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diff --git a/old/lcain10.txt b/old/lcain10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4b04db9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/lcain10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14918 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins +#22 in our series by Wilkie Collins + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. 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HENRY POWELL BARTLEY: + +Permit me to add your name to my name, in publishing this novel. +The pen which has written my books cannot be more agreeably +employed than in acknowledging what I owe to the pen which has +skillfully and patiently helped me, by copying my manuscripts for +the printer. + +WILKIE COLLINS. + +Wimpole Street, 6th December, 1888. + +-------- + +THE LEGACY OF CAIN. + +First Period: 1858-1859. + +EVENTS IN THE PRISON, RELATED BY THE GOVERNOR. + +---- + +CHAPTER I. + +THE GOVERNOR EXPLAINS. + + +AT the request of a person who has claims on me that I must not +disown, I consent to look back through a long interval of years +and to describe events which took place within the walls of an +English prison during the earlier period of my appointment as +Governor. + +Viewing my task by the light which later experience casts on it, +I think I shall act wisely by exercising some control over the +freedom of my pen. + +I propose to pass over in silence the name of the town in which +is situated the prison once confided to my care. I shall observe +a similar discretion in alluding to individuals--some dead, some +living, at the present time. + +Being obliged to write of a woman who deservedly suffered the +extreme penalty of the law, I think she will be sufficiently +identified if I call her The Prisoner. Of the four persons +present on the evening before her execution three may be +distinguished one from the other by allusion to their vocations +in life. I here introduce them as The Chaplain, The Minister, and +The Doctor. The fourth was a young woman. She has no claim on my +consideration; and, when she is mentioned, her name may appear. +If these reserves excite suspicion, I declare beforehand that +they influence in no way the sense of responsibility which +commands an honest man to speak the truth. + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE MURDERESS ASKS QUESTIONS. + + +THE first of the events which I must now relate was the +conviction of The Prisoner for the murder of her husband. + +They had lived together in matrimony for little more than two +years. The husband, a gentleman by birth and education, had +mortally offended his relations in marrying a woman of an +inferior rank of life. He was fast declining into a state of +poverty, through his own reckless extravagance, at the time when +he met with his death at his wife's hand. + +Without attempting to excuse him, he deserved, to my mind, some +tribute of regret. It is not to be denied that he was profligate +in his habits and violent in his temper. But it is equally true +that he was affectionate in the domestic circle, and, when moved +by wisely applied remonstrance, sincerely penitent for sins +committed under temptation that overpowered him. If his wife had +killed him in a fit of jealous rage--under provocation, be it +remembered, which the witnesses proved--she might have been +convicted of manslaughter, and might have received a light +sentence. But the evidence so undeniably revealed deliberate and +merciless premeditation, that the only defense attempted by her +counsel was madness, and the only alternative left to a righteous +jury was a verdict which condemned the woman to death. Those +mischievous members of the community, whose topsy-turvy +sympathies feel for the living criminal and forget the dead +victim, attempted to save her by means of high-flown petitions +and contemptible correspondence in the newspapers. But the Judge +held firm; and the Home Secretary held firm. They were entirely +right; and the public were scandalously wrong. + +Our Chaplain endeavored to offer the consolations of religion to +the condemned wretch. She refused to accept his ministrations in +language which filled him with grief and horror. + +On the evening before the execution, the reverend gentleman laid +on my table his own written report of a conversation which had +passed between the Prisoner and himself. + +"I see some hope, sir," he said, "of inclining the heart of this +woman to religious belief, before it is too late. Will you read +my report, and say if you agree with me?" + +I read it, of course. It was called "A Memorandum," and was thus +written: + +"At his last interview with the Prisoner, the Chaplain asked her +if she had ever entered a place of public worship. She replied +that she had occasionally attended the services at a +Congregational Church in this town; attracted by the reputation +of the Minister as a preacher. 'He entirely failed to make a +Christian of me,' she said; 'but I was struck by his eloquence. +Besides, he interested me personally--he was a fine man.' + +"In the dreadful situation in which the woman was placed, such +language as this shocked the Chaplain; he appealed in vain to the +Prisoner's sense of propriety. 'You don't understand women,' she +answered. 'The greatest saint of my sex that ever lived likes to +look at a preacher as well as to hear him. If he is an agreeable +man, he has all the greater effect on her. This preacher's voice +told me he was kind-hearted; and I had only to look at his +beautiful eyes to see that he was trustworthy and true.' + +"It was useless to repeat a protest which had already failed. +Recklessly and flippantly as she had described it, an impression +had been produced on her. It occurred to the Chaplain that he +might at least make the attempt to turn this result to her own +religious advantage. He asked whether she would receive the +Minister, if the reverend gentleman came to the prison. 'That +will depend,' she said, 'on whether you answer some questions +which I want to put to you first.' The Chaplain consented; +provided always that he could reply with propriety to what she +asked of him. Her first question only related to himself. + +"She said: 'The women who watch me tell me that you are a +widower, and have a family of children. Is that true?' + +"The Chaplain answered that it was quite true. + +"She alluded next to a report, current in the town, that the +Minister had resigned the pastorate. Being personally acquainted +with him, the Chaplain was able to inform her that his +resignation had not yet been accepted. On hearing this, she +seemed to gather confidence. Her next inquiries succeeded each +other rapidly, as follows: + +" 'Is my handsome preacher married?' + +" 'Yes.' + +" 'Has he got any children?' + +" 'He has never had any children.' + +" 'How long has he been married?' + +" 'As well as I know, about seven or eight years. + +" 'What sort of woman is his wife?' + +" 'A lady universally respected.' + +" 'I don't care whether she is respected or not. Is she kind?' + +" 'Certainly!' + +" 'Is her husband well off?' + +" 'He has a sufficient income.' + +"After that reply, the Prisoner's curiosity appeared to be +satisfied. She said, 'Bring your friend the preacher to me, if +you like'--and there it ended. + +"What her object could have been in putting these questions, it +seems to be impossible to guess. Having accurately reported all +that took place, the Chaplain declares, with heartfelt regret, +that he can exert no religious influence over this obdurate +woman. He leaves it to the Governor to decide whether the +Minister of the Congregational Church may not succeed, where the +Chaplain of the Jail has failed. Herein is the one last hope of +saving the soul of the Prisoner, now under sentence of death!" + +In those serious words the Memorandum ended. Although not +personally acquainted with the Minister I had heard of him, on +all sides, as an excellent man. In the emergency that confronted +us he