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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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