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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Legacy of Cain
+
+Author: Wilkie Collins
+
+Posting Date: October 15, 2008 [EBook #1975]
+Release Date: November, 1999
+Last Updated: September 13, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LEGACY OF CAIN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by James Rusk
+
+
+
+
+
+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 XVII. 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 fond 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 something?” 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 he 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 he 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 the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins
+
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+<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
+
+<!DOCTYPE html
+   PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Legacy of Cain
+
+Author: Wilkie Collins
+
+Release Date: October 15, 2008 [EBook #1975]
+Last Updated: September 13, 2016
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LEGACY OF CAIN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by James Rusk, and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      THE LEGACY OF CAIN
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Wilkie Collins
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> To MRS. HENRY POWELL BARTLEY:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      WILKIE COLLINS.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wimpole Street, 6th December, 1888.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE LEGACY OF CAIN.</b> </a>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>First Period: 1858-1859. EVENTS IN THE
+        PRISON, RELATED BY THE GOVERNOR.</b> </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. THE GOVERNOR EXPLAINS. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. THE MURDERESS ASKS QUESTIONS. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. THE CHILD APPEARS. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. THE MINISTER SAYS YES. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. MISS CHANCE ASSERTS HERSELF. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. THE DOCTOR DOUBTS. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. THE MURDERESS CONSULTS THE
+        AUTHORITIES. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. THE MINISTER SAYS GOOD-BY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. THE GOVERNOR RECEIVES A VISIT. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. MISS CHANCE REAPPEARS. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> <b>Second Period: 1875. THE GIRLS AND THE
+        JOURNALS.</b> </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. THE MIDDLE-AGED LADY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. THE MINISTER&rsquo;S MISFORTUNE. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. THE LIVELY OLD MAID. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. THE FUTURE LOOKS GLOOMY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. THE WANDERING MIND. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. THE SHAMELESS SISTER. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE GIRLS&rsquo; AGES. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX. THE ADOPTED CHILD </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL. THE BRUISED HEART. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI. THE WHISPERING VOICE. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XLII. THE QUAINT PHILOSOPHER. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XLIII. THE MASTERFUL MASSEUSE. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XLIV. THE RESURRECTION OF THE PAST.
+        </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XLV. THE FATAL PORTRAIT. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XLVI. THE CUMBERSOME LADIES. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XLVII. THE JOURNEY TO THE FARM. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER XLVIII. THE DECISION OF EUNICE. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER XLIX. THE GOVERNOR ON HIS GUARD. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0050"> CHAPTER L. THE NEWS FROM THE FARM. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0051"> CHAPTER LI. THE TRIUMPH OF MRS. TENBRUGGEN.
+        </a>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> <b>Third period: 1876. <i>HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY
+        RESUMED.</i></b> </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0052"> CHAPTER LII. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY RESUMED. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0053"> CHAPTER LIII. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY RESUMED. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0054"> CHAPTER LIV. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY RESUMED. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0055"> CHAPTER LV. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY RESUMED. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0056"> CHAPTER LVI. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY RESUMED. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0057"> CHAPTER LVII. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY RESUMED. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0058"> CHAPTER LVIII. DANGER. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0059"> CHAPTER LIX. DEFENSE. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0060"> CHAPTER LX. DISCOVERY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0061"> CHAPTER LXI. ATROCITY. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0062"> CHAPTER LXII. THE SENTENCE PRONOUNCED. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0063"> CHAPTER LXIII. THE OBSTACLE REMOVED. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0064"> CHAPTER LXIV. THE TRUTH TRIUMPHANT. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0069"> POSTSCRIPT. </a>
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      THE LEGACY OF CAIN.
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      First Period: 1858-1859. EVENTS IN THE PRISON, RELATED BY THE GOVERNOR.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I. THE GOVERNOR EXPLAINS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;some dead, some living, at the
+      present time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II. THE MURDERESS ASKS QUESTIONS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The first of the events which I must now relate was the conviction of The
+      Prisoner for the murder of her husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;under
+      provocation, be it remembered, which the witnesses proved&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see some hope, sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I read it, of course. It was called &ldquo;A Memorandum,&rdquo; and was thus written:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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. &lsquo;He
+      entirely failed to make a Christian of me,&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;but I was struck by
+      his eloquence. Besides, he interested me personally&mdash;he was a fine
+      man.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the dreadful situation in which the woman was placed, such language as
+      this shocked the Chaplain; he appealed in vain to the Prisoner&rsquo;s sense of
+      propriety. &lsquo;You don&rsquo;t understand women,&rsquo; she answered. &lsquo;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&rsquo;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.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.
+      &lsquo;That will depend,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;on whether you answer some questions which
+      I want to put to you first.&rsquo; The Chaplain consented; provided always that
+      he could reply with propriety to what she asked of him. Her first question
+      only related to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She said: &lsquo;The women who watch me tell me that you are a widower, and
+      have a family of children. Is that true?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Chaplain answered that it was quite true.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Is my handsome preacher married?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Has he got any children?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;He has never had any children.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;How long has he been married?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;As well as I know, about seven or eight years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;What sort of woman is his wife?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;A lady universally respected.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t care whether she is respected or not. Is she kind?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Certainly!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Is her husband well off?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;He has a sufficient income.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After that reply, the Prisoner&rsquo;s curiosity appeared to be satisfied. She
+      said, &lsquo;Bring your friend the preacher to me, if you like&rsquo;&mdash;and there
+      it ended.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III. THE CHILD APPEARS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      During my friend&rsquo;s absence, my attention was claimed by a sad incident&mdash;not
+      unforeseen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;None that I care to see,
+      or that care to see me&mdash;except the nearest relation of all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s
+      birthday by a few months. The farewell interview was to take place on the
+      mother&rsquo;s last evening on earth; and the child was now brought into my
+      rooms, in charge of her nurse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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&mdash;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s favorite jewels, for old
+      remembrance&rsquo; 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&mdash;and, more horrid still, the mother deserved it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Let the child wait till I send for her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Minister had consented to help us. On his arrival at the prison, I
+      received him privately in my study.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had only to look at his face&mdash;pitiably pale and agitated&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My experience,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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&mdash;and
+      that criminal a woman and a mother. I own, sir, that I am shaken by the
+      prospect before me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I suggested that he should wait a while, in the hope that time and quiet
+      might help him. He thanked me, and refused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I have any knowledge of myself,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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&mdash;the trust which, please God, I mean to deserve.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My own observation of human nature told me that this was wisely said. I
+      led the way at once to the cell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV. THE MINISTER SAYS YES.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having instructed the female warder to leave the room&mdash;but to take
+      care that she waited within call&mdash;I looked again at the Minister.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Before this gentleman tries to convert me,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I want you to wait
+      here and be a witness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Finding that we were both willing to comply with this request, she
+      addressed herself directly to the Minister. &ldquo;Suppose I promise to listen
+      to your exhortations,&rdquo; she began, &ldquo;what do you promise to do for me in
+      return?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The voice in which she spoke to him was steady and clear; a marked
+      contrast to the tremulous earnestness with which he answered her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I am hanged to-morrow, suppose I die without confessing, without
+      repenting&mdash;are you one of those who believe I shall be doomed to
+      eternal punishment in another life?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe in the mercy of God.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Answer my question, if you please. Is an impenitent sinner eternally
+      punished? Do you believe that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Bible leaves me no other alternative.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She paused for a while, evidently considering with special attention what
+      she was about to say next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As a religious man,&rdquo; she resumed, &ldquo;would you be willing to make some
+      sacrifice, rather than let a fellow-creature go&mdash;after a disgraceful
+      death&mdash;to everlasting torment?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know of no sacrifice in my power,&rdquo; he said, fervently, &ldquo;to which I
+      would not rather submit than let you die in the present dreadful state of
+      your mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Prisoner turned to me. &ldquo;Is the person who watches me waiting outside?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you be so kind as to call her in? I have a message for her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The warder appeared, and received her message. &ldquo;Tell the woman who has
+      come here with my little girl that I want to see the child.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Taken completely by surprise, I signed to the attendant to wait for
+      further instructions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Your first duty,&rdquo; I told
+      her, &ldquo;is to hear and to take to heart what the clergyman has to say to
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For the second time I attempted to leave the cell. For the second time
+      this impenetrable woman called me back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take the parson away with you,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I refuse to listen to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The patient Minister yielded, and appealed to me to follow his example. I
+      reluctantly sanctioned the delivery of the message.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Prisoner spoke to the nurse in no friendly tone: &ldquo;You can go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The nurse turned to me, ostentatiously ignoring the words that had been
+      addressed to her. &ldquo;Am I to go, sir, or to stay?&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What has that person done to offend you?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sorrow and pity in his face answered for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Quietly sleeping, the poor baby rested on her mother&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I die to-morrow,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I leave my child helpless and
+      friendless&mdash;disgraced by her mother&rsquo;s shameful death. The workhouse
+      may take her&mdash;or a charitable asylum may take her.&rdquo; She paused; a
+      first tinge of color rose on her pale face; she broke into an outburst of
+      rage. &ldquo;Think of <i>my</i> 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&rsquo;t endure it; it maddens me. If she is
+      not saved from that wretched fate, I shall die despairing, I shall die
+      cursing&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Forgive me; I won&rsquo;t forget myself again. They tell me you have no
+      children of your own. Is that a sorrow to you and your wife?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her altered tone touched him. He answered sadly and kindly: &ldquo;It is the one
+      sorrow of our lives.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;I hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My silence encouraged the mother. She advanced to the Minister with the
+      sleeping infant in her arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I daresay you have sometimes thought of adopting a child?&rdquo; she said.
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo; She lost her self-possession once more. &ldquo;A
+      motherless creature to-morrow,&rdquo; she burst out. &ldquo;Think of that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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 <i>him</i>.
+      Does the man live who&mdash;having to say what I had to say&mdash;could
+      have spoken to the doomed mother?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry to have allowed this to go on,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;In justice to
+      yourself, sir, don&rsquo;t answer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned on me with a look of fury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He shall answer,&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I saw, or thought I saw, signs of yielding in his face. &ldquo;Take time,&rdquo; I
+      persisted&mdash;&ldquo;take time to consider before you decide.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stepped up to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take time?&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;Are you inhuman enough to talk of time, in my
+      presence?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laid the sleeping child on her bed, and fell on her knees before the
+      Minister: &ldquo;I promise to hear your exhortations&mdash;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&mdash;if I have a better nature&mdash;is through that poor
+      babe. Save her from the workhouse! Don&rsquo;t let them make a pauper of her!&rdquo;
+       She sank prostrate at his feet, and beat her hands in frenzy on the floor.
+      &ldquo;You want to save my guilty soul,&rdquo; she reminded him furiously. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s
+      but one way of doing it. Save my child!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He raised her. Her fierce tearless eyes questioned his face in a mute
+      expectation dreadful to see. Suddenly, a foretaste of death&mdash;the
+      death that was so near now!&mdash;struck her with a shivering fit: her
+      head dropped on the Minister&rsquo;s shoulder. Other men might have shrunk from
+      the contact of it. That true Christian let it rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes? or No?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He answered: &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Look at them,&rdquo; was all he said to
+      me; &ldquo;how could I refuse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V. MISS CHANCE ASSERTS HERSELF.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The services of our medical officer were required, in order to hasten the
+      recovery of the Prisoner&rsquo;s senses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the meantime, my companion had walked on a little way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thinking of the Prisoner?&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thinking of what is going on, at this moment, in the condemned cell,&rdquo; he
+      answered, &ldquo;and wondering if any good will come of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was not without hope of a good result, and I said so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Doctor disagreed with me. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t believe in that woman&rsquo;s penitence,&rdquo;
+       he remarked; &ldquo;and I look upon the parson as a poor weak creature. What is
+      to become of the child?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Governor, I retract what I said of the parson just now. He is one of the
+      boldest men that ever stepped into a pulpit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Considering that you are the governor of a prison,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;you are
+      a singularly rash man. If I come back, how do you know I shall not bore
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My rashness runs the risk of that,&rdquo; I rejoined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me something, before I allow you to run your risk,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Doctor (as I concluded) was still strongly impressed by the Minister&rsquo;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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I agree with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at me with his sense of humor twinkling in his eyes. &ldquo;Do you
+      know I rather expected that answer?&rdquo; he said, slyly. &ldquo;All right. I&rsquo;ll come
+      back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Left by myself, I took up the day&rsquo;s newspaper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are always welcome,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;and doubly welcome just now. I am
+      feeling a little worried and anxious.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you are naturally,&rdquo; the Chaplain added, &ldquo;not at all disposed to
+      receive a stranger?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is the stranger a friend of yours?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Youth and a fine complexion, a well-made figure and a natural grace of
+      movement&mdash;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&mdash;another defect, in my
+      opinion&mdash;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&rsquo;s dress is the mirror
+      in which we may see the reflection of a woman&rsquo;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&mdash;I gave it up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What can I do for you?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you can tell me,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;how much longer I am to be kept
+      waiting in this prison.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The decision,&rdquo; I reminded her, &ldquo;doesn&rsquo;t depend on me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then who does it depend on?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She seemed to be irritated by my silence. &ldquo;If the decision doesn&rsquo;t rest
+      with you,&rdquo; she asked, &ldquo;why did you tell me to stay in the waiting-room?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You brought the little girl into the prison,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;was it not natural
+      to suppose that your mistress might want you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop, sir!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had evidently given offense; I stopped directly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No person on the face of the earth,&rdquo; she declared, loftily, &ldquo;has ever had
+      the right to call herself my mistress. Of my own free will, sir, I took
+      charge of the child.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because you are fond of her?&rdquo; I suggested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hate her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was unwise on my part&mdash;I protested. &ldquo;Hate a baby little more than
+      a year old!&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Her</i> baby!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She said it with the air of a woman who had produced an unanswerable
+      reason. &ldquo;I am accountable to nobody,&rdquo; she went on. &ldquo;If I consented to
+      trouble myself with the child, it was in remembrance of my friendship&mdash;notice,
+      if you please, that I say friendship&mdash;with the unhappy father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s jealousy, during her disastrous
+      married life. A serious doubt occurred to me as to the authority under
+      which the husband&rsquo;s mistress might be acting, after the husband&rsquo;s death. I
+      instantly put it to the test.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do I understand you to assert any claim to the child?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Claim?&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I forgot myself once more&mdash;I lost my temper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave the room,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Your unworthy hands will not touch the poor
+      baby again. She is provided for.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t believe you!&rdquo; the wretch burst out. &ldquo;Who has taken the child?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A quiet voice answered: &ldquo;<i>I</i> have taken her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;but at the same time I was afraid, after
+      what he had but too plainly suffered, to ask him to enter into details.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only one word,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Are your anxieties at rest?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God&rsquo;s mercy has helped me,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;I have not spoken in vain. She
+      believes; she repents; she has confessed the crime.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s servant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid you will be disappointed,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She listened with an evil smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know who furnished you with your reasons,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;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&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Too weary and too preoccupied to notice the insolence of her manner, the
+      Minister mentioned his name. &ldquo;I am anxious,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to know if the
+      child has been baptized. Perhaps you can enlighten me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still insolent, Miss Elizabeth Chance shook her head carelessly. &ldquo;I never
+      heard&mdash;and, to tell you the truth, I never cared to hear&mdash;whether
+      she was christened or not. Call her by what name you like, I can tell you
+      this&mdash;you will find your adopted daughter a heavy handful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Minister turned to me. &ldquo;What does she mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will try to tell you,&rdquo; Miss Chance interposed. &ldquo;Being a clergyman, you
+      know who Deborah was? Very well. I am Deborah now; and <i>I</i> prophesy.&rdquo;
+       She pointed to the child. &ldquo;Remember what I say, reverend sir! You will
+      find the tigress-cub take after its mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With those parting words, she favored us with a low curtsey, and left the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI. THE DOCTOR DOUBTS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The Minister looked at me in an absent manner; his attention seemed to
+      have been wandering. &ldquo;What was it Miss Chance said?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before I could speak, a friend&rsquo;s voice at the door interrupted us. The
+      Doctor, returning to me as he had promised, answered the Minister&rsquo;s
+      question in these words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must have passed the person you mean, sir, as I was coming in here; and
+      I heard her say: &lsquo;You will find the tigress-cub take after its mother.&rsquo; If
+      she had known how to put her meaning into good English, Miss Chance&mdash;that
+      is the name you mentioned, I think&mdash;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,&rdquo; the Doctor continued, gently patting the
+      child&rsquo;s cheek, &ldquo;was no doubt the mother of this unfortunate little
+      creature&mdash;who may, or may not, live to show you that she comes of a
+      bad stock and inherits a wicked nature.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was on the point of protesting against my friend&rsquo;s interpretation, when
+      the Minister stopped me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me thank you, sir, for your explanation,&rdquo; he said to the Doctor. &ldquo;As
+      soon as my mind is free, I will reflect on what you have said. Forgive me,
+      Mr. Governor,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;if I leave you, now that I have placed the
+      Prisoner&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does she wish you to be present?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She positively forbids it. &lsquo;After what you have done for me,&rsquo; she said,
+      &lsquo;the least I can do in return is to prevent your being needlessly
+      distressed.&rsquo; She took leave of me; she kissed the little girl for the last
+      time&mdash;oh, don&rsquo;t ask me to tell you about it! I shall break down if I
+      try. Come, my darling!&rdquo; He kissed the child tenderly, and took her away
+      with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That man is a strange compound of strength and weakness,&rdquo; the Doctor
+      remarked. &ldquo;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 <i>may</i> conquer the difficulties that are in store
+      for him yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a trial of my temper to hear my clever colleague justifying, in
+      this way, the ignorant prediction of an insolent woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are exceptions to all rules,&rdquo; I insisted. &ldquo;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&rsquo;s father&mdash;though
+      I don&rsquo;t deny that he was a profligate man. And even the horrible mother&mdash;as
+      you heard just now&mdash;has virtue enough left in her to feel grateful to
+      the man who has taken care of her child. These are facts; you can&rsquo;t
+      dispute them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Doctor took out his pipe. &ldquo;Do you mind my smoking?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Tobacco
+      helps me to arrange my ideas.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;the privilege of
+      eating each other?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very sad,&rdquo; I admitted. &ldquo;But it will all be set right in another world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you quite sure of that?&rdquo; the Doctor asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite sure, thank God! And it would be better for you if you felt about
+      it as I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We won&rsquo;t dispute, my dear Governor. I don&rsquo;t scoff at comforting hopes; I
+      don&rsquo;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&rsquo;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. <i>There</i> 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&mdash;when I
+      think of passions let loose and temptations lying in ambush&mdash;I see
+      the smooth surface of the Minister&rsquo;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 <i>she</i> 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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s out, and my confession of faith has come to
+      an end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You seem to have forgotten,&rdquo; I reminded him, &ldquo;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&rsquo;s household.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now that he was enjoying the fumes of tobacco, the Doctor was as placid
+      and sweet-tempered as a man could be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite true,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you doubt the influence of religion?&rdquo; I asked sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He answered, sweetly: &ldquo;Not at all&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or the influence of kindness?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, dear, no!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or the force of example?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t deny it for the world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had not expected this extraordinary docility. The Doctor had got the
+      upper hand of me again&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is she ill?&rdquo; the Doctor inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hysterical? or agitated, perhaps?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As easy and composed, sir, as a person can be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      We set forth together for the condemned cell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII. THE MURDERESS CONSULTS THE AUTHORITIES.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      There was a considerate side to my friend&rsquo;s character, which showed itself
+      when the warder had left us.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was especially anxious to be careful of what he said to a woman in the
+      Prisoner&rsquo;s terrible situation; especially in the event of her having been
+      really subjected to the influence of religious belief. On the Minister&rsquo;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. &ldquo;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.&rdquo; With that remarkable disavowal of the defense set
+      up by her advocate, the confession ended.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She shall not discover it,&rdquo; he answered, gravely, &ldquo;if I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It would not be true to say that the Doctor&rsquo;s obstinacy had shaken my
+      belief in the good result of the Minister&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;when death on the scaffold was literally within a few hours
+      of her&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She laid down the pen, and proceeded quietly to explain herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even the little time that is left to me proves to be a weary time to get
+      through,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo; She
+      paused, and tore up the portrait. &ldquo;If I have misbehaved myself,&rdquo; she
+      resumed, &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Giving the woman permission to withdraw for a while, I waited with some
+      anxiety to hear what the Prisoner wanted of me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have something to say to you,&rdquo; she proceeded, &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      How another man might have felt, in my place, I cannot, of course, say. To
+      my mind, such a question&mdash;on <i>her</i> lips&mdash;was too shocking
+      to be answered in words. I bowed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the body is buried,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;in the prison?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could remain silent no longer. &ldquo;Is there no human feeling left in you?&rdquo;
+       I burst out. &ldquo;What do these horrid questions mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be angry with me, sir; you shall hear directly. I want to know
+      first if I am to be buried in the prison?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I replied as before, by a bow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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&mdash;&rdquo; 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. &ldquo;There was one portrait,&rdquo; she resumed, &ldquo;that had been
+      taken after the execution. The face was so hideous; it was swollen to such
+      a size in its frightful deformity&mdash;oh, sir, don&rsquo;t let me be seen in
+      that state, even by the strangers who bury me! Use your influence&mdash;forbid
+      them to take the cap off my face when I am dead&mdash;order them to bury
+      me in it, and I swear to you I&rsquo;ll meet death tomorrow as coolly as the
+      boldest man that ever mounted the scaffold!&rdquo; 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. &ldquo;Will you do
+      it?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re an honorable man; you will keep your word. Give me
+      your promise!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I gave her my promise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The relief to her tortured spirit expressed itself horribly in a burst of
+      frantic laughter. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t help it,&rdquo; she gasped; &ldquo;I&rsquo;m so happy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Leave her to
+      me,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;The fine edge of my nerves was worn off long ago in
+      the hospital.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When we met again, I asked what had passed between the Prisoner and
+      himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I gave her time to recover,&rdquo; he told me; &ldquo;and, except that she looked a
+      little paler than usual, there was no trace left of the frenzy that you
+      remember. &lsquo;I ought to apologize for troubling you,&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;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?&rsquo; She had put it so politely that I
+      felt bound to answer her. &lsquo;If the neck happens to be broken,&rsquo; I said,
+      &lsquo;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.&rsquo; After considering a little, she made a
+      sensible remark, and followed it by an embarrassing request. &lsquo;A great
+      deal,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;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&rsquo;t like pain. Would you
+      mind telling the executioner to be careful? Or would it be better if I
+      spoke to him myself?&rsquo; 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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I confessed that I was surprised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Think a little,&rdquo; the Doctor said. &ldquo;The one sensitive place in that
+      woman&rsquo;s nature is the place occupied by her self-esteem.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I objected to this that she had shown fondness for her child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My friend disposed of the objection with his customary readiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The maternal instinct,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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&mdash;a genuine outbreak, beyond all doubt&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it possible that you are in earnest?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know as well as you do,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;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&mdash;I mean
+      murders deliberately planned&mdash;are committed by persons absolutely
+      deficient in that part of the moral organization which <i>feels</i>. 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&mdash;a gentleman&rsquo;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&rsquo;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, &lsquo;She died
+      game.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII. THE MINISTER SAYS GOOD-BY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;and pass on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The one self-possessed person among us was the miserable woman who
+      suffered the penalty of death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not very discreetly, as I think, the Chaplain asked her if she had truly
+      repented. She answered: &ldquo;I have confessed the crime, sir. What more do you
+      want?&rdquo; To my mind&mdash;still hesitating between the view that believes
+      with the Minister, and the view that doubts with the Doctor&mdash;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: &ldquo;Remember your promise.&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let me now turn to living interests, and to scenes removed from the
+      thunder-clouds of crime.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the next day I received a visit from the Minister.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His first words entreated me not to allude to the terrible event of the
+      previous day. &ldquo;I cannot escape thinking of it,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;but I may avoid
+      speaking of it.&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His reply to this agreeably surprised me. There were no difficulties to be
+      feared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The state of his wife&rsquo;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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The next place I live in,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I congratulated the Minister on the good fortune which had befriended him,
+      so far.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will understand how carefully I have provided against being
+      deceived,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;when I tell you what my plans are. The persons
+      among whom my future lot is cast&mdash;and the child herself, of course&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There could be no doubt of the necessity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s life
+      might have been darkened by the horror of the mother&rsquo;s crime, and the
+      infamy of the mother&rsquo;s death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having quieted my friend&rsquo;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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Minister&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I listened to this plausible explanation with interest, but, at the same
+      time, with doubts of the lasting nature of the lady&rsquo;s submission to
+      circumstances; suggested, perhaps, by the constraint in the Minister&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will not attempt to decide whether your friend is right or wrong,&rdquo; he
+      said. &ldquo;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,&rdquo; he concluded, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He intrusted me with that message, and gave me his hand. So we parted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s
+      nature as she grew up&mdash;inherited evil against inculcated good. Try as
+      I might, I failed to feel the Minister&rsquo;s comforting conviction as to which
+      of the two would win.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX. THE GOVERNOR RECEIVES A VISIT.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I observed her with no ordinary attention when she entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The object of her visit&mdash;so far as she explained it at the outset&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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&rsquo;s good temper, judging from
+      her husband&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Our new place of residence,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;has been made interesting by
+      a very unexpected event&mdash;an event (how shall I describe it?) which
+      has increased our happiness and enlarged our family circle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray excuse my stupidity,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t quite understand you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lady&rsquo;s temper looked at me out of the lady&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ought to have spoken more plainly,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;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&mdash;the inexpressible happiness&mdash;of
+      being a mother. My baby is a sweet little girl; and my one regret is that
+      I cannot nurse her myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My languid interest in the Minister&rsquo;s wife was not stimulated by the
+      announcement of this domestic event.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I felt no wish to see the &ldquo;sweet little girl&rdquo;; 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&mdash;I thought of her,
+      peacefully and prettily asleep under the horrid shelter of the condemned
+      cell&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is pleasant to think,&rdquo; I began, &ldquo;that your other daughter&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She interrupted me, with the utmost gentleness: &ldquo;Do you mean the child
+      that my husband was foolish enough to adopt?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say rather fortunate enough to adopt,&rdquo; I persisted. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, my dear sir&mdash;not if I can prevent it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must surely understand,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;that we don&rsquo;t want another
+      person&rsquo;s child, now we have a little darling of our own?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does your husband agree with you in that view?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh dear, no! He said what you said just now, and (oddly enough) almost in
+      the same words. But I don&rsquo;t at all despair of persuading him to change his
+      mind&mdash;and you can help me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; I asked sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not in the least impressed by my change of manner, she took from the
+      pocket of her dress a printed paper. &ldquo;You will find what I mean there,&rdquo;
+       she replied&mdash;and put the paper into my hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pleased to find that I was clever enough to guess what she meant, on this
+      occasion, the Minister&rsquo;s wife informed me that the circumstances were all
+      in our favor. She still persisted in taking me into partnership&mdash;the
+      circumstances were in <i>our</i> favor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In two years more,&rdquo; she explained, &ldquo;the child of that detestable creature
+      who was hanged&mdash;do you know, I cannot even look at the little wretch
+      without thinking of the gallows?&mdash;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&rsquo; votes! Your name will be a tower of strength when I use it as
+      a reference. Pardon me&mdash;you are not looking so pleasantly as usual.
+      Do you see some obstacles in our way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see two obstacles.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What can they possibly be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For the second time, my politeness gave way under the strain laid on it.
+      &ldquo;You know perfectly well,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;what one of the obstacles is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I to understand that you contemplate any serious resistance on the
+      part of my husband?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was unaffectedly amused by my simplicity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you a single man?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am a widower.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then your experience ought to tell you that I know every weak point in
+      the Minister&rsquo;s character. I can tell him, on your authority, that the
+      hateful child will be placed in competent and kindly hands&mdash;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 <i>my</i> way of thinking <i>his</i>
+      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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The second obstacle will not disappoint you,&rdquo; I answered; &ldquo;I am the
+      obstacle, this time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You refuse to help me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Positively.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps reflection may alter your resolution?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reflection will do nothing of the kind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are rude, sir!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In speaking to you, madam, I have no alternative but to speak plainly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She rose. Her shifting eyes, for once, looked at me steadily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What sort of enemy have I made of you?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;A passive enemy who
+      is content with refusing to help me? Or an active enemy who will write to
+      my husband?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It depends entirely,&rdquo; I told her, &ldquo;on what your husband does. If he
+      questions me about you, I shall tell him the truth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In that case, I shall hope to forget that you ever favored me with a
+      visit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come and see us in two years&rsquo; time,&rdquo; she burst out&mdash;&ldquo;and discover
+      the orphan of the gallows in our house if you can! If your Asylum won&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s duties required his
+      attendance in the prison. I instantly sent for him. After a moment&rsquo;s look
+      at her, he took the wine out of my hand, and held the glass to her lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drink it,&rdquo; he said. She still refused. &ldquo;Drink it,&rdquo; he reiterated, &ldquo;or you
+      will die.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That frightened her; she drank the wine. The Doctor waited for a while
+      with his fingers on her pulse. &ldquo;She will do now,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can I go?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go wherever you please, madam&mdash;so long as you don&rsquo;t go upstairs in a
+      hurry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She smiled: &ldquo;I understand you, sir&mdash;and thank you for your advice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I asked the Doctor, when we were alone, what made him tell her not to go
+      upstairs in a hurry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What I felt,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;when I had my fingers on her pulse. You heard
+      her say that she understood me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; but I don&rsquo;t know what she meant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She meant, probably, that her own doctor had warned her as I did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Something seriously wrong with her health?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X. MISS CHANCE REAPPEARS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      A week had passed, since the Minister&rsquo;s wife had left me, when I received
+      a letter from the Minister himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Within an easy journey of the populous scene of my present labors,&rdquo; he
+      wrote, &ldquo;there is a secluded country village called Low Lanes. The rector
+      of the place is my wife&rsquo;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&mdash;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In this semi-hysterical style of writing, the poor man unconsciously told
+      me how cunningly and how cruelly his wife was deceiving him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I longed to exhibit that wicked woman in her true character&mdash;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&rsquo;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&mdash;and,
+      in that case, which of us would her infatuated husband believe?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The one part of the letter which I read with some satisfaction was the end
+      of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was here informed that the Minister&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;in all
+      probability a true inference, considering the characters of the parents&mdash;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. &ldquo;I am not aware,&rdquo; he wrote,
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Six weeks passed, and I heard from my reverend friend once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s health. I showed the letter to my medical colleague. After
+      reading it he predicted the event that might be expected, in two words:&mdash;Sudden
+      death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the next occasion when I heard from the Minister, the Doctor&rsquo;s grim
+      reply proved to be a prophecy fulfilled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;no matter what their lives may have been&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The correspondent whom I had now lost was succeeded by a gentleman
+      entirely unknown to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife, he informed me, had died in childbirth, leaving him but one
+      consolation&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The letter then proceeded in these terms:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the first place, there is at least a possibility&mdash;however
+      carefully I might try to conceal it&mdash;that the child&rsquo;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.&rdquo; The
+      letter ended with some complimentary expressions addressed to myself. And
+      the question was: how ought I to answer it?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;increased
+      as that interest was by the filial relations of the two children toward
+      him, now publicly established&mdash;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&rsquo;s motives, and merely informing him that the
+      child was already provided for.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After that, I heard no more of the Irish gentleman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A last event remains to be related, before I close these pages.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have a card to deliver from an acquaintance whom you have not
+      mentioned,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;and I rather think it will astonish you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It simply puzzled me. When he gave me the card, this is what I found
+      printed on it:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MRS. TENBRUGGEN (OF SOUTH BEVELAND).&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said the Chaplain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; I answered; &ldquo;I never even heard of Mrs. Tenbruggen, of South
+      Beveland. Who is she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I married the lady to a foreign gentleman, only last week, at my friend&rsquo;s
+      church,&rdquo; the Chaplain replied. &ldquo;Perhaps you may remember her maiden name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He mentioned the name of the dangerous creature who had first presented
+      herself to me, in charge of the Prisoner&rsquo;s child&mdash;otherwise Miss
+      Elizabeth Chance. The reappearance of this woman on the scene&mdash;although
+      she was only represented by her card&mdash;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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did it happen?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the ordinary course of such things,&rdquo; my friend said. &ldquo;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. &lsquo;Ask the Governor to accept it,&rsquo; she said,
+      &lsquo;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.&rsquo; There is
+      her message to you, repeated word for word.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad she is going to live out of England.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why? Surely you have no reason to fear her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;None whatever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are thinking, perhaps, of somebody else?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was thinking of the Minister; but it seemed to be safest not to say so.