had, as it seemed to me, his own sacred right to enter the +prison; assuming that he was willing to accept, what I myself +felt to be, a very serious responsibility. The first necessity +was to discover whether we might hope to obtain his services. +With my full approval the Chaplain left me, to state the +circumstances to his reverend colleague. + +CHAPTER III. + +THE CHILD APPEARS. + +DURING my friend's absence, my attention was claimed by a sad +incident--not unforeseen. + +It is, I suppose, generally known that near relatives are +admitted to take their leave of criminals condemned to death. In +the case of the Prisoner now waiting for execution, no person a +pplied to the authorities for permission to see her. I myself +inquired if she had any relations living, and if she would like +to see them. She answered: "None that I care to see, or that care +to see me--except the nearest relation of all." + +In those last words the miserable creature alluded to her only +child, a little girl (an infant, I should say), who had passed +her first year's birthday by a few months. The farewell interview +was to take place on the mother's last evening on earth; and the +child was now brought into my rooms, in charge of her nurse. + +I had seldom seen a brighter or prettier little girl. She was +just able to walk alone, and to enjoy the first delight of moving +from one place to another. Quite of her own accord she came to +me, attracted I daresay by the glitter of my watch-chain. Helping +her to climb on my knee, I showed the wonders of the watch, and +held it to her ear. At that past time, death had taken my good +wife from me; my two boys were away at Harrow School; my domestic +life was the life of a lonely man. Whether I was reminded of the +bygone days when my sons were infants on my knee, listening to +the ticking of my watch--or whether the friendless position of +the poor little creature, who had lost one parent and was soon to +lose the other by a violent death, moved me in depths of pity not +easily reached in my later experience--I am not able to say. This +only I know: my heart ached for the child while she was laughing +and listening; and something fell from me on the watch which I +don't deny might have been a tear. A few of the toys, mostly +broken now, which my two children used to play with are still in +my possession; kept, like my poor wife's favorite jewels, for old +remembrance' sake. These I took from their repository when the +attraction of my watch showed signs of failing. The child pounced +on them with her chubby hands, and screamed with pleasure. And +the hangman was waiting for her mother--and, more horrid still, +the mother deserved it! + +My duty required me to let the Prisoner know that her little +daughter had arrived. Did that heart of iron melt at last? It +might have been so, or it might not; the message sent back kept +her secret. All that it said to me was: "Let the child wait till +I send for her." + +The Minister had consented to help us. On his arrival at the +prison, I received him privately in my study. + +I had only to look at his face--pitiably pale and agitated--to +see that he was a sensitive man, not always able to control his +nerves on occasions which tried his moral courage. A kind, I +might almost say a noble face, and a voice unaffectedly +persuasive, at once prepossessed me in his favor. The few words +of welcome that I spoke were intended to compose him. They failed +to produce the impression on which I had counted. + +"My experience," he said, "has included many melancholy duties, +and has tried my composure in terrible scenes; but I have never +yet found myself in the presence of an unrepentant criminal, +sentenced to death--and that criminal a woman and a mother. I +own, sir, that I am shaken by the prospect before me." + +I suggested that he should wait a while, in the hope that time +and quiet might help him. He thanked me, and refused. + +"If I have any knowledge of myself," he said, "terrors of +anticipation lose their hold when I am face to face with a +serious call on me. The longer I remain here, the less worthy I +shall appear of the trust that has been placed in me--the trust +which, please God, I mean to deserve." + +My own observation of human nature told me that this was wisely +said. I led the way at once to the cell. + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE MINISTER SAYS YES. + +THE Prisoner was seated on her bed, quietly talking with the +woman appointed to watch her. When she rose to receive us, I saw +the Minister start. The face that confronted him would, in my +opinion, have taken any man by surprise, if he had first happened +to see it within the walls of a prison. + +Visitors to the picture-galleries of Italy, growing weary of Holy +Families in endless succession, observe that the idea of the +Madonna, among the rank and file of Italian Painters, is limited +to one changeless and familiar type. I can hardly hope to be +believed when I say that the personal appearance of the murderess +recalled that type. She presented the delicate light hair, the +quiet eyes, the finely-shaped lower features and the correctly +oval form of face, repeated in hundreds on hundreds of the +conventional works of Art to which I have ventured to allude. To +those who doubt me, I can only declare that what I have here +written is undisguised and absolute truth. Let me add that daily +observation of all classes of criminals, extending over many +years, has considerably diminished my faith in physiognomy as a +safe guide to the discovery of character. Nervous trepidation +looks like guilt. Guilt, firmly sustained by insensibility, looks +like innocence. One of the vilest wretches ever placed under my +charge won the sympathies (while he was waiting for his trial) of +every person who saw him, including even the persons employed in +the prison. Only the other day, ladies and gentlemen coming to +visit me passed a body of men at work on the road. Judges of +physiognomy among them were horrified at the criminal atrocity +betrayed in every face that they noticed. They condoled with me +on the near neighborhood of so many convicts to my official place +of residence. I looked out of the window and saw a group of +honest laborers (whose only crime was poverty) employed by the +parish! + +Having instructed the female warder to leave the room--but to +take care that she waited within call--I looked again at the +Minister. + +Confronted by the serious responsibility that he had undertaken, +he justified what he had said to me. Still pale, still +distressed, he was now nevertheless master of himself. I turned +to the door to leave him alone with the Prisoner. She called me +back. + +"Before this gentleman tries to convert me," she said, "I want +you to wait here and be a witness." + +Finding that we were both willing to comply with this request, +she addressed herself directly to the Minister. "Suppose I +promise to listen to your exhortations," she began, "what do you +promise to do for me in return?" + +The voice in which she spoke to him was steady and clear; a +marked contrast to the tremulous earnestness with which he +answered her. + +"I promise to urge you to repentance and the confession of your +crime. I promise to implore the divine blessing on me in the +effort to save your poor guilty soul." + +She looked at him, and listened to him, as if he was speaking to +her in an unknown tongue, and went on with what she had to say as +quietly as ever. + +"When I am hanged to-morrow, suppose I die without confessing, +without repenting--are you one of those who believe I shall be +doomed to eternal punishment in another life?" + +"I believe in the mercy of God." + +"Answer my question, if you please. Is an impenitent sinner +eternally punished? Do you believe that?" + +"My Bible leaves me no other alternative." + +She paused for a while, evidently considering with special +attention what she was about to say next. + +"As a religious man," she resumed, "would you be willing to make +some sacrifice, rather than let a fellow-creature go--after a +disgraceful death--to everlasting torment?" + +"I know of no sacrifice in my power," he said, fervently, "to +which I would not rather submit than let you die in the present +dreadful state of your mind." + +The Prisoner turned to me. "Is the person who watches me waiting +outside?" + +"Yes." + +"Will you be so kind as to call her in? I have a message for +her." + +It was plain that she had been leading the way to the delivery of +that message, whatever it might be, in all that she had said up +to the present time. So far my poor powers of penetration helped +me, and no further. + +The warder appeared, and received her message. "Tell the woman +who has come here with my little girl that I want to see the +child." + + Taken completely by surprise, I signed to the attendant to wait +for further instructions. + +In a moment more I had sufficiently recovered myself to see the +impropriety of permitting any obstacle to interp ose between the +Minister and his errand of mercy. I gently reminded the Prisoner +that she would have a later opportunity of seeing her child. +"Your first duty," I told her, "is to hear and to take to heart +what the clergyman has to say to you." + +For the second time I attempted to leave the cell. For the second +time this impenetrable woman called me back. + +"Take the parson away with you," she said. "I refuse to listen to +him." + +The patient Minister yielded, and appealed to me to follow his +example. I reluctantly sanctioned the delivery of the message. + +After a brief interval the child was brought to us, tired and +sleepy. For a while the nurse roused her by setting her on her +feet. She happened to notice the Minister first. Her bright eyes +rested on him, gravely wondering. He kissed her, and, after a +momentary hesitation, gave her to her mother. The horror of the +situation overpowered him: he turned his face away from us. I +understood what he felt; he almost overthrew my own self-command. + +The Prisoner spoke to the nurse in no friendly tone: "You can +go." + +The nurse turned to me, ostentatiously ignoring the words that +had been addressed to her. "Am I to go, sir, or to stay?" I +suggested that she should return to the waiting-room. She +returned at once in silence. The Prisoner looked after her as she +went out, with such an expression of hatred in her eyes that the +Minister noticed it. + +"What has that person done to offend you?" he asked. + +"She is the last person in the whole world whom I should have +chosen to take care of my child, if the power of choosing had +been mine. But I have been in prison, without a living creature +to represent me or to take my part. No more of that; my troubles +will be over in a few hours more. I want you to look at my little +girl, whose troubles are all to come. Do you call her pretty? Do +you feel interested in her?" + +The sorrow and pity in his face answered for him. + +Quietly sleeping, the poor baby rested on her mother's bosom. Was +the heart of the murderess softened by the divine influence of +maternal love? The hands that held the child trembled a little. +For the first time it seemed to cost her an effort to compose +herself, before she could speak to the Minister again. + +"When I die to-morrow," she said, "I leave my child helpless and +friendless--disgraced by her mother's shameful death. The +workhouse may take her--or a charitable asylum may take her." She +paused; a first tinge of color rose on her pale face; she broke +into an outburst of rage. "Think of _my_ daughter being brought +up by charity! She may suffer poverty, she may be treated with +contempt, she may be employed by brutal people in menial work. I +can't endure it; it maddens me. If she is not saved from that +wretched fate, I shall die despairing, I shall die cursing--" + +The Minister sternly stopped her before she could say the next +word. To my astonishment she appeared to be humbled, to be even +ashamed: she asked his pardon: "Forgive me; I won't forget myself +again. They tell me you have no children of your own. Is that a +sorrow to you and your wife?" + +Her altered tone touched him. He answered sadly and kindly: "It +is the one sorrow of our lives." + +The purpose which she had been keeping in view from the moment +when the Minister entered her cell was no mystery now. Ought I to +have interfered? Let me confess a weakness, unworthy perhaps of +my office. I was so sorry for the child--I hesitated. + +My silence encouraged the mother. She advanced to the Minister +with the sleeping infant in her arms. + +"I daresay you have sometimes thought of adopting a child?" she +said. "Perhaps you can guess now what I had in my mind, when I +asked if you would consent to a sacrifice? Will you take this +wretched innocent little creature home with you?" She lost her +self-possession once more. "A motherless creature to-morrow," she +burst out. "Think of that." + +God knows how I still shrunk from it! But there was no +alternative now; I was bound to remember my duty to the excellent +man, whose critical position at that moment was, in some degree +at least, due to my hesitation in asserting my authority. Could I +allow the Prisoner to presume on his compassionate nature, and to +hurry him into a decision which, in his calmer moments, he might +find reason to regret? I spoke to _him._ Does the man live +who--having to say what I had to say--could have spoken to the +doomed mother? + +"I am sorry to have allowed this to go on," I said. "In justice +to yourself, sir, don't answer!" + +She turned on me with a look of fury. + +"He shall answer," she cried. + +I saw, or thought I saw, signs of yielding in his face. "Take +time," I persisted--"take time to consider before you decide." + +She stepped up to me. + +"Take time?" she repeated. "Are you inhuman enough to talk of +time, in my presence?" + +She laid the sleeping child on her bed, and fell on her knees +before the Minister: "I promise to hear your exhortations--I +promise to do all a woman can to believe and repent. Oh, I know +myself! My heart, once hardened, is a heart that no human +creature can touch. The one way to my better nature--if I have a +better nature--is through that poor babe. Save her from the +workhouse! Don't let them make a pauper of her!" She sank +prostrate at his feet, and beat her hands in frenzy on the floor. +"You want to save my guilty soul," she reminded him furiously. +"There's but one way of doing it. Save my child!" + +He raised her. Her fierce tearless eyes questioned his face in a +mute expectation dreadful to see. Suddenly, a foretaste of +death--the death that was so near now!--struck her with a +shivering fit: her head dropped on the Minister's shoulder. Other +men might have shrunk from the contact of it. That true Christian +let it rest. + +Under the maddening sting of suspense, her sinking energies +rallied for an instant. In a whisper, she was just able to put +the supreme question to him. + +"Yes? or No?" + +He answered: "Yes." + +A faint breath of relief, just audible in the silence, told me +that she had heard him. It was her last effort. He laid her, +insensible, on the bed, by the side of her sleeping child. "Look +at them," was all he said to me; "how could I refuse?" + +CHAPTER V. + +MISS CHANCE ASSERTS HERSELF. + + +THE services of our medical officer were required, in order to +hasten the recovery of the Prisoner's senses. + +When the Doctor and I left the cell together, she was composed, +and ready (in the performance of her promise) to listen to the +exhortations of the Minister. The sleeping child was left +undisturbed, by the mother's desire. If the Minister felt tempted +to regret what he had done, there was the artless influence which +would check him! As we stepped into the corridor, I gave the +female warder her instructions to remain on the watch, and to +return to her post when she saw the Minister come out. + +In the meantime, my companion had walked on a little way. + +Possessed of ability and