the dead of night?
+_Was_ it a mock-mother? Oh, pity me! I don't know who my mother
+was. One horrid thought about her is a burden on my mind. If she
+was a good woman, you who love me would surely have made me happy
+by speaking of her?"
+
+Those words decided me at last. Could she suffer more than she
+had suffered already, if I trusted her with the truth? I ran
+the risk. There was a time of silence that filled me with terror.
+The interval passed. She took my hand, and put it to her heart.
+"Does it beat as if I was frightened?" she asked.
+
+
+No! It was beating calmly.
+
+"Does it relieve your anxiety?"
+
+It told me that I had not surprised her. That unforgotten Vision
+of the night had prepared her for the worst, after the time when
+I had told her that she was an adopted child. "I know," I said,
+"that those whispered temptations overpowered you again, when
+you and Helena met on the stairs, and you forbade her to enter
+Philip's room. And I know that love had conquered once more, when
+you were next seen sitting by Philip's bedside. Tell me--have you
+any misgivings now? Is there fear in your heart of the return
+of that tempting spirit in you, in the time to come?"
+
+"Not while Philip lives!"
+
+There, where her love was--there her safety was. And she knew it!
+She suddenly left me. I asked where she was going.
+
+"To tell Philip," was the reply.
+
+She was waiting for me at the door, when I followed her to
+the house.
+
+"Is it done?" I said.
+
+"It is done," she answered.
+
+"What did he say?"
+
+"He said: 'My darling, if I could be fonder of you than ever,
+I should be fonder of you now.'"
+
+I have been blamed for being too ready to confide to Philip
+the precious trust of Eunice's happiness. If that reply does
+not justify me, where is justification to be found?
+
+
+POSTSCRIPT.
+
+Later in the day, Mrs. Tenbruggen arrived to offer her
+congratulations. She asked for a few minutes with Philip alone.
+As a cat elaborates her preparations for killing a mouse, so
+the human cat elaborated her preparations for killing Philip's
+happiness, he remained uninjured by her teeth and her claws.
+"Somebody," she said, "has told you of it already?" And Philip
+answered: "Yes; my wife."
+
+For some months longer, Mr. Gracedieu lingered. One morning, he
+said to Eunice: "I want to teach you to knit. Sit by me, and see
+me do it." His hands fell softly on his lap; his head sank little
+by little on her shoulder. She could just hear him whisper: "How
+pleasant it is to sleep!" Never was Death's dreadful work more
+gently done
+
+Our married pair live now on the paternal estate in Ireland; and
+Miss Jillgall reigns queen of domestic affairs. I am still strong
+enough to pass my autumn holidays in that pleasant house.
+
+At times, my memory reverts to Helena Gracedieu, and to what
+I discovered when I had seen her diary.
+
+How little I knew of that terrible creature when I first met with
+her, and fancied that she had inherited her mother's character!
+It was weak indeed to compare the mean vices of Mrs. Gracedieu
+with the diabolical depravity of her daughter. Here the doctrine
+of hereditary transmission of moral qualities must own that it
+has overlooked the fertility (for growth of good and for growth
+of evil equally) which is inherent in human nature. There are
+virtues that exalt us, and vices that degrade us, whose
+mysterious origin is, not in our parents, but in ourselves. When
+I think of Helena, I ask myself, where is the trace which reveals
+that the first murder in the world was the product of inherited
+crime?
+
+The criminal left the prison, on the expiration of her sentence,
+so secretly that it was impossible to trace her. Some months
+later, Miss Jillgall received an illustrated newspaper published
+in the United States. She showed me one of the portraits in it.
+
+"Do you recognize the illustrious original?" she asked, with
+indignant emphasis on the last two words. I recognized Helena.
+"Now read her new title," Miss Jillgall continued.
+
+I read: "The Reverend Miss Gracedieu."
+
+The biographical notice followed. Here is an extract: "This
+eminent lady, the victim of a shocking miscarriage of justice
+in England, is now the distinguished leader of a new community
+in the United States. We hail in her the great intellect which
+asserts the superiority of woman over man. In the first French
+Revolution, the attempt made by men to found a rational religion
+met with only temporary success. It was reserved for the mightier
+spirit of woman to lay the foundations more firmly, and to
+dedicate one of the noblest edifices in this city to the Worship
+of Pure Reason. Readers who wish for further information will
+do well to provide themselves with the Reverend Miss Gracedieu's
+Orations--the tenth edition of which is advertised in our
+columns."
+
+"I once asked you," Miss Jillgall reminded me, "what Helena would
+do when she came out of prison, and you said she would do very
+well. Oh, Mr. Governor, Solomon was nothing to You!"
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins
+