+      &mdash;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;the curtain falls here on the Governor and the Prison.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Second Period: 1875. THE GIRLS AND THE JOURNALS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      We both said good-night, and went up to our room with a new object in
+      view. By our father&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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 &ldquo;Journal&rdquo; 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 <i>their</i> 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Helena!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My sister&rsquo;s voice could hardly have addressed me in a more weary tone, if
+      her pen had been at work all night, relating domestic events. &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; I
+      said. &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you done already?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;That comforts
+      me.&rdquo; I crossed the room, and looked at her book. She had not even summoned
+      energy enough to make a blot. &ldquo;What will papa think of us,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;if
+      we don&rsquo;t begin to-night?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not begin,&rdquo; I suggested, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;I declare she kissed me. &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; she burst out, &ldquo;how
+      clever you are! The very thing to write about; I&rsquo;ll do it directly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not worth while,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Anybody who cares to do it may read
+      what I write. Good-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next thing I did was to take the liberty which she had already
+      sanctioned&mdash;I mean the liberty of reading what she had written. Here
+      it is, copied exactly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He said to me: &lsquo;You are getting lazier than ever, Eunice.&rsquo; He said to
+      Helena: &lsquo;You are feeling the influence of Eunice&rsquo;s example.&rsquo; He said to
+      both of us: &lsquo;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.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He opened a parcel on the table. He made each of us a present of a
+      beautiful book, called &lsquo;Journal.&rsquo; He said: &lsquo;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.&rsquo; Helena said: &lsquo;Oh, thank you!&rsquo; I said
+      the same, but not so cheerfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;so ready, in short, to do anything and everything,
+      provided her heart was in it, and her father was in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Eunice is wrong, let me tell her, in what she says of myself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s holiday and enjoy himself on the Continent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The clock has just struck twelve. I have been writing and copying till my
+      eyes are heavy, and I want to follow Eunice&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      SECOND DAY.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I begin to be afraid that I am as stupid&mdash;no; that is not a nice word
+      to use&mdash;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;how
+      sorry I am not to have been born a man!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My next employment leads me to my father&rsquo;s study, to write under his
+      dictation. I don&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After the dictation, I have an hour&rsquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&rsquo;t say the greedy sister) tells me I have not given her enough to eat.
+      Poor father! Dear Eunice!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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&rsquo;s temper, and&mdash;oh, I don&rsquo;t deny it!&mdash;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;it
+      is soon read:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope papa will excuse me; I have nothing to write about to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you
+      call him father, as I do?&rdquo; I asked only the other day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She made an absurd reply: &ldquo;I used to call him papa when I was a little
+      girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That,&rdquo; I reminded her, &ldquo;doesn&rsquo;t justify you in calling him papa now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And she actually answered: &ldquo;Yes it does.&rdquo; What a strange state of mind!
+      And what a charming girl, in spite of her mind!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      THIRD DAY.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The morning post has brought with it a promise of some little variety in
+      our lives&mdash;or, to speak more correctly, in the life of my sister.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Our new and nice friends, the Staveleys, have written to invite Eunice to
+      pay them a visit at their house in London. I don&rsquo;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&mdash;strictly
+      pious members of the Methodist Connection&mdash;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 <i>might</i> have happened if I had remained a little longer in
+      London.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Helping Eunice to pack up, I put her journal into the box. &ldquo;You will find
+      something to write about now,&rdquo; I told her. &ldquo;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.&rdquo; My
+      sister is a dear creature. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t feel sure of being able to do it,&rdquo; she
+      answered; &ldquo;but I promise to try.&rdquo; Good Eunice!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;I suppose through not being used to the noise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo; house, and they have offended me already. I don&rsquo;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&rsquo;s journals when we are
+      both at home again. Let her see what I have to say for myself here.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;t
+      he? It wouldn&rsquo;t have mattered. I don&rsquo;t myself like kissing. What is the
+      use of it? Where is the pleasure of it?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. was so glad to see me; she took hold of me by both hands. She said:
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo; Mr. didn&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. said: &ldquo;She hasn&rsquo;t got her sister&rsquo;s pretty gray eyes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. said; &ldquo;She has got pretty brown eyes, which are just as good.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. said: &ldquo;You can&rsquo;t compare her complexion with Helena&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. said: &ldquo;I like Eunice&rsquo;s pale complexion. So delicate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Young Miss struck in: &ldquo;I admire Helena&rsquo;s hair&mdash;light brown.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Young Master took his turn: &ldquo;I prefer Eunice&rsquo;s hair&mdash;dark brown.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. opened his great big mouth, and asked a question: &ldquo;Which of you two
+      sisters is the oldest? I forget.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. answered for me: &ldquo;Helena is the oldest; she told us so when she was
+      here last.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I really could <i>not</i> stand that. &ldquo;You must be mistaken,&rdquo; I burst out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then Helena was mistaken.&rdquo; I was unwilling to say of my sister that she
+      had been deceiving them, though it did seem only too likely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. and Mrs. looked at each other. Mrs. said: &ldquo;You seem to be very
+      positive, Eunice. Surely, Helena ought to know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I said: &ldquo;Helena knows a good deal; but she doesn&rsquo;t know which of us is the
+      oldest of the two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. put in another question: &ldquo;Do <i>you</i> know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No more than Helena does.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. said: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you keep birthdays?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I said: &ldquo;Yes; we keep both our birthdays on the same day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On what day?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The first day of the New Year.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. tried again: &ldquo;You can&rsquo;t possibly be twins?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps Helena knows?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not she!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. took the next question out of her husband&rsquo;s mouth: &ldquo;Come, come, my
+      dear! you must know how old you are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; I do know that. I&rsquo;m eighteen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how old is Helena?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Helena&rsquo;s eighteen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. turned round to Mr.: &ldquo;Do you hear that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. said: &ldquo;I shall write to her father, and ask what it means.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I said: &ldquo;Papa will only tell you what he told us&mdash;years ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did your father say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He said he had added our two ages together, and he meant to divide the
+      product between us. It&rsquo;s so long since, I don&rsquo;t remember what the product
+      was then. But I&rsquo;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, &lsquo;I have my reasons.&rsquo; That&rsquo;s
+      all he says&mdash;and that&rsquo;s all I say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+      &ldquo;Let me tell you, Miss Gracedieu, it is not becoming in a young lady to
+      mystify her elders.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;If you please, sir, write to papa. You will find that I have spoken
+      the truth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A woman opened the door, and said to Mrs. Staveley: &ldquo;Dinner, ma&rsquo;am.&rdquo; That
+      stopped this nasty exhibition of our tempers. We had a very good dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We have religious exercises in this house, morning and evening, just as we
+      do at home. (Not to be compared with papa&rsquo;s religious exercises.) Two days
+      ago his answer came to Mr. Staveley&rsquo;s letter. He did just what I had
+      expected&mdash;said I had spoken truly, and disappointed the family by
+      asking to be excused if he refrained from entering into explanations. Mr.
+      said: &ldquo;Very odd;&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;I had got religion.&rdquo; To conclude the list of my worries, I
+      received an angry answer from Helena. &ldquo;Nobody but a simpleton,&rdquo; she wrote,
+      &ldquo;would have contradicted me as you did. Who but you could have failed to
+      see that papa&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+       Perhaps Helena is right&mdash;but I don&rsquo;t feel it so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;t blame them. After being pious all day long
+      on Sunday, I have myself felt my piety give way toward evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I don&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;what they call
+      figure subjects. Mrs. Staveley had a pencil. At every one of the great
+      man&rsquo;s four pictures, she made a big mark of admiration on her catalogue.
+      At the fourth one, she spoke to me: &ldquo;Perfectly beautiful, Eunice, isn&rsquo;t
+      it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I said I didn&rsquo;t know. She said: &ldquo;You strange girl, what do you mean by
+      that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It would have been rude not to have given the best answer I could find. I
+      said: &ldquo;I never saw the flesh of any person&rsquo;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&rsquo;t see the same
+      colored flesh in all the faces about us.&rdquo; Mrs. Staveley held up her hand,
+      by way of stopping me. She said: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t speak so loud, Eunice; you are
+      only exposing your own ignorance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A voice behind us joined in. The voice said: &ldquo;Excuse me, Mrs. Staveley, if
+      I expose <i>my</i> ignorance. I entirely agree with the young lady.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They seemed to be old friends. I wished I had been an old friend&mdash;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&rsquo;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: &ldquo;Who is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laughed at me. I said again: &ldquo;Who is he?&rdquo; She said: &ldquo;He is young Mr.
+      Dunboyne.&rdquo; I said: &ldquo;Does he live in London?&rdquo; She laughed again. I said
+      again: &ldquo;Does he live in London?&rdquo; She said: &ldquo;He is here for a holiday; he
+      lives with his father at Fairmount, in Ireland.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Young Mr. Dunboyne&mdash;here for a holiday&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Not long before I left home, I heard one of our two servants telling the
+      other about a person who had been &ldquo;bewitched.&rdquo; Are you bewitched when you
+      don&rsquo;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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This morning I received a letter from papa&mdash;it was in reply to a
+      letter that I had written to him&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Dunboyne paid us a visit in the afternoon. Fortunately, before we went
+      out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;he made me feel confused. Instead of looking at him, I sat with
+      my head down, and listened to his talk. His voice&mdash;this is high
+      praise&mdash;reminded me of papa&rsquo;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&mdash;without knowing why. When he was gone, I wished I had not
+      done it&mdash;without knowing why, either.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I heard his Christian name for the first time to-day. Mrs. Staveley said
+      to me: &ldquo;We are going to have a dinner-party. Shall I ask Philip Dunboyne?&rdquo;
+       I said to Mrs. Staveley: &ldquo;Oh, do!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo; 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&rsquo;t think I like his
+      Christian name. I hate London. I hate everybody.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What I wrote up above, yesterday, is nonsense. I think his Christian name
+      is perfect. I like London. I love everybody.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;t find me a simpleton when I go home. What exquisite things
+      dinner-parties are!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My opinion of Mr. Staveley is&mdash;I don&rsquo;t like him. My opinion of Miss
+      Staveley is&mdash;I can&rsquo;t endure her. As for Master Staveley, my clever
+      sister will understand that <i>he</i> 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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Staveley began nicely; &ldquo;I suppose, Eunice, you have often been told
+      that you have a good figure, and that you walk well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I said: &ldquo;Helena thinks my figure is better than my face. But do I really
+      walk well? Nobody ever told me that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She answered: &ldquo;Philip Dunboyne thinks so. He said to me, &lsquo;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&mdash;merely for the
+      pleasure of seeing her walk.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I stood stockstill. I said nothing. When you are as proud as a peacock
+      (which never happened to me before), I find you can&rsquo;t move and can&rsquo;t talk.
+      You can only enjoy yourself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kind Mrs. Staveley had more things to tell me. She said: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But this good motherly friend set me at my ease. She explained herself:
+      &ldquo;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>I</i> see it. Tell me, my dear, do you
+      like Philip?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I do!&rdquo; 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. &ldquo;My dear, you are as clear as crystal,
+      and as true as steel. You are a favorite of mine already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What a delightful woman! as I said just now. I asked if she really liked
+      me as well as she liked my sister.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She said: &ldquo;Better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I didn&rsquo;t expect that, and didn&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;He thinks you charming.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s conversation. And yet it seemed to be a harmless
+      question; I only said I should like to know what profession Philip
+      belonged to.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Staveley answered: &ldquo;No profession.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I foolishly put a wrong meaning on this. I said: &ldquo;Is he idle?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Staveley laughed. &ldquo;My dear, he is an only son&mdash;and his father is
+      a rich man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That stopped me&mdash;at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We have enough to live on in comfort at home&mdash;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&rsquo;s father was a rich man. He had
+      forbidden his son to marry a sweet girl&mdash;because she had no fortune.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have no fortune. And Philip&rsquo;s father is a rich man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The best thing I can do is to wipe my pen, and shut up my Journal, and go
+      home by the next train.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have a great mind to burn my Journal. It tells me that I had better not
+      think of Philip any more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On second thoughts, I won&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What is this aching pain in my heart?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I don&rsquo;t remember it at any other time in my life. Is it trouble? How can I
+      tell?&mdash;I have had so little trouble. It must be many years since I
+      was wretched enough to cry. I don&rsquo;t even understand why I am crying now.
+      My last sorrow, so far as I can remember, was the toothache. Other girls&rsquo; 
+      mothers comfort them when they are wretched. If my mother had lived&mdash;it&rsquo;s
+      useless to think about that. We lost her, while I and my sister were too
+      young to understand our misfortune.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I wish I had never seen Philip.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;t know it
+      myself? Besides, Helena is angry; she wrote unkindly to me when she
+      answered my last letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There is a dreadful loneliness in this great house at night. I had better
+      say my prayers, and try to sleep. If it doesn&rsquo;t make me feel happier, it
+      will prevent me spoiling my Journal by dropping tears on it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What an evening of evenings this has been! Last night it was crying that
+      kept me awake. To-night I can&rsquo;t sleep for joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My sister is a musician&mdash;I am nothing. That sounds bitter; but I
+      don&rsquo;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: &ldquo;Here
+      we are all alone in the wilderness&mdash;alone in the wilderness&mdash;in
+      the wilderness alone, alone, alone&mdash;here we are in the wilderness&mdash;alone
+      in the wilderness&mdash;all all alone in the wilderness,&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are getting tired of this. And so am I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am trying to like it,&rdquo; I whispered back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t try,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s talk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He meant, of course, talk in whispers. We were a good deal annoyed&mdash;especially
+      when the characters were all alone in the wilderness&mdash;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&mdash;at a distance?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He said: &ldquo;Is it really true that your visit to Mrs. Staveley is coming to
+      an end?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I answered: &ldquo;It comes to an end the day after to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you sorry to be leaving your friends in London?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can&rsquo;t possibly be as sorry as I am, Eunice. May I call you by your
+      pretty name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, if you please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eunice!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will leave a blank in my life when you go away&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He said: &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Would you rather have heard
+      that I live in the country?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He set me right in the sweetest manner: &ldquo;I alluded to a building hundreds
+      of years older than your market-place&mdash;your beautiful cathedral.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s chapel is good enough for
+      me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The song sung by the lady with the small voice was so pretty that the
+      audience encored it. Didn&rsquo;t Philip and I help them! With the sweetest
+      smiles the lady sang it all over again. The people behind us left the
+      concert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He said: &ldquo;Do you know, I take the greatest interest in cathedrals. I
+      propose to enjoy the privilege and pleasure of seeing <i>your</i>
+      cathedral early next week.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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 &ldquo;paying his respects to Mr.
+      Gracedieu.&rdquo; 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, &ldquo;Oh dear, no!&rdquo; 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, &ldquo;Silence!&rdquo; Miss Staveley looked disgusted. Even kind
+      Mrs. Staveley lifted her eyebrows in astonishment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Philip, dear Philip, protected and composed me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Expect me next
+      week.&rdquo; Miss Staveley might be as ill-natured as she pleased, on the way
+      home. It didn&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All through yesterday&rsquo;s delightful evening, I never once thought of
+      Philip&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She said: &ldquo;How do you feel after the concert? You must be hard to please
+      indeed if you were not satisfied with the accompaniments last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The accompaniments of the Oratorio?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, my dear. The accompaniments of Philip.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I suppose I ought to have laughed. In my miserable state of mind, it was
+      not to be done. I said: &ldquo;I hope Mr. Dunboyne&rsquo;s father will not hear how
+      kind he was to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Staveley asked why.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My bitterness overflowed at my tongue. I said: &ldquo;Because papa is a poor
+      man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And Philip&rsquo;s papa is a rich man,&rdquo; says Mrs. Staveley, putting my own
+      thought into words for me. &ldquo;Where do you get these ideas, Eunice? Surely,
+      you are not allowed to read novels?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh no!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you have certainly never seen a play?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clear your head, child, of the nonsense that has got into it&mdash;I
+      can&rsquo;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&rsquo;s choice of a
+      wife. &lsquo;Let Philip find good principles, good temper, and good looks; and I
+      promise beforehand to find the money.&rsquo; There is what he says. Are you
+      satisfied with Philip&rsquo;s father, now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I jumped up in a state of ecstasy. Just as I had thrown my arms round Mrs.
+      Staveley&rsquo;s neck, the servant came in with a letter, and handed it to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Bad news?&rdquo; she asked. Being quite unable to offer an
+      opinion, I read the postscript out loud, and left her to judge for
+      herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was Helena&rsquo;s news from home:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must prepare you for a surprise, before your return. You will find a
+      strange lady established at home. Don&rsquo;t suppose there is any prospect of
+      her bidding us good-by, if we only wait long enough. She is already (with
+      father&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I asked Mrs. Staveley what she thought of my news from home. She said:
+      &ldquo;Your father approves of the lady, my dear. I suppose it&rsquo;s good news.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Mrs. Staveley did not look as if she believed in the good news, for
+      all that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, miss; a lady, to see the master.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A stranger?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never saw her before, miss, in all my life.&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has anything happened, father, to vex you?&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is the lady concerned in it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What lady, my dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The lady who called on you while I was out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who told you she had called on me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I asked Maria&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That will do, Helena, for the present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No other person had called at the house. Nothing had happened, except the
+      visit of the mysterious lady. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Try as I might, I could get no more than that out of our stupid young
+      housemaid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s reply promised something new: &ldquo;I
+      can&rsquo;t say I saw the lady; but I heard her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean that you heard her speaking?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, miss&mdash;crying.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where was she crying?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the master&rsquo;s study.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you come to hear her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I to understand, miss, that you suspect me of listening?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s
+      sense of honor was satisfied; she readily explained herself: &ldquo;I was
+      passing the door, miss, on my way upstairs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here my discoveries came to an end. It was certainly possible that an
+      afflicted member of my father&rsquo;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: &ldquo;Excuse me, Helena, I want to think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At breakfast this morning I was agreeably surprised. No signs of anxiety
+      showed themselves in my father&rsquo;s face. Instead of retiring to his study
+      when we rose from the table, he proposed taking a turn in the garden: &ldquo;You
+      are looking pale, Helena, and you will be the better for a little fresh
+      air. Besides, I have something to say to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My father gave me his arm, and we walked slowly up and down the lawn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When that lady called on me yesterday,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was so very encouraging that I said at once: &ldquo;I should like to know
+      who the lady is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The lady is related to me,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;We are cousins.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here was a disclosure that I had not anticipated. In the little that I
+      have seen of the world, I have observed that cousins&mdash;when they
+      happen to be brought together under interesting circumstances&mdash;can
+      remember their relationship, and forget their relationship, just as it
+      suits them. &ldquo;Is your cousin a married lady?&rdquo; I ventured to inquire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s daughters, and wake
+      up the next day to discover a stepmother?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I or my sister ever seen the lady?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never. She has been living abroad; and I have not seen her myself since
+      we were both young people.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s wicked doubts of him. But he
+      had not said a word yet about his cousin&rsquo;s personal appearance. There
+      might be remains of good looks which the housemaid was too stupid to
+      discover.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After the long interval that has passed since you met,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I
+      suppose she has become an old woman?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, my dear. Let us say, a middle-aged woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps she is still an attractive person?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled. &ldquo;I am afraid, Helena, that would never have been a very
+      accurate description of her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have been talking about the lady for some time,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;and you have
+      not yet told me her name.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Father looked a little embarrassed &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not a very pretty name,&rdquo; he
+      answered. &ldquo;My cousin, my unfortunate cousin, is&mdash;Miss Jillgall.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I burst out with such a loud &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; 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. &ldquo;The next time
+      Miss Jillgall honors you with a visit,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;you must give me an
+      opportunity of being presented to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made a strange reply: &ldquo;You may find your opportunity, Helena, sooner
+      than you anticipate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Did this mean that she was going to call again in a day or two? I am
+      afraid I spoke flippantly. I said: &ldquo;Oh, father, another lady fascinated by
+      the popular preacher?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The garden chairs were near us. He signed to me gravely to be seated by
+      his side, and said to himself: &ldquo;This is my fault.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is your fault?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have left you in ignorance, my dear, of my cousin&rsquo;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&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was waiting for the interesting part of the story, and was wondering
+      when he would get to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As time went on,&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is too shameful a story,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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&rsquo;t wish to hear any more of <i>this</i> part of the
+      story.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did wish. But I saw that he expected me to say No&mdash;so I said it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The father and daughter,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo; 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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was getting interesting at last. &ldquo;Ruined her?&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;Do you mean
+      that he robbed her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That, Helena, is exactly what I mean&mdash;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&mdash;offered to employ
+      her little capital in his business&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And of course he got the money, and never paid the interest?&rdquo; Eager to
+      hear the end, I interrupted the story in those inconsiderate words. My
+      father&rsquo;s answer quietly reproved me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He paid the interest regularly as long as he lived.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what happened when he died?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;the unendurable prospect of having a strange
+      woman in the house&mdash;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&rsquo;s
+      foreign friends might have done something to help her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My father defended her foreign friends. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And to cast herself on your mercy,&rdquo; I added, &ldquo;in the character of a
+      helpless woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Helena! Not to cast herself on my mercy&mdash;but to find my house
+      open to her, as her father&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I began to wish that I had not spoken out so plainly. My father&rsquo;s sweet
+      temper&mdash;I do so sincerely wish I had inherited it!&mdash;made the
+      kindest allowances for me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand the momentary bitterness of feeling that has escaped you,&rdquo;
+       he said; &ldquo;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&rsquo;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 <i>them</i>. 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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was beautifully put. There was but one thing to be done&mdash;I kissed
+      him. And there was but one thing to be said. I asked at what time we might
+      expect to receive Miss Jillgall. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It shall be got ready, father, directly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I ran into the house; I rushed upstairs into the room that is Eunice&rsquo;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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cold water and my hairbrush soon made me fit to be seen again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Dear girl, what friends we
+      shall be!&rdquo; I turned round, and confronted Miss Jillgall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      If I am not a good girl, where is a good girl to be found? This is in
+      Eunice&rsquo;s style. It sometimes amuses me to mimic my simple sister.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have just torn three pages out of my diary, in deference to the
+      expression of my father&rsquo;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&mdash;especially
+      of Miss Jillgall. &ldquo;Wait for a day or two,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;and then form your
+      estimate of the new member of our household.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I open my diary again&mdash;after the prescribed interval has elapsed. The
+      first impression produced on me by the new member of our household remains
+      entirely unchanged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s self.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Impressions of Miss Jillgall. My first impression was a strong one&mdash;it
+      was produced by the state of this lady&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My second impression draws a portrait, and produces a striking likeness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Figure, little and lean&mdash;hair of a dirty drab color which we see in
+      string&mdash;small light gray eyes, sly and restless, and deeply sunk in
+      the head&mdash;prominent cheekbones, and a florid complexion&mdash;an
+      inquisitive nose, turning up at the end&mdash;a large mouth and a servile
+      smile&mdash;raw-looking hands, decorated with black mittens&mdash;a
+      misfitting white jacket and a limp skirt&mdash;manners familiar&mdash;temper
+      cleverly hidden&mdash;voice too irritating to be mentioned. Whose portrait
+      is this? It is the portrait of Miss Jillgall, taken in words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You charming girl,&rdquo; she began, &ldquo;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&mdash;your name is
+      Helena, isn&rsquo;t it? Dear Helena, I dare not found any claim on what I owe to
+      your father&rsquo;s kindness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; I inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because your father is not a man&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was rude enough to interrupt her: &ldquo;What is he, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An angel,&rdquo; Miss Jillgall answered, solemnly. &ldquo;A destitute earthly
+      creature like me must not look up as high as your father. I might be
+      dazzled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This was rather more than I could endure patiently. &ldquo;Let us try,&rdquo; I
+      suggested, &ldquo;if we can&rsquo;t understand each other, at starting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s little eyes twinkled in their bony caverns. &ldquo;The very
+      thing I was going to propose!&rdquo; she burst out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; I went on; &ldquo;then, let me tell you plainly that flattery is
+      not relished in this house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Flattery?&rdquo; She put her hand to her head as she repeated the word, and
+      looked quite bewildered. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t understand Flemish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How very provoking! You don&rsquo;t understand Flemish, and I don&rsquo;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?&rdquo; She darted to the
+      bookcase, and discovered a dictionary. &ldquo;Now I shall understand Flattery,&rdquo;
+       she remarked&mdash;&ldquo;and then we shall understand each other. Oh, let me
+      find it for myself!&rdquo; She ran her raw red finger along the alphabetical
+      headings at the top of each page. &ldquo;&lsquo;FAD.&rsquo; That won&rsquo;t do. &lsquo;FIE.&rsquo; Further on
+      still. &lsquo;FLE.&rsquo; Too far the other way. &lsquo;FLA.&rsquo; Here we are! &lsquo;Flattery: False
+      praise. Commendation bestowed for the purpose of gaining favor and
+      influence.&rsquo; Oh, Helena, how cruel of you!&rdquo; She dropped the book, and sank
+      into a chair&mdash;the picture, if such a thing can be, of a
+      broken-hearted old maid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s cousin, on the first
+      day when she had entered the house. I made an apology, very neatly
+      expressed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She jumped up&mdash;let me do her justice; Miss Jillgall is as nimble as a
+      monkey&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you will make me love you,&rdquo; Miss Jillgall explained, &ldquo;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&mdash;who
+      is this?&rdquo; The cook came in, at the moment, to consult me; I introduced
+      her. &ldquo;And, oh,&rdquo; cried Miss Jillgall, in ecstasy, &ldquo;I can cook! Do, please,
+      let me see the kitchen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cook&rsquo;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: &ldquo;I must ask you, miss, to let me send up the cauliflower
+      plain boiled; I don&rsquo;t understand the directions in the book for doing it
+      in the foreign way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s ears&mdash;perhaps because they are so large&mdash;possess
+      a quickness of hearing quite unparalleled in my experience. Not one word
+      of the cook&rsquo;s whispered confession had escaped her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here,&rdquo; she declared, &ldquo;is an opportunity of making myself useful! What is
+      the cook&rsquo;s name? Hannah? Take me downstairs, Hannah, and I&rsquo;ll show you how
+      to do the cauliflower in the foreign way. She seems to hesitate. Is it
+      possible that she doesn&rsquo;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&mdash;dear, dear, how black she looks. What have I
+      said to offend her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;If I am to be
+      interfered with in my own kitchen, miss, I will ask you to suit yourself
+      at a month&rsquo;s notice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall wrung her hands in despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I meant so kindly,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;and I seem to have made mischief. With the
+      best intentions, Helena, I have set you and your servant at variance. I
+      really didn&rsquo;t know you had such a temper, Hannah,&rdquo; she declared, following
+      the cook to the door. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure there&rsquo;s nothing I am not ready to do to
+      make it up with you. Perhaps you have not got the cheese downstairs? I&rsquo;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&rsquo;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!&rdquo; cried Miss Jillgall, as the cook majestically
+      left the room, without even looking at her, &ldquo;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 <i>could</i> I have
+      done?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had it on the tip of my tongue to say: &ldquo;The cook doesn&rsquo;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.&rdquo; But here again
+      it was necessary to remember that this odious person was my father&rsquo;s
+      guest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray don&rsquo;t distress yourself,&rdquo; I began; &ldquo;I am sure you are not to blame,
+      Miss Jillgall&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t&mdash;what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t call me Miss Jillgall. I call you Helena. Call me Selina.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s names,
+      is there any one to be found so absolutely sickening as &ldquo;Selina&rdquo;? 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that it, indeed? An explanation was all I wanted. How good of you! And
+      now tell me&mdash;is there no chance, in the house or out of the house, of
+      my making myself useful? Oh, what&rsquo;s that? Do I see a chance? I do! I do!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall&rsquo;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. &ldquo;My heart is
+      light, my will is free&mdash;&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When I reached the foot of the stairs, my father called me into his study.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here was the best excuse that I could desire for keeping out of Miss
+      Jillgall&rsquo;s way. I cheerfully set to work on the restoration of the
+      letters, while my father went on with his writing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having put the fragments together&mdash;excepting a few gaps caused by
+      morsels that had been lost&mdash;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite right, my child,&rdquo; he said, in low sad tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&mdash;here
+      it is:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From Miss Elizabeth Chance to the Rev. Abel Gracedieu.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      (Date of year, 1859. Date of month, missing.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;DEAR SIR&mdash;You have, I hope, not quite forgotten the interesting
+      conversation that we had last year in the Governor&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sincerely yours,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;ELIZABETH CHANCE.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;P. S.&mdash;Please address: Miss E. Chance, Poste Restante, St.
+      Martin&rsquo;s-le-Grand, London.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From the Rev. Abel Gracedieu to Miss Chance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      (Copy.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MADAM&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your obedient servant,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;ABEL GRACEDIEU.&rdquo; .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My father was still at the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This Miss Chance seems to be an impudent person?&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was she a young woman, when you met with her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What sort of a woman to look at? Ugly?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;t say my friendly interest)
+      considerably increased by my father&rsquo;s unusually rude behavior. I was also
+      animated by an irresistible desire to make him turn round and look at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Chance&rsquo;s letter was written many years ago,&rdquo; I resumed. &ldquo;I wonder
+      what has become of her since she wrote to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know nothing about her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not even whether she is alive or dead?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not even that. What do these questions mean, Helena?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing, father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I declare he looked as if he suspected me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you speak out?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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 <i>you</i>
+      know anything of this woman?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So do I. It never struck me that you would feel such extraordinary&mdash;I
+      had almost said, such vulgar&mdash;curiosity about a worthless letter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This roused my temper. When a young lady is told that she is vulgar, if
+      she has any self-conceit&mdash;I mean self-respect&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You call it a worthless letter,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;and yet you think it worth
+      preserving.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you nothing more to say to me than that?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing more,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He changed again. After having looked unaccountably angry, he now looked
+      unaccountably relieved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will soon satisfy you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could say &ldquo;Yes&rdquo; to this with a safe conscience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s reply. &ldquo;I should have thought,&rdquo; I said to him, &ldquo;that she would
+      have sent you another impudent letter&mdash;or perhaps have insisted on
+      seeing you, and using her tongue instead of her pen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke in a loud voice, with a flushed face&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a silence between us, to which the housemaid offered a welcome
+      interruption. Dinner was ready.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He kissed me before we left the room. &ldquo;One word more, Helena,&rdquo; he said,
+      &ldquo;and I have done. Let there be no more talk between us about Elizabeth
+      Chance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall joined us at the dinner-table, in a state of excitement,
+      carrying a book in her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am inclined, on reflection, to suspect that she is quite clever enough
+      to have discovered that I hate her&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To return to the dinner-table, Miss Jillgall addressed herself, with an
+      air of playful penitence, to my father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;oh, I am so ashamed&mdash;I found this
+      book. Please look at the first page.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My father looked at the title-page: &ldquo;Doctor Watts&rsquo;s Hymns. Well, Selina,
+      what is there to be ashamed of in this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no! no! It&rsquo;s the wrong page. Do look at the other page&mdash;the one
+      that comes first before that one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My patient father turned to the blank page.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; he said quietly, &ldquo;my other daughter&rsquo;s name is written in it&mdash;the
+      daughter whom you have not seen. Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall clasped her hands distractedly. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s my ignorance I&rsquo;m so
+      ashamed of. Dear cousin, forgive me, enlighten me. I don&rsquo;t know how to
+      pronounce your other daughter&rsquo;s name. Do you call her Euneece?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The dinner was getting cold. I was provoked into saying: &ldquo;No, we don&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She had evidently not forgiven me for leaving her by herself. &ldquo;Pardon me,
+      Helena, when I want information I don&rsquo;t apply to you: I sit, as it were,
+      at the feet of your learned father. Dear cousin, is it&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Even my father declined to wait for his dinner any longer. &ldquo;Pronounce it
+      as you like, Selina. Here we say Euni&rsquo;ce&mdash;with the accent on the &lsquo;i&rsquo; 
+      and with the final &lsquo;e&rsquo; sounded: Eu-ni&rsquo;-see. Let me give you some soup.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall groaned. &ldquo;Oh, how difficult it seems to be! Quite beyond my
+      poor brains! I shall ask the dear girl&rsquo;s leave to call her Euneece. What
+      very strong soup! Isn&rsquo;t it rather a waste of meat? Give me a little more,
+      please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I discovered another of Miss Jillgall&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s patience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In a few days more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How glad I am! And do tell me&mdash;which is she? Your oldest girl or
+      your youngest?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neither the one nor the other, Selina.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my head! my head! This is even worse than the accent on the &lsquo;i&rsquo; and
+      the final &lsquo;e.&rsquo; 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&rsquo;t
+      know which is which? What fun!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the subject of our ages was unluckily started at Mrs. Staveley&rsquo;s, I
+      had slipped out of the difficulty easily by assuming the character of the
+      eldest sister&mdash;an example of ready tact which my dear stupid Eunice
+      doesn&rsquo;t understand. In my father&rsquo;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&mdash;especially
+      by inquisitive strangers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must leave you,&rdquo; he answered, without taking the slightest notice of
+      what Miss Jillgall had said to him. &ldquo;My work is waiting for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stopped him on his way to the door. &ldquo;Oh, tell me&mdash;can&rsquo;t I help
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you; no.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well&mdash;but tell me one thing. Am I right about the twins?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are wrong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s demonstrative hands flew up into the air again, and
+      expressed the climax of astonishment by quivering over her head. &ldquo;This is
+      positively maddening,&rdquo; she declared. &ldquo;What does it mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take my advice, cousin. Don&rsquo;t attempt to find out what it means.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He left the room. Miss Jillgall appealed to me. I imitated my father&rsquo;s
+      wise brevity of expression: &ldquo;Sorry to disappoint you, Selina; I know no
+      more about it than you do. Come upstairs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;t say which of us was
+      the elder of the two? that I didn&rsquo;t really know what my father&rsquo;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
+      &ldquo;mystification&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I write it with a sense of humiliation; Miss Jillgall listened attentively
+      to all I had to say&mdash;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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When does the post go out?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you like writing letters, my dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;but then I have not many letters to write.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;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 <i>my</i> happiness&mdash;I mean the refuge opened to me in
+      this hospitable house?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She twisted herself back again to the writing-table, and went on with her
+      letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have not attempted to conceal my stupidity. Let me now record a partial
+      recovery of my intelligence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;after
+      the talk which had passed between us&mdash;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&rsquo;s mind. What would I not have given to be able to look over
+      her shoulder, without discovery!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She finished her letter, and put the address, and closed the envelope.