experience within the limits of his +profession, he was in other respects a man with a crotchety mind; +bold to the verge of recklessness in the expression of his +opinion; and possessed of a command of language that carried +everything before it. Let me add that he was just and merciful in +his intercourse with others, and I shall have summed him up +fairly enough. When I joined him he seemed to be absorbed in +reflection. + +"Thinking of the Prisoner?" I said. + +"Thinking of what is going on, at this moment, in the condemned +cell," he answered, "and wondering if any good will come of it." + +I was not without hope of a good result, and I said so. + +The Doctor disagreed with me. "I don't believe in that woman's +penitence," he remarked; "and I look upon the parson as a poor +weak creature. What is to become of the child?" + +There was no reason for concealing from one of my colleagues the +benevolent decision, on the part of the good Minister, of which I +had been a witness. The Doctor listened to me with the first +appearance of downright astonishment that I had ever observed in +his face. When I had done, he made an extraordinary reply: + +"Governor, I retract what I said of the parson just now. He is +one of the boldest men that ever stepped into a pulpit." + +Was the doctor in e arnest? Strongly in earnest; there could be +no doubt of it. Before I could ask him what he meant, he was +called away to a patient on the other side of the prison. When we +parted at the door of my room, I made it a request that my +medical friend would return to me and explain what he had just +said. + +"Considering that you are the governor of a prison," he replied, +"you are a singularly rash man. If I come back, how do you know I +shall not bore you?" + +"My rashness runs the risk of that," I rejoined. + +"Tell me something, before I allow you to run your risk," he +said. "Are you one of those people who think that the tempers of +children are formed by the accidental influences which happen to +be about them? Or do you agree with me that the tempers of +children are inherited from their parents?" + +The Doctor (as I concluded) was still strongly impressed by the +Minister's resolution to adopt a child whose wicked mother had +committed the most atrocious of all crimes. Was some serious +foreboding in secret possession of his mind? My curiosity to hear +him was now increased tenfold. I replied without hesitation: + +"I agree with you." + +He looked at me with his sense of humor twinkling in his eyes. +"Do you know I rather expected that answer?" he said, slyly. "All +right. I'll come back." + +Left by myself, I took up the day's newspaper. + +My attention wandered; my thoughts were in the cell with the +Minister and the Prisoner. How would it end? Sometimes, I was +inclined to doubt with the Doctor. Sometimes, I took refuge in my +own more hopeful view. These idle reflections were agreeably +interrupted by the appearance of my friend, the Chaplain. + +"You are always welcome," I said; "and doubly welcome just now. I +am feeling a little worried and anxious." + +"And you are naturally," the Chaplain added, not at all disposed +to receive a stranger?" + +"Is the stranger a friend of yours?" I asked. + +"Oh, no! Having occasion, just now, to go into the waiting-room, +I found a young woman there, who asked me if she could see you. +She thinks you have forgotten her, and she is tired of waiting. I +merely undertook, of course, to mention what she had said to me." + +The nurse having been in this way recalled to my memory, I felt +some little interest in seeing her, after what had passed in the +cell. In plainer words, I was desirous of judging for myself +whether she deserved the hostile feeling which the Prisoner had +shown toward her. I thanked the Chaplain before he left me, and +gave the servant the necessary instructions. When she entered the +room, I looked at the woman attentively for the first time. + +Youth and a fine complexion, a well-made figure and a natural +grace of movement--these were her personal attractions, so far as +I could see. Her defects were, to my mind, equally noticeable. +Under a heavy forehead, her piercing eyes looked out at persons +and things with an expression which was not to my taste. Her +large mouth--another defect, in my opinion--would have been +recommended to mercy, in the estimation of many men, by her +magnificent teeth; white, well-shaped, cruelly regular. Believers +in physiognomy might perhaps have seen the betrayal of an +obstinate nature in the lengthy firmness of her chin. While I am +trying to describe her, let me not forget her dress. A woman's +dress is the mirror in which we may see the reflection of a +woman's nature. Bearing in mind the melancholy and impressive +circumstances under which she had brought the child to the +prison, the gayety of color in her gown and her bonnet implied +either a total want of feeling, or a total want of tact. As to +her position in life, let me confess that I felt, after a closer +examination, at a loss to determine it. She was certainly not a +lady. The Prisoner had spoken of her as if she was a domestic +servant who had forfeited her right to consideration and respect. +And she had entered the prison, as a nurse might have entered it, +in charge of a child. I did what we all do when we are not clever +enough to find the answer to a riddle--I gave it up. + +"What can I do for you?" I asked. + +"Perhaps you can tell me," she answered, "how much longer I am to +be kept waiting in this prison." + +"The decision," I reminded her, "doesn't depend on me." + +"Then who does it depend on?" + +The Minister had undoubtedly acquired the sole right of deciding. +It was for him to say whether this woman should, or should not, +remain in attendance on the child whom he had adopted. In the +meanwhile, the feeling of distrust which was gaining on my mind +warned me to remember the value of reserve in holding intercourse +with a stranger. + +She seemed to be irritated by my silence. "If the decision +doesn't rest with you," she asked, "why did you tell me to stay +in the waiting-room?" + +"You brought the little girl into the prison," I said; "was it +not natural to suppose that your mistress might want you--" + +"Stop, sir!" + +I had evidently given offense; I stopped directly. + +"No person on the face of the earth," she declared, loftily, "has +ever had the right to call herself my mistress. Of my own free +will, sir, I took charge of the child." + +"Because you are fond of her?" I suggested. + +"I hate her." + +It was unwise on my part--I protested. "Hate a baby little more +than a year old!" I said. + +"_Her_ baby!" + +She said it with the air of a woman who had produced an +unanswerable reason. "I am accountable to nobody," she went on. +"If I consented to trouble myself with the child, it was in +remembrance of my friendship--notice, if you please, that I say +friendship--with the unhappy father." + +Putting together what I had just heard, and what I had seen in +the cell, I drew the right conclusion at last. The woman, whose +position in life had been thus far an impenetrable mystery to me, +now stood revealed as one, among other objects of the Prisoner's +jealousy, during her disastrous married life. A serious doubt +occurred to me as to the authority under which the husband's +mistress might be acting, after the husband's death. I instantly +put it to the test. + +"Do I understand you to assert any claim to the child?" I asked. + +"Claim?" she repeated. "I know no more of the child than you do. +I heard for the first time that such a creature was in existence, +when her murdered father sent for me in his dying moments. At his +entreaty I promised to take care of her, while her vile mother +was out of the house and in the hands of the law. My promise has +been performed. If I am expected (having brought her to the +prison) to take her away again, understand this: I am under no +obligation (even if I could afford it) to burden myself with that +child; I shall hand her