+      Then she turned round toward me again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you got a foreign postage stamp, dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was nothing to interest <i>me</i> 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&rsquo;s wonderful friend was only remarkable by her
+      ugly foreign name&mdash;MRS. TENBRUGGEN.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&rsquo; 
+      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&mdash;issuing directions, finding fault,
+      rewarding merit&mdash;oh, dear, let me put it all in one word, and say:
+      thoroughly enjoying herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another event has happened, relating to papa. It so distressed me that I
+      even forgot to think of Philip&mdash;for a little while.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad to have met with you,&rdquo; the doctor said. &ldquo;Your sister, I find,
+      is away on a visit; and I want to speak to one of you about your father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;It may be anxiety,&rdquo; he
+      said, &ldquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;but
+      remember that he must rest. You and your sister have some influence over
+      him; he won&rsquo;t listen to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Poor dear papa! I did see a change in him for the worse&mdash;though I had
+      only been away for so short a time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s cousin. And when he mentioned her name, and saw
+      how it amused me, his poor worn face brightened into a smile. &ldquo;Go and find
+      her,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and introduce yourself. I want to hear, Eunice, if you and
+      my cousin are likely to get on well together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The servants told me that Miss Jillgall was in the garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have had my plans, and I have changed my plans.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In this enjoyable frame of mind I was disturbed by a woman&rsquo;s voice. The
+      tone was a tone of distress, and the words reached my ears from the end of
+      the garden: &ldquo;Please, miss, let me in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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 &ldquo;let her in.&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cottage door was not closed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Please, miss, let me in.&rdquo; I waited to
+      see if the door would be opened&mdash;nothing happened. I waited again, to
+      hear if some person inside would answer&mdash;nobody spoke. But somebody,
+      or something, made a sound of splashing water on the other side of the
+      door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I showed myself, and asked what was the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Molly looked at me helplessly. She said: &ldquo;Miss Eunice, it&rsquo;s the
+      baby.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What has the baby done?&rdquo; I inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Molly got on her feet, and whispered in my ear: &ldquo;You know he&rsquo;s a fine
+      child?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, miss, he&rsquo;s bewitched a lady.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What lady?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Jillgall.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The very person I had been trying to find! I asked where she was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The laundress pointed dolefully to the locked door: &ldquo;In there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And where is your baby?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The poor woman still pointed to the door: &ldquo;I&rsquo;m beginning to doubt, miss,
+      whether it is my baby.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Mrs. Molly. If it isn&rsquo;t yours, whose baby can it be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her puzzled face made this singular reply more funny still. The splashing
+      of water on the other side of the door began again. &ldquo;What is Miss Jillgall
+      doing now?&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s things.
+      She says: &lsquo;What a cherub!&rsquo; which I took as a compliment. She says: &lsquo;I
+      shall call again to-morrow.&rsquo; She called again so early that she found the
+      baby in his crib. &lsquo;You be a good soul,&rsquo; she says, &lsquo;and go about your work,
+      and leave the child to me.&rsquo; I says: &lsquo;Yes, miss, but please to wait till
+      I&rsquo;ve made him fit to be seen.&rsquo; She says: &lsquo;That&rsquo;s just what I mean to do
+      myself.&rsquo; I stared; and I think any other person would have done the same
+      in my place. &lsquo;If there&rsquo;s one thing more than another I enjoy,&rsquo; she says,
+      &lsquo;it&rsquo;s making myself useful. Mrs. Molly, I&rsquo;ve taken a fancy to your
+      boy-baby,&rsquo; she says, &lsquo;and I mean to make myself useful to <i>him</i>.&rsquo; 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&mdash;when in she burst like a blast
+      of wind, and snatched the baby away from me. &lsquo;This is your nasty temper,&rsquo; 
+      she says; &lsquo;I declare I&rsquo;m ashamed of you!&rsquo; And there she is, with the door
+      locked against me, washing the child all over again herself. Twice I&rsquo;ve
+      knocked, and asked her to let me in, and can&rsquo;t even get an answer. They do
+      say there&rsquo;s luck in odd numbers; suppose I try again?&rdquo; Mrs. Molly knocked,
+      and the proverb proved to be true; she got an answer from Miss Jillgall at
+      last: &ldquo;If you don&rsquo;t be quiet and go away, you shan&rsquo;t have the baby back at
+      all.&rdquo; Who could help it?&mdash;I burst out laughing. Miss Jillgall (as I
+      supposed from the tone of her voice) took severe notice of this act of
+      impropriety. &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s that laughing?&rdquo; she called out; &ldquo;give yourself a
+      name.&rdquo; I gave my name. The door was instantly thrown open with a bang.
+      Papa&rsquo;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. &ldquo;Dearest Euneece, I have been longing to see you. How
+      do you like Our baby?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIX. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s usual
+      handful of letters, was a letter for me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;DEAR MISS EUNICE: .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yours ever truly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I quote the passages in Philip&rsquo;s letter which most deeply interested me&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s face, what seems to have interested him in my face. Besides,
+      there is my figure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;at least, so amusing to me&mdash;that
+      I cannot resist mentioning it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My sister and I are forbidden to read newspapers, as well as novels. But
+      the teachers at the Girls&rsquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a report of &ldquo;an application made to the magistrates by the lady of
+      his worship the Mayor.&rdquo; Hearing this, I stopped to listen. The lady of his
+      worship (what a funny way of describing a man&rsquo;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. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;&mdash;On second thoughts, I prefer going back
+      to my own writing again; it is so uninteresting to copy other people&rsquo;s
+      writing. Two of the magistrates were doing justice. They looked at the
+      photograph&mdash;and what did it represent? The famous statue called the
+      Venus de&rsquo; 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. &ldquo;I shall expose
+      Venus,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;to the Lord Chancellor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the Scripture Class had broken up for the day, duty ought to have
+      taken me home. Curiosity led me astray&mdash;I mean, led me to the
+      stationer&rsquo;s window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;We are here,&rdquo; they were careful to explain, &ldquo;to get a
+      lesson in the ideal of beauty and grace.&rdquo; 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&mdash;with
+      no waist, and oh, such uncertain legs!&mdash;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&rsquo;s favorable opinion of
+      me was not ill-bestowed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was at the bedroom window when the time approached for Philip&rsquo;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! &ldquo;Ask for papa,&rdquo; I whispered as he ascended the
+      house-steps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Oh, miss, what a
+      handsome young gentleman, and how beautifully dressed! Is he&mdash;?&rdquo;
+       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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My enjoyment of that delightful time was checked when I went into the
+      drawing-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had expected to see papa&rsquo;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&mdash;and then there seemed to be nothing more
+      left to talk about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the silence that followed&mdash;what a dreadful thing silence is!&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Can any words say how wretched I felt?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had hoped so much from that first meeting&mdash;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: &ldquo;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.&rdquo; I
+      squeezed her hand; I asked if she had tried the shrubbery gate with a
+      sweetheart of her own. &ldquo;Hundreds of times, miss.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Was it wrong for me to go to Philip, in the garden? Oh, there is no end to
+      objections! Perhaps I did it <i>because</i> it was wrong. Perhaps I had
+      been kept on my best behavior too long for human endurance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Eunice, your father doesn&rsquo;t like me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Trust my father&rsquo;s
+      goodness, trust his kindness, as I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made no reply. His silence was sufficiently expressive; he looked at me
+      fondly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He began: &ldquo;Tell me, dear, is Mr. Gracedieu always as serious as he is
+      to-day?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh no!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When he takes exercise, does he ride? or does he walk?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Papa always walks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By himself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sometimes by himself. Sometimes with me. Do you want to meet him when he
+      goes out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When he is out with me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. When he is out by himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eunice! don&rsquo;t you understand me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was as stupid and as disagreeable as I could possibly be: &ldquo;No; I don&rsquo;t!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then let me help you,&rdquo; he said, with a patience which I had not deserved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;it
+      held me gently&mdash;it strengthened its hold&mdash;it improved my temper&mdash;it
+      made me fit to understand him. All done by what? Only an arm!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Philip went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to ask your father to do me the greatest of all favors&mdash;and
+      there is no time to lose. Every day, I expect to get a letter which may
+      recall me to Ireland.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How am I to get my opportunity of speaking to Mr. Gracedieu? I mustn&rsquo;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&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I felt his delicate consideration for me&mdash;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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dearest Eunice, when your father has heard my confession, he will suspect
+      that there is another confession to follow it&mdash;he will want to know
+      if you love me. My angel, will my hopes be your hopes too, when I answer
+      him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Say you love me, in a kiss!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His lips touched my lips, pressed them, dwelt on them&mdash;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,
+      &ldquo;kiss me,&rdquo; 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&mdash;I was not able to speak. There was no need for it; my
+      thoughts and his thoughts were one&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XX. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Try
+      to look more like yourself, miss, before you let them see you at the
+      tea-table.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My father left us; and Miss Jillgall explained herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She provokingly stopped there. I entreated her to go on. She invited me to
+      sit on her knee. &ldquo;I want to whisper,&rdquo; she said. It was too ridiculous&mdash;but
+      I did it. Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s whisper told me serious news.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The minister has some reason, Euneece, for disapproving of Mr. Dunboyne;
+      but, mind this, I don&rsquo;t think he has a bad opinion of the young man
+      himself. He is going to return Mr. Dunboyne&rsquo;s call. Oh, I do so hate
+      formality; I really can&rsquo;t go on talking of <i>Mr.</i> 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&rsquo;clock dinner, your papa will call on
+      Philip, at his hotel. I hope he won&rsquo;t be out, just at the wrong time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It all looks bright enough so far, doesn&rsquo;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&mdash;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. &lsquo;Euneece is too young and too attractive to be walking about this
+      great town (in Helena&rsquo;s absence) by herself.&rsquo; That was how he put it.
+      Slyly enough, if one may say so of so good a man. And he used your sister
+      (didn&rsquo;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&mdash;that&rsquo;s it! Your father is quite
+      willing to return Philip&rsquo;s call; he proposes (as a matter of civility to
+      Mrs. Staveley) to ask Philip to dinner; but, mark my words, he doesn&rsquo;t
+      mean to let Philip have you for his wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I jumped off her lap; it was horrible to hear her. &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;<i>can</i>
+      you be right about it?&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When my views are directed by my affections,&rdquo; she assured me, &ldquo;I never
+      see wrong. My bosom is my strong point.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She has no bosom, poor soul&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean to marry Philip,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly, my dear Euneece. But please don&rsquo;t be so fierce about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If my father does really object to my marriage,&rdquo; I went on, &ldquo;it must be
+      because he dislikes Philip. There can be no other reason.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, dear&mdash;there can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the reason, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That, my sweet girl, is one of the things that we have got to find out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The post of this morning brought a letter from my sister. We were to
+      expect her return by the next day&rsquo;s train. This was good news. Philip and
+      I might stand in need of clever Helena&rsquo;s help, and we might be sure of
+      getting it now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In writing to Philip, I had asked him to let me hear how papa and he had
+      got on at the hotel. I won&rsquo;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&mdash;and twice my father had &ldquo;deliberately,
+      obstinately&rdquo; (Philip&rsquo;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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What were we to think of it? What were we to do?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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 &ldquo;we,&rdquo; I
+      mean Miss Jillgall as well as myself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We found him waiting for us at the railway. I am afraid he resented papa&rsquo;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&mdash;he begged my pardon,
+      and he became his own sweet self again directly. I am more determined to
+      marry him than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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, &ldquo;Look at the girl in our
+      carriage.&rdquo; Philip looked. &ldquo;What a charming creature!&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s admiration was, to my infinite
+      amusement, Helena herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXI. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The day of my return marks an occasion which I am not likely to forget.
+      Hours have passed since I came home&mdash;and my agitation still forbids
+      the thought of repose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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 <i>my</i> nature! Strange that I should
+      feel fear of something&mdash;I hardly know what!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have met somewhere (perhaps in my historical reading) with the
+      expression: &ldquo;A chain of events.&rdquo; Was I at the beginning of that chain,
+      when I entered the railway carriage on my journey home?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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: &ldquo;What a charming creature!&rdquo; Having nothing to conceal in a
+      journal which I protect by a lock, I may own that the stranger&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All this happened in one moment. In the moment that followed, I found
+      myself in Eunice&rsquo;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&mdash;Mr. Philip Dunboyne.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had the honor of meeting your sister,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;in London, at Mr.
+      Staveley&rsquo;s house.&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before we got out of the omnibus I had, however, observed one undesirable
+      result of my absence from home. Eunice and Miss Jillgall&mdash;the latter
+      having, no doubt, finely flattered the former&mdash;appeared to have taken
+      a strong liking to each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two curious circumstances also caught my attention. I saw a change to,
+      what I call self-assertion, in my sister&rsquo;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&rsquo;s cousin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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&rsquo;s visit to London.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She smiled mischievously. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My memory was at fault. Eunice&rsquo;s good spirits became absolutely
+      boisterous. She called out: &ldquo;Catch!&rdquo; and tossed her journal into my hands,
+      across the whole length of the room. &ldquo;We were to read each other&rsquo;s
+      diaries,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;There is mine to begin with.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Innocent of any suspicion of the true state of affairs, I began the
+      reading of Eunice&rsquo;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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My darling, why don&rsquo;t you congratulate me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      No argument could have persuaded me, as this persuaded me, that all
+      sisterly remonstrance on my part would be completely thrown away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Eunice,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;let me beg you to excuse me. I am waiting&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There she interrupted me&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have been away from home, too,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Do I see in this serious
+      face some astonishing news waiting to overpower me? Have <i>you</i> found
+      a sweetheart? Are <i>you</i> engaged to be married?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my dear,&rdquo; she burst out, &ldquo;surely you are not jealous of me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was but one possible reply to this: I laughed at it. Is Eunice&rsquo;s
+      head turned? She kissed me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now you laugh,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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&mdash;and, not the least of his merits,
+      by-the-by, a man who admires You. Come! if you won&rsquo;t congratulate me,
+      congratulate yourself on having such a brother-in-law in prospect!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her head <i>was</i> turned. I drew the poor soul&rsquo;s attention
+      compassionately to what I had said a moment since.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me, dear, for reminding you that I have not yet refused to offer
+      my congratulations. I only told you I was waiting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Waiting, of course, to hear what my father thinks of your wonderful good
+      luck.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My poor child,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t distress yourself by speaking of it; I
+      understand. Your father objects to your marrying Mr. Dunboyne.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t exactly say, Helena, that papa does that. He
+      only behaves very strangely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I indiscreet, dear, if I ask in what way father&rsquo;s behavior has
+      surprised you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An odd thought has just come to me. I wonder what might have happened, if
+      I had been visiting at Mrs. Staveley&rsquo;s, instead of Eunice, and if Mr.
+      Dunboyne had seen me first.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Absurd! if I was not too tired to do anything more, those last lines
+      should be scratched out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXII. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      I said so to Miss Jillgall, and I say it again here. Nothing will induce
+      me to think ill of Helena.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;My sweet child, your sister&rsquo;s diary is full of abuse of poor me.&rdquo;
+       I humored the joke: &ldquo;Dearest Selina, keep a diary of your own, and fill it
+      with abuse of my sister.&rdquo; This seemed to be a droll saying at the time.
+      But it doesn&rsquo;t look particularly amusing, now it is written down. We had
+      ginger wine at supper, to celebrate Helena&rsquo;s return. Although I only drank
+      one glass, I daresay it may have got into my head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall began it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I trust you, dearest Euneece, with my own precious secrets, shall I
+      never, never, never live to repent it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I told my good little friend that she might depend on me, provided her
+      secrets did no harm to any person whom I loved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She clasped her hands and looked up at the moon&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s generous confidence in my discretion was, I am afraid, not
+      rewarded as it ought to have been. I found her tiresome at first.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s name&mdash;not
+      very attractive to English ears&mdash;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&rsquo;s gratitude and sense of duty impelled
+      her to write and tell Mrs. Tenbruggen how happy she was as a member of our
+      family.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let me confess that I began to listen more attentively when the narrative
+      reached this point.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I drew a little picture of our domestic circle here,&rdquo; Miss Jillgall said,
+      describing her letter; &ldquo;and I mentioned the mystery in which Mr. Gracedieu
+      conceals the ages of you two dear girls. Mrs. Tenbruggen&mdash;shall we
+      shorten her ugly name and call her Mrs. T.? Very well&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      By this time, I was all eagerness to hear more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has she written to you?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall looked at me affectionately, and took the reply out of her
+      pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, Euneece; and you shall hear her own words. Thus she writes:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Your letter, dear Selina, especially interests me by what it says about
+      the <i>two</i> Miss Gracedieus. &lsquo;&mdash;Look, dear; she underlines the
+      word Two. Why, I can&rsquo;t explain. Can you? Ah, I thought not. Well, let us
+      get back to the letter. My accomplished friend continues in these terms:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;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&rsquo;s life.&rsquo;&mdash;Isn&rsquo;t
+      that very remarkable, Euneece? You don&rsquo;t seem to see it&mdash;you funny
+      child! Pray pay particular attention to what comes next. These are the
+      closing sentences in my friend&rsquo;s letter:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;If you find anything new to tell me which relates to this interesting
+      subject, direct your letter as before&mdash;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.&rsquo;&mdash;There, dear child, the letter comes to an end. I daresay
+      you wonder what Mrs. T. means, when she alludes to her professional
+      interests?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Miss Jillgall was too eagerly bent on setting forth the merits of her
+      friend to notice this. I now heard that Mrs. T.&lsquo;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
+      &ldquo;Masseuse.&rdquo; When I asked what this meant in English, I was told, &ldquo;Medical
+      Rubber,&rdquo; and that the fame of Mrs. T.&lsquo;s wonderful cures had reached some
+      of the medical newspapers published in London.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall looked shocked at my stupidity. She reminded me that there
+      was a mystery in Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;s letter and a mystery in papa&rsquo;s strange
+      conduct toward Philip. &ldquo;Put two and two together, darling,&rdquo; she said;
+      &ldquo;and, one of these days, they may make four.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      If this meant anything, it meant that the reason which made papa keep
+      Helena&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With all my heart, dear. But don&rsquo;t deceive yourself&mdash;the subject
+      will turn up again when we least expect it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIII. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s chapel I should have hesitated to turn it to such a profane use as
+      this; the cathedral doesn&rsquo;t so much matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s name? Helena might have
+      whispered it to me, I think. She remembered it, not I&mdash;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&mdash;I mean a kiss&mdash;when we had left the
+      cathedral, and were by ourselves for a moment in a corner of the Dean&rsquo;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&mdash;and
+      that was better than nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Go on by
+      yourselves, and leave me to wait for her.&rdquo; 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: &ldquo;Miss Jillgall sees a chance
+      of annoying your sister, and enjoys the prospect.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, away we went together; it was just what I wanted; it gave me an
+      opportunity of saying something to Philip, between ourselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Let him see, dear, how clever <i>you</i>
+      are, and how many things you know&mdash;and you can&rsquo;t imagine what a high
+      place you will have in his opinion. I hope you don&rsquo;t think I am taking too
+      much on myself in telling you how to behave.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do sincerely believe,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To hear him speak of himself in that way jarred on me. If such words had
+      fallen from any other man&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was eager to walk on rapidly, and to turn a corner in the path, before
+      we could be seen. &ldquo;I want to be alone with you,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Why didn&rsquo;t you wait for me?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Philip took her up sharply. &ldquo;If Eunice likes seeing the river better than
+      waiting in the street,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;isn&rsquo;t she free to do as she pleases?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Helena said nothing more; Philip walked on slowly by himself. Not knowing
+      what to make of it, I turned to Miss Jillgall. &ldquo;Surely Philip can&rsquo;t have
+      quarreled with Helena?&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall answered in an odd off-hand manner: &ldquo;Not he! He is a great
+      deal more likely to have quarreled with himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose you ask him why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not to be thought of; it would have looked like prying into his
+      thoughts. &ldquo;Selina!&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;there is something odd about you to-day. What
+      is the matter? I don&rsquo;t understand you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My poor dear, you will find yourself understanding me before long.&rdquo; I
+      thought I saw something like pity in her face when she said that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My poor dear?&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;What makes you speak to me in that way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know&mdash;I&rsquo;m tired; I&rsquo;m an old fool&mdash;I&rsquo;ll go back to the
+      house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;no,
+      my husband that <i>shall</i> be&mdash;would have been too distressing, too
+      unnatural I might almost call it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Philip looked along the backward path, and asked what had become of Miss
+      Jillgall. &ldquo;Have you any objection to follow her example?&rdquo; he said to me,
+      when I told him that Selina had returned to the town. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t care for
+      the banks of this river.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Clever Helena suggested what seemed to be a strange amusement to offer to
+      Philip. &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s take him to the Girls&rsquo; School,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It appeared to be a matter of perfect indifference to him; he was, what
+      they call, ironical. &ldquo;Oh, yes, of course. Deeply interesting! deeply
+      interesting!&rdquo; He suddenly broke into the wildest good spirits, and tucked
+      my hand under his arm with a gayety which it was impossible to resist.
+      &ldquo;What a boy you are!&rdquo; Helena said, enjoying his delightful hilarity as I
+      did.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIV. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On entering the schoolroom we lost our gayety, all in a moment. Something
+      unpleasant had evidently happened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Papa advanced to us the moment we showed ourselves at the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook hands&mdash;cordially shook hands&mdash;with Philip. It was
+      delightful to see him, delightful to hear him say: &ldquo;Pray don&rsquo;t suppose,
+      Mr. Dunboyne, that you are intruding; remain with us by all means if you
+      like.&rdquo; Then he spoke to Helena and to me, still excited, still not like
+      himself: &ldquo;You couldn&rsquo;t have come here, my dears, at a time when your
+      presence was more urgently needed.&rdquo; He turned to the teachers. &ldquo;Tell my
+      daughters what has happened; tell them why they see me here&mdash;shocked
+      and distressed, I don&rsquo;t deny it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      We now heard that the two girls in disgrace had broken the rules, and in
+      such a manner as to deserve severe punishment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of them had been discovered hiding a novel in her desk. The other had
+      misbehaved herself more seriously still&mdash;she had gone to the theater.
+      Instead of expressing any regret, they had actually dared to complain of
+      having to learn papa&rsquo;s improved catechism. They had even accused him of
+      treating them with severity, because they were poor girls brought up on
+      charity. &ldquo;If we had been young ladies,&rdquo; they were audacious enough to say,
+      &ldquo;more indulgence would have been shown to us; we should have been allowed
+      to read stories and to see plays.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here are my daughters,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      We said, &ldquo;No&rdquo;&mdash;and hoped it was over. But he had not done yet. He
+      turned to Helena.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Answer some of the questions,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;from my Manual of Christian
+      Obligation, which the girls call my catechism.&rdquo; He asked one of the
+      questions: &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;My duty requires me to go to the minister, and to seek for
+      advice and encouragement.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if these fail?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;a
+      purified heart, a peaceful mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Eunice!&rdquo;&mdash;and waited for me to rise and
+      answer, as my sister had done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was entirely beyond my power to get on my feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t do it.&rdquo; He was astounded, as well he might be. I went on
+      from bad to worse. I said: &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stooped over me; he whispered: &ldquo;I am going to ask you something; I
+      insist on your answering, Yes or No.&rdquo; He raised his voice, and drew
+      himself back so that they could all see me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you been taught like your sister?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Has the catechism that
+      has been her religious lesson, for all her life, been your religious
+      lesson, for all your life, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I said: &ldquo;Yes&rdquo;&mdash;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: &ldquo;Do you feel sorry for what you have
+      done? Do you ask to be forgiven?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Neither the one nor the other answered him. He called across the room to
+      the teachers: &ldquo;Those two pupils are expelled the school.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+      &ldquo;Silence!&rdquo;&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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 <i>him</i> to forgive me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I don&rsquo;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. &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo;
+       I cried out to him desperately, &ldquo;what must you think of me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will tell you what I think of you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It is your father who is
+      in fault, Eunice&mdash;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&rsquo;t blame
+      You.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you, really and truly, as fond of me as ever?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, to be sure!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s strange outbreak of excitement, and
+      grieving over it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We had only a little way to walk, before we passed the door of Philip&rsquo;s
+      hotel. He had not yet received the expected letter from his father&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He came out to us with an open letter in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From my father, at last,&rdquo; he said&mdash;and gave me the letter to read.
+      It only contained these few lines:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;&mdash;There the letter ended.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of course I knew who the foreign woman, mentioned in the newspaper, was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what does Miss Jillgall&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXV. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Dear Helena, what has become of your
+      beauty? One would think you had left it in your room!&rdquo; Poor deluded Eunice
+      showed her sisterly sympathy: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t joke about it, Selina: can&rsquo;t you see
+      that Helena is ill?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I <i>have</i> been ill; ill of my own wickedness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Upon my word, there is no excuse for me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is this sheer impudence? No; it is the bent of my nature. I have a
+      tendency to self-examination, accompanied by one merit&mdash;I don&rsquo;t spare
+      myself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There are excuses for Eunice. She lives in a fools&rsquo; 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&mdash;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&mdash;still believing
+      in her false sweetheart. But how long do these better influences last? I
+      have only to show myself, in my sister&rsquo;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&mdash;even in my little experience I
+      have met with them&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What has become of my excellent education? I don&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arriving at this conclusion, I tried another experiment. In a small
+      bookseller&rsquo;s shop I discovered some cheap translations of French novels.
+      Here, I found what I wanted&mdash;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&mdash;perhaps rather dirtily alive&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have relieved my mind, and may now return to the business of my diary&mdash;the
+      record of domestic events.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An overwhelming disappointment has fallen on Eunice. Our dinner-party has
+      been put off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The state of father&rsquo;s health is answerable for this change in our
+      arrangements. That wretched scene at the school, complicated by my
+      sister&rsquo;s undutiful behavior at the time, so seriously excited him that he
+      passed a sleepless night, and kept his bedroom throughout the day.
+      Eunice&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We had arranged it all so nicely,&rdquo; the poor wretch began. &ldquo;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&rsquo;t a doubt of it!
+      Our only hope, Helena, is in you. What are we to do now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait?&rdquo; she repeated, hotly. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The reason&mdash;if I could only have mentioned it&mdash;was beyond
+      dispute. I wanted time to quiet Philip&rsquo;s uneasy conscience, and to harden
+      his weak mind against outbursts of violence, on Eunice&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These unanswerable considerations seemed to produce the right effect on
+      her. &ldquo;I suppose you know best,&rdquo; was all she said. And then she left me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s resources of
+      obstinacy and cunning at their true value.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;and I was a person who had made a serious mistake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVI. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The event of to-day began with the delivery of a message summoning me to
+      my father&rsquo;s study. He had decided&mdash;too hastily, as I feared&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hitherto Philip had been content to send one of the servants of the hotel
+      to make inquiry after Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;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. &ldquo;Let me see him,&rdquo; I suggested; &ldquo;I
+      can easily say you are engaged.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Very unwillingly, as it was easy to see, my father declined to allow this.
+      &ldquo;Mr. Dunboyne&rsquo;s visit pays me a compliment,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;and I must receive
+      him.&rdquo; I made a show of leaving the room, and was called back to my chair.
+      &ldquo;This is not a private interview, Helena; stay where you are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Philip came in&mdash;handsomer than ever, beautifully dressed&mdash;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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad, Mr. Gracedieu, to see that you are well enough to be in your
+      study again,&rdquo; he said. The writing materials on the table attracted his
+      attention. &ldquo;Am I one of the idle people,&rdquo; he asked, with his charming
+      smile, &ldquo;who are always interrupting useful employment?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke to my father, and he was answered by my father. Not once had he
+      addressed a word to me&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you seen my sister?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Do you
+      think of trying change of air, Mr. Gracedieu, when you feel strong enough
+      to travel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My duties keep me here,&rdquo; father answered; &ldquo;and I cannot honestly say that
+      I enjoy traveling. I dislike manners and customs that are strange to me; I
+      don&rsquo;t find that hotels reward me for giving up the comforts of my own
+      house. How do you find the hotel here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t complain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Every word he said was an offense to me. With or without reason, I
+      attacked him again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have heard you acknowledge that the landlord and landlady are very
+      obliging people,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you ask them to let you make your own
+      soup and mix your own salad?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you excuse me, Miss Helena,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if I ask leave to speak to
+      Mr. Gracedieu in private?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;May I ask,&rdquo; he said,
+      coldly, &ldquo;what is the object of the interview?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; Philip answered, &ldquo;when we are alone.&rdquo; 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&mdash;I had to decide between being told to go, or
+      going of my own accord. Of course, I left them together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door which communicated with the next room was pulled to, but not
+      closed. On the other side of it, I found Eunice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listening!&rdquo; I said, in a whisper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she whispered back. &ldquo;You listen, too!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eunice&rsquo;s base lover spoke first. Judging by the change in his voice, he
+      must have seen something in my father&rsquo;s face that daunted him. Eunice
+      heard it, too. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s getting nervous,&rdquo; she whispered; &ldquo;he&rsquo;ll forget to say
+      the right thing at the right time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Gracedieu,&rdquo; Philip began, &ldquo;I wish to speak to you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Father interrupted him: &ldquo;We are alone now, Mr. Dunboyne. I want to know
+      why you consult me in private?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am anxious to consult you, sir, on a subject&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On what subject? Any religious difficulty?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anything I can do for you in the town?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all. If you will only allow me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am still waiting, sir, to know what it is about.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Philip&rsquo;s voice suddenly became an angry voice. &ldquo;Once for all, Mr.
+      Gracedieu,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;will you let me speak? It&rsquo;s about your daughter&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No more of it, Mr. Dunboyne!&rdquo; (My father was now as loud as Philip.) &ldquo;I
+      don&rsquo;t desire to hold a private conversation with you on the subject of my
+      daughter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you have any personal objection to me, sir, be so good as to state it
+      plainly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have no right to ask me to do that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You refuse to do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Positively.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are not very civil, Mr. Gracedieu.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I speak without ceremony, Mr. Dunboyne, you have yourself to thank for
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Philip replied to this in a tone of savage irony. &ldquo;You are a minister of
+      religion, and you are an old man. Two privileges&mdash;and you presume on
+      them both. Good-morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Oh, Philip! Philip! what have you done? Why didn&rsquo;t you keep your
+      temper?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you hear what your father said to me?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear; but you ought to have controlled yourself&mdash;you ought,
+      indeed, for my sake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her arms were still round him. It struck me that he felt her influence.
+      &ldquo;If you wish me to recover myself,&rdquo; he said, gently, &ldquo;you had better let
+      me go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how cruel, Philip, to leave me when I am so wretched! Why do you want
+      to go?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You told me just now what I ought to do,&rdquo; he answered, still restraining
+      himself. &ldquo;If I am to get the better of my temper, I must be left alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never said anything about your temper, darling.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t you tell me to control myself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes! Go back to Papa, and beg him to forgive you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see him damned first!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;You fool,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;haven&rsquo;t you made mischief
+      enough already?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What am I to do?&rdquo; she burst out, helplessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do what I told you to do yesterday&mdash;wait.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s skinny arm encircled my sister&rsquo;s waist;
+      they disappeared together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;to be given within an hour&rsquo;s time, at a place which
+      I appointed. &ldquo;You are not to attempt to justify yourself in writing,&rdquo; I
+      added in conclusion. &ldquo;Let your reply merely inform me if you can keep the
+      appointment. The rest, when we meet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria took the letter to the hotel, with instructions to wait.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Philip&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVII. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;My sweet child, I mustn&rsquo;t think
+      of it&mdash;I am too fond of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;that is to say, when I wanted to find
+      out where Philip was at that moment&mdash;she had no advice to give me. I
+      told her that I should not enjoy a moment&rsquo;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 &ldquo;I
+      leave it to you, dear,&rdquo; and turned to the piano (close to which I was
+      sitting), and played softly and badly stupid little tunes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maria, did you open the door for Mr. Dunboyne when he went away just
+      now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, miss.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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 <i>tinkle,
+      tinkle</i>&mdash;and the tongue mixed up words with the notes in this way:
+      &ldquo;Perhaps they have been talking in the kitchen about Philip?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The suggestion was not lost on me. I said to Maria&mdash;who was standing
+      at the other end of the room, near the door&mdash;&ldquo;Did you happen to hear
+      which way Mr. Dunboyne went when he left us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know where he was, miss, half an hour ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where was he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At the hotel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Selina went on with her hints in the same way as before. &ldquo;How does she
+      know&mdash;ah, how does she know?&rdquo; was the vocal part of the performance
+      this time. My clever inquiries followed the vocal part as before:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you know that Mr. Dunboyne was at the hotel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was sent there with a letter for him, and waited for the answer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no suggestion required this time. The one possible question was:
+      &ldquo;Who sent you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maria replied, after first reserving a condition: &ldquo;You won&rsquo;t tell upon me,
+      miss?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I promised not to tell. Selina suddenly left off playing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; I repeated, &ldquo;who sent you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Helena.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Selina looked round at me. Her little eyes seemed to have suddenly become
+      big, they stared me so strangely in the face. I don&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why should Helena write to Philip at all&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I said: &ldquo;Suppose I go to Helena, and ask her why she wrote to Philip?&rdquo; And
+      Selina said: &ldquo;Suppose you do, dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I rang for Maria once more: &ldquo;Do you know where my sister is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just gone out, miss.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s head&mdash;one doesn&rsquo;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&mdash;I
+      meant to put in a good word for poor Philip.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You good little soul, you are always right. Look at me again, Euneece.
+      Are you beginning to doubt me? Oh, my darling, don&rsquo;t do that! It isn&rsquo;t
+      using me fairly. I can&rsquo;t bear it&mdash;I can&rsquo;t bear it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;it began like a
+      laugh, and it ended like a sob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go away to papa! Don&rsquo;t mind me&mdash;I&rsquo;m a creature of impulse&mdash;ha!
+      ha! ha! a little hysterical&mdash;the state of the weather&mdash;I get rid
+      of these weaknesses, my dear, by singing to myself. I have a favorite
+      song: &lsquo;My heart is light, my will is free.&rsquo;&mdash;Go away! oh, for God&rsquo;s
+      sake, go away!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Had Helena&rsquo;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&mdash;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&rsquo;s
+      society.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After knocking twice at the door of the study, and receiving no reply, I
+      ventured to look in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He said: &ldquo;Who is it?&rdquo; This to me&mdash;to his own daughter. He said: &ldquo;What
+      do you want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I really could <i>not</i> bear it. I went up to him. I said: &ldquo;Papa, have
+      you forgotten Eunice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My name seemed (if one may say such a thing) to bring him to himself
+      again. He sat upon the sofa&mdash;and laughed as he answered me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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, &lsquo;What name, sir?&rsquo; He
+      couldn&rsquo;t answer. He was obliged to confess that he had forgotten his own
+      name. The servant said, &lsquo;That&rsquo;s very strange.&rsquo; The absent man at once
+      recovered himself. &lsquo;That&rsquo;s it!&rsquo; he said: &lsquo;my name is Strange.&rsquo; Droll,
+      isn&rsquo;t it? If I had been calling on a friend to-day, I daresay <i>I</i>
+      might have forgotten my name, too. Much to think of, Eunice&mdash;too much
+      to think of.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Well, my dear,&rdquo; he
+      said, &ldquo;what can I do for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I came here, papa to see if there was anything I could do for You.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s hand.
+      &ldquo;I ought to get on with my work,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Where is Helena?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I told him that she had gone out, and begged leave to try what I could do
+      to supply her place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Read the last page,&rdquo; he said, pointing to the
+      manuscript on the table; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t remember where I left off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let me try if I can call to mind the substance of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He began in the most strangely sudden way by asking: &ldquo;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&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m tired,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Wait for me while I rest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In a few minutes he fell asleep. It was a deep repose that came to him
+      now; and, though I don&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my dear, what bad writing! I declare I can&rsquo;t read what I myself told
+      you to write. No! no! don&rsquo;t be downhearted about it. You are not used to
+      writing from dictation; and I daresay I have been too quick for you.&rdquo; He
+      kissed me and encouraged me. &ldquo;You know how fond I am of my little girl,&rdquo;
+       he said; &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I said to papa: &ldquo;If you knew how to make me happier than I have ever been
+      in all my life before, would you do it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I would.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then send for Philip, dear, and be a little kinder to him, this time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His pale face turned red with anger; he pushed me away from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That man again!&rdquo; he burst out. &ldquo;Am I never to hear the last of him? Go
+      away, Eunice. You are of no use here.&rdquo; He took up my unfortunate page of
+      writing and ridiculed it with a bitter laugh. &ldquo;What is this fit for?&rdquo; He
+      crumpled it up in his hand and tossed it into the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Eunice, you are not fit to live any longer; take
+      this,&rdquo; 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&mdash;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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;EVER-DEAREST EUNEECE&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;S. J.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXVIII. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Looking at the last entry in my Journal, I see myself anticipating that
+      the event of to-day will decide Philip&rsquo;s future and mine. This has proved
+      prophetic. All further concealment is now at an end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Forced to it by fate, or helped to it by chance, Eunice has made the
+      discovery of her lover&rsquo;s infidelity. &ldquo;In all human probability&rdquo; (as my
+      father says in his sermons), we two sisters are enemies for life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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 fond of it toward evening. We were there in
+      broad daylight, and we had the seat to ourselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My memory of what passed between us is, in some degree, disturbed by the
+      formidable interruption which brought our talk to an end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;In short,&rdquo; I said, in conclusion,
+      &ldquo;my inclination for once takes sides with my duty, and leaves my sister in
+      undisturbed possession of young Mr. Dunboyne.&rdquo; With this satirical
+      explanation, I rose to say good-by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had merely intended to irritate him. He showed a superiority to anger
+      for which I was not prepared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be so kind as to sit down again,&rdquo; he said quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s study.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have offered me the opportunity of saying a word in my own defense,&rdquo;
+       he went on. &ldquo;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&mdash;is it wonderful if I was
+      beside myself, when I found You in the study?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you tell me you were beside yourself,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;do you mean, ashamed
+      of yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That touched him. &ldquo;I mean nothing of the kind,&rdquo; he burst out. &ldquo;After the
+      hell on earth in which I have been living between you two sisters, a man
+      hasn&rsquo;t virtue enough left in him to be ashamed. He&rsquo;s half mad&mdash;that&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What has become of it now?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me first if I am forgiven,&rdquo; he said&mdash;&ldquo;and you shall know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you deserve to be forgiven?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;he sighed and said nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I did my duty to my sister,&rdquo; I reminded him, &ldquo;I should refuse to
+      forgive you, and send you back to Eunice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your father&rsquo;s language and your father&rsquo;s conduct,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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&mdash;to please <i>him</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I forgiven?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is absurd to put it on record. Of course, I forgave him. What a good
+      Christian I am, after all!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took my willing hand. &ldquo;My lovely darling,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;our marriage rests
+      with you. Whether your father approves of it or not, say the word; claim
+      me, and I am yours for life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s raging strength became utter weakness
+      in an instant. Her arms fell helpless at her sides&mdash;her head drooped&mdash;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&mdash;the hideous traitress who was my enemy and her
+      friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXIX. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On reaching the street which led to Philip&rsquo;s hotel, we spoke to each other
+      for the first time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are we to do?&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave this place,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Together?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To leave us (for a while), after what had happened, might be the wisest
+      thing which a man, in Philip&rsquo;s critical position, could do. But if I went
+      with him&mdash;unprovided as I was with any friend of my own sex, whose
+      character and presence might sanction the step I had taken&mdash;I should
+      be lost beyond redemption. Is any man that ever lived worth that
+      sacrifice? I thought of my father&rsquo;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. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I said to Philip. &ldquo;Your absence, at such a time
+      as this, may help us both; but, come what may of it, I must remain at
+      home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you are right,&rdquo; he said, gloomily. &ldquo;Good-by.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My anxiety put the all-important question to him without hesitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it good-by forever, Philip?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His reply instantly relieved me: &ldquo;God forbid!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But I wanted more: &ldquo;You still love me?&rdquo; I persisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;More dearly than ever!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet you leave me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned pale. &ldquo;I leave you because I am afraid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Afraid of what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Afraid to face Eunice again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The only possible way out of our difficulty that I could see, now occurred
+      to me. &ldquo;Suppose my sister can be prevailed on to give you up?&rdquo; I
+      suggested. &ldquo;Would you come back to us in that case?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you would ask my father to consent to our marriage?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On the day of my return, if you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose obstacles get in our way,&rdquo; I said&mdash;&ldquo;suppose time passes and
+      tries your patience&mdash;will you still consider yourself engaged to me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Engaged to you,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;in spite of obstacles and in spite of
+      time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And while you are away from me,&rdquo; I ventured to add, &ldquo;we shall write to
+      each other?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go where I may,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you shall always hear from me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could ask no more, and he could concede no more. The impression
+      evidently left on him by Eunice&rsquo;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&mdash;and I went mine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;No, you would degrade yourself&rdquo;&mdash;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&rsquo;s end of the room, removing dresses from
+      the wardrobe. I could only see her back, but it was impossible to mistake
+      <i>that</i> figure&mdash;Miss Jillgall. She laid the dresses on Eunice&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You oblige me to remind you,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;that you are not in your own
+      room.&rdquo; There, I waited a little, and found that I had produced no effect.
+      &ldquo;With every disposition,&rdquo; I resumed, &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked round her. &ldquo;I see no third person here,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;May I ask
+      if you mean me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you be so good, Miss Helena, as to explain yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Moderation of language would have been thrown away on this woman. &ldquo;You
+      followed me to the park,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;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&rsquo;t look me in the face.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her insolence forced its way out of her at last. Let me record it&mdash;and
+      repay it, when the time comes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite true,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;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&rsquo;t got your good
+      looks&mdash;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&mdash;No!
+      I won&rsquo;t distress myself by saying a word more. It would be too humiliating
+      to let <i>you</i> see an honest woman in tears. Your sister has a spirit
+      of her own, thank God! She won&rsquo;t inhabit the same room with you; she never
+      desires to see your false face again. I take the poor soul&rsquo;s dresses and
+      things away&mdash;and as a religious person I wait, confidently wait, for
+      the judgment that will fall on you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&mdash;and why not Miss Jillgall?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In half an hour more, an unexpected event raised my spirits. I heard from
+      Philip.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s post.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXX. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Through the day, and through the night, I feel a misery that never leaves
+      me&mdash;I mean the misery of fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am trying to find out some harmless means of employing myself, which
+      will keep evil remembrances from me. If I don&rsquo;t succeed, my fear tells me
+      what will happen. I shall be in danger of going mad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I dare not confide in any living creature. I don&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s arms, that once held me, hold my sister now. She
+      kisses him, kisses him, kisses him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is there no way of making myself see something else? I want to get back to
+      remembrances that don&rsquo;t burn in my head and tear at my heart. How is it to
+      be done?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have tried books&mdash;no! I have tried going out to look at the shops&mdash;no!
+      I have tried saying my prayers&mdash;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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Selina&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No: the days in the garden won&rsquo;t come back. What else can I think of?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The recollections that I try to encourage keep away from me. The other
+      recollections that I dread, come crowding back. Still Philip! Still
+      Helena!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Selina mixes herself up with them. Let me try again if I can think of
+      Selina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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? &ldquo;I wish I was a better man, Eunice; I wish I was good enough to be
+      worthy of you.&rdquo; 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&mdash;and then she distressed me by giving the reason why.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My love, you must have innocently said something to him, when you and he
+      were alone, which touched his conscience (when he <i>had</i> 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&mdash;you
+      believed they were tired of walking by the river, when it was you they
+      were tired of&mdash;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?&mdash;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&rsquo;t let us talk of it! Oh, don&rsquo;t let us talk of it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She stopped, and eyed me with a wicked smile; she held out her hand. &ldquo;We
+      are likely to meet often, while we are in the same house,&rdquo; she said;
+      &ldquo;hadn&rsquo;t we better consult appearances, and pretend to be as fond of each
+      other as ever?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I took no notice of her hand; I took no notice of her shameless proposal.
+      She tried again: &ldquo;After all, it isn&rsquo;t my fault if Philip likes me better
+      than he likes you. Don&rsquo;t you see that?&rdquo; I still refused to speak to her.
+      She still persisted. &ldquo;How black you look, Eunice! Are you sorry you didn&rsquo;t
+      kill me, when you had your hands on my throat?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I said: &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laughed, and left me. I was obliged to sit down on the stair&mdash;I
+      trembled so. My own reply frightened me. I tried to find out why I had
+      said Yes. I don&rsquo;t remember being conscious of meaning anything. It was as
+      if somebody else had said Yes&mdash;not I. Perhaps I was provoked, and the
+      word escaped me before I could stop it. Could I have stopped it? I don&rsquo;t
+      know.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another sleepless night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having been many days away from the Girls&rsquo; Scripture Class, it seemed to
+      be possible that going back to the school and the teaching might help me
+      to escape from myself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nothing succeeds with me. I found it impossible to instruct the girls as
+      usual; their stupidity soon reached the limit of my patience&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I walked toward home by a roundabout way; feeling as if want of sleep was
+      killing me by inches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The walking tired me; I went straight home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;My patient is asleep now,&rdquo; he told me;
+      &ldquo;but remember what I said to you the last time we met; a longer rest than
+      any doctor&rsquo;s prescription can give him is what he wants. You are not
+      looking well yourself, my dear. What is the matter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;What is physic for your father, you foolish child,
+      is not physic for a young creature like you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Count a thousand,
+      if you can&rsquo;t sleep to-night, or turn your pillow. I wish you pleasant
+      dreams.&rdquo; He went away, amused at his own humor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I found Selina waiting to speak with me, on the subject of poor papa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;that is to say, in the study. Running upstairs again, she had
+      found him insensible on the floor and had sent for the doctor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And mind this,&rdquo; Selina continued, &ldquo;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&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That your unnatural sister will tell you herself,&rdquo; Helena&rsquo;s voice added.
+      She had opened the door while we were too much absorbed in our talk to
+      hear her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Have <i>we</i> anything to be ashamed of?&rdquo; I said to
+      Selina. &ldquo;Stay where you are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may be of some use, Miss Jillgall, if you stay,&rdquo; my sister suggested.
+      &ldquo;Eunice seems to be trembling. Is she angry, or is she ill?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sting of this was in the tone of her voice. It was the hardest thing I
+      ever had to do in my life&mdash;but I did succeed in controlling myself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on with what you have to say,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;and don&rsquo;t notice me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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: &lsquo;Dear father, you have been
+      misinformed on a very serious subject. The only marriage engagement for
+      which your kind sanction is requested, is <i>my</i> engagement. <i>I</i>
+      have consented to become Mrs. Philip Dunboyne.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why am I to stop?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your face seems to be paler than usual,&rdquo; she answered&mdash;&ldquo;that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Whether I did or did not frighten her, I cannot say. This only I know&mdash;she
+      turned away silently to the door, and went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish I could comfort you!&rdquo; she said, in her kind simple way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep my hand in your hand,&rdquo; I told her; &ldquo;I am drowning in dark water&mdash;and
+      I have nothing to hold by but you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my darling, don&rsquo;t talk in that way!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good Selina! dear Selina! You shall talk to me. Say something harmless&mdash;tell
+      me a melancholy story&mdash;try to make me cry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My poor little friend looked sadly bewildered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m more likely to cry myself,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;This is so heart-breaking&mdash;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 <i>you</i>. So hardly treated! so young! so forlorn! Your
+      good father too ill to help you; your poor mother&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I interrupted her; she had interested me in something better than my own
+      wretched self. I asked directly if she had known my mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear child, I never even saw her!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has my father never spoken to you about her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s face disappoints me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had arrived at the same conclusion years since. But I shrank from
+      confessing it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At any rate,&rdquo; Selina continued, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What Selina had said of me and my mother&rsquo;s portrait, other friends had
+      said. There was nothing that I know of to interest me in hearing it
+      repeated&mdash;and yet it set me pondering on the want of resemblance
+      between my mother&rsquo;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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Rest your poor eyes, my child, and your weary
+      head&mdash;and try at least to get some sleep.&rdquo; She found me very docile;
+      I kissed her, and said good-night. I had my own idea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When all was quiet in the house, I stole out into the passage and listened
+      at the door of my father&rsquo;s room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very gently, so as not to wake him, I touched poor papa&rsquo;s forehead with my
+      lips. &ldquo;I must have some of your medicine,&rdquo; I whispered to him; &ldquo;I want it,
+      dear, as badly as you do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then I returned to my own room&mdash;and lay down in bed, waiting to be
+      composed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXI. EUNICE&rsquo;S DIARY.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      My restless nights are passed in Selina&rsquo;s room.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s medicine would only help me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;and
+      I was awake with Time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was such a trial to my patience that I thought of going back to my
+      father&rsquo;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&mdash;and
+      my heavy limbs said, No.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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:&mdash;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&mdash;the harmless past time, when
+      our friends used to say: &ldquo;Eunice is a good girl; we are all fond of
+      Eunice.&rdquo; Shall I ever be the same lovable creature again?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All this time, my eyes were still covered by the handkerchief which I had
+      laid over them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The darkness began to weigh on my spirits, and to fill me with distrust. I
+      found myself suspecting that there was some change&mdash;perhaps an
+      unearthly change&mdash;passing over the room. To remain blindfolded any
+      longer was more than I could endure. I lifted my hand&mdash;without being
+      conscious of the heavy sensation which, some time before, had laid my
+      limbs helpless on the bed&mdash;I lifted my hand, and drew the
+      handkerchief away from my eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The faint glow of the night-light was extinguished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s bed, and the frame of the
+      window, and the curtains on either side of it&mdash;but not the starlight,
+      and not the shadowy tops of the trees in the garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The light grew fainter and fainter; the objects in the room faded slowly
+      away. Darkness came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It may be a saying hard to believe&mdash;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&mdash;like a little fluttering breeze. The sensation
+      pleased me for a while. Soon it grew colder, and colder, and colder, till
+      it froze me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no more!&rdquo; I cried out. &ldquo;You are killing me with an icy death!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The dead-cold touches lingered a moment longer&mdash;and left me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first sound came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It said to me: &ldquo;Do you know who I am?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I answered: &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It said: &ldquo;Who have you been thinking of this evening?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I answered: &ldquo;My mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The whisper said: &ldquo;I am your mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, mother, command the light to come back! Show yourself to me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My face was hidden when I passed from life to death. My face no mortal
+      creature may see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, mother, touch me! Kiss me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My touch is poison. My kiss is death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sense of fear began to come to me now. I moved my head away on the
+      pillow. The whisper followed my movement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave me,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;You are an Evil Spirit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The whisper answered: &ldquo;I am your mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You come to tempt me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I come to harden your heart. Daughter of mine, whose blood is cool;
+      daughter of mine, who tamely submits&mdash;you have loved. Is it true?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The man you loved has deserted you. Is it true?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A woman has lured him away to herself. A woman has had no mercy on you,
+      or on him. Is it true?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If she lives, what crime toward you will she commit next?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If she lives, she will marry him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you let her live?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I hardened your heart against her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you kill her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show me how.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The light flowed along in front of me. I followed, from room to room in
+      the Museum, where the light led.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+      &ldquo;Kill her with the knife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      No. My heart failed me when I thought of the blood. I hid the dreadful
+      weapons from my view. I cried out: &ldquo;Let me go! let me go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The whisper tempted me again. It followed again the train of my own
+      thought. It said: &ldquo;Kill her by poison.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      No. Revenge by poison steals its way to its end. The base deceitfulness of
+      Helena&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was standing in Helena&rsquo;s room, looking at her as she lay asleep in her
+      bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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. &ldquo;Kill her openly,&rdquo; the tempter mother
+      said. &ldquo;Kill her daringly. Faint heart, do you still want courage? Rouse
+      your spirit; look! see yourself in the act!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The temptation took a form which now tried me for the first time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Wake! you who have taken him from me! Wake! and meet
+      your doom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man was Philip. The likeness was looking at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So dear, so lovely&mdash;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: &ldquo;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&mdash;save me from myself!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a sudden cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The agony of it pierced my brain&mdash;drove away the ghastly light&mdash;silenced
+      the tempting whispers. I came to myself. I saw&mdash;and not in a dream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Helena <i>had</i> started up in her bed. That cry of terror, at the sight
+      of me in her room at night, <i>had</i> 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;and
+      I remember nothing more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My last words are written. I lock up this journal of misery-never, I hope
+      and pray, to open it again. &mdash;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Second Period (continued).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      EVENTS IN THE FAMILY, RELATED BY THE GOVERNOR. &mdash;&mdash; <a
+      name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXII. THE MIDDLE-AGED LADY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In the year 1870 I found myself compelled to submit to the demands of two
+      hard task-masters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Advancing age and failing health reminded the Governor of the Prison of
+      his duty to his successor, in one unanswerable word&mdash;Resign.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When they have employed us and interested us, for the greater part of our
+      lives, we bid farewell to our duties&mdash;even to the gloomy duties of a
+      prison&mdash;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&mdash;at my age!&mdash;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&mdash;he recommended traveling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was unexpected advice. After some hesitation, I accepted it
+      reluctantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;I am that insensible traveler. Over and over
+      again, I said to myself: &ldquo;Rome must be done&rdquo;; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s reply, it inclosed a letter
+      directed to me at my old quarters in the Governor&rsquo;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&mdash;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&rsquo;s death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a distressing letter to read. I beg permission to give only the
+      substance of it in this place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The reading of this letter naturally reminded me of the claims which my
+      friend&rsquo;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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;I believe I am
+      speaking to my father&rsquo;s friend,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;my name is Helena Gracedieu.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here was one of the Minister&rsquo;s two &ldquo;daughters&rdquo;; and that one of the two&mdash;as
+      I discovered the moment I shook hands with her&mdash;who was my friend&rsquo;s
+      own child. Miss Helena recalled to me her mother&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first question that I put, as we drove from the station to the house,
+      related naturally to her father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is very ill,&rdquo; she began; &ldquo;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&rsquo;t hear of it. You
+      are his old friend. Please try to persuade him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Fluently spoken; the words well chosen; the melodious voice reminding me
+      of the late Mrs. Gracedieu&rsquo;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&mdash;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&rsquo;s child, every inch of her!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The interest which I was still able to feel in my friend&rsquo;s domestic
+      affairs centered in the daughter whom he had adopted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s &ldquo;sister,&rdquo; Miss Helena herself introduced the subject.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I ask,&rdquo; she resumed, &ldquo;if you were disappointed when you found nobody
+      but me to meet you at our station?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;if I may praise myself&mdash;on an ingenious compromise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What excuse could I have,&rdquo; I asked, &ldquo;for feeling disappointed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I hear you are an official personage&mdash;I ought to say, perhaps,
+      a retired official personage. We might have received you more
+      respectfully, if <i>both</i> my father&rsquo;s daughters had been present at the
+      station. It&rsquo;s not my fault that my sister was not with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;justly or unjustly I could not then decide&mdash;that
+      Miss Helena was to blame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My sister is away from home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Surely, Miss Helena, that is a good reason for her not coming to meet
+      me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon&mdash;it is a bad reason. She has been sent away for
+      the recovery of her health&mdash;and the loss of her health is entirely
+      her own fault.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What did this matter to me? I decided on dropping the subject. My memory
+      reverted, however, to past occasions on which the loss of <i>my</i> 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&rsquo;s sister
+      appeared to be discouraged by my silence. She said: &ldquo;I hope you don&rsquo;t
+      think the worse of me for what I have just mentioned?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;With pleasure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She slyly set the best construction on my perfectly commonplace reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;The fact is, my father (I can&rsquo;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&mdash;if your kindness offers me an opportunity&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I quite understand you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To set me against her sister, in her own private interests&mdash;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&rsquo;s house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Miss Jillgall at home?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s house. This young person&rsquo;s contempt for Miss Jillgall appeared to
+      extend to Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the meantime, the servant&rsquo;s answer was: &ldquo;Not at home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The middle aged lady said: &ldquo;Do you expect her back soon?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, ma&rsquo;am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will call again, later in the day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What name, if you please?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lady stole another look at me, before she replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind the name,&rdquo; she said&mdash;and walked away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXIII. THE MINISTER&rsquo;S MISFORTUNE.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      &ldquo;Do you know that lady?&rdquo; Miss Helena asked, as we entered the house.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She is a perfect stranger to me,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you sure you have not forgotten her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you think I have forgotten her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because she evidently remembered you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Leading the way upstairs, Miss Helena apologized for taking me into her
+      father&rsquo;s bedroom. &ldquo;He is able to sit up in an armchair,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;and he
+      might do more, as I think, if he would exert himself. He won&rsquo;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&rdquo;&mdash;she favored me with a
+      fascinating smile, devoted to winning my heart when her interests required
+      it&mdash;&ldquo;we hope you will pay us a long visit; we look on you as one of
+      ourselves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I feel painfully that I have taken a liberty with you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;after
+      the long estrangement between us&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beginning to recover myself, I begged that he would make no more excuses.
+      My interruption seemed to confuse him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wished to say,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;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&mdash;or was it the
+      day?&mdash;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&rsquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;&rdquo; He paused, as if
+      in search of a lost idea, and left the sentence uncompleted. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he
+      went on, &ldquo;I was thinking of my adopted child. Did I ever tell you that I
+      baptized her myself? and by a good Scripture name too&mdash;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.&mdash;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&rsquo;s marriage. And,
+      to make it worse still, I can&rsquo;t help liking the young man. He comes of a
+      good family&mdash;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&rsquo;t it dreadful to be obliged to check her dearly-loved Philip? The
+      young gentleman&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;so
+      dutiful, so affectionate&mdash;depended on a word of kindness from your
+      lips. And that word you are afraid to speak! Don&rsquo;t take offense, sir; I
+      mean myself, not you. Why don&rsquo;t you say something?&rdquo; he burst out fiercely,
+      incapable of perceiving that he had allowed me no opportunity of speaking
+      to him. &ldquo;Good God! don&rsquo;t you understand me, after all?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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 &ldquo;shrinking from a necessary explanation.&rdquo; Hearing
+      those words, my knowledge of the circumstances helped me; I realized what
+      his situation really was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Compose yourself,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I understand you at last.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had suddenly become distrustful. &ldquo;Prove it,&rdquo; he muttered, with a
+      furtive look at me. &ldquo;I want to be satisfied that you understand my
+      position.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is your position,&rdquo; I told him. &ldquo;You are placed between two
+      deplorable alternatives. If you tell this young gentleman that Miss
+      Eunice&rsquo;s mother was a criminal hanged for murder, his family&mdash;even if
+      he himself doesn&rsquo;t recoil from it&mdash;will unquestionably forbid the
+      marriage; and your adopted daughter&rsquo;s happiness will be the sacrifice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;True!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Frightfully true! Go on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;cast a slur on their children&mdash;and break up
+      the household.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shuddered while he listened to me. &ldquo;Come to the end of it,&rdquo; he cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had no more to say, and I was obliged to answer him to that effect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No more to say?&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;You have not told me yet what I most want
+      to know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I did a rash thing; I asked what it was that he most wanted to know.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t you see it for yourself?&rdquo; he demanded indignantly. &ldquo;Suppose you
+      were put between those two alternatives which you mentioned just now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you do, sir, in my place? Would you own the disgraceful truth&mdash;before
+      the marriage&mdash;or run the risk, and keep the horrid story to
+      yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Either way, my reply might lead to serious consequences. I hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Who could have resisted this? I took his hand: &ldquo;Be at ease, dear Minister.
+      In your place I should run the risk, and keep that horrid story to
+      myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He sank back gently in his chair. &ldquo;Oh, the relief of it!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;How
+      can I thank you as I ought for quieting my mind?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I seized the opportunity of quieting his mind to good purpose by
+      suggesting a change of subject. &ldquo;Let us have done with serious talk for
+      the present,&rdquo; I proposed. &ldquo;I have been an idle man for the last five
+      years, and I want to tell you about my travels.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His attention began to wander, he evidently felt no interest in my
+      travels. &ldquo;Are you sure,&rdquo; he asked anxiously, &ldquo;that we have said all we
+      ought to say? No!&rdquo; he cried, answering his own question. &ldquo;I believe I have
+      forgotten something&mdash;I am certain I have forgotten something. Perhaps
+      I mentioned it in the letter I wrote to you. Have you got my letter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I showed it to him. He read the letter, and gave it back to me with a
+      heavy sigh. &ldquo;Not there!&rdquo; he said despairingly. &ldquo;Not there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is the lost remembrance connected with anybody in the house?&rdquo; I asked,
+      trying to help him. &ldquo;Does it relate, by any chance, to one of the young
+      ladies?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo; He hesitated; his face clouded over with an expression
+      of anxious thought. &ldquo;Yes; it relates to Helena,&rdquo; he repeated &ldquo;but how?&rdquo;
+       His eyes filled with tears. &ldquo;I am ashamed of my weakness,&rdquo; he said
+      faintly. &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t know how dreadful it is to forget things in this way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If we talk of your daughter,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;the merest accident&mdash;a word
+      spoken at random by. you or me&mdash;may be all your memory wants to rouse
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He agreed eagerly to this: &ldquo;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?&rdquo; he went on, with a change in his manner to parental
+      pride, which it was pleasant to see, &ldquo;did you think my daughter a fine
+      girl? I hope Helena didn&rsquo;t disappoint you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite the contrary.&rdquo; Having made that necessary reply, I saw my way to
+      keeping his mind occupied by a harmless subject. &ldquo;It must, however, be
+      owned,&rdquo; I went on, &ldquo;that your daughter surprised me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In what way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When she mentioned her name. Who could have supposed that you&mdash;an
+      inveterate enemy to the Roman Catholic Church&mdash;would have christened
+      your daughter by the name of a Roman Catholic Saint?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He listened to this with a smile. Had I happily blundered on some
+      association which his mind was still able to pursue?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You happen to be wrong this time,&rdquo; he said pleasantly. &ldquo;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&rsquo;s rectory. Do you
+      remember the name of the place? I told you it was a remote little village,
+      called&mdash;Suppose we put <i>your</i> memory to a test? Can you remember
+      the name?&rdquo; he asked, with a momentary appearance of triumph showing
+      itself, poor fellow, in his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Your</i> memory is failing you now,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The name is Long Lanes.
+      And what do you think my wife did&mdash;this is so characteristic of her!&mdash;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. &lsquo;You chose the ugliest name that a girl can have,&rsquo; 
+      she said. I begged her to remember that &lsquo;Eunice&rsquo; was a name in Scripture.
+      She persisted in spite of me. (What firmness of character!) &lsquo;I detest the
+      name of Eunice!&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;and now that I have a girl of my own, it&rsquo;s my
+      turn to choose the name; I claim it as my right.&rsquo; She was beginning to get
+      excited; I allowed her to have her own way, of course. &lsquo;Only let me know,&rsquo; 
+      I said, &lsquo;what the name is to be when you have thought of it.&rsquo; My dear sir,
+      she had the name ready, without thinking about it: &lsquo;My baby shall be
+      called by the name that is sweetest in my ears, the name of my dear lost
+      mother.&rsquo; We had&mdash;what shall I call it?&mdash;a slight difference of
+      opinion when I heard that the name was to be Helena. I really could <i>not</i>
+      reconcile it to my conscience to baptize a child of mine by the name of a
+      Popish saint. My wife&rsquo;s brother set things right between us. A worthy good
+      man; he died not very long ago&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was afraid to tell him what I really did think.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Let us go on with our conversation,&rdquo;
+       he murmured. &ldquo;We haven&rsquo;t recovered what I had forgotten, yet.&rdquo; His eyes
+      closed, and opened again languidly. &ldquo;There was something I wanted to
+      recall&mdash;&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;and you were helping me.&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXIV. THE LIVELY OLD MAID.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      A perfect stranger to the interior of the house (seeing that my experience
+      began and ended with the Minister&rsquo;s bedchamber), I descended the stairs,
+      in the character of a guest in search of domestic information.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On my way down, I heard the door of a room on the ground floor opened, and
+      a woman&rsquo; s voice below, speaking in a hurry: &ldquo;My dear, I have not a moment
+      to spare; my patients are waiting for me.&rdquo; This was followed by a
+      confidential communication, judging by the tone. &ldquo;Mind! not a word about
+      me to that old gentleman!&rdquo; Her patients were waiting for her&mdash;had I
+      discovered a female doctor? And there was some old gentleman whom she was
+      not willing to trust&mdash;surely I was not that much-injured man?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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
+      &ldquo;Miss Jillgall,&rdquo; 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&mdash;and we confronted each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She saluted me with a carefully-performed curtsey, and threw open the door
+      of a room on the ground floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray walk in, sir, and permit me to introduce myself. I am Mr.