over to the workhouse authorities." + +I forgot myself once more--I lost my temper. + +"Leave the room," I said. "Your unworthy hands will not touch the +poor baby again. She is provided for." + +"I don't believe you!" the wretch burst out. "Who has taken the +child?" + +A quiet voice answered: "_I_ have taken her." + +We both looked round and saw the Minister standing in the open +doorway, with the child in his arms. The ordeal that he had gone +through in the condemned cell was visible in his face; he looked +miserably haggard and broken. I was eager to know if his merciful +interest in the Prisoner had purified her guilty soul--but at the +same time I was afraid, after what he had but too plainly +suffered, to ask him to enter into details. + +"Only one word," I said. "Are your anxieties at rest?" + +"God's mercy has helped me," he answered. "I have not spoken in +vain. She believes; she repents; she has confessed the crime." + +After handing the written and signed confession to me, he +approached the venomous creature, still lingering in the room to +hear what passed between us. Before I could stop him, he spoke to +her, under a natural impression that he was addressing the +Prisoner's servant. + +"I am afraid you will be disappointed," he said, "when I tell you +that your services will no longer be required. I have reasons for +placing the child under the care of a nurse of my own choosing." + +She listened with an evil smile. + +"I know who furnished you with your reasons," she answered. +"Apologies are quite needless, so far as I am concerned. If you +had proposed to me t o look after the new member of your family +there, I should have felt it my duty to myself to have refused. I +am not a nurse--I am an independent single lady. I see by your +dress that you are a clergyman. Allow me to present myself as a +mark of respect to your cloth. I am Miss Elizabeth Chance. May I +ask the favor of your name?" + +Too weary and too preoccupied to notice the insolence of her +manner, the Minister mentioned his name. "I am anxious," he said, +"to know if the child has been baptized. Perhaps you can +enlighten me?" + +Still insolent, Miss Elizabeth Chance shook her head carelessly. +"I never heard--and, to tell you the truth, I never cared to +hear--whether she was christened or not. Call her by what name +you like, I can tell you this--you will find your adopted +daughter a heavy handful." + +The Minister turned to me. "What does she mean?" + +"I will try to tell you," Miss Chance interposed. "Being a +clergyman, you know who Deborah was? Very well. I am Deborah now; +and _I_ prophesy." She pointed to the child. "Remember what I +say, reverend sir! You will find the tigress-cub take after its +mother." + +With those parting words, she favored us with a low curtsey, and +left the room. + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE DOCTOR DOUBTS. + + +THE Minister looked at me in an absent manner; his attention +seemed to have been wandering. "What was it Miss Chance said?" he +asked. + +Before I could speak, a friend's voice at the door interrupted +us. The Doctor, returning to me as he had promised, answered the +Minister's question in these words: + +"I must have passed the person you mean, sir, as I was coming in +here; and I heard her say: 'You will find the tigress-cub take +after its mother.' If she had known how to put her meaning into +good English, Miss Chance--that is the name you mentioned, I +think--might have told you that the vices of the parents are +inherited by the children. And the one particular parent she had +in her mind," the Doctor continued, gently patting the child's +cheek, "was no doubt the mother of this unfortunate little +creature--who may, or may not, live to show you that she comes of +a bad stock and inherits a wicked nature." + +I was on the point of protesting against my friend's +interpretation, when the Minister stopped me. + +"Let me thank you, sir, for your explanation," he said to the +Doctor. "As soon as my mind is free, I will reflect on what you +have said. Forgive me, Mr. Governor," he went on, "if I leave +you, now that I have placed the Prisoner's confession in your +hands. It has been an effort to me to say the little I have said, +since I first entered this room. I can think of nothing but that +unhappy criminal, and the death that she must die to-morrow." + +"Does she wish you to be present?" I asked. + +"She positively forbids it. 'After what you have done for me,' +she said, 'the least I can do in return is to prevent your being +needlessly distressed.' She took leave of me; she kissed the +little girl for the last time--oh, don't ask me to tell you about +it! I shall break down if I try. Come, my darling!" He kissed the +child tenderly, and took her away with him. + +"That man is a strange compound of strength and weakness," the +Doctor remarked. "Did you notice his face, just now? Nine men out +of ten, suffering as he suffered, would have failed to control +themselves. Such resolution as his _may_ conquer the difficulties +that are in store for him yet." + +It was a trial of my temper to hear my clever colleague +justifying, in this way, the ignorant prediction of an insolent +woman. + +"There are exceptions to all rules," I insisted. "And why are the +virtues of the parents not just as likely to descend to the +children as the vices? There was a fund of good, I can tell you, +in that poor baby's father--though I don't deny that he was a +profligate man. And even the horrible mother--as you heard just +now--has virtue enough left in her to feel grateful to the man +who has taken care of her child. These are facts; you can't +dispute them." + +The Doctor took out his pipe. "Do you mind my smoking?" he asked. +"Tobacco helps me to arrange my ideas." + +I gave him the means of arranging his ideas; that is to say, I +gave him the match-box. He blew some preliminary clouds of smoke +and then he answered me: + +"For twenty years past, my friend, I have been studying the +question of hereditary transmission of qualities; and I have +found vices and diseases descending more frequently to children +than virtue and health. I don't stop to ask why: there is no end +to that sort of curiosity. What I have observed is what I tell +you; no more and no less. You will say this is a horribly +discouraging result of experience, for it tends to show that +children come into the world at a disadvantage on the day of +their birth. Of course they do. Children are born deformed; +children are born deaf, dumb, or blind; children are born with +the seeds in them of deadly diseases. Who can account for the +cruelties of creation? Why are we endowed with life--only to end +in death? And does it ever strike you, when you are cutting your +mutton at dinner, and your cat is catching its mouse, and your +spider is suffocating its fly, that we are all, big and little +together, born to one certain inheritance--the privilege of +eating each other?" + +"Very sad," I admitted. "But it will all be set right in another +world." + +"Are you quite sure of that?" the Doctor asked. + +"Quite sure, thank God! And it would be better for you if you +felt about it as I do." + +"We won't dispute, my dear Governor. I don't scoff at comforting +hopes; I don't deny the existence of occasional compensations. +But I do see, nevertheless, that Evil has got the upper hand +among us, on this curious little planet. Judging by my +observation and experience, that ill-fated baby's chance of +inheriting the virtues of her parents is not to be compared with +her chances of inheriting their vices; especially if she happens +to take after her mother. _There_ the virtue is not conspicuous, +and the vice is one enormous fact. When I think of the growth of +that poisonous hereditary taint, which may come with time--when I +think of passions let loose and temptations lying in ambush--I +see the smooth surface of the Minister's domestic life with +dangers lurking under it which make me shake in my shoes. God! +what a life I should lead, if