+      Gracedieu&rsquo;s cousin&mdash;Miss Jillgall. Proud indeed to make the
+      acquaintance of a gentleman distinguished in the service of his country&mdash;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?&mdash;the Law. Beautiful weather for the time
+      of year, is it not? May I ask&mdash;have you seen your room?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;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&mdash;I consider myself
+      honored. Besides, I do enjoy running up and down stairs. This way, dear
+      sir; this way to your room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She skipped up the stairs, and stopped on the first landing. &ldquo;Do you know,
+      I am a timid person, though I may not look like it. Sometimes, curiosity
+      gets the better of me&mdash;and then I grow bold. Did you notice a lady
+      who was taking leave of me just now at the house door?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I replied that I had seen the lady for a moment, but not for the first
+      time. &ldquo;Just as I arrived here from the station,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I found her
+      paying a visit when you were not at home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;and do tell me one thing more.&rdquo; My readiness in answering
+      seemed to have inspired Miss Jillgall with confidence. I heard no more
+      confessions of overpowering curiosity. &ldquo;Am I right,&rdquo; she proceeded, &ldquo;in
+      supposing that Miss Helena accompanied you on your way here from the
+      station?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did she say anything particular, when she saw the lady asking for me at
+      the door?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Helena thought,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;that the lady recognized me as a person
+      whom she had seen before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what did you think yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought Miss Helena was wrong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very extraordinary!&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When we reached the upper floor, she paused before the Minister&rsquo;s room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe many years have passed,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;since you last saw Mr.
+      Gracedieu. I am afraid you have found him a sadly changed man? You won&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;t mean in
+      his looks, poor dear&mdash;I mean in his mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must not conceal from you,&rdquo; I replied, &ldquo;that the state of Mr.
+      Gracedieu&rsquo;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&rsquo;s marriage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall suddenly turned pale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His daughter&rsquo;s marriage?&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;Oh, you frighten me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should I frighten you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She seemed to find some difficulty in expressing herself. &ldquo;I hardly know
+      how to put it, sir. You will excuse me (won&rsquo;t you?) if I say what I feel.
+      You have influence&mdash;not the sort of influence that finds places for
+      people who don&rsquo;t deserve them, and gets mentioned in the newspapers&mdash;I
+      only mean influence over Mr. Gracedieu. That&rsquo;s what frightens me. How do I
+      know&mdash;? Oh, dear, I&rsquo;m asking another question! Allow me, for once, to
+      be plain and positive. I&rsquo;m afraid, sir, you have encouraged the Minister
+      to consent to Helena&rsquo;s marriage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;you mean Eunice&rsquo;s marriage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir! Helena.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, madam! Eunice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does he mean?&rdquo; said Miss Jillgall to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I heard her. &ldquo;This is what I mean,&rdquo; I asserted, in my most positive
+      manner. &ldquo;The only subject on which the Minister has consulted me is Miss
+      Eunice&rsquo;s marriage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My tone left her no alternative but to believe me. She looked not only
+      bewildered, but alarmed. &ldquo;Oh, poor man, has he lost himself in such a
+      dreadful way as that?&rdquo; she said to herself. &ldquo;I daren&rsquo;t believe it!&rdquo; She
+      turned to me. &ldquo;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&rsquo;s infamous conduct to her sister?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Not the slightest hint of any such thing, I assured her, had reached my
+      ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;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&mdash;the wretch, the traitress, the
+      plotter, the fiend!&rdquo; Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s good manners slipped, as it were,
+      from under her; she clinched her fists as a final means of expressing her
+      sentiments. &ldquo;The wretched English language isn&rsquo;t half strong enough for
+      me,&rdquo; she declared with a look of fury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I took a liberty. &ldquo;May I ask what Miss Helena has done?&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>May</i> you ask? Oh, Heavens! you must ask, you shall ask. Mr.
+      Governor, if your eyes are not opened to Helena&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She checked herself there, and looked suspiciously at the door of Mr.
+      Gracedieu&rsquo;s room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the interest of our conversation,&rdquo; she whispered, &ldquo;we have not given a
+      thought to the place we have been talking in. Do you think the Minister
+      has heard us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not if he is asleep&mdash;as I left him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall shook her head ominously. &ldquo;The safe way is this way,&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;Come with me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXV. THE FUTURE LOOKS GLOOMY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      My ever-helpful guide led me to my room&mdash;well out of Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;s
+      hearing, if he happened to be awake&mdash;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. &ldquo;Oh,
+      dear!&rdquo; she said to herself, &ldquo;ought I to go in?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you hear what I have to tell you,&rdquo; Miss Jillgall began, &ldquo;I hope you
+      will think as I do. What has slipped Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;s memory, it may be
+      safer to say&mdash;for he is sometimes irritable, poor dear&mdash;where he
+      won&rsquo;t know anything about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that she told the lamentable story of the desertion of Eunice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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&mdash;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: &ldquo;Ah, I like to see you so angry! It&rsquo;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&mdash;it is Helena&rsquo;s
+      devouring vanity, Helena&rsquo;s wicked jealousy of her sister&rsquo;s good fortune,
+      that has done the mischief. Don&rsquo;t be too hard on Philip? I do believe, if
+      the truth was told, he is ashamed of himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I felt inclined to be harder on Philip than ever. &ldquo;Where is he?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall started. &ldquo;Oh, Mr. Governor, don&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I repeated my question with improvement, I hope, in my looks and tones:
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t think me obstinate, my dear lady. I only want to know if he is in
+      this town.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall seemed to take a curious pleasure in disappointing me; she
+      had not forgotten my unfortunate abruptness of look and manner. &ldquo;You won&rsquo;t
+      find him here,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps he has left England?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you must know, sir, he is in London&mdash;with Mr. Dunboyne.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The name startled me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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&rsquo;s prosperous future was assured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s keen observation noticed the impression that had been
+      produced upon me. &ldquo;Mr. Dunboyne&rsquo;s name seems to surprise you.&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is the first time I have heard you mention it,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked as if she could hardly believe me. &ldquo;Surely you must have heard
+      the name,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;when I told you about poor Euneece?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, Mr. Gracedieu must have mentioned it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This second reply in the negative irritated her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At any rate,&rdquo; she said, sharply, &ldquo;you appeared to know Mr. Dunboyne&rsquo;s
+      name, just now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet,&rdquo; she persisted, &ldquo;the name seemed to come upon you as a surprise.
+      I don&rsquo;t understand it. If I have mentioned Philip&rsquo;s name once, I have
+      mentioned it a dozen times.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      We were completely at cross-purposes. She had taken something for granted
+      which was an unfathomable mystery to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; I objected, &ldquo;if you did mention his name a dozen times&mdash;excuse
+      me for asking the question&mdash;-what then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good heavens!&rdquo; cried Miss Jillgall, &ldquo;do you mean to say you never guessed
+      that Philip was Mr. Dunboyne&rsquo;s son?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was petrified.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His son! Dunboyne&rsquo;s son! How could I have guessed it?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His son! Dunboyne&rsquo;s son!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Observing my agitation, Miss Jillgall placed her own construction on it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know anything bad of Philip?&rdquo; she asked eagerly. &ldquo;If it&rsquo;s
+      something that will prevent Helena from marrying him, tell me what it is,
+      I beg and pray.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I knew no more of &ldquo;Philip&rdquo; (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. &ldquo;Oh,
+      indeed, I have been here too long! And I&rsquo;m afraid I have been guilty, once
+      or twice, of vulgar familiarity. You will excuse me, I hope. This has been
+      an exciting interview&mdash;I think I am going to cry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;and all for want of a pretty face!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Left alone, my thoughts inevitably reverted to Dunboyne the elder, and to
+      all that had happened in Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;s family since the Irish gentleman
+      had written to me in bygone years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The terrible choice of responsibilities which had preyed on the Minister&rsquo;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&rsquo;s impulsive act of mercy, met with its reward? Fate or
+      Providence (call it which we may) had brought Dunboyne&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;with no exposure to dread if <i>she</i> married&mdash;into
+      her wronged sister&rsquo;s place? Impossible! In the one case as in the other,
+      impossible!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Equally hopeless did the prospect appear, when I tried to determine what
+      my own individual course of action ought to be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s
+      parentage and of Helena Gracedieu&rsquo;s treachery?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even if events so ordered it that the marriage of Eunice might yet take
+      place&mdash;without any interference exerted to produce that result, one
+      way or the other, on my part&mdash;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Had Miss Jillgall returned? When I said &ldquo;Come in,&rdquo; Mr. Gracedieu opened
+      the door, and entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you were with me in my room,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;did I not tell you that I
+      had forgotten something?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly you did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I have found the lost remembrance. My misfortune&mdash;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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 &ldquo;wicked daughter&rdquo; some result must
+      follow. Helena Gracedieu and a day of reckoning might be nearer to each
+      other already than I had ventured to hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I waited anxiously for what he might say to me next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXVI. THE WANDERING MIND.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      For the moment, the Minister disappointed me.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;his patience gave way; he
+      dashed the book on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My mind is gone!&rdquo; he burst out. &ldquo;Oh, Father in Heaven, let death deliver
+      me from a body without a mind!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Who could hear him, and be guilty of the cruelty of preaching
+      self-control? I picked up the pocketbook, and offered to help him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think you can?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can at least try.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;or
+      else they will all run into each other. Look at the book,&rdquo; my poor friend
+      said mournfully; &ldquo;they have run into each other in spite of me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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 &ldquo;Education.&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; he said impatiently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;you have something to say to me about the education
+      which you have given to your daughters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t put them together!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Dear, patient, sweet Eunice must not
+      be confounded with that she-devil&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush, hush, Mr. Gracedieu! Badly as Miss Helena has behaved, she is your
+      own child.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I repudiate her, sir! Think for a moment of what she has done&mdash;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&rsquo;t know; upon
+      my word I don&rsquo;t know that the book may not&mdash;Oh, my tongue! Why don&rsquo;t
+      I keep a guard over my tongue? Are you a father, too? Don&rsquo;t interrupt me.
+      Put yourself in my place, and think of it. Heartless, deceitful, and <i>my</i>
+      daughter. Give me the pocketbook; I want to see which memorandum comes
+      first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes; &lsquo;M&rsquo; stands for Minister; I come first. Am I to blame? Am I&mdash;God
+      forgive me my many sins&mdash;am I heartless? Am I deceitful?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My good friend, not even your enemies could say that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you. Who comes next?&rdquo; He consulted the book again. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      (&ldquo;That,&rdquo; I thought to myself, &ldquo;is exactly what your wife was&mdash;and
+      exactly what reappears in your wife&rsquo;s child.&rdquo;)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where does her wickedness come from?&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;Not from her mother;
+      not from me; not from a neglected education.&rdquo; He suddenly stepped up to me
+      and laid his hands on my shoulders; his voice dropped to hoarse, moaning,
+      awestruck tones. &ldquo;Shall I tell you what it is? A possession of the devil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you hear what I have to say?&rdquo; I asked bluntly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His humor changed again; he made me a low bow, and went back to his chair.
+      &ldquo;I will hear you with pleasure,&rdquo; he answered politely. &ldquo;You are the most
+      eloquent man I know, with one exception&mdash;myself. Of course&mdash;myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is mere waste of time,&rdquo; I continued, &ldquo;to regret the excellent
+      education which your daughter has misused.&rdquo; 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? &ldquo;What we know of Miss Helena,&rdquo; I went on,
+      &ldquo;must be enough for us. She has plotted, and she means to succeed. Stop
+      her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just my idea!&rdquo; he declared firmly. &ldquo;I refuse my consent to that
+      abominable marriage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the popular phrase, I struck while the iron was hot. &ldquo;You must do more
+      than that, sir,&rdquo; I told him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His vanity suddenly took the alarm&mdash;I was leading him rather too
+      undisguisedly. He handed his book back to me. &ldquo;You will find,&rdquo; he said
+      loftily, &ldquo;that I have put it all down there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I pretended to find it, and read an imaginary entry to this effect: &ldquo;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.&rdquo; So
+      far, I had succeeded in flattering him. But when (thinking of his paternal
+      authority) I alluded next to his daughter&rsquo;s age, his eyes rested on me
+      with a look of downright terror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No more of that!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t talk of the girls&rsquo; ages even with
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What did he mean? It was useless to ask. I went on with the matter in hand&mdash;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. &ldquo;I shall take it for granted,&rdquo; I continued, &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He seemed to be at a loss how to reply. &ldquo;I am afraid,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;the young
+      man was drawn into it by Helena.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here was Miss Jillgall&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The excuse you have just made for him,&rdquo; I resumed, &ldquo;implies that he is a
+      weak man; easily persuaded, easily led.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Minister answered by nodding his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Such weakness as that,&rdquo; I persisted, &ldquo;is a vice in itself. It has led
+      already, sir, to the saddest results.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He admitted this by another nod.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t wish to shock you, Mr. Gracedieu; but I must recommend employing
+      the means that present themselves. You must practice on this man&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I placed them before him. He took up the pen; he arranged the paper; he
+      was eager to begin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After writing a few words, he stopped&mdash;reflected&mdash;tried again&mdash;stopped
+      again&mdash;tore up the little that he had done&mdash;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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The letter was easily written.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had only to inform Mr. Dunboyne of his son&rsquo;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: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall was in the drawing-room. With the necessary explanations, I
+      showed her the letter. She read it with breathless interest. &ldquo;It terrifies
+      one to think how much depends on old Mr. Dunboyne,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You know
+      him. What sort of man is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could only assure her (after what I remembered of his letter to me) that
+      he was a man whom we could depend upon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I get these particulars,&rdquo; said Miss Jillgall, &ldquo;from dear Euneece. They
+      are surely encouraging? That Helena may carry out Mr. Dunboyne&rsquo;s views in
+      her personal appearance is, I regret to say, what I can&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;I
+      can set this right for you,&rdquo; she resumed, &ldquo;thanks, as before, to my sweet
+      Euneece. And (don&rsquo;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&rsquo;s lovely eyes&mdash;capable of the meanest
+      conceivable actions&mdash;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&rsquo;ll
+      post the letter myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXVII. THE SHAMELESS SISTER.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      For some reason, which my unassisted penetration was unable to discover,
+      Miss Helena Gracedieu kept out of my way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s interest
+      in my welfare led her to caution me in a vague and general way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;and be guided
+      accordingly if Helena catches you at a private interview.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In less than half an hour afterward, Helena caught me. I was writing in my
+      room, when the maidservant came in with a message: &ldquo;Miss Helena&rsquo;s
+      compliments, sir, and would you please spare her half an hour,
+      downstairs?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Miss Helena wished me to say, sir, that her time is your time.&rdquo;
+       I was still obstinate; I pleaded next that my day was filled up. A third
+      message had evidently been prepared, even for this emergency: &ldquo;Miss Helena
+      will regret, sir, having the pleasure deferred, but she will leave you to
+      make your own appointment for to-morrow.&rdquo; Persistency so inveterate as
+      this led to a result which Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;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&rsquo;s interests if I
+      discovered what the enemy had to say. I locked up my writing&mdash;declared
+      myself incapable of putting Miss Helena to needless inconvenience&mdash;and
+      followed the maid to the lower floor of the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room to which I was conducted proved to be empty. I looked round me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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&mdash;sacred to
+      vanity, and worthy of the office that it filled. Such was Helena
+      Gracedieu&rsquo;s sitting-room. I really could not help thinking: How like her!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She came in with a face perfectly adapted to the circumstances&mdash;pleased
+      and smiling; amiably deferential, in consideration of the claims of her
+      father&rsquo;s guest&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s a present. I should never
+      have put such a thing up. Perhaps my vanity excuses it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;and there was an awkward pause
+      before we spoke. She set the example.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it curious?&rdquo; she remarked. &ldquo;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&rsquo;t you begin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I have nothing particular to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In plain words, you mean that I must begin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray go on, Miss Helena.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I not said enough already?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not enough, I regret to say, to convey your meaning to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She drew her chair a little further away from me. &ldquo;I am sadly
+      disappointed,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;quite naturally! And you are prejudiced, strongly prejudiced,
+      against me&mdash;what else could you be, under the circumstances? I don&rsquo;t
+      complain; I have purposely kept out of your way, and out of Miss
+      Jillgall&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A great deal more than enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean that you have made up your mind about me without stopping to
+      think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is exactly what I mean. An act of treachery, Miss Helena, <i>is</i>
+      an act of treachery; no honest person need hesitate to condemn it. I am
+      sorry you sent for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I got up to go. With an ironical gesture of remonstrance, she signed to me
+      to sit down again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I returned to my chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or would you prefer waiting,&rdquo; she went out, &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the female mind gets into this state, no wise man answers the female
+      questions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I to take silence as meaning Go on?&rdquo; Miss Helena inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I begged her to interpret my silence in the sense most agreeable to
+      herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This naturally encouraged her. She made a proposal:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mind changing places, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just as you like, Miss Helena.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish to be quite mistress of myself,&rdquo; she explained; &ldquo;your face, for
+      some reason which I really don&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She also mentioned, perhaps, that he was a highly-cultivated man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now we shall get on. When Philip came to our town here, and saw me for
+      the first time&mdash;Do you object to my speaking familiarly of him, by
+      his Christian name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the case of any one else in your position, Miss Helena, I should
+      venture to call it bad taste.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was provoked into saying that. It failed entirely as a well-meant effort
+      in the way of implied reproof. Miss Helena smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You grant me a liberty which you would not concede to another girl.&rdquo; That
+      was how she viewed it. &ldquo;We are getting on better already. To return to
+      what I was saying. When Philip first saw me&mdash;I have it from himself,
+      mind&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you will take my advice,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;you will not inquire too closely
+      into my opinion of Mr. Philip Dunboyne.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you don&rsquo;t wish me to say anymore?&rdquo; she suggested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On the contrary, pray go on, if you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After that concession, she was amiability itself. &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; she assured
+      me, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s easily done.&rdquo; And she went on accordingly: &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will wait till you have done.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have no more to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She made that amazing reply with such perfect composure, that I began to
+      fear there must have been some misunderstanding between us. &ldquo;Is that
+      really all you have to say for yourself?&rdquo; I persisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Philip and I,&rdquo; she began, &ldquo;are the victims of an accident, which kept us
+      apart when we ought to have met together&mdash;we are not responsible for
+      an accident.&rdquo; She impressed this on me by touching her forefinger. &ldquo;Philip
+      and I fell in love with each other at first sight&mdash;we are not
+      responsible for the feelings implanted in our natures by an all-wise
+      Providence.&rdquo; She assisted me in understanding this by touching her middle
+      finger. &ldquo;Philip and I owe a duty to each other, and accept a
+      responsibility under those circumstances&mdash;the responsibility of
+      getting married.&rdquo; A touch on her third finger, and an indulgent bow,
+      announced that the lesson was ended. &ldquo;I am not a clever man like you,&rdquo; she
+      modestly acknowledged, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;a person has been forgotten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed? What person?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your sister.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A little perplexed at first, Miss Helena reflected, and recovered herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;I was afraid I might be obliged to trouble you for
+      an explanation&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Let me not attempt to disguise it&mdash;Miss Helena Gracedieu confounded
+      me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ordinary audacity is one of those forms of insolence which mature
+      experience dismisses with contempt. This girl&rsquo;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&mdash;with
+      supplementary reflections flowing from it, which need only to be described
+      as worthy of their source.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;I see you are embarrassed,&rdquo; she remarked, &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I think not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We shall see,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;Sooner or later, you will find yourself
+      saying a kind word to my father for Philip and me.&rdquo; She rose, and took a
+      turn in the room&mdash;and stopped, eying me attentively. &ldquo;Are you
+      thinking of Eunice?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She has your sympathy, I suppose?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My heart-felt sympathy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I needn&rsquo;t ask how I stand in your estimation, after that. Pray express
+      yourself freely. Your looks confess it&mdash;you view me with a feeling of
+      aversion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I view you with a feeling of horror.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I inspire you with horror, and Eunice inspires you with compassion,&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;That, Mr. Governor, is not natural.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I ask why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know why.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will have it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want an explanation, Miss Helena, if that is what you mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;making every allowance for the anger that had hurried
+      her into them&mdash;seemed to call for some little protest against a false
+      assertion. I told her that she was completely mistaken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am completely right,&rdquo; she answered; &ldquo;I saw it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Saw what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Saw you pretending to be a stranger to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When did I do that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You did it when we met at the station.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The reply was too ridiculous for the preservation of any control over my
+      own sense of humor. It was wrong; but it was inevitable&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Unjust to You!&rdquo; she burst out. &ldquo;Who are You? A man who has driven your
+      trade has spies always at his command&mdash;yes! and knows how to use
+      them. You were primed with private information&mdash;you had, for all I
+      know, a stolen photograph of me in your pocket&mdash;before ever you came
+      to our town. Do you still deny it? Oh, sir, why degrade yourself by
+      telling a lie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s spiteful tongue sting me, and, worse still, to let her see
+      that I felt it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You shall have no second opportunity, Miss Gracedieu, of insulting me.&rdquo;
+       With that foolish reply, I opened the door violently and went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Your own
+      conduct has exposed you.&rdquo; (That was literally how she expressed herself.)
+      &ldquo;I saw it in your eyes when we met at the station. You, the stranger&mdash;you
+      who allowed poor ignorant me to introduce myself&mdash;you knew me all the
+      time, knew me by sight!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I shook her hand off with an inconsiderable roughness, humiliating to
+      remember. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s false!&rdquo; I cried. &ldquo;I knew you by your likeness to your
+      mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Heard only by his daughter, my reply seemed to cool the heat of her anger
+      in an instant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you knew my mother?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was wise enough&mdash;now when wisdom had come too late&mdash;not to
+      attempt to explain myself, and not to give her an opportunity of saying
+      more. &ldquo;We are neither of us in a state of mind,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;to allow
+      this interview to continue. I must try to recover my composure; and I
+      leave you to do the same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the solitude of my room, I was able to look my position fairly in the
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;s wife had come to me, in the long-past time, without her
+      husband&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;I can
+      honestly say, for the Minister&rsquo;s sake. And now, long after time had doomed
+      those events to oblivion, they were revived&mdash;and revived by me.
+      Thanks to my folly, Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;s daughter knew what I had concealed
+      from Mr. Gracedieu himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What course did respect for my friend, and respect for myself, counsel me
+      to take?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I could only see before me a choice of two evils. To wait for events&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before I had decided, somebody knocked at the door. It was the
+      maid-servant again. Was it possible she had been sent by Helena?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Another message?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir. My master wishes to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE GIRLS&rsquo; AGES.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Had the Minister&rsquo;s desire to see me been inspired by his daughter&rsquo;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&rsquo;s
+      vindictive purpose had been already accomplished&mdash;and if Mr.
+      Gracedieu left me no alternative but to present his unworthy wife in her
+      true character&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When I entered his room, he was still in bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;I feel stronger this morning,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and I wish to
+      speak to you while my mind is clear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eunice will be here soon,&rdquo; he proceeded, &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke more clearly and collectedly than I had heard him speak yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s invitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo; ages. &ldquo;You have left it to my discretion,&rdquo; I added, &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have every excuse,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;But you trouble me all the same.
+      There was something else that I had to say to you&mdash;and your curiosity
+      gets in the way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me think a little,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I waited anxiously for the decision at which he might arrive. Nothing came
+      of it to justify my misgivings. &ldquo;Leave what I have in my mind to ripen in
+      my mind,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The mystery about the girls&rsquo; ages seems to irritate
+      you. If I put my good friend&rsquo;s temper to any further trial, he will be of
+      no use to me. Never mind if my head swims; I&rsquo;m used to that. Now listen!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&mdash;already
+      made known, as I am told, for the information of strangers who may read
+      the pages that have gone before mine. My friend&rsquo;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&rsquo;s vanity called upon me to acknowledge that my
+      curiosity had been satisfied, and my doubts completely set at rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This time, my harmless curiosity could be gratified by a reply expressed
+      in three words&mdash;nothing had happened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then what, in Heaven&rsquo;s name, was the Minister afraid of?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His voice dropped to a whisper. He said: &ldquo;I am afraid of the women.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Who were the women?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two of them actually proved to be the servants employed in Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;s
+      house, at the bygone time when he 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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She presented herself to me by name,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;and she spoke rudely. A
+      Miss&mdash;&rdquo; He paused to consult his memory, and this time (thanks
+      perhaps to his night&rsquo;s rest) his memory answered the appeal. &ldquo;I have got
+      it!&rdquo; he cried&mdash;&ldquo;Miss Chance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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 &ldquo;Miss Chance&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gracedieu being undoubtedly ignorant of the woman&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s
+      distrust.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In making my inquiries, I found that I had an obstacle to contend with.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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 &ldquo;something unpleasant had passed
+      between that audacious woman and himself.&rdquo; But at what date&mdash;and
+      whether by word of mouth or by correspondence&mdash;was more than his
+      memory could now recall. He believed he was not mistaken in telling me
+      that he &ldquo;had been in two minds about her.&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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 &ldquo;Miss Chance&rdquo; 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. &ldquo;You might find the lost recollection in that way,&rdquo; I
+      suggested, &ldquo;at the bottom of one of your letters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Look for yourself,&rdquo; he
+      said. After some hesitation&mdash;for I naturally recoiled from examining
+      another man&rsquo;s correspondence&mdash;I decided on opening the cabinet, at
+      any rate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The letters&mdash;a large collection&mdash;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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of them was an old copy of the <i>Times</i>, 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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On the 10th inst., the wife of the Rev. Abel Gracedieu, of a daughter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The second newspaper bore a later date, and contained nothing that
+      interested me. I naturally assumed that the advertisement in the <i>Times</i>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still oppressed by reflections which pointed to the future in this
+      discouraging way, I was startled by a voice outside the door&mdash;a
+      sweet, sad voice&mdash;saying, &ldquo;May I come in?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Minister&rsquo;s eyes opened instantly: he raised himself in his bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eunice, at last!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Let her in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXXIX. THE ADOPTED CHILD
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      I opened the door.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Eunice passed me with the suddenness almost of a flash of light. When I
+      turned toward the bed, her arms were round her father&rsquo;s neck. &ldquo;Oh, poor
+      papa, how ill you look!&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Minister gently lifted her head from his breast. &ldquo;My darling,&rdquo; he
+      said, &ldquo;you don&rsquo;t see my old friend. Love him, and look up to him, Eunice.
+      He will be your friend, too, when I am gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She came to me and offered her cheek to be kissed. It was sadly pale, poor
+      soul&mdash;and I could guess why. But her heart was now full of her
+      father. &ldquo;Do you think he is seriously ill?&rdquo; she whispered. What I ought to
+      have said I don&rsquo;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&mdash;I did certainly lie. And if I deserved my
+      punishment, I got it; the poor child believed me! &ldquo;Now I am happier,&rdquo; she
+      said, gratefully. &ldquo;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&rsquo;t have
+      time to feel afraid of the great man; he would make me fond of him
+      directly. I said, &lsquo;Are you fond of him?&rsquo; She said, &lsquo;Madly in love with
+      him, my dear.&rsquo; 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&rsquo;t
+      agree with them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I believe I should have lied again, if Mr. Gracedieu had not called me to
+      the bedside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How does she strike you?&rdquo; he whispered, eagerly. &ldquo;Is it too soon to ask
+      if she shows her age in her face?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neither in her face nor her figure,&rdquo; I answered: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked fondly at Eunice. &ldquo;Her figure seems to bear out what you say,&rdquo;
+       he went on. &ldquo;Almost childish, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could not agree to that. Slim, supple, simply graceful in every
+      movement, Eunice&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Finding that I failed to agree with him, Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;s misgivings
+      returned. &ldquo;You speak very confidently,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;considering that you
+      have not seen the girls together. Think what a dreadful blow it would be
+      to me if you made a mistake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;she would have disturbed my impressions of
+      Eunice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Minister signed to me to move a little nearer to him. &ldquo;I must say it,&rdquo;
+       he whispered, &ldquo;and I am afraid of her hearing me. Is there anything in her
+      face that reminds you of her miserable mother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had hardly patience to answer the question: it was simply preposterous.
+      Her hair was by many shades darker than her mother&rsquo;s hair; her eyes were
+      of a different color. There was an exquisite tenderness and sincerity in
+      their expression&mdash;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&rsquo;s lower features,
+      again, had none of her mother&rsquo;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&mdash;having never seen him. The one thing certain was, that
+      not the faintest trace, in feature or expression, of Eunice&rsquo;s mother was
+      to be seen in Eunice herself. Of the two girls, Helena&mdash;judging by
+      something in the color of her hair, and by something in the shade of her
+      complexion&mdash;might possibly have suggested, in those particulars only,
+      a purely accidental resemblance to my terrible prisoner of past times.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The revival of Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;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. &ldquo;My pleasure has been almost too much for me,&rdquo; he
+      said. &ldquo;Leave me for a while to rest, and get used to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eunice kissed his forehead&mdash;and we left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XL. THE BRUISED HEART.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you come with me to the part of the garden that I am fondest of?&rdquo;
+       she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;a
+      tender and beautiful change. At that moment the girl&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was once very happy here,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;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&rsquo;t be afraid of distressing me. I never cry now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear child, I have heard your sad story&mdash;but I can&rsquo;t trust myself
+      to speak of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because you are so sorry for me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No words can say how sorry I am!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you are not angry with Philip?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not angry! My poor dear, I am afraid to tell you how angry I am with
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no! You mustn&rsquo;t say that. If you wish to be kind to me&mdash;and I am
+      sure you do wish it&mdash;don&rsquo;t think bitterly of Philip.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Do you really mean,&rdquo; I was base
+      enough to ask, &ldquo;that you have forgiven him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She said, gently: &ldquo;How could I help forgiving him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;though I dared not confess it to Eunice&mdash;I forgave him,
+      too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do I surprise you?&rdquo; she asked simply. &ldquo;Perhaps love will bear any
+      humiliation. Or perhaps I am only a poor weak creature. You don&rsquo;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&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;I remember you an
+      easily-pleased little creature, amusing yourself with the broken toys
+      which were once the playthings of my own children.&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you were young yourself,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;did you know what it was to
+      love, and to be loved&mdash;and then to lose it all?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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? &ldquo;Too well, my child; too well!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She dropped my hand, and sat by me in silence, thinking. Had I&mdash;without
+      meaning it, God knows!&mdash;had I disappointed her?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you expect me to tell my own sad story,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;as frankly and as
+      trustfully as you have told yours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;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&mdash;is it? You have had other
+      troubles?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Many of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are times,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;when one can&rsquo;t help thinking of one&rsquo;s own
+      miserable self. I try to be cheerful, but those times come now and then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stopped, and looked at me with a pale fear confessing itself in her
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know who Selina is?&rdquo; she resumed. &ldquo;My friend! The only friend I had,
+      till you came here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I guessed that she was speaking of the quaint, kindly little woman, whose
+      ugly surname had been hitherto the only name known to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Selina has, I daresay, told you that I have been ill,&rdquo; she continued,
+      &ldquo;and that I am staying in the country for the benefit of my health.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;then, little by little, impatiently. The one poor proof of
+      kindness that I could offer, now, was to say no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know what a strange creature I am?&rdquo; she broke out. &ldquo;Shall I make
+      you angry with me? or shall I make you laugh at me? What I have shrunk
+      from confessing to Selina&mdash;what I dare not confess to my father&mdash;I
+      must, and will, confess to You.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you notice how I behaved upstairs?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I mean when we left my
+      father, and came out on the landing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was easily recollected; I begged her to go on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Before I went downstairs,&rdquo; she proceeded, &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guessed that&mdash;and I understood you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! You are not wicked enough to understand me. Will you do me a favor? I
+      want you to look at me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was said seriously. She lifted her head for a moment, so that I could
+      examine her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you see anything,&rdquo; she asked, &ldquo;which makes you fear that I am not in
+      my right mind?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good God! how can you ask such a horrible question?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laid her head back on my shoulder with a sad little sigh of
+      resignation. &ldquo;I ought to have known better,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;there is no such
+      easy way out of it as that. Tell me&mdash;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&mdash;no; I mean when a sense of
+      injury comes? Did you ever see that, when you were master in the prison?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had seen it&mdash;and, after a moment&rsquo;s doubt, I said I had seen it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you pity those poor wretches?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly! They deserved pity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am one of them!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Pity <i>me</i>. If Helena looks at me&mdash;if
+      Helena speaks to me&mdash;if I only see Helena by accident&mdash;do you
+      know what she does? She tempts me! Tempts me to do dreadful things! Tempts
+      me&mdash;&rdquo; The poor child threw her arms round my neck, and whispered the
+      next fatal words in my ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mother! Prepared as I was for the accursed discovery, the horror of it
+      shook me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She left me, and started to her feet. The inherited energy showed itself
+      in furious protest against the inherited evil. &ldquo;What does it mean?&rdquo; she
+      cried. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll submit to anything. I&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;but I have tried! I have tried! The wickedest girl in the world
+      doesn&rsquo;t have worse thoughts than the thoughts that have come to me. Since
+      when? Since Helena&mdash;oh, how can I call her by her name as if I still
+      loved her? Since my sister&mdash;can she be my sister, I ask myself
+      sometimes! Since my enemy&mdash;there&rsquo;s the word for her&mdash;since my
+      enemy took Philip away from me. What does it mean? I have asked in my
+      prayers&mdash;and have got no answer. I ask you. What does it mean? You
+      must tell me! You shall tell me! What does it mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Why did I not try to calm her? I had vainly tried to calm her&mdash;I who
+      knew who her mother was, and what her mother had been.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us talk of Philip,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;we had better not talk of him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have lost all my courage. If you speak of Philip, you will make me
+      cry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I drew her nearer to me. If she had been my own child, I don&rsquo;t think I
+      could have felt for her more truly than I felt at that moment. I only
+      looked at her; I only said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was silence between us for a while. It was possible for me to think.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s birthright. They had
+      been derived, perhaps, from the better qualities in her father&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;but love that no profanation could stain,
+      that no hereditary evil could conquer&mdash;the True Love that had been,
+      and was, and would be, the guardian angel of Eunice&rsquo;s life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still absorbed in these speculations, I was disturbed by a touch on my
+      arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked up. Eunice&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look again,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This time I saw a woman&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLI. THE WHISPERING VOICE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite needless,&rdquo; she replied; &ldquo;I shall not detain you for more than a
+      minute. Please look at this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Philip&rsquo;s Letters To Me. Private. Helena Gracedieu.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have a favor to ask,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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,&rdquo; she repeated
+      emphatically&mdash;with a look which sufficiently informed me that I had
+      not been betrayed to her father yet. &ldquo;Will you indulge me?&rdquo; she asked, and
+      offered her portfolio for the second time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A more impudent bargain could not well have been proposed to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was to read, and to be favorably impressed by, Mr. Philip Dunboyne&rsquo;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&mdash;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&rsquo;s love-letters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&mdash;on my own
+      conditions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Understand, Miss Helena,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;that I make no promises. I reserve my
+      own opinion, and my own right of action.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not afraid of your opinions or your actions,&rdquo; she answered
+      confidently, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Sad,
+      isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; she said&mdash;and bowed, and went briskly away on her
+      household errand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We were alone again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is nothing to be afraid of,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;She has gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Eunice&rsquo;s eyes rested on me in vacant surprise. &ldquo;How do you know?&rdquo; she
+      asked. &ldquo;I hear her; but I never see her. Do you see her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear child! of what person are you speaking?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She answered: &ldquo;Of no person. I am speaking of a Voice that whispers and
+      tempts me, when Helena is near.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What voice, Eunice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The whispering Voice. It said to me, &lsquo;I am your mother;&rsquo; 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&mdash;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: &lsquo;My
+      face was hidden when I passed from life to death; my face no mortal
+      creature may see.&rsquo; I have never seen her&mdash;how can <i>you</i> have
+      seen her? But I heard her again, just now. She whispered to me when Helena
+      was standing there&mdash;where you are standing. She freezes the life in
+      me. Did she freeze the life in <i>you?</i> Did you hear her tempting me?
+      Don&rsquo;t speak of it, if you did. Oh, not a word! not a word!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A man who has governed a prison may say with Macbeth, &ldquo;I have supped full
+      with horrors.&rdquo; Hardened as I was&mdash;or ought to have been&mdash;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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My sense of my own helplessness was the first sense in me that recovered.
+      I thought of Eunice&rsquo;s devoted little friend. A woman&rsquo;s sympathy seemed to
+      be needed now. I rose to lead the way out of the garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Selina will think we are lost,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Let us go and find Selina.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not for the world,&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I don&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I resumed my place at her side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me take your hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid I have surprised you,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Helena brings the dreadful
+      time back to me&mdash;&rdquo; She stopped and shuddered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t speak of Helena, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I am afraid you will think&mdash;because I have said strange things&mdash;that
+      I have been talking at random,&rdquo; she insisted. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I privately determined to watch for the doctor&rsquo;s arrival, and to consult
+      with him. Eunice went on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have the story of a terrible night to tell you; but I haven&rsquo;t the
+      courage to tell it now. Why shouldn&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;she has gone out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did she say that herself? Are you sure?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where did you get that?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was needless to reply in words. My hesitation spoke for me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Carry it in your other hand,&rdquo; she said&mdash;&ldquo;the hand that&rsquo;s furthest
+      away from me. I don&rsquo;t want to see it! Do you mind waiting a moment while I
+      find Selina? You will go to the farm with us, won&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had to look over the letters, in Eunice&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose I see Mr. Philip Dunboyne when I go back to London,&rdquo; I began,
+      &ldquo;what shall I say to him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say I have forgiven him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And suppose,&rdquo; I went on, &ldquo;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&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She resolutely interrupted me: &ldquo;No!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Eunice, you surely mean Yes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean No!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t ask me! Good-by till to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLII. THE QUAINT PHILOSOPHER.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      No person came to my room, and nothing happened to interrupt me while I
+      was reading Mr. Philip Dunboyne&rsquo;s letters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of them, let me say at once, produced a very disagreeable impression
+      on me. I have unexpectedly discovered Mrs. Tenbruggen&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having gone through the whole collection of young Dunboyne&rsquo;s letters, I
+      set myself to review the differing conclusions which the correspondence
+      had produced on my mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I call the papers submitted to me a correspondence, because the greater
+      part of Philip&rsquo;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&rsquo;s rejoinders show, been employed as materials when she wrote her
+      replies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On reflection, I find myself troubled by complexities and contradictions
+      in the view presented of this young man&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the first place, those extracts have a value of their own. They add
+      necessary information to the present history of events.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the second place, I am under no obligation to Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;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&mdash;and
+      her assent to that stipulation was expressed in the clearest terms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      EXTRACTS FROM MR. PHILIP DUNBOYNE&rsquo;S LETTERS.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      First Extract.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My father is kind, in his own odd way&mdash;and learned, and rich&mdash;a
+      more high-minded and honorable man (as I have every reason to believe)
+      doesn&rsquo;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&mdash;I wish, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If I can only repeat what this clever woman told me of their talk, you
+      will have a portrait of Mr. Dunboyne the elder&mdash;not perhaps a
+      highly-finished picture, but, as I hope and believe, a good likeness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My father held out his plate and asked for the other wing of the fowl. &ldquo;It
+      isn&rsquo;t a bad one for London,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;won&rsquo;t you have some yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t seem to have interested you,&rdquo; Mrs. Staveley remarked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did you expect me to be interested in?&rdquo; my father inquired. &ldquo;I was
+      absorbed in the fowl. Favor me by returning to the subject.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Staveley admits that she answered this rather sharply: &ldquo;The subject,
+      sir, was your son&rsquo;s admiration for a charming girl: one of the daughters
+      of Mr. Gracedieu, the famous preacher.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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
+      &ldquo;Philip was engaged to be married.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not quite sure,&rdquo; Mrs. Staveley confessed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, my dear friend, we will wait till we <i>are</i> sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Mr. Dunboyne, there is really no need to wait. I suppose your son
+      comes here, now and then, to see you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose he hits upon the right time to-morrow?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You might ask him if he is engaged?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me. I think I might wait till Philip mentions it without asking.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What an extraordinary man you are!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, no&mdash;only a philosopher.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This tried Mrs. Staveley&rsquo;s temper. You know what a perfectly candid person
+      our friend is. She owned to me that she felt inclined to make herself
+      disagreeable. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s thrown away upon me,&rdquo; she said: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what a
+      philosopher is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Let me pause for a moment, dear Helena. I have inexcusably forgotten to
+      speak of my father&rsquo;s personal appearance. It won&rsquo;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&rsquo;s nose is a mine of information to
+      friends familiarly acquainted with it. It changes color like a modest
+      young lady&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don&rsquo;t know what a philosopher is!&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;Be so kind as to
+      look at me. I am a philosopher.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Staveley bowed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And a philosopher, my charming friend, is a man who has discovered a
+      system of life. Some systems assert themselves in volumes&mdash;<i>my</i>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+      &lsquo;Wait till Philip mentions it without asking?&rsquo; 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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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. &ldquo;Your
+      business, Philip: don&rsquo;t interrupt me.&rdquo; He will say that, and go back to
+      his books. There is my father, painted to the life! Farewell, for the
+      present.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Remarks by H. G.&mdash;Philip&rsquo;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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Added by the Governor.&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLIII. THE MASTERFUL MASSEUSE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      My next quotations will suffer a process of abridgment. I intend them to
+      present the substance of three letters, reduced as follows:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Second Extract.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;traceable as they are to
+      Helena&rsquo;s irresistible fascinations&mdash;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&rsquo;s health. If this honest avowal
+      excites her sister&rsquo;s jealousy, he will be disappointed in Helena for the
+      first time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His third letter shows that this exhibition of spirit has had its effect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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. &ldquo;How do
+      we know,&rdquo; says the philosopher, &ldquo;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.&rdquo; Dearest Helena&mdash;isn&rsquo;t
+      he funny?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next letter has been already mentioned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s first impressions of Mrs. Tenbruggen do not incline him
+      to look at that lady from a humorous point of view.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Helena&rsquo;s remarks follow, as usual. She has seen Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;s name on
+      the address of a letter written by Miss Jillgall&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The letter that follows must be permitted to speak for itself:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;t blame me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;when
+      she had been in daily attendance on him for a week, at an exorbitant fee&mdash;she
+      said in the coolest manner: &ldquo;Who is this young gentleman?&rdquo; My father laid
+      down his book, for a moment only: &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t interrupt me again, ma&rsquo;am. The
+      young gentleman is my son Philip.&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next time I saw my father, he was alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I asked him how he got on with Mrs. Tenbruggen. As badly as possible, it
+      appeared. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A few days later, I found the masterful &ldquo;Masseuse&rdquo; torturing the poor old
+      gentleman&rsquo;s muscles again. She had the audacity to say to me: &ldquo;Well, Mr.
+      Philip, when are you going to marry Miss Eunice Gracedieu?&rdquo; My father
+      looked up. &ldquo;Eunice?&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;When my son told me he was engaged to
+      Miss Gracedieu, he said &lsquo;Helena&rsquo;! Philip, what does this mean?&rdquo; Mrs.
+      Tenbruggen was so obliging as to answer for me. &ldquo;Some mistake, sir; it&rsquo;s
+      Eunice he is engaged to.&rdquo; I confess I forgot myself. &ldquo;How the devil do you
+      know that?&rdquo; I burst out. Mrs. Tenbruggen ignored me and my language. &ldquo;I am
+      sorry to see, sir, that your son&rsquo;s education has been neglected; he seems
+      to be grossly ignorant of the laws of politeness.&rdquo; &ldquo;Never mind the laws of
+      politeness,&rdquo; says my father. &ldquo;You appear to be better acquainted with my
+      son&rsquo;s matrimonial prospects than he is himself. How is that?&rdquo; Mrs.
+      Tenbruggen favored him with another ready reply: &ldquo;My authority is a
+      letter, addressed to me by a relative of Mr. Gracedieu&mdash;my dear and
+      intimate friend, Miss Jillgall.&rdquo; My father&rsquo;s keen eyes traveled backward
+      and forward between his female surgeon and his son. &ldquo;Which am I to
+      believe?&rdquo; he inquired. &ldquo;I am surprised at your asking the question,&rdquo; I
+      said. Mrs. Tenbruggen pointed to me. &ldquo;Look at Mr. Philip, sir&mdash;and
+      you will allow him one merit. He is capable of showing it, when he knows
+      he has disgraced himself.&rdquo; 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: &ldquo;Mrs. Tenbruggen, you lie!&rdquo; The illustrious Rubber dropped my father&rsquo;s
+      hand&mdash;she had been operating on him all the time&mdash;and showed us
+      that she could assert her dignity when circumstances called for the
+      exertion: &ldquo;Either your son or I, sir, must leave the room. Which is it to
+      be?&rdquo; 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: &ldquo;Messieurs Dunboyne, father and son, I
+      keep my temper, and merely regard you as a couple of blackguards.&rdquo; With
+      that pretty assertion of her opinion, she left us.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you say that the father of these girls was a parson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;a Congregational Minister.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does the Minister think of you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Find out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That was all; not another word could I extract from him. I don&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There the letter ends. Helena&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The one recent event in Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Helena has been away all the evening at the Girls&rsquo; School. She left a
+      little note, informing me of her wishes: &ldquo;I shall expect to be favored
+      with your decision to-morrow morning, in my housekeeping room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s post. &ldquo;If you will excuse the use of strong language by a lady,&rdquo;
+       she said, &ldquo;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&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
+       As usual, good Selina expressed her sentiments without reserve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had to keep my appointment; and the sooner Helena Gracedieu and I
+      understood each other the better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I knocked at the door. It was loudly unlocked, and violently thrown open.
+      Helena&rsquo;s temper had risen to boiling heat; she stammered with rage when
+      she spoke to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean to come to the point at once,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad to hear it, Miss Helena.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I count on your influence to help me? I want a positive answer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I gave her what she wanted. I said: &ldquo;Certainly not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She took a crumpled letter from her pocket, opened it, and smoothed it out
+      on the table with a blow of her open hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at that,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked. It was the letter addressed to Mr. Dunboyne the elder, which I
+      had written for Mr. Gracedieu&mdash;with the one object of preventing
+      Helena&rsquo;s marriage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, I can depend on you to tell me the truth?&rdquo; she continued.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Without fear or favor,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;you may depend on <i>that</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whose writing is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLIV. THE RESURRECTION OF THE PAST.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Allow me to return good for evil.&rdquo; (The evil was uppermost, nevertheless,
+      when Miss Gracedieu expressed herself in these self-denying terms.) &ldquo;You
+      are no doubt anxious to know if Philip&rsquo;s father has been won over to serve
+      your purpose. Here is Philip&rsquo;s own account of it: the last of his letters
+      that I shall trouble you to read.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked it over. The memorandum follows which I made for my own use:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s signature, and handed it to his son. &ldquo;Can
+      you answer that?&rdquo; was all he said. Philip&rsquo;s silence confessed that he was
+      unable to answer it&mdash;and Philip himself, I may add, rose accordingly
+      in my estimation. His father pointed to the writing-desk. &ldquo;I must spare my
+      cramped hand,&rdquo; the philosopher resumed, &ldquo;and I must answer Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;s
+      letter. Write, and leave a place for my signature.&rdquo; He began to dictate
+      his reply. &ldquo;Sir&mdash;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.&rdquo; Having performed his duty
+      as secretary, Philip received his dismissal: &ldquo;You may send my reply to the
+      post,&rdquo; his father said; &ldquo;and you may keep Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;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.&rdquo; This, Philip
+      declared, was his father&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That Mrs. Gracedieu and I had met in the bygone time, and&mdash;this was
+      the only serious part of it&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I found Miss Jillgall waiting in the passage to see me come out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s health. Miss
+      Jillgall introduced me, as an old and dear friend of the Minister, and
+      left us together in the dining-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do I think of Mr. Gracedieu?&rdquo; he said, repeating the first question
+      that I put. &ldquo;Well, sir, I think badly of him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Entering into details, after that ominous reply, Mr. Wellwood did not
+      hesitate to say that his patient&rsquo;s nerves were completely shattered.
+      Disease of the brain had, as he feared, been already set up. &ldquo;As to the
+      causes which have produced this lamentable break-down,&rdquo; the doctor
+      continued, &ldquo;Mr. Gracedieu has been in the habit of preaching extempore
+      twice a day on Sundays, and sometimes in the week as well&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The change of subject seemed to be agreeable to Mr. Wellwood. He smiled
+      good-humoredly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You need feel no alarm about the health of that interesting girl,&rdquo; he
+      said. &ldquo;When she complained to me&mdash;at her age!&mdash;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&mdash;but
+      don&rsquo;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&mdash;quiet and change of air. I have no fears for Miss Eunice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that cheering reply he went up to the Minister&rsquo;s room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before I had been long alone the servant-maid came in, and said the doctor
+      wanted to see me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Wellwood was waiting in the passage, outside the Minister&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At the very time when it is most important to keep Mr. Gracedieu quiet,&rdquo;
+       he said, &ldquo;something has happened to excite&mdash;I might almost say to
+      infuriate him. He has left his bed, and is walking up and down the room;
+      and, I don&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Knowing perfectly well what had happened, and being one of those impatient
+      people who can never endure suspense&mdash;I offered to go at once to Mr.
+      Gracedieu&rsquo;s room. The doctor asked leave to say one word more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray be careful that you neither say nor do anything to thwart him,&rdquo; Mr.
+      Wellwood resumed. &ldquo;If he expresses an opinion, agree with him. If he is
+      insolent and overbearing, don&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLV. THE FATAL PORTRAIT.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      I knocked at the bedroom door.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Only two words&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He received me with a boisterous affectation of cordiality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My excellent friend! My admirable, honorable, welcome guest, you don&rsquo;t
+      know how glad I am to see you. Stand a little nearer to the light; I want
+      to admire you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Remembering the doctor&rsquo;s advice, I obeyed him in silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, you were a handsome fellow when I first knew you,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and you
+      have some remains of it still left. Do you remember the time when you were
+      a favorite with the ladies? Oh, don&rsquo;t pretend to be modest; don&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      What his object might be in saying this&mdash;if, indeed, he had an object&mdash;it
+      was impossible to guess. The doctor&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And when I happened to speak of you somewhere,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;I forget
+      where&mdash;a member of my congregation&mdash;I don&rsquo;t recollect who it was&mdash;told
+      me you were connected with the aristocracy. How were you connected?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The aristocracy!&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;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&mdash;profligates who
+      gratify their passions without shame and without remorse. Deny, if you
+      dare, that this is a true description of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was really pitiable. Heartily sorry for him, I pacified him again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And don&rsquo;t suppose I forget that you are one of them. Do you hear me, my
+      noble friend?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no help for it&mdash;I made another conciliatory reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So far,&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t complain of you. You have not attempted to
+      deceive me&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A minister of the Gospel,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;is a sacred man, and has a horror of
+      crime. You are safe, so far&mdash;provided you obey me. I have a solemn
+      and terrible duty to perform. This is not the right place for it. Follow
+      me downstairs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He led the way out. The doctor, waiting in the passage, was not near the
+      stairs, and so escaped notice. &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; Mr. Wellwood whispered. In
+      the same guarded way, I said: &ldquo;He has not told me yet; I have been careful
+      not to irritate him.&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Turning back into the room, he laid the folded sheet of paper on the
+      table. That done, he spoke to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I distrust my own weakness,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;A dreadful necessity confronts me&mdash;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&rsquo;t suppose that we are alone. There is a third person present, who will
+      judge between you and me. Look there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He pointed solemnly to the portrait of his wife. It was a small picture,
+      very simply framed; representing the face in a &ldquo;three-quarter&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the interval of silence that followed, I was reminded that an unseen
+      friend was keeping watch outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;How can I
+      help you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I took the pencil from my pocketbook, and wrote on the blank side of the
+      card: &ldquo;He has thrown the key into the garden; look for it under the
+      window.&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The slow minutes followed each other&mdash;and still nothing happened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My anxiety to see how the doctor&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been comforted by prayer,&rdquo; he told me. &ldquo;The weakness of poor
+      humanity has found strength in the Lord.&rdquo; He pointed to the portrait once
+      more: &ldquo;My hands must not presume to touch it, while I am still in doubt.
+      Take it down.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;You may think you see a picture there,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You
+      are wrong. You see my wife herself. Stand here, and look at my wife with
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      We stood together, with our eyes fixed on the portrait.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Without anything said or done on my part to irritate him, he suddenly
+      turned to me in a state of furious rage. &ldquo;Not a sign of sorrow!&rdquo; he burst
+      out. &ldquo;Not a blush of shame! Wretch, you stand condemned by the atrocious
+      composure that I see in your face!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Once for all,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;tell me what I have a right to know. You
+      suspect me of something. What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Instead of directly replying, he seized my arm and led me to the table.
+      &ldquo;Take up that paper,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;There is writing on it. Read&mdash;and let
+      Her judge between us. Your life depends on how you answer me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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 <i>that</i> 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&mdash;but I was conscious of an
+      effort in doing it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I opened the paper. &ldquo;Am I to read this to myself?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;Or am I to
+      read it aloud?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Read it aloud!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In these terms, his daughter addressed him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;I may even say
+      my misery, when I think of my mother&mdash;to discover.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But let me make sure, in such a serious matter as this is, that I am not
+      mistaken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Gracedieu interrupted me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put it down!&rdquo; he cried; &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t wait till you have got to the end&mdash;I
+      shall question you now. Give me the paper; it will help me to keep this
+      mystery of iniquity clear in my own mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I gave him the paper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He hesitated&mdash;and looked at the portrait once more. &ldquo;Turn her away
+      from me,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t face my wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I placed the picture with its back to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Helena tells me,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;that you said you knew her by her likeness
+      to her mother. Is that true?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you made an excuse for leaving her&mdash;see! here it is, written
+      down. You made an excuse, and left her when she asked for an explanation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He consulted the paper again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My daughter says&mdash;No! I won&rsquo;t be hurried and I won&rsquo;t be interrupted&mdash;she
+      says you were confused. Is that so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is so. Let your questions wait for a moment. I wish to tell you why I
+      was confused.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t I said I won&rsquo;t be interrupted? Do you think you can shake <i>my</i>
+      resolution?&rdquo; He referred to the paper again. &ldquo;I have lost the place. It&rsquo;s
+      your fault&mdash;find it for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The evidence which was intended to convict me was the evidence which I was
+      expected to find! I pointed it out to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His natural courtesy asserted itself in spite of his anger. He said &ldquo;Thank
+      you,&rdquo; and questioned me the moment after as fiercely as ever. &ldquo;Go back to
+      the time, sir, when we met in your rooms at the prison. Did you know my
+      wife then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you and she see each other&mdash;ha! I&rsquo;ve got it now&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean to tell me,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;that she came to you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After that answer, he no longer required the paper to help him. He threw
+      it from him on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you received her,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;without inquiring whether I knew of her
+      visit or not? Guilty deception on your part&mdash;guilty deception on her
+      part. Oh, the hideous wickedness of it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When his mad suspicion that I had been his wife&rsquo;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&rsquo;s conduct before him in the
+      true light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Gracedieu&rsquo;s object was to consult me&mdash;&rdquo; Before I could say the
+      next words, I saw him put his hand into the pocket of his dressing-gown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An innocent man,&rdquo; he sternly declared, &ldquo;would have told me that my wife
+      had been to see him&mdash;you kept it a secret. An innocent woman would
+      have given me a reason for wishing to go to you&mdash;she kept it a
+      secret, when she left my house; she kept it a secret when she came back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Gracedieu, I insist on being heard! Your wife&rsquo;s motive&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused, looking backward and forward between the picture and me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which of them shall I kill first?&rdquo; he said to himself. &ldquo;The man who was
+      my trusted friend? Or the woman whom I believed to be an angel on earth?&rdquo;
+       He stopped once more, in a state of fierce self-concentration, debating
+      what he should do. &ldquo;The woman,&rdquo; he decided. &ldquo;Wretch! Fiend! Harlot! How I
+      loved her!!!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a yell of fury, he pounced on the picture&mdash;ripped the canvas out
+      of the frame&mdash;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. &ldquo;Go, wife of my bosom,&rdquo; he cried, with a dreadful mockery of voice
+      and look&mdash;&ldquo;go, and burn everlastingly in the place of torment!&rdquo; His
+      eyes glared at me. &ldquo;Your turn now,&rdquo; he said&mdash;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&mdash;if I had known how to defend
+      myself in any other way, I would have taken that way&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLVI. THE CUMBERSOME LADIES.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      I cannot prevail upon myself to dwell at any length on the events that
+      followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s wife had been destroyed by the Minister himself. Of Helena&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of the multitude of questions with which poor Miss Jillgall overwhelmed me&mdash;of
+      the wild words of sorrow and alarm that escaped her&mdash;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 &ldquo;she was a person entirely destitute of presence
+      of mind&rdquo;&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&mdash;unless some new provocation led to a new
+      outbreak. The misfortune to be feared was imbecility.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;Helena Gracedieu.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t wish to speak of what happened yesterday, so far as I know
+      anything about it,&rdquo; she began. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I signed to her to go on. If I had answered in words, I should have told
+      her to leave the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At first,&rdquo; she resumed, &ldquo;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&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was determined to have a reply&mdash;and she got it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not quite yet,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I have been hitherto, as becomes a gentleman,
+      always mindful of a woman&rsquo;s claims to forbearance. You will do well not to
+      tempt me into forgetting that <i>you</i> are a woman, by prolonging your
+      visit. Now, Miss Helena Gracedieu, we understand each other.&rdquo; She made me
+      a low curtsey, and answered in her finest tone of irony: &ldquo;I only desire to
+      wish you a pleasant journey home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I rang for the waiter. &ldquo;Show this lady out,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;not
+      mine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My way through the town led me past the Minister&rsquo;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&rsquo;s
+      door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do pray come back with us,&rdquo; Miss Jillgall pleaded. &ldquo;We were just talking
+      of you. I and my friend&mdash;&rdquo; There she stopped, evidently on the point
+      of blurting out the name which she had been forbidden to utter in my
+      hearing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The lady smiled; her provokingly familiar eyes rested on me with a
+      humorous enjoyment of the scene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear,&rdquo; she said to Miss Jillgall, &ldquo;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&mdash;with <i>his</i> quickness of perception&mdash;is
+      likely to be a matter of minutes now.&rdquo; She turned to me. &ldquo;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&mdash;but you have not
+      entirely lost your good looks. <i>I</i> am no longer recognizable. Allow
+      me to prompt you, as they say on the stage. I am Mrs. Tenbruggen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As a man of the world, I ought to have been capable of concealing my
+      astonishment and dismay. She struck me dumb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Tenbruggen in the town! The one woman whose appearance Mr. Gracedieu
+      had dreaded, and justly dreaded, stood before me&mdash;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&mdash;and begged to be excused&mdash;and said I was in a hurry, all
+      in a breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hearing this, the best of genial old maids was unable to restrain her
+      curiosity. &ldquo;Where are you going?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too confused to think of an excuse, I said I was going to the farm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To see my dear Euneece?&rdquo; Miss Jillgall burst out. &ldquo;Oh, we will go with
+      you!&rdquo; Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;s politeness added immediately, &ldquo;With the greatest
+      pleasure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLVII. THE JOURNEY TO THE FARM.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lean, wiry, and impetuous, Miss Jillgall received my excuse with the
+      sincerest approval of it, as a new idea. &ldquo;Nothing could be more agreeable
+      to me,&rdquo; she declared; &ldquo;I have been a wonderful walker all my life.&rdquo; She
+      turned to her friend. &ldquo;We will go with him, my dear, won&rsquo;t we?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;s reception of this proposal inspired me with hope; she
+      asked how far it was to the farm. &ldquo;Five miles!&rdquo; she repeated. &ldquo;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,&rdquo; she added, pleasantly; &ldquo;and the other, if you only walk
+      fast enough, you will leave behind you on the road. If I believed in luck&mdash;which
+      I don&rsquo;t&mdash;I should call you a fortunate man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;and
+      especially to the destruction by Mr. Gracedieu of the portrait of his
+      wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why didn&rsquo;t he destroy something else?&rdquo; she pleaded, piteously. &ldquo;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&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps I saw it when I called on you,&rdquo; Mrs. Tenbruggen suggested. &ldquo;Where
+      did the picture hang?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear! I received you in the dining-room, and the portrait hung in Mr.
+      Gracedieu&rsquo;s study.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;and, that result attained, the
+      identification of Eunice with the infant whom the &ldquo;Miss Chance&rdquo; of those
+      days had brought to the prison must inevitably have followed. It was
+      perhaps natural that Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;s infatuated devotion to the memory of
+      his wife should have blinded him to the betrayal of Helena&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;s voice, cheery and humorous, broke in on my reflections,
+      with an odd question:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Governor, do you ever condescend to read novels?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not easy to say, Mrs. Tenbruggen, how grateful I am to the writers
+      of novels.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! I read novels, too. But I blush to confess&mdash;do I blush?&mdash;that
+      I never thought of feeling grateful till you mentioned it. Selina and I
+      don&rsquo;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 &lsquo;absorbed in thought.&rsquo; 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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are entirely wrong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It is possible that I may have spoken a little too sharply. Anyway,
+      faithful Selina interceded for her friend. &ldquo;Oh, dear sir, don&rsquo;t be hard on
+      Elizabeth! She always means well.&rdquo; 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: &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t she good company?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;s social resources were not exhausted yet. She suddenly
+      shifted to the serious side of her character.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps I have improved a little,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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):
+      &lsquo;With all my worldly goods I thee endow&rsquo;&mdash;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&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, what a delicious breeze is blowing, out here in the country!&rdquo; she
+      said. &ldquo;Will you excuse me if I take off my gloves? I want to air my
+      hands.&rdquo; She held up her hands to the breeze; firm, muscular, deadly white
+      hands. &ldquo;In my professional occupation,&rdquo; she explained, &ldquo;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&mdash;and I am conscious of one of
+      them at this moment.&rdquo; She lifted her hands to her nose. &ldquo;Pah! my hands
+      smell of other people&rsquo;s flesh. The delicious country air will blow it away&mdash;the
+      luxury of purification!&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But elderly female fascination offers its allurements in vain to the rough
+      animal, man. Suspicion of Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;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. &ldquo;Is it indiscreet to ask,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;if you are here
+      in your professional capacity?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her cunning seized its advantage and put a sly question to me. &ldquo;Do you
+      wish to be one of my patients yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is, unfortunately, impossible,&rdquo; I replied &ldquo;I have arranged to return
+      to London.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Immediately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To-morrow at the latest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I have not yet answered you,&rdquo; she resumed. &ldquo;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&rsquo;t you? In the meanwhile&mdash;yes!
+      I am here in my professional capacity. Several interesting cases; and one
+      very remarkable person, brought to death&rsquo;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&mdash;I
+      mean the patients who are rolling in riches&mdash;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&mdash;and, when I do go back,
+      they will find the fees increased. <i>My</i> fingers and thumbs, Mr.
+      Governor, are not to be insulted with impunity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall nodded her head at me. It was an eloquent nod. &ldquo;Admire my
+      spirited friend,&rdquo; was the interpretation I put on it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the same time, my private sentiments suggested that Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;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. &ldquo;Speaking of Mr. Gracedieu, and of the chances of his
+      partial recovery,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;do you think the Minister would benefit by
+      Massage?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t a doubt of it, if you can get rid of the doctor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think he would be an obstacle in the way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are some medical men who are honorable exceptions to the general
+      rule; and he may be one of them,&rdquo; Mrs. Tenbruggen admitted. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be too
+      hopeful. As a doctor, he belongs to the most tyrannical trades-union in
+      existence. May I make a personal remark?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I find something in your manner&mdash;pray don&rsquo;t suppose that I am angry&mdash;which
+      looks like distrust; I mean, distrust of me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s ever ready kindness interfered in my defense: &ldquo;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, &lsquo;Distrust Is Mean.&rsquo; I know a
+      young person, whose name begins with H, who is one mass of meanness. But&rdquo;&mdash;excellent
+      Selina paused, and pointed to me with a gesture of triumph&mdash;&ldquo;no
+      meanness there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Tenbruggen waited to hear what I had to say, scornfully insensible to
+      Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s well-meant interruption.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are not altogether mistaken,&rdquo; I told her. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t say that my mind
+      is in a state of distrust, but I own that you puzzle me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How, if you please?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I presume that you remember the occasion when we met at Mr.
+      Gracedieu&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;If it escapes my memory,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;pray
+      remind me of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I determined to remind her of it. Whether I could depend on her to tell me
+      the truth, might be quite another thing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLVIII. THE DECISION OF EUNICE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Eunice ran out to meet us, and opened the gate. She was instantly folded
+      in Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s arms. On her release, she came to me, eager for news of
+      her father&rsquo;s health. When I had communicated all that I thought it right
+      to tell her of the doctor&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Darling Euneece, you remember Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;s name, I am sure?