I happened to be in his place, some +years hence. Suppose I said or did something (in the just +exercise of my parental authority) which offended my adopted +daughter. What figure would rise from the dead in my memory, when +the girl bounced out of the room in a rage? The image of her +mother would be the image I should see. I should remember what +her mother did when _she_ was provoked; I should lock my bedroom +door, in my own house, at night. I should come down to breakfast +with suspicions in my cup of tea, if I discovered that my adopted +daughter had poured it out. Oh, yes; it's quite true that I might +be doing the girl a cruel injustice all the time; but how am I to +be sure of that? I am only sure that her mother was hanged for +one of the most merciless murders committed in our time. Pass the +match-box. My pipe's out, and my confession of faith has come to +an end." + +It was useless to dispute with a man who possessed his command of +language. At the same time, there was a bright side to the poor +Minister's prospects which the Doctor had failed to see. It was +barely possible that I might succeed in putting my positive +friend in the wrong. I tried the experiment, at any rate. + +"You seem to have forgotten," I reminded him, "that the child +will have every advantage that education can offer to her, and +will be accustomed from her earliest years to restraining and +purifying influences, in a clergyman's household." + +Now that he was enjoying the fumes of tobacco, the Doctor was as +placid and sweet-tempered as a man could be. + +"Quite true," he said. + +"Do you doubt the influence of religion?" I asked sternly. + +He answered, sweetly: "Not at all" + +"Or the influence of kindness?" + +"Oh, dear, no!" + +"Or the force of example?" + +"I wouldn't deny it for the world." + +I had not expected this extraordinary docility. The Doctor had +got the upper hand of me again--a state of thing s that I might +have found it hard to endure, but for a call of duty which put an +end to our sitting. One of the female warders appeared with a +message from the condemned cell. The Prisoner wished to see the +Governor and the Medical Officer. + +"Is she ill?" the Doctor inquired. + +"No, sir." + +"Hysterical? or agitated, perhaps?" + +"As easy and composed, sir, as a person can be." + +We set forth together for the condemned cell. + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE MURDERESS CONSULTS THE AUTHORITIES. + + +THERE was a considerate side to my friend's character, which +showed itself when the warder had left us. + +He was especially anxious to be careful of what he said to a +woman in the Prisoner's terrible situation; especially in the +event of her having been really subjected to the influence of +religious belief. On the Minister's own authority, I declared +that there was every reason to adopt this conclusion; and in +support of what I had said I showed him the confession. It only +contained a few lines, acknowledging that she had committed the +murder and that she deserved her sentence. "From the planning of +the crime to the commission of the crime, I was in my right +senses throughout. I knew what I was doing." With that remarkable +disavowal of the defense set up by her advocate, the confession +ended. + +My colleague read the paper, and handed it back to me without +making any remark. I asked if he suspected the Prisoner of +feigning conversion to please the Minister. + +"She shall not discover it," he answered, gravely, "if I do." + +It would not be true to say that the Doctor's obstinacy had +shaken my belief in the good result of the Minister's +interference. I may, however, acknowledge that I felt some +misgivings, which were not dispelled when I found myself in the +presence of the Prisoner. + +I had expected to see her employed in reading the Bible. The good +book was closed and was not even placed within her reach. The +occupation to which she was devoting herself astonished and +repelled me. + +Some carelessness on the part of the attendant had left on the +table the writing materials that had been needed for her +confession. She was using them now--when death on the scaffold +was literally within a few hours of her--to sketch a portrait of +the female warder, who was on the watch! The Doctor and I looked +at each other; and now the sincerity of her repentance was +something that I began to question, too. + +She laid down the pen, and proceeded quietly to explain herself. + +"Even the little time that is left to me proves to be a weary +time to get through," she said. "I am making a last use of the +talent for drawing and catching a likeness, which has been one of +my gifts since I was a girl. You look as if you didn't approve of +such employment as this for a woman who is going to be hanged. +Well, sir, I have no doubt you are right." She paused, and tore +up the portrait. "If I have misbehaved myself," she resumed, "I +make amends. To find you in an indulgent frame of mind is of +importance to me just now. I have a favor to ask of you. May the +warder leave the cell for a few minutes?" + +Giving the woman permission to withdraw for a while, I waited +with some anxiety to hear what the Prisoner wanted of me. + +"I have something to say to you," she proceeded, "on the subject +of executions. The face of a person who is going to be hanged is +hidden, as I have been told, by a white cap drawn over it. Is +that true?" + +How another man might have felt, in my place, I cannot, of +course, say. To my mind, such a question--on _her_ lips--was too +shocking to be answered in words. I bowed. + +"And the body is buried," she went on, "in the prison?" + +I could remain silent no longer. "Is there no human feeling left +in you?" I burst out. "What do these horrid questions mean?" + +"Don't be angry with me, sir; you shall hear directly. I want to +know first if I am to be buried in the prison?" + +I replied as before, by a bow. + +"Now," she said, "I may tell you what I mean. In the autumn of +last year I was taken to see some waxworks. Portraits of +criminals were among them. There was one portrait--" She +hesitated; her infernal self-possession failed her at last. The +color left her face; she was no longer able to look at me firmly. +"There was one portrait," she resumed, "that had been taken after +the execution. The face was so hideous; it was swollen to such a +size in its frightful deformity--oh, sir, don't let me be seen in +that state, even by the strangers who bury me! Use your +influence--forbid them to take the cap off my face when I am +dead--order them to bury me in it, and I swear to you I'll meet +death tomorrow as coolly as the boldest man that ever mounted the +scaffold!" Before I could stop her, she seized me by the hand, +and wrung it with a furious power that left the mark of her grasp +on me, in a bruise, for days afterward. "Will you do it?" she +cried. "You're an honorable man; you will keep your word. Give me +your promise!" + +I gave her my promise. + +The relief to her tortured spirit expressed itself horribly in a +burst of frantic laughter. "I can't help it," she gasped; "I'm so +happy." + +My enemies said of me, when I got my appointment, that I was too +excitable a man to be governor of a prison. Perhaps they were not +altogether wrong. Anyhow, the quick-witted Doctor saw some change +in me, which I was not aware of myself. He took my arm and led me +out of the cell. "Leave her to me," he whispered. "The fine edge +of my nerves was worn off long ago in the hospital." + +When we met again, I asked what had passed between the Prisoner +and himself. + +"I gave her time to recover," he told me; "and, except that she +looked a little paler than usual, there was no trace left of the +frenzy that you remember. 'I ought to apologize for troubling +you,' she said; 'but it is perhaps natural that I should think, +now and then, of what is to happen to me to-morrow morning. As a +medical man, you will be able to enlighten me. Is death by +hanging a painful death?' She had put it so politely that I felt +bound to answer her. 