+      Elizabeth, this is my sweet girl; I mentioned her in my letters to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope she will be <i>my</i> 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&rsquo;t look like happy eyes. You want Mamma Tenbruggen to cheer
+      you. What a charming old house!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She put her arm round Eunice&rsquo;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&rsquo;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. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure, ma&rsquo;am, you must have children
+      of your own,&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What wonderful self-possession!&rdquo; somebody whispered in my ear. The
+      children in the room were healthy, well-behaved little creatures&mdash;but
+      the name of the innocent one among them was Selina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before dinner we were shown over the farm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that lady a friend of yours?&rdquo; she asked. &ldquo;No; only an acquaintance.
+      What do you think of her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;t know which of us was the oldest, she gave
+      me an impudent tap on the cheek, and said, &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t believe you, child,&rsquo; 
+      and left me. How can Selina be so fond of her? Don&rsquo;t mention it to any one
+      else; I hope I shall never see her again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will keep your secret, Eunice; and you must keep mine. I entirely agree
+      with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You agree with me in disliking her?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heartily.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      We could say no more at that time. Our friends in advance were waiting for
+      us. We joined them at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s adopted child&mdash;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&rsquo;s name, was I to do?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At dinner-time we found the master of the house waiting to bid us welcome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The social arrangements, when our meal was over, fell of themselves into
+      the right train.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The entry in her Journal, which she was anxious that I should read, was
+      placed before me next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I followed the poor child&rsquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;can be felt moving in us, in a train
+      of thought, and seen as visible manifestations, in a dream&mdash;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&rsquo;s life has been good,
+      does eternal annihilation separate them, when the mother&rsquo;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&mdash;with my
+      whole heart declared&mdash;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&rsquo;s eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You told me yesterday,&rdquo; I reminded her, &ldquo;that I was to say you had
+      forgiven him. Do you still wish me to do that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed I do!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you thought of it seriously? Are you sure of not having been hurried
+      by a generous impulse into saying more than you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been thinking of it,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;through the wakeful hours of last
+      night&mdash;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;t forget that.
+      Miserably as it has ended, I don&rsquo;t forget that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she
+      said faintly; &ldquo;I am not going to cry. Don&rsquo;t look so sorry for me.&rdquo; Her
+      hand pressed my hand gently&mdash;<i>she</i> pitied <i>me</i>. 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She asked to be allowed to speak of Philip again, and for the last time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you meet with him in London, he may perhaps ask if you have seen
+      Eunice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My child! he is sure to ask.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Break it to him gently&mdash;but don&rsquo;t let him deceive himself. In this
+      world, he must never hope to see me again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I tried&mdash;very gently&mdash;to remonstrate. &ldquo;At your age, and at his
+      age,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;surely there is hope?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no hope.&rdquo; She pressed her hand on her heart. &ldquo;I know it, I feel
+      it, here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Eunice, it&rsquo;s hard for me to say that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will try to make it easier for you. Say that I have forgiven him&mdash;and
+      say no more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XLIX. THE GOVERNOR ON HIS GUARD.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you come in here for a moment?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;The farmer has been
+      called away, and I want to speak to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Very unwillingly&mdash;but how could I have refused without giving
+      offense?&mdash;I entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you noticed my keeping my name from you,&rdquo; Mrs. Tenbruggen began,
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t you sit down?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had purposely remained standing as a hint to her not to prolong the
+      interview. The hint was thrown away; I took a chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Selina&rsquo;s letters had informed me,&rdquo; she resumed, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I began to be interested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I remember how you spoke to Mr. Gracedieu,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;when you and he met,
+      long ago, in my rooms. But surely you don&rsquo;t think him capable of
+      vindictively remembering some thoughtless words, which escaped you sixteen
+      or seventeen years since?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;&rdquo; She paused, and finished the sentence by a
+      significant gesture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;he is within your reach now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And out of his mind,&rdquo; she added. &ldquo;Besides, one&rsquo;s sense of injury doesn&rsquo;t
+      last (except in novels and plays) through a series of years. I don&rsquo;t pity
+      him&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She stopped me at the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One word more,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;while Selina is out of the way. I need hardly
+      tell you that I have not trusted her with the Minister&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What advantage?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t indeed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t try
+      to look as if you didn&rsquo;t know. That is really too ridiculous.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You alluded just now,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;to our &lsquo;advantage&rsquo; in being the only
+      persons who know the truth about the two girls. Well, Mrs. Tenbruggen, I
+      keep <i>my</i> advantage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In other words,&rdquo; she rejoined, &ldquo;you leave me to make the discovery
+      myself. Well, my friend, I mean to do it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To begin with, she would certainly share Philip&rsquo;s aversion to the
+      Masseuse, and her dislike of Miss Jillgall would, just as possibly, extend
+      to Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s friend. The hostile feeling thus set up might be
+      trusted to keep watch on Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;s proceedings, with a vigilance
+      not attainable by the coarser observation of a man. In the event, of an
+      improvement in the Minister&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I started for London by the early train in the morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next day&rsquo;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: &ldquo;Helena
+      means to make him marry her; and I promise you she shall fail, if I can
+      stop it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In two days more, I received a line from Eunice, written evidently in the
+      greatest agitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0050" id="link2HCH0050">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER L. THE NEWS FROM THE FARM.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will sympathize, I am sure&rdquo; (she writes), &ldquo;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&rsquo;t you?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am ashamed to mention the poor dear Minister in a postscript. The truth
+      is, I don&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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; &lsquo;No; we
+      must not run that risk yet.&rsquo; I am barely civil to him, and no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;my heart is an extinct crater.
+      Figurative again! I had better put my pen away, and say farewell for the
+      present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall may now give place to Eunice. The same day&rsquo;s post brought me
+      both letters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I get news&mdash;and what heartbreaking news!&mdash;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&rsquo;s visit to the farm, discovered I don&rsquo;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&mdash;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The farmer&rsquo;s wife&mdash;dear good soul!&mdash;hardly understands me so
+      well as her husband does. She confesses to pitying Philip. &lsquo;He is so
+      wretched,&rsquo; she says. &lsquo;And, dear heart, how handsome, and what nice,
+      winning manners! I don&rsquo;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&mdash;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.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These are trifling things to mention, but I am afraid you may think I am
+      unhappy&mdash;and I want to prevent that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that reassuring view of her life as a governess, the poor child&rsquo;s
+      letter comes to an end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0051" id="link2HCH0051">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LI. THE TRIUMPH OF MRS. TENBRUGGEN.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;for I alone know the end which they are
+      designed to reach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The arrival of this news affected me in two different ways.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was discouraging to find that circumstances had not justified my
+      reliance on Helena&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first sentences in Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s letter explain the nature of her
+      interest in the proceedings of her friend, and are, on that account, worth
+      reading.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Things are sadly changed for the worse&rdquo; (Selina writes); &ldquo;but I don&rsquo;t
+      forget that Philip was once engaged to Euneece, and that Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;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: &lsquo;Philip may
+      return to Euneece; the Minister may recover&mdash;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?&rsquo; 
+      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&rsquo; 
+      ages, it is quite needless to tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;s method of keeping Miss Jillgall in ignorance of what she
+      was really about, and Miss Jillgall&rsquo;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&rsquo;s enterprise, by my correspondent and myself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On her side, Miss Jillgall was entirely ignorant that one of the two girls
+      was not Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;s daughter, but his adopted child. On my side, I was
+      entirely ignorant of Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;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&mdash;my
+      poor demented friend, and the orphan whom his mercy received into his
+      heart and his home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall goes on with her curious story, as follows:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      .......
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Always desirous of making myself useful, I thought I would give my dear
+      Elizabeth a hint which might save time and trouble. &lsquo;Why not begin,&rsquo; I
+      suggested, &lsquo;by asking the Governor to help you?&rsquo; That wonderful woman
+      never forgets anything. She had already applied to you, without success.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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: &lsquo;Might I ask if you are older than
+      your sister?&rsquo; The answer was, of course: &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&rsquo; And here, for
+      once, the most deceitful girl in existence spoke the truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When we were alone again, Elizabeth made a remark: &lsquo;If personal
+      appearance could decide the question,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;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.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My friend&rsquo;s lawyer received confidential instructions (not shown to me,
+      which seems rather hard) to trace the two Miss Gracedieus&rsquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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 <i>Times</i> newspaper. Even here, there was
+      a fatal obstacle. The name of the place in which Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;s daughter
+      had been born was not added, as usual. I still tried to be useful. Had my
+      friend known the Minister&rsquo;s wife? My friend had never even seen the
+      Minister&rsquo;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. &lsquo;People have such strange ideas about
+      likenesses,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;and arrive at such contradictory conclusions. One
+      can only trust one&rsquo;s own eyes in a matter of that kind.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I asked Elizabeth what she proposed to do next.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said: &lsquo;Surely, you have forgotten the sad state of his mind?&rsquo; No; she
+      knew perfectly well that he was imbecile. &lsquo;I want to try,&rsquo; she explained,
+      &lsquo;if I can rouse him for a few minutes.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;By Massage?&rsquo; I inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She burst out laughing. &lsquo;Massage, my dear, doesn&rsquo;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.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We went to his room. Don&rsquo;t blame me for giving way; I am too fond of
+      Elizabeth to be able to disappoint her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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: &lsquo;Are you a
+      Christian or a Pagan? You are very pretty. How many times can you catch
+      the ball in the cup?&rsquo; 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&mdash;and to see him now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Elizabeth whispered: &lsquo;Leave me alone with him.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know why I did such a rude thing&mdash;I hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Elizabeth asked me if I had no confidence in her. I was ashamed of
+      myself; I left them together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; I said, &lsquo;how has it ended?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite calmly my noble Elizabeth answered: &lsquo;In total failure.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;What did you say to him after you sent me away?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;I tried, in every possible way, to get him to tell me which of his two
+      daughters was the oldest.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Did he refuse to answer?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;He was only too ready to answer. First, he said Helena was the oldest&mdash;then
+      he corrected himself, and declared that Eunice was the oldest&mdash;then
+      he said they were twins&mdash;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&rsquo;t tell you how often, and seemed to think it a better game
+      than cup-and-ball.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;What is to be done?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;Nothing is to be done, Selina.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&lsquo;What!&rsquo; I cried, &lsquo;you give it up?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My heroic friend answered: &lsquo;I know when I am beaten, my dear&mdash;I give
+      it up.&rsquo; 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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that expression of confidence in me, Selina&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s
+      letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought I might have got at what I wanted,&rdquo; she told me, &ldquo;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&rsquo;t believe in mesmerism.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My looks, Mrs. Tenbruggen, exactly express my opinion. Mesmerism is a
+      humbug!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You amusing old Tory! Shall I throw you into a state of trance? No! I&rsquo;ll
+      give you a shock of another kind&mdash;a shock of surprise. I know as much
+      as you do about Mr. Gracedieu&rsquo;s daughters. What do you think of that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I should like to hear you tell me, which is the adopted child.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Helena, to be sure!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did you arrive at your discovery?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;I know of nobody who
+      could have helped you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I helped myself, sir! I reasoned it out. A wonderful thing for a woman to
+      do, isn&rsquo;t it? I wonder whether you could follow the process?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;s vanity took me into her confidence. &ldquo;In the first
+      place,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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&rsquo;s example. Very well. Now&mdash;in the second place&mdash;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&rsquo; 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 <i>his</i> child. And Helena
+      was once the baby whom I carried into the prison. Do you deny that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t deny it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Only four words! But they were deceitfully spoken, and the deceit&mdash;practiced
+      in Eunice&rsquo;s interest, it is needless to say&mdash;succeeded. Mrs.
+      Tenbruggen&rsquo;s object in visiting me was attained; I had confirmed her
+      belief in the delusion that Helena was the adopted child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As I attended her to the house-door, she turned to me with her mischievous
+      smile. &ldquo;I have taken some trouble in finding the clew to the Minister&rsquo;s
+      mystery,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you wonder why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I did wonder,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;would you tell me why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She laughed at the bare idea of it. &ldquo;Another lesson,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Of the events which followed Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;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&rsquo;t know. Yes! the force of
+      circumstances does really compel me to say it, and say it seriously&mdash;I
+      declare, on my word of honor, I don&rsquo;t know.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Third period: 1876. <i>HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY RESUMED.</i>
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0052" id="link2HCH0052">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LII. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY RESUMED.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      While my father remains in his present helpless condition, somebody must
+      assume a position of command in this house. There cannot be a moment&rsquo;s
+      doubt that I am the person to do it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really, Mrs. Tenbruggen,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She listened to this, all smiles and good-humor: &ldquo;My dear, do you know how
+      I might answer you, if I was an ill-natured woman?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have no curiosity to hear it, Mrs. Tenbruggen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I might ask you,&rdquo; she persisted, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you going to say much more, Mrs. Tenbruggen?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am going to make a sensible remark, my child. If you feel tired, permit
+      me&mdash;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 <i>Tempus fugit</i> (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&mdash;Napoleon&mdash;had
+      time enough for everything. The greatest novelist of the century&mdash;Sir
+      Walter Scott&mdash;had time enough for everything. At my humble distance,
+      I imitate those illustrious men, and my patients never complain of me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you done?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, dear&mdash;for the present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t seem to be aware of. You are a Bore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is a specimen of the customary encounter of our wits. I place it on
+      record in my Journal, to excuse myself <i>to</i> 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: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;t even look at her, if they meet by accident on the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      People who can enjoy the melancholy spectacle of human nature in a state
+      of degradation would be at a loss which exhibition to prefer&mdash;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&rsquo;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:
+      &ldquo;Oh, if I was rich enough to leave this wicked house!&rdquo; I wonder whether
+      there is insanity (as well as poverty) in Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s family?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Last night my mind was in a harassed state. Philip was, as usual, the
+      cause of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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&mdash;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&rsquo;s estimation. Besides, there was the risk, if I
+      had allowed Philip to remain long away from me, of losing&mdash;no, while
+      I keep my beauty I cannot be in such danger as that&mdash;let me say, of
+      permitting time and absence to weaken my hold on him. However sullen and
+      silent he may be, when we meet&mdash;and I find him in that condition far
+      too often&mdash;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&mdash;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?&mdash;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: &ldquo;How are we to live? where is the money?&rdquo; The maddening part of it
+      is that I cannot accuse him of raising objections that don&rsquo;t exist. We are
+      poorer than ever here, since my father&rsquo;s illness&mdash;and Philip&rsquo;s
+      allowance is barely enough to suffice him as a single man. Oh, how I hate
+      the rich!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One of these last romances in real life caught a strong hold on my
+      interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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: &ldquo;There is the wretch who has
+      been trying to persuade me to poison your mother!&rdquo; As it happened, the old
+      lady&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the last two days, I have been confined to my room with a bad feverish
+      cold&mdash;caught, as I suppose, by sitting at an open window reading my
+      book till nearly three o&rsquo;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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Can</i> 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&mdash;oh, I
+      feel it <i>is</i> 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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0053" id="link2HCH0053">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LIII. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY RESUMED.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rest of the day passed in vain speculations on Philip&rsquo;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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We met again to-day as usual. He has behaved infamously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When I asked what had been his object in going to London, I was told that
+      it was &ldquo;a matter of business.&rdquo; 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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was he really in earnest? &ldquo;You,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;who distrusted and detested her&mdash;you
+      are on friendly terms with that woman?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He remonstrated with me. &ldquo;My dear Helena, don&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My silence began to irritate Philip. &ldquo;I never knew before how obstinate
+      you could be,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;you seem to be doing your best&mdash;I can&rsquo;t
+      imagine why&mdash;to lower yourself in my estimation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;and she has made her interests his interests already!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;I earn more money than
+      I know what to do with; and I adore Irish lace.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;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: &lsquo;Sweets to the sweet.&rsquo; A charming thought of
+      Shakespeare&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Well done, Mrs. Tenbruggen! She doesn&rsquo;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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While this reflection was passing through my mind, Miss Jillgall came in&mdash;saw
+      the nosegay on the table&mdash;and instantly pounced on it. &ldquo;Oh, for me!
+      for me!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I noticed it this morning on Elizabeth&rsquo;s table. How
+      very kind of her!&rdquo; She plunged her inquisitive nose into the poor flowers,
+      and looked up sentimentally at the ceiling. &ldquo;The perfume of goodness,&rdquo; she
+      remarked, &ldquo;mingled with the perfume of flowers!&rdquo; &ldquo;When you have quite done
+      with it,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;perhaps you will be so good as to return my nosegay?&rdquo; &ldquo;<i>Your</i>
+      nosegay!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;There is Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;s letter,&rdquo; I replied,
+      &ldquo;if you would like to look at it.&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s nose had completely spoiled them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She troubles me; she does indeed trouble me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Your sister is a nice
+      girl, but she is like other nice girls&mdash;she doesn&rsquo;t interest me.&rdquo;
+       There is Eunice&rsquo;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&rsquo;s secret mind; and never before
+      have I been so completely baffled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I had written as far as this, and was on the point of closing my Journal,
+      when a third note arrived from Mrs. Tenbruggen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What can she have to say to me which she has not already said? Is it
+      anything about Philip, I wonder?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0054" id="link2HCH0054">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LIV. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY RESUMED.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      At our interview of the next day, Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I thought this a remarkable effort for a woman; and I recognized the merit
+      of it by leaving the lion&rsquo;s share of the talk to my visitor. In these
+      terms she opened her business with me:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Has Mr. Philip Dunboyne told you why he went to London?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He made a commonplace excuse,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;Business, he said, took him
+      to London. I know no more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have a fair prospect of happiness, Miss Helena, when you are married&mdash;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&mdash;whom we used
+      to call the Governor. You know him, I believe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. But I am at a loss to imagine why Philip should have consulted him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you ever heard or read, Miss Helena, of such a thing as &lsquo;an old
+      man&rsquo;s fancy&rsquo;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, the Governor has taken an old man&rsquo;s fancy to your sister. They
+      appeared to understand each other perfectly when I was at the farmhouse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Excuse me, Mrs. Tenbruggen, that is what I know already. Why did Philip
+      go to the Governor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She smiled. &ldquo;If anybody is acquainted with the true state of your sister&rsquo;s
+      feelings, the Governor is the man. I sent Mr. Dunboyne to consult him&mdash;and
+      there is the reason for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s return to Eunice? What right had
+      he to consult anybody about the state of that girl&rsquo;s feelings? <i>My</i>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Philip Dunboyne is an excellent fellow,&rdquo; she continued; &ldquo;I really like
+      him&mdash;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&mdash;may
+      I say for your sake also?&mdash;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&rsquo;s secrets; it
+      was pure guesswork on my part, and it has succeeded. There is no more
+      doubt now about Miss Eunice&rsquo;s sentiments. The question is settled.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In my favor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly in your favor&mdash;or I should not have said a word about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was Philip&rsquo;s visit kindly received? Or did the old wretch laugh at him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s sentiments. He arrived at a favorable
+      conclusion. I can repeat Philip&rsquo;s questions and the Governor&rsquo;s answers
+      after putting the young man through a stiff examination just as they
+      passed: &lsquo;May I inquire, sir, if she has spoken to you about me?&rsquo; &lsquo;She has
+      often spoken about you.&rsquo; &lsquo;Did she seem to be angry with me?&rsquo; &lsquo;She is too
+      good and too sweet to be angry with you.&rsquo; &lsquo;Do you think she will forgive
+      me?&rsquo; &lsquo;She has forgiven you.&rsquo; &lsquo;Did she say so herself?&rsquo; &lsquo;Yes, of her own
+      free will.&rsquo; &lsquo;Why did she refuse to see me when I called at the farm?&rsquo; &lsquo;She
+      had her own reasons&mdash;good reasons.&rsquo; &lsquo;Has she regretted it since?&rsquo; 
+      &lsquo;Certainly not.&rsquo; &lsquo;Is it likely that she would consent, if I proposed a
+      reconciliation?&rsquo; &lsquo;I put that question to her myself.&rsquo; &lsquo;How did she take
+      it, sir?&rsquo; &lsquo;She declined to take it.&rsquo; &lsquo;You mean that she declined a
+      reconciliation?&rsquo; &lsquo;Yes.&rsquo; &lsquo;Are you sure she was in earnest?&rsquo; &lsquo;I am
+      positively sure.&rsquo; That last answer seems, by young Dunboyne&rsquo;s own
+      confession, to have been enough, and more than enough for him. He got up
+      to go&mdash;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. &lsquo;Before we say good-by, Mr. Philip, one word
+      more. If I was as young as you are, I should not despair.&rsquo; There is a
+      sudden change of front! Who can explain it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Governor&rsquo;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. &ldquo;Go
+      on,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;I am prepared to hear next that Philip has paid another
+      visit to my sister, and has been received this time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I must say this for Mrs. Tenbruggen: she kept her temper perfectly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He has not been to the farm,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;but he has done something nearly
+      as foolish. He has written to your sister.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he has received a favorable reply, of course?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She put her hand into the pocket of her dress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is your sister&rsquo;s reply,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Nobody who knows Eunice would have supposed that she possessed those two
+      valuable qualities&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I returned the letter to Mrs. Tenbruggen, with the sincerest expressions
+      of regret for having doubted her. &ldquo;I have been unworthy of your generous
+      interest in me,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;I am almost ashamed to offer you my hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She took my hand, and gave it a good, heady shake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are we friends?&rdquo; she asked, in the simplest and prettiest manner. &ldquo;Then
+      let us be easy and pleasant again,&rdquo; she went on. &ldquo;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 <i>him</i> 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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She burst out laughing. &ldquo;What a sacrifice!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will do anything that you advise,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you will do well, my child. In the first place, the hotel is too
+      expensive for Philip&rsquo;s small means. In the second place, two of the
+      chambermaids have audaciously presumed to be charming girls; and the men,
+      my dear&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This last piece of advice staggered me. I mentioned the Proprieties. Mrs.
+      Tenbruggen laughed at the Proprieties.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Make Selina of some use,&rdquo; she suggested. &ldquo;While you have got <i>her</i>
+      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&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0055" id="link2HCH0055">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LV. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY RESUMED.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      I did think of it. Philip came to us, and lived in our house.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;nothing
+      would induce her to take a chair, or even to enter the room&mdash;Miss
+      Jillgall delivered her opinion on Philip&rsquo;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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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 <i>he</i> is helpless. At whatever
+      sacrifice of my own self-respect, I remain under this roof, so dear to me
+      for the Minister&rsquo;s sake. I notice, miss, that you smile. I see my once
+      dear Elizabeth, the friend who has so bitterly disappointed me&mdash;&rdquo; she
+      stopped, and put her handkerchief to her eyes, and went on again&mdash;&ldquo;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.&rdquo; She performed a magnificent
+      curtsey, and (as Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;s experience of the stage informed me)
+      made a very creditable exit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A week has passed, and I have not opened my Diary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;not to be coldly
+      considered, and reduced to an imperfect statement in words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s services.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three days more have slipped by. The aspect of my heaven on earth is
+      beginning to alter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps the author of that wonderful French novel, &ldquo;L&rsquo;Ame Damne&rsquo;e,&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To-day, when he did not know that I was observing him, I discovered a
+      preoccupied look in Philip&rsquo;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&rsquo;t think of it any
+      more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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&mdash;I declare
+      I can hardly believe it even now&mdash;I did positively see Miss Jillgall
+      coming out of a pawnbroker&rsquo;s shop!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;clock it was. She said,
+      &ldquo;You have got your own watch.&rdquo; I told her my watch had stopped. &ldquo;So has
+      mine,&rdquo; 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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Naturally enough, I asked what he had been about. He had been taking a
+      long walk. For his health&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had anticipated that I should appeal to her opinion, as a woman of the
+      world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;t deny
+      showed a true interest in helping me. I was ungrateful, sulky,
+      self-opinionated. Dating from that day&rsquo;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&mdash;and failed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s
+      advice!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three events since yesterday, which I consider, trifling as they may be,
+      intimations of something wrong.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am beginning to doubt everybody. Not one of them, Philip included, cares
+      for me&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it is, I am more clever than the doctor. What brought the fit on is
+      well known to me. Rage&mdash;furious, overpowering, deadly rage&mdash;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, &ldquo;My angel, I love you!&rdquo; 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&mdash;she is a very
+      amusing person.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I slept last night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Good-by,
+      Miss Helena. I am going to stay for a day or two with a friend.&rdquo; What
+      friend? Who cares?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The moment he started on his drive, I hired a closed cab. &ldquo;Double your
+      fare,&rdquo; I said to the driver, &ldquo;whatever it may be, if you follow that
+      chaise cleverly, and do what I tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He nodded and winked at me. A wicked-looking old fellow; just the man I
+      wanted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We followed the chaise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0056" id="link2HCH0056">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LVI. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY RESUMED.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If we keep too near the gentleman, miss, he has only got to look back,
+      and he&rsquo;ll see we are following him. The safe thing to do is to let the
+      chaise get on a bit. We can&rsquo;t lose sight of it, out here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I had felt inclined to trust in the driver&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t
+      see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;and what next?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t deny it;
+      but I&rsquo;ve known him for years&mdash;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&rsquo;s to be done,
+      specially if there happens to be a lady in the case. No offense, miss;
+      it&rsquo;s in my experience that there&rsquo;s generally a lady in the case. Anyhow,
+      you can judge for yourself, and you&rsquo;ll know where to find me waiting when
+      you want me again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose something happens,&rdquo; I suggested, &ldquo;that we don&rsquo;t expect?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shan&rsquo;t lose my head, miss, whatever happens.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All very well, coachman; but I have only your word for it.&rdquo; In the
+      irritable state of my mind, the man&rsquo;s confident way of thinking annoyed
+      me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Begging your pardon, my young lady, you&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose you mean,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;that you have learned deceit in the
+      wicked ways of the great city.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took this as a compliment. &ldquo;Thank you, miss. That&rsquo;s it exactly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In your place, miss,&rdquo; he said slyly, &ldquo;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&rsquo;ll find yourself at the back of the house.&rdquo; He
+      stopped, and looked at his big silver watch. &ldquo;Half-past twelve,&rdquo; he said,
+      &ldquo;the Chawbacons&mdash;I mean the farmhouse servants, miss&mdash;will be at
+      their dinner. All in your favor, so far. If the dog happens to be loose,
+      don&rsquo;t forget that his name&rsquo;s Grinder; call him by his name, and pat him
+      before he has time enough to think, and he&rsquo;ll let you be. When you want
+      me, here you&rsquo;ll find me waiting for orders.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;an orchard or a
+      garden, as I supposed, filling the intermediate space&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid, dear Mr. Philip, you don&rsquo;t quite understand my sweet
+      Euneece. Honorable, high minded, delicate in her feelings, and, oh, so
+      unselfish! I don&rsquo;t want to alarm you, but when she hears you have been
+      deceiving Helena&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Upon my word, Miss Jillgall, you are so provoking! I have not been
+      deceiving Helena. Haven&rsquo;t I told you what discouraging answers I got, when
+      I went to see the Governor? Haven&rsquo;t I shown you Eunice&rsquo;s reply to my
+      letter? You can&rsquo;t have forgotten it already?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I have. Why should I remember it? Don&rsquo;t I know poor Euneece was
+      in your mind, all the time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&rsquo;re wrong again! Eunice was not in my mind all the time. I was hurt&mdash;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&mdash;she rose in my
+      estimation by comparison with her sister.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, come, come, Mr. Philip! that won&rsquo;t do. Helena rising in anybody&rsquo;s
+      estimation? Ha! ha! ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Laugh as much as you like, Miss Jillgall, you won&rsquo;t laugh away the facts.
+      Helena loved me; Helena was true to me. Don&rsquo;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&rsquo;t do on another. Try to understand that a change does sometimes come
+      over one&rsquo;s feelings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bless my soul, Mr. Philip, that&rsquo;s just what I have been understanding all
+      the time! I know your mind as well as you know it yourself. You can&rsquo;t
+      forget my sweet Euneece.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;for you
+      are my friend, I am sure&mdash;persuade her to see me, if it&rsquo;s only for a
+      minute!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      (Was there ever a man&rsquo;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.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;go back to
+      your Helena.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t endure
+      her; and (I tell you this in confidence) she has herself to thank for what
+      has happened.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that really true?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me what she did.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, don&rsquo;t talk of her! Persuade Eunice to see me. I shall come back
+      again, and again, and again till you bring her to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please don&rsquo;t talk nonsense. If she changes her mind, I will bring her
+      with pleasure. If she still shrinks from it, I regard Euneece&rsquo;s feelings
+      as sacred. Take my advice; don&rsquo;t press her. Leave her time to think of
+      you, and to pity you&mdash;and that true heart may be yours again, if you
+      are worthy of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Worthy of it? What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you quite sure, my young friend, that you won&rsquo;t go back to Helena?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go back to <i>her</i>? I would cut my throat if I thought myself capable
+      of doing it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How did she set you against her? Did the wretch quarrel with you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t like saying such a
+      thing of a woman, but if you will have the truth&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Mr. Philip&mdash;and what is the truth?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Helena disgusts me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0057" id="link2HCH0057">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LVII. HELENA&rsquo;S DIARY RESUMED.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      So it was all settled between them. Philip is to throw me away, like one
+      of his bad cigars, for this unanswerable reason: &ldquo;Helena disgusts me.&rdquo; And
+      he is to persuade Eunice to take my place, and be his wife. Yes! if I let
+      him do it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I heard no more of their talk. With that last, worst outrage burning in my
+      memory, I left the place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;If I was to tell you to tear Mr. Philip Dunboyne
+      to pieces, would you do it?&rdquo; The great good-natured brute held out his paw
+      to shake hands. Well! well! I was not an object of disgust to the dog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;You look dreadfully ill,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I answered that I had been out for a little exercise, and had
+      over-fatigued myself; and then changed the subject. &ldquo;Does my father seem
+      to improve under your treatment?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It excites him dreadfully.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In what way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cabinet was full of old letters. I could tell her that&mdash;and could
+      tell her no more. I had never heard of his brother-in-law. Another of his
+      delusions, no doubt. &ldquo;Did you ever hear him speak,&rdquo; Mrs. Tenbruggen went
+      on, &ldquo;of a place called Low Lanes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you any particular interest in the place?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;None whatever.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. Philip Dunboyne had returned. In Miss Jillgall&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Tenbruggen came in again after dinner, still not quite easy about my
+      health. &ldquo;How flushed you are!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Let me feel your pulse.&rdquo; I
+      laughed, and left her with Mr. Philip Dunboyne.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Passing my father&rsquo;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&mdash;how, she knows best&mdash;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: &ldquo;Which are
+      you? Eunice or Helena?&rdquo; When I had answered him, he beckoned me to come
+      nearer. &ldquo;I am getting stronger every minute,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;We will go
+      traveling to-morrow, and see the place where you were born.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Where had I been born? He had never told me where. Had he mentioned the
+      place in Mrs. Tenbruggen&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I went back to my bedroom, and opened my Diary, and read the story again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A knock at my door interrupted me in the midst of my plans. Mrs.
+      Tenbruggen again!&mdash;still in a fidgety state of feeling on the subject
+      of my health. &ldquo;Which is it?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Pain of body, my dear, or pain of
+      mind? I am anxious about you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Elizabeth, your sympathy is thrown away on me. As I have told you
+      already, I am over-tired&mdash;nothing more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was relieved to hear that I had no mental troubles to complain of.
+      &ldquo;Fatigue,&rdquo; she remarked, &ldquo;sets itself right with rest. Did you take a very
+      long walk?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beyond the limits of the town, of course? Philip has been taking a walk
+      in the country, too. He doesn&rsquo;t say that he met you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have I interrupted you in writing?&rdquo; she asked, pointing to my Diary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I was idling over what I have written already&mdash;an extraordinary
+      story which I copied from a book.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I look at it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a piece of family history,&rdquo; I said; &ldquo;I
+      think you will agree with me that it is really interesting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coarse melodrama!&rdquo; Mrs. Tenbruggen declared. &ldquo;Mere sensation. No analysis
+      of character. A made-up story!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well made up, surely?&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t agree with you.&rdquo; Her voice was not quite so steady as usual. She
+      asked suddenly if my clock was right&mdash;and declared that she should be
+      late for an appointment. On taking leave she pressed my hand strongly&mdash;eyed
+      me with distrustful attention and said, very emphatically: &ldquo;Take care of
+      yourself, Helena; pray take care of yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Impossible!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;t set down in my book. I
+      only say: We shall see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The servant&rsquo;s doubts of my patience proved to have been well founded. I
+      got tired of waiting, and went home before the doctor returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To-day has brought forth&mdash;nothing. Mrs. Tenbruggen still keeps away
+      from us. It looks as if my Diary had something to do with the mystery of
+      her absence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am not in good spirits to-day. My nerves&mdash;if I have such things,
+      which is more than I know by my own experience&mdash;have been a little
+      shaken by a horrid dream. The medical information, which my thirst for
+      knowledge absorbed in the doctor&rsquo;s consulting-room, turned traitor&mdash;armed
+      itself with the grotesque horrors of nightmare&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;In a few days
+      more,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I shall ask for leave of absence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there any other motive for your departure?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What other motive can there be?&rdquo; he replied. I put what I had to say to
+      him in plainer words still. &ldquo;Tell me, Philip, are you beginning to wish
+      that you were a free man again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I fancy you have been out of temper lately,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He answered: &ldquo;I have not been very well lately.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And that is all?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;that is all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Third Period <i>(continued)</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>EVENTS IN THE FAMILY, RELATED BY MISS JILLGALL.</i> <a
+      name="link2HCH0058" id="link2HCH0058">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LVIII. DANGER.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s movements.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;I blush while I write it&mdash;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&rsquo;s devotion, assisted by my
+      influence, will yet prevail. Let me not despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have news of Mrs. Tenbruggen which will, I think, surprise you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;I said to her: &ldquo;Elizabeth, you appear to have
+      changed your opinion of the two girls, since I saw you.&rdquo; She answered,
+      with a delightful candor which reminded me of old times: &ldquo;Completely!&rdquo; I
+      said: &ldquo;A woman of your intellectual caliber, dear, doesn&rsquo;t change her mind
+      without a good reason for it.&rdquo; Elizabeth cordially agreed with me. I
+      ventured to be a little more explicit: &ldquo;You have no doubt made some
+      interesting discovery.&rdquo; Elizabeth agreed again; and I ventured again: &ldquo;I
+      suppose I may not ask what the discovery is?&rdquo; &ldquo;No, Selina, you may not
+      ask.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have just received some overwhelming news, in the form of a neat parcel,
+      addressed to myself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There has been a scandal at the hotel. That monster in human form,
+      Elizabeth&rsquo;s husband, is aware of his wife&rsquo;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 &ldquo;restore his conjugal rights.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;t live who can circumvent Elizabeth. The English Court of
+      Law isn&rsquo;t built which can catch her when she roams the free and glorious
+      Continent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The vastness of this amazing woman&rsquo;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. &ldquo;I too was deceived by that cunning young
+      Woman,&rdquo; she writes. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+       I don&rsquo;t presume to correct Elizabeth&rsquo;s language. I should have called you
+      The idol of the Women.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The second inclosure contains, as I suppose, a wedding present. It is
+      carefully sealed&mdash;it feels no bigger than an ordinary letter&mdash;and
+      it contains an inscription which your highly-cultivated intelligence may
+      be able to explain. I copy it as follows:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To be inclosed in another envelope, addressed to Mr. Dunboyne the elder,
+      at Percy&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Why is this mysterious letter to be sent to Philip&rsquo;s father? I wonder
+      whether that circumstance will puzzle you as it has puzzled me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have kept my report back, so as to send you the last news relating to
+      Philip&rsquo;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: &ldquo;It isn&rsquo;t exactly pain; I feel as if I was sinking. Sometimes I am
+      giddy; and sometimes I find myself feeling thirsty and sick.&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He is no better; and he wishes to have medical help. Helena doesn&rsquo;t seem
+      to understand his illness. It was not until Philip had insisted on seeing
+      him that she consented to send for the doctor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two days more have passed. The doctor has put two very strange questions
+      to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For God&rsquo;s sake come here as soon as you possibly can. The whole burden is
+      thrown on me&mdash;and I am quite unequal to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t want to have a listener at the door. Come out on the
+      lawn, where we can be sure that we are alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When we were in the garden, he noticed that I was trembling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rouse your courage, Miss Jillgall,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;In the Minister&rsquo;s helpless
+      state there is nobody whom I can speak to but yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I ventured to remind him that he might speak to Helena as well as to
+      myself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked as black as thunder when I mentioned her name. All he said was,
+      &ldquo;No!&rdquo; But, oh, if you had heard his voice&mdash;and he so gentle and
+      sweet-tempered at other times&mdash;you would have felt, as I did, that he
+      had Helena in his mind!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, listen to this,&rdquo; he went on. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sir, do you think he will die?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;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&rsquo;s time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was impossible for me to face Helena; I own I was afraid. The cook
+      kindly went upstairs to see who was in Philip&rsquo;s room. It was the
+      housemaid&rsquo;s turn to look after him for a while. I went instantly to his
+      bedside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no persuading him to allow himself to be taken to the hospital.
+      &ldquo;I am dying,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;If you refuse,&rdquo; he said wildly, &ldquo;the grave won&rsquo;t
+      hold me. I&rsquo;ll haunt you for the rest of your life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She shall hear that you are ill,&rdquo; I answered&mdash;and ran out of the
+      room before he could speak again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What I had promised to write, I did write. But, placed between Euneece&rsquo;s
+      danger and Philip&rsquo;s danger, my heart was all for Euneece. Would Helena
+      spare her, if she came to Philip&rsquo;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&rsquo;s
+      illness; and I mentioned that I expected the Governor to return to us
+      immediately. &ldquo;Do nothing,&rdquo; I wrote, &ldquo;without his advice.&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0059" id="link2HCH0059">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LIX. DEFENSE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      One surprise followed another, after I had encountered Euneece at the
+      door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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&mdash;the
+      dining-room. It was only when we were shut in together that she spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which is Philip&rsquo;s room?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who is with him now?&rdquo; was the next strange thing this sadly-changed girl
+      said to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maria is taking her turn,&rdquo; I answered; &ldquo;she assists in nursing Philip.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is&mdash;?&rdquo; 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: &ldquo;Where,&rdquo; she began again, &ldquo;is the other nurse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean Helena?&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean the Poisoner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;You
+      don&rsquo;t know what I have heard,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;you don&rsquo;t know what thoughts
+      have been roused in me.&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at it yourself,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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&rsquo;s house&mdash;I have seen him&mdash;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&rsquo;t believe me when I told him
+      I was on my way here to save Philip&rsquo;s life. He said: &lsquo;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.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was right, Euneece, entirely right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, dear, he was wrong. I begged him to come here, and judge for himself;
+      and I ask you to do the same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I was obstinate. &ldquo;Go back!&rdquo; I persisted. &ldquo;Go back to the farm!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can I see Philip?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+      &ldquo;This is a change indeed, since you refused to receive Philip.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there no change in the circumstances?&rdquo; she asked sadly. &ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t he ill
+      and in danger?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I begged her to forgive me; I said I meant no harm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I gave him up to my sister,&rdquo; she continued, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s jealousy and
+      Helena&rsquo;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&rsquo;s room by the other door. She followed, waiting
+      behind me. I heard what passed between them when Maria went out to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is Miss Gracedieu?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Resting upstairs, miss, in her room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at the clock, and tell me when you expect her to come down here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am to call her, miss, in ten minutes more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait in the dining-room, Maria, till I come back to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She joined me. I held the door open for her to go into Philip&rsquo;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. &ldquo;My Philip!&rdquo; She murmured those words in a kiss. I
+      closed the door, I had a good cry; and, oh, how it comforted me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Go and call Miss
+      Gracedieu.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl looked at her, and saw&mdash;I don&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The faint rustling of Helena&rsquo;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&rsquo;s shoulder. Drops of
+      perspiration showed themselves on the girl&rsquo;s forehead; she stared in
+      vacant terror at the slim little figure, posted firm and still on the mat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Helena turned the corner of the stairs, and waited a moment on the last
+      landing, and saw her sister.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You here?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;What do you want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I looked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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 <i>listening to something</i>. 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Helena must have roused her courage, and resisted her terror. I heard her
+      speak:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me by!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly, steadily, in a whisper, Euneece made that reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Helena tried once more&mdash;still fighting against her own terror: I knew
+      it by the trembling of her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me by,&rdquo; she repeated; &ldquo;I am on my way to Philip&rsquo;s room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will never enter Philip&rsquo;s room again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who will stop me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She had spoken in the same steady whisper throughout&mdash;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&rsquo;s face. I heard her say:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poisoner, go back to your room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Silent and shuddering, Helena shrank away from her&mdash;daunted by her
+      glittering eyes; mastered by her lifted hand pointing up the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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&rsquo;s room&mdash;and was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;I
+      felt like a sleeper, who has half-awakened from a dream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0060" id="link2HCH0060">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LX. DISCOVERY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked care-worn and grieved. I said I was afraid he had brought bad
+      news with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The worst possible news,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;A terrible exposure threatens
+      this family, and I am powerless to prevent it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s
+      shops&mdash;excepting of course the shop at which his own prescriptions
+      were made up&mdash;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. &ldquo;Why, doctor,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;have
+      you forgotten your own prescription?&rdquo; After this, the prescription was
+      asked for, and produced. It was on the paper used by the doctor&mdash;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: &ldquo;Tincture of
+      Digitalis, one ounce&rdquo;&mdash;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. &ldquo;Did you tell me that you knew, by sight, the young lady who
+      brought this prescription?&rdquo; The assistant admitted it. &ldquo;Did you tell me
+      she was Miss Helena Gracedieu?&rdquo; &ldquo;I did.&rdquo; &ldquo;Are you sure of not having made
+      any mistake?&rdquo; &ldquo;Quite sure.&rdquo; The chemist then said: &ldquo;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.&rdquo; 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. &ldquo;You know as well as I do,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;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.&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s visit in the afternoon, and the intention that she
+      expressed of waiting for his master&rsquo;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&rsquo;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. &ldquo;If, as I fear, a legal
+      investigation into Helena&rsquo;s conduct is a possible event,&rdquo; the doctor
+      concluded, &ldquo;there is the evidence that I shall be obliged to give, when I
+      am called as a witness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If she leaves the house at once,&rdquo; the doctor replied, &ldquo;she may escape the
+      infamy of being charged with an attempt at murder by poison; and, in her
+      absence, I can answer for Philip&rsquo;s life. I don&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Keep it for a
+      fitter time,&rdquo; he answered; &ldquo;and think of what I have just said to you.&rdquo;
+       With that, he left me, on his way to Philip&rsquo;s room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;why
+      I went upstairs with my knees knocking together, and opened the door of
+      Helena&rsquo;s room just wide enough to let my hand pass through&mdash;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&mdash;I can only say, in the way
+      of explanation, what I have said already: I was frightened into doing it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What I have written, thus far, I shall send to you by to-night&rsquo;s post.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;&ldquo;a
+      mere girl&rdquo;&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While I remained at home on the watch, keeping the doors of both rooms
+      locked, Eunice went out to get Philip&rsquo;s medicine. She came back, followed
+      by a boy carrying a portable apparatus for cooking. &ldquo;All that Philip
+      wants, and all that we want,&rdquo; she explained, &ldquo;we can provide for
+      ourselves. Give me a morsel of paper to write on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Unhooking the little pencil attached to her watch-chain, she paused and
+      looked toward the door. &ldquo;Somebody listening,&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;Let them
+      listen.&rdquo; 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. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t
+      doubt the servants,&rdquo; she said, speaking distinctly enough to be heard
+      outside; &ldquo;but I am afraid of what a Poisoner&rsquo;s cunning and a Poisoner&rsquo;s
+      desperation may do, in a kitchen which is open to her.&rdquo; I went away on my
+      errand&mdash;discovering no listener outside, I need hardly say. On my
+      return, I found the door of communication with Philip&rsquo;s room closed, but
+      no longer locked. &ldquo;We can now attend on him in turn,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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&rsquo;s help, from time to time, we can employ her under our own
+      superintendence. Have you anything else, Selina, to suggest?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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
+      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t know; my thoughts came to me while I was looking at
+      Philip.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s door softly tried from the outside. Her dreadful purpose
+      had not been given up, even yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor came in the evening, as he had promised, and found an
+      improvement in Philip&rsquo;s health. I mentioned what precautions we had taken,
+      and that they had been devised by Euneece. &ldquo;Are you going to withdraw from
+      the case?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;I am coming back to the case,&rdquo; he answered,
+      &ldquo;to-morrow morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;that he had not given up all hope of being permitted to
+      offer the sincere expression of his penitence to Euneece&mdash;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: &ldquo;This is a treaty of peace between
+      father and son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you still afraid that she may succeed in poisoning Philip?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid of her cunning,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Two more days passed, and we were still safe under the protection of lock
+      and key.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;m really afraid I shall
+      be led into doing it, if she goes on persuading me much longer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s door in
+      her pocket; and I kept the key of the dining-room door in mine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0061" id="link2HCH0061">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LXI. ATROCITY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I see a note in your hand. Was it given to you by the young man
+      who has just left the house?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he&rsquo;s your sweetheart, my dear, I have nothing more to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good gracious, doctor, how you do talk! I never saw the young man before
+      in my life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In that case, Maria, I will ask you to let me look at the address. Aha!
+      Mischief!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray come in,&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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.&rdquo; He joined me in the dining-room, and closed the door. &ldquo;The
+      other day,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;when I told you what I had discovered in the
+      chemist&rsquo;s shop, I think I mentioned a young man who was called to speak to
+      a question of identity&mdash;an assistant who knew Miss Helena Gracedieu
+      by sight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That young man left the note which Maria has just taken upstairs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who wrote it, doctor, and what does it say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Questions naturally asked, Miss Jillgall&mdash;and not easily answered.
+      Where is Eunice? Her quick wit might help us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She had gone out to buy some fruit and flowers for Philip.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor accepted his disappointment resignedly. &ldquo;Let us try what we can
+      do without her,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That young man&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;We are not usually interested,&rdquo; he remarked, &ldquo;in a
+      person whom we only know by sight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Remember that he is a young man,&rdquo; 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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And vile as Helena is,&rdquo; I continued, &ldquo;we cannot deny that this disgrace
+      to her sex is a handsome young lady.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He saw it at last. &ldquo;Woman&rsquo;s wit!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You have hit it, Miss
+      Jillgall. The young fool is smitten with her, and has given her a chance
+      of making her escape.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think she will take the chance?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For all our sakes, I pray God she may! But I don&rsquo;t feel sure about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Just as he said those terrifying words, Maria came back to us. He asked at
+      once what had kept her so long upstairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please to let me tell it, sir,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;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&mdash;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: &lsquo;Where&rsquo;s Miss Eunice?&rsquo; I says:
+      &lsquo;Gone out.&rsquo; She says: &lsquo;Is there anybody in the drawing-room?&rsquo; I says: &lsquo;No,
+      miss.&rsquo; She says: &lsquo;Tell Miss Jillgall I want to speak to her, and say I am
+      waiting in the drawing-room.&rsquo; It&rsquo;s every word of it true! And, if a poor
+      servant may give an opinion, I don&rsquo;t like the look of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor dismissed Maria. &ldquo;Whatever it is,&rdquo; he said to me, &ldquo;you must go
+      and hear it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;then turned away again. Otherwise, she
+      never moved. I confess I trembled, but I did my best to disguise it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She broke out suddenly with what she had to say: &ldquo;I won&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;you the accomplice, she the wretch who directs you&mdash;repent
+      it to the end of your lives.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In my own mind, I asked myself if she had gone mad. But I only answered:
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t understand you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She said again: &ldquo;You are Eunice&rsquo;s accomplice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Accomplice in what?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned her head slowly and faced me. I shrank from looking at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All the circumstances prove it,&rdquo; she went on. &ldquo;I have supplanted Eunice
+      in Philip&rsquo;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&rsquo;t crush her, like the
+      reptile she is. She comes here&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I lost all fear of her: I stepped close up to the place at which she was
+      standing; I cried out: &ldquo;Of what, in God&rsquo;s name, do you accuse your
+      sister?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She answered: &ldquo;I accuse her of poisoning Philip Dunboyne.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+      &ldquo;Euneece!&rdquo; My breath was gone; I could only say: &ldquo;Euneece!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Now tell me,&rdquo; he
+      said, &ldquo;what has she done to Eunice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She brings a horrible accusation against her,&rdquo; I answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the accusation?&rdquo; I told him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked me through and through. &ldquo;Take care!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;No hysterics, no
+      exaggeration. You may lead to dreadful consequences if you are not sure of
+      yourself. If it&rsquo;s really true, say it again.&rdquo; I said it again&mdash;quietly
+      this time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His face startled me; it was white with rage. He snatched his hat off the
+      hall table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you going to do?&rdquo; I asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My duty.&rdquo; He was out of the house before I could speak to him again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Third Period <i>(concluded).</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>TROUBLES AND TRIUMPHS OF THE FAMILY, RELATED BY THE GOVERNOR.</i> <a
+      name="link2HCH0062" id="link2HCH0062">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LXII. THE SENTENCE PRONOUNCED.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;months
+      of pain aggravated by anxiety&mdash;before I was able to help Eunice and
+      Miss Jillgall personally with my sympathy and advice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During this interval, I heard regularly from the friendly and faithful
+      Selina.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Terror and suspense, courageously endured day after day, seem to have
+      broken down her resistance, poor soul, when Eunice&rsquo;s good name and
+      Eunice&rsquo;s tranquillity were threatened by the most infamous of false
+      accusations. From that time, Miss Jillgall&rsquo;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&mdash;assisted by the newspaper which she
+      sent to me, while the legal proceedings were in progress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s sworn information stated the whole terrible case of the
+      poisoning, ranging from his first suspicions and their confirmation, to
+      Helena&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Helena was arrested while she was dressing to go out. Her composure was
+      not for a moment disturbed. &ldquo;I was on my way,&rdquo; she said coolly, &ldquo;to make a
+      statement before the justices. The sooner they hear what I have to say the
+      better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The attempt of this shameless wretch to &ldquo;turn the tables&rdquo; on poor Eunice&mdash;suggested,
+      as I afterward discovered, by the record of family history which she had
+      quoted in her journal&mdash;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s departure from the
+      farm, and that the first improvement in Mr. Philip Dunboyne&rsquo;s state of
+      health had shown itself after that young lady&rsquo;s arrival to perform the
+      duties of a nurse. To the wise precautions which she had taken&mdash;perverted
+      by Helena to the purpose of a false accusation&mdash;the doctor attributed
+      the preservation of the young man&rsquo;s life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the renewed examination, the line of defense adopted by the prisoner&rsquo;s
+      lawyer proved to be&mdash;mistaken identity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was asserted that she had never entered the chemist&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;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&rsquo;s congregation, his pew in the chapel
+      was so situated as to give him a view of the minister&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;questioned technically with success&mdash;received
+      unexpected and powerful support, due to the discovery and production of
+      the prisoner&rsquo;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) &ldquo;a volume that interested her,&rdquo;
+       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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I arrived in the town, as well as I can remember, about a week after the
+      trial had taken place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Found guilty, the prisoner had been recommended to mercy by the jury&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t own it,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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&rsquo;s daughter being one of those criminal
+      creatures on whom it was once your terrible duty to turn the key! Why
+      didn&rsquo;t she commit suicide?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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&mdash;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&rsquo;s nature.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But when she comes out of prison, what will she do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t alarm yourself, my good friend. She will do very well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, hush! hush! Poetical justice, Mr. Governor!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poetical fiddlesticks, Miss Jillgall.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0063" id="link2HCH0063">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LXIII. THE OBSTACLE REMOVED.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Melancholy news, again, was the news that I now heard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;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: &ldquo;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)&mdash;God
+      bless him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does Philip submit to separation from Eunice?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;Does he stay in
+      Ireland?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not he, poor fellow! He will be here to-morrow or next day. When I last
+      wrote,&rdquo; Miss Jillgall continued, &ldquo;I told him I hoped to see you again
+      soon. If you can&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A little patience, please, Mr. Governor; let Philip tell his own story.
+      If I try to do it, I shall only cry&mdash;and we have had tears enough
+      lately, in this house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Further consultation being thus deferred, I went upstairs to the
+      Minister&rsquo;s room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;You see it amuses him,&rdquo; the man said, kindly. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
+      notice his mistakes, he thinks there isn&rsquo;t such another in the world for
+      knitting as himself. You can see, sir, how he sticks to it.&rdquo; 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&mdash;there was color in
+      his cheeks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you remember your old friend?&rdquo; I said. He smiled, and nodded, and
+      repeated the words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes, my old friend.&rdquo; It was only too plain that he had not the least
+      recollection of me. &ldquo;His memory is gone,&rdquo; the man said. &ldquo;When he puts away
+      his knitting, at night, I have to find it for him in the morning. But,
+      there! he&rsquo;s happy&mdash;enjoys his victuals, likes sitting out in the
+      garden and watching the birds. There&rsquo;s been a deal of trouble in the
+      family, sir; and it has all passed over him like a wet sponge over a
+      slate.&rdquo; The old sailor was right. If that wreck of a man had been capable
+      of feeling and thinking, his daughter&rsquo;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: &ldquo;It
+      is to be envied.&rdquo; And where (some persons might say) was the poor
+      Minister&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At breakfast, on the next day, the talk touched on those passages in
+      Helena&rsquo;s diary, which had been produced in court as evidence against her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s return claims
+      notice in the first place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you remember how kindly you spoke to me when I called on you in
+      London?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;If I have repeated those words once&mdash;but perhaps
+      you don&rsquo;t remember them? You said: &lsquo;If I was as young as you are, I should
+      not despair.&rsquo; 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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I suppose I must have looked glad to hear that. Anyway, Philip shook hands
+      with me again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Mr. Philip,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;I have been waiting, at Miss Jillgall&rsquo;s
+      suggestion, to get my information from you. There is something wrong
+      between Eunice and yourself. What is it? And who is to blame?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her vile sister is to blame,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;That reptile was determined
+      to sting us. And she has done it!&rdquo; he cried, starting to his feet, and
+      walking up and down the room, urged into action by his own unendurable
+      sense of wrong. &ldquo;I say, she has done it, after Eunice has saved me&mdash;done
+      it, when Eunice was ready to be my wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How has she done it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;If I
+      consent to marry you,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I stain you with my disgrace; that shall
+      never be.&rdquo; With this resolution, she had left him. &ldquo;I have tried to
+      convince her,&rdquo; Philip said, &ldquo;that she will not be associated with her
+      sister&rsquo;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&mdash;but, oh, she is broken-hearted! Ask the farmer&rsquo;s
+      wife, if you don&rsquo;t believe me. Judge for yourself, sir. Go&mdash;for God&rsquo;s
+      sake, go to the farm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I made him sit down and compose himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may depend on my going to the farm,&rdquo; I answered. &ldquo;I shall write to
+      Eunice to-day, and follow my letter to-morrow.&rdquo; He tried to thank me; but
+      I would not allow it. &ldquo;Before I consent to accept the expression of your
+      gratitude,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;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&rsquo;s affianced husband; and you
+      broke faith with her. That was a rascally action. How do you defend it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His head sank. &ldquo;I am ashamed to defend it,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I pressed him without mercy. &ldquo;You own yourself,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;that it was a
+      rascally action?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Use stronger language against me, even than that, sir&mdash;I deserve
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In plain words,&rdquo; I went on, &ldquo;you can find no excuse for your conduct?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In the past time,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I might have found excuses.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you can&rsquo;t find them now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must not even look for them now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I owe it to Eunice to leave my conduct at its worst; with nothing said&mdash;by
+      me&mdash;to defend it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What has Eunice done to have such a claim on you as that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eunice has forgiven me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was gratefully and delicately said. Ought I to have allowed this
+      circumstance to weigh with me? I ask, in return, had <i>I</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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But I was bound to think of Eunice. I did think of her, before I ventured
+      to accept the position&mdash;the critical position, as I shall presently
+      show&mdash;of Philip&rsquo;s friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;so far as Philip Dunboyne was concerned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I found him to be a man with nothing absolutely wicked in him&mdash;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&mdash;a wife who would know when to take the command and how
+      to take the command&mdash;a wife who, finding him tempted to commit
+      actions unworthy of his better self, would be far-sighted enough to
+      perceive that her husband&rsquo;s sense of honor might sometimes lose its
+      balance, without being on that account hopelessly depraved&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the serious question was not answered yet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Leaving Philip, with a few words of sympathy which might help him to bear
+      his suspense, I went to my room to think.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The time passed&mdash;and I could arrive at no positive conclusion. Either
+      way&mdash;with or without Philip&mdash;the contemplation of Eunice&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s disgrace, compared with the infamy which stained the name of
+      the poor girl&rsquo;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&mdash;I left my decision to be influenced by the coming
+      interview with Eunice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next day I drove to the farm. Philip&rsquo;s entreaties persuaded me to let
+      him be my companion, on one condition&mdash;that he waited in the carriage
+      while I went into the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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?&mdash;my mind was
+      still undecided when I entered the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Have you seen Philip?&rdquo; she
+      asked. The tone in which she put that question decided me&mdash;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&mdash;and did not?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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:
+      &ldquo;My child, I know what a sacrifice you have made; and I should honor your
+      scruples, if you had any reason for feeling them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any reason for feeling them?&rdquo; She turned pale as she repeated the words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An idea came to me. I rang for the servant, and sent her to the carriage
+      to tell Philip to come in. &ldquo;My dear, I am not putting you to any unfair
+      trial,&rdquo; I assured her; &ldquo;I am going to prove that I love you as truly as if
+      you were my own child.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When they were both present, I resolved that they should not suffer a
+      moment of needless suspense. Standing between them, I took Eunice&rsquo;s hand,
+      and laid my other hand on Philip&rsquo;s shoulder, and spoke out plainly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am here to make you both happy,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He gave me his promise, without an instant&rsquo;s hesitation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Philip grants what I ask,&rdquo; I said to Eunice. &ldquo;Do you grant it, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her hand turned cold in mine; but she spoke firmly when she said: &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I gave her into Philip&rsquo;s care. It was his privilege to console and support
+      her. It was my duty to say the decisive words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rouse your courage, dear Eunice; you are no more affected by Helena&rsquo;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&rsquo;s fatherly kindness received you as his
+      adopted child. This, I declare to you both, on my word of honor, is the
+      truth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;or
+      be my enemy, and betray me. The chances, either way, were perhaps equal.
+      The deed was done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0064" id="link2HCH0064">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER LXIV. THE TRUTH TRIUMPHANT.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The marriage was deferred, at Eunice&rsquo;s request, as an expression of
+      respect to the memory of Philip&rsquo;s father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the time of delay had passed, it was arranged that the wedding
+      ceremony should be held&mdash;after due publication of Banns&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t think,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s adopted child&mdash;and told me no more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I could honestly satisfy her, so far. &ldquo;Certainly not!&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She put her arms round my neck. &ldquo;Do you say that,&rdquo; she asked, &ldquo;to make my
+      mind easy? or do you say it on your word of honor?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On my word of honor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      We arrived at the church. Let Miss Jillgall describe the marriage, in her
+      own inimitable way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No wedding breakfast, when you don&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;His adopted daughter,&rdquo; she
+      gently reminded me, &ldquo;is his only daughter now.&rdquo; The doctor shook his head
+      when I told him what Eunice had said to me&mdash;and, the sad truth must
+      be told, the doctor was right.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Miss Jillgall returned, on the wedding-day, to take care of the good man
+      who had befriended her in her hour of need.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s
+      death, and that she wished to have the letter returned, which she had left
+      for delivery to Philip&rsquo;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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 &ldquo;a lady&rdquo;; and I found myself
+      face to face with&mdash;Mrs. Tenbruggen!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was as cheerful as ever, and as eminently agreeable as ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have heard it all from Selina,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Philip&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;ah, the
+      frightful subject! let us drop it, and talk of something that doesn&rsquo;t make
+      my hair (it&rsquo;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&rsquo;t know. Mr.
+      Governor, I have found you out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I venture to ask how?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I guessed which was which of those two girls,&rdquo; she answered, &ldquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;as his
+      aunt!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bewilderment and dismay deprived me of my presence of mind. &ldquo;How did you
+      discover that?&rdquo; I was foolish enough to ask.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you remember when I brought the baby to the prison?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;The
+      father&mdash;as I mentioned at the time&mdash;had been a dear and valued
+      friend of mine. No person could be better qualified to tell me who had
+      married his wife&rsquo;s sister. If that lady had been living, I should never
+      have been troubled with the charge of the child. Any more questions?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only one. Is Philip to hear of this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, for shame! I don&rsquo;t deny that Philip insulted me grossly, in one way;
+      and that Philip&rsquo;s late father insulted me grossly, in another way. But
+      Mamma Tenbruggen is a Christian. She returns good for evil, and wouldn&rsquo;t
+      for the world disturb the connubial felicity of Mr. and Mrs. Philip
+      Dunboyne.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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: &ldquo;Not yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hardly knew what to say. My face must have expressed disappointment and
+      surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall never be quite happy,&rdquo; she resumed, &ldquo;till I know what it is that
+      you kept from me on that memorable day. I don&rsquo;t like having a secret from
+      my husband&mdash;though it is not <i>my</i> secret.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Remember your promise,&rdquo; I said
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t forget it,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;I can only wish that my promise would
+      keep back the thoughts that come to me in spite of myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What thoughts?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear, I relieved your mind of those doubts on the morning of your
+      marriage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I was only thinking of myself at that time. My mother&mdash;the doubt
+      of <i>her</i> is the doubt that torments me now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She put her arm in mine, and held by it with both hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The mock-mother!&rdquo; she whispered. &ldquo;Do you remember that dreadful Vision,
+      that horrid whispering temptation in the dead of night? <i>Was</i> it a
+      mock-mother? Oh, pity me! I don&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;Does it beat as if I was
+      frightened?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No! It was beating calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does it relieve your anxiety?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. &ldquo;I know,&rdquo; I said, &ldquo;that those whispered
+      temptations overpowered you again, when you and Helena met on the stairs,
+      and you forbade her to enter Philip&rsquo;s room. And I know that love had
+      conquered once more, when you were next seen sitting by Philip&rsquo;s bedside.
+      Tell me&mdash;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not while Philip lives!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There, where her love was&mdash;there her safety was. And she knew it! She
+      suddenly left me. I asked where she was going.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To tell Philip,&rdquo; was the reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was waiting for me at the door, when I followed her to the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it done?&rdquo; I said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is done,&rdquo; she answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did he say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He said: &lsquo;My darling, if I could be fonder of you than ever, I should be
+      fonder of you now.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I have been blamed for being too ready to confide to Philip the precious
+      trust of Eunice&rsquo;s happiness. If that reply does not justify me, where is
+      justification to be found?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      POSTSCRIPT.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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&rsquo;s happiness, he remained uninjured by her
+      teeth and her claws. &ldquo;Somebody,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;has told you of it already?&rdquo;
+       And Philip answered: &ldquo;Yes; my wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For some months longer, Mr. Gracedieu lingered. One morning, he said to
+      Eunice: &ldquo;I want to teach you to knit. Sit by me, and see me do it.&rdquo; His
+      hands fell softly on his lap; his head sank little by little on her
+      shoulder. She could just hear him whisper: &ldquo;How pleasant it is to sleep!&rdquo;
+       Never was Death&rsquo;s dreadful work more gently done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At times, my memory reverts to Helena Gracedieu, and to what I discovered
+      when I had seen her diary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How little I knew of that terrible creature when I first met with her, and
+      fancied that she had inherited her mother&rsquo;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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you recognize the illustrious original?&rdquo; she asked, with indignant
+      emphasis on the last two words. I recognized Helena. &ldquo;Now read her new
+      title,&rdquo; Miss Jillgall continued.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I read: &ldquo;The Reverend Miss Gracedieu.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The biographical notice followed. Here is an extract: &ldquo;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&rsquo;s Orations&mdash;the tenth
+      edition of which is advertised in our columns.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I once asked you,&rdquo; Miss Jillgall reminded me, &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Legacy of Cain
+
+Author: Wilkie Collins
+
+Posting Date: October 15, 2008 [EBook #1975]
+Release Date: November, 1999
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LEGACY OF CAIN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by James Rusk
+
+
+
+
+
+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 XVII. 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 fond 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 something?" 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 he 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 he 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 the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins
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+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 a
+pplied 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 interp ose 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 e arnest? 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 t o 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 thing s 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. Th e 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. TENERUGGEN (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 deli cious 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 Flande rs, 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 r eceiving 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, f inding 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 al ready. 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 ri de? 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 fal len 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 term s:
+
+" '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 Phi lip 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 w ord: "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 int o 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 th ings) 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 di ary!
+
+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 yo
+ur 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 firs t 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 de
+ath!"
+
+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 fa rmhouse 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 something?" 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 s ome 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 depe nded,
+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 p roportion. 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 lauding."
+
+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 lo ok 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 shruhs. 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 ti me. 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 believ e?"
+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. W
+ellwood 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 Yo u?"
+
+"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 behin d 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 forg otten 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 h er. 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, infor ming 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 o f 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.
+Th ere 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 co untry 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 Helen a. 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 ob ject 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.
+
+
+CHA PTER 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 cr
+ouching 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 attac hed 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 prove d 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 yo u 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
+
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+Project Gutenberg Etext of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins
+#22 in our series by Wilkie Collins
+
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+The Legacy of Cain
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+by Wilkie Collins
+
+November, 1999  [Etext #1975]
+
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+Project Gutenberg Etext of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins
+******This file should be named lcain11.txt or lcain11.zip******
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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
+
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