'If the neck happens to be broken,' I said, +'hanging is a sudden death; fright and pain (if there is any +pain) are both over in an instant. As to the other form of death +which is also possible (I mean death by suffocation), I must own +as an honest man that I know no more about it than you do.' After +considering a little, she made a sensible remark, and followed it +by an embarrassing request. 'A great deal,' she said, 'must +depend on the executioner. I am not afraid of death, Doctor. Why +should I be? My anxiety about my little girl is set at rest; I +have nothing left to live for. But I don't like pain. Would you +mind telling the executioner to be careful? Or would it be better +if I spoke to him myself?' I said I thought it would come with a +better grace from herself. She understood me directly; and we +dropped the subject. Are you surprised at her coolness, after +your experience of her?" + +I confessed that I was surprised. + +"Think a little," the Doctor said. "The one sensitive place in +that woman's nature is the place occupied by her self-esteem." + +I objected to this that she had shown fondness for her child. + +My friend disposed of the objection with his customary readiness. + +"The maternal instinct," he said. "A cat is fond of her kittens; +a cow is fond of her calf. No, sir, the one cause of that +outbreak of passion which so shocked you--a genuine outbreak, +beyond all doubt--is to be found in the vanity of a fine feminine +creature, overpowered by a horror of looking hideous, even after +her death. Do you know I rather like that woman?" + +"Is it possible that you are in earnest?" I asked. + +"I know as well as you do," he answered, that this is neither a +time nor a place for jesting. The fact is, the Prisoner carries +out an idea of mine. It is my positive conviction that the worst +murders--I mean murders deliberately planned--are committed by +persons absolutely deficient in that part of the moral +organization which _feels._ The night before they are hanged they +sleep. On their last morning they eat a breakfast. Incapable of +realizing the horror of murder, they are incapable of realizing +the horror of death. Do you remember the last murderer who was + hanged here--a gentleman's coachman who killed his wife? He had +but two anxieties while he was waiting for execution. One was to +get his allowance of beer doubled, and the other was to be hanged +in his coachman's livery. No! no! these wretches are all alike; +they are human creatures born with the temperaments of tigers. +Take my word for it, we need feel no anxiety about to-morrow. The +Prisoner will face the crowd round the scaffold with composure; +and the people will say, 'She died game.' " + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE MINISTER SAYS GOOD-BY. + + +THE Capital Punishment of the Prisoner is in no respect connected +with my purpose in writing the present narrative. Neither do I +desire to darken these pages by describing in detail an act of +righteous retribution which must present, by the nature of it, a +scene of horror. For these reasons I ask to be excused, if I +limit what I must needs say of the execution within the compass +of a few words--and pass on. + +The one self-possessed person among us was the miserable woman +who suffered the penalty of death. + +Not very discreetly, as I think, the Chaplain asked her if she +had truly repented. She answered: "I have confessed the crime, +sir. What more do you want?" To my mind--still hesitating between +the view that believes with the Minister, and the view that +doubts with the Doctor--this reply leaves a way open to hope of +her salvation. Her last words to me, as she mounted the steps of +the scaffold, were: "Remember your promise." It was easy for me +to be true to my word. At that bygone time, no difficulties were +placed in my way by such precautions as are now observed in the +conduct of executions within the walls of the prison. From the +time of her death to the time of her burial, no living creature +saw her face. She rests, veiled in her prison grave. + +Let me now turn to living interests, and to scenes removed from +the thunder-clouds of crime. + +. . . . . . . + +On the next day I received a visit from the Minister. + +His first words entreated me not to allude to the terrible event +of the previous day. "I cannot escape thinking of it," he said, +"but I may avoid speaking of it." This seemed to me to be the +misplaced confidence of a weak man in the refuge of silence. By +way of changing the subject, I spoke of the child. There would be +serious difficulties to contend with (as I ventured to suggest), +if he remained in the town, and allowed his new responsibilities +to become the subject of public talk. + +His reply to this agreeably surprised me. There were no +difficulties to be feared. + +The state of his wife's health had obliged him (acting under +medical advice) to try the influence of her native air. An +interval of some months might elapse before the good effect of +the change had sufficiently declared itself; and a return to the +peculiar climate of the town might bring on a relapse. There had +consequently been no alternative to but resign his charge. Only +on that day the resignation had been accepted--with expressions +of regret sincerely reciprocated by himself. He proposed to leave +the town immediately; and one of the objects of his visit was to +bid me good-by. + +"The next place I live in," he said, "will be more than a hundred +miles away. At that distance I may hope to keep events concealed +which must be known only to ourselves. So far as I can see, there +are no risks of discovery lurking in this place. My servants +(only two in number) have both been born here, and have both told +my wife that they have no wish to go away. As to the person who +introduced herself to me by the name of Miss Chance, she was +traced to the railway station yesterday afternoon, and took her +ticket for London." + +I congratulated the Minister on the good fortune which had +befriended him, so far. + +"You will understand how carefully I have provided against being +deceived," he continued, "when I tell you what my plans are. The +persons among whom my future lot is cast--and the child herself, +of course--must never suspect that the new member of my family is +other than my own daughter. This is deceit, I admit; but it is +deceit that injures no one. I hope you see the necessity for it, +as I do." + +There could be no doubt of the necessity. + +If the child was described as adopted, there would be curiosity +about the circumstances, and inquiries relating to the parents. +Prevaricating replies lead to suspicion, and suspicion to +discovery. But for the wise course which the Minister had decided +on taking, the poor child's life might have been darkened by the +horror of the mother's crime, and the infamy of the mother's +death. + +Having quieted my friend's needless scruples by this perfectly +sincere expression of opinion, I ventured to approach the central +figure in his domestic circle, by means of a question relating to +his wife. How had that lady received the unfortunate little +creature, for whose appearance on the home-scene she must have +been entirely unprepared? + +The Minister's manner showed some embarrassment; he prefaced what +he had to tell me with praises of his wife, equally creditable no +doubt to both of them. The beauty of the child, the pretty ways +of the child, he said, fascinated the admirable woman at first +sight. It was not to be denied that she had felt, and had +expressed, misgivings, on being informed of the circumstances +under which the Minister's act of mercy had been performed. But +her mind was too well balanced to incline to this state of +feeling, when her husband had addressed her in defense of his +conduct. She then understood that the true merit of a good action +consisted in patiently facing the sacrifices involved. Her +interest in the new daughter being, in this way, ennobled by a +sense of Christian duty, there had been no further difference of +opinion between the married pair. + +I listened to this plausible explanation with interest, but, at +the same time, with doubts of the lasting nature of the lady's +submission to circumstances; suggested, perhaps, by the +constraint in the Minister's manner. It was well for both of us +when we changed the subject. He reminded me of the discouraging +view which the Doctor had taken of the prospect before him. + +"I will not attempt to decide whether your friend is right or +wrong," he said. "Trusting, as I do, in the mercy of God, I look +hopefully to a future time when all that is brightest and best in +the nature of my adopted child will be developed under my +fostering care. If evil tendencies show themselves, my reliance +will be confidently placed on pious example, on religious +instruction, and, above all, on intercession by prayer. Repeat to +your friend," he concluded, "what you have just heard me say. Let +him ask himself if he could confront the uncertain future with my +cheerful submission and my steadfast hope." + +He intrusted me with that message, and gave me his hand. So we +parted. + +I agreed with him, I admired him; but my faith seemed to want +sustaining power, as compared with his faith. On his own showing +(as it appeared to me), there would be two forces in a state of +conflict in the child's nature as she grew up--inherited evil +against inculcated good. Try as I might, I failed to feel the +Minister's comforting conviction as to which of the two would +win. + +CHAPTER IX. + +THE GOVERNOR RECEIVES A VISIT. + + +A FEW days after the good man had left us, I met with a serious +accident, caused by a false step on the stone stairs of the +prison. + +The long illness which followed this misfortune, and my removal +afterward (in the interests of my recovery) to a milder climate +than the climate of England, obliged me to confide the duties of +governor of the prison to a representative. I was absent from my +post for rather more than a year. During this interval no news +reached me from my reverend friend. + +Having returned to the duties of my office, I thought of writing +to the Minister. While the proposed letter was still in +contemplation, I was informed that a lady wished to see me. She +sent in her card. My visitor proved to be the Minister's wife. + +I observed her with no ordinary attention when she entered the +room. + +Her dress was simple; her scanty light hair, so far as I could +see it under her bonnet, was dressed with taste. Th e paleness of +her lips, and the faded color in her face, suggested that she was +certainly not in good health. Two peculiarities struck me in her +personal appearance. I never remembered having seen any other +person with such a singularly narrow and slanting forehead as +this lady presented; and I was impressed, not at all agreeably, +by the flashing shifting expression in her eyes. On the other +hand, let me own that I was powerfully attracted and interested +by the beauty of her voice. Its fine variety of compass, and its +musical resonance of tone, fell with such enchantment on the ear, +that I should have liked to put a book of poetry into her hand, +and to have heard her read it in summer-time, accompanied by the +music of a rocky stream. + +The object of her visit--so far as she explained it at the +outset--appeared to be to offer her congratulations on my +recovery, and to tell me that her husband had assumed the charge +of a church in a large town not far from her birthplace. + +Even those commonplace words were made interesting by her +delicious voice. But however sensitive to sweet sounds a man may +be, there are limits to his capacity for deceiving +himself--especially when he happens to be enlightened by +experience of humanity within the walls of a prison. I had, it +may be remembered, already doubted the lady's good temper, +judging from her husband's over-wrought description of her +virtues. Her eyes looked at me furtively; and her manner, +gracefully self-possessed as it was, suggested that she had +something of a delicate, or disagreeable, nature to say to me, +and that she was at a loss how to approach the subject so as to +produce the right impression on my mind at the outset. There was +a momentary silence between us. For the sake of saying something, +I asked how she and the Minister liked their new place of +residence. + +"Our new place of residence," she answered, "has been made +interesting by a very unexpected event--an event (how shall I +describe it?) which has increased our happiness and enlarged our +family circle." + +There she stopped: expecting me, as I fancied, to guess what she +meant. A woman, and that woman a mother, might have fulfilled her +anticipations. A man, and that man not listening attentively, was +simply puzzled. + +"Pray excuse my stupidity," I said; "I don't quite understand +you." + +The lady's temper looked at me out of the lady's shifting eyes, +and hid itself again in a moment. She set herself right in my +estimation by taking the whole blame of our little +misunderstanding on her own innocent shoulders. + +"I ought to have spoken more plainly," she said. "Let me try what +I can do now. After many years of disappointment in my married +life, it has pleased Providence to bestow on me the +happiness--the inexpressible happiness--of being a mother. My +baby is a sweet little girl; and my one regret is that I cannot +nurse her myself." + +My languid interest in the Minister's wife was not stimulated by +the announcement of this domestic event. + +I felt no wish to see the "sweet little girl"; I was not even +reminded of another example of long-deferred maternity, which had +occurred within the limits of my own family circle. All my +sympathies attached themselves to the sad little figure of the +adopted child. I remembered the poor baby on my knee, enchanted +by the ticking of my watch--I thought of her, peacefully and +prettily asleep under the horrid shelter of the condemned +cell--and it is hardly too much to say that my heart was heavy, +when I compared her prospects with the prospects of her +baby-rival. Kind as he was, conscientious as he was, could the +Minister be expected to admit to an equal share in his love the +child endeared to him as a father, and the child who merely +reminded him of an act of mercy? As for his wife, it seemed the +merest waste of time to put her state of feeling (placed between +the two children) to the test of inquiry. I tried the useless +experiment, nevertheless. + +"It is pleasant to think," I began, "that your other daughter--" + +She interrupted me, with the utmost gentleness: "Do you mean the +child that my husband was foolish enough to adopt?" + +"Say rather fortunate enough to adopt," I persisted. "As your own +little girl grows up, she will want a playfellow. And she will +find a playfellow in that other child, whom the good Minister has +taken for his own." + +"No, my dear sir--not if I can prevent it." + +The contrast between the cruelty of her intention, and the +musical beauty of the voice which politely expressed it in those +words, really startled me. I was at a loss how to answer her, at +the very time when I ought to have been most ready to speak. + +"You must surely understand," she went on, "that we don't want +another person's child, now we have a little darling of our own?" + +"Does your husband agree with you in that view?" I asked. + +"Oh dear, no! He said what you said just now, and (oddly enough) +almost in the same words. But I don't at all despair of +persuading him to change his mind--and you can help me." + +She made that audacious assertion with such an appearance of +feeling perfectly sure of me, that my politeness gave way under +the strain laid on it. "What do you mean?" I asked sharply. + +Not in the least impressed by my change of manner, she took from +the pocket of her dress a printed paper. "You will find what I +mean there," she replied--and put the paper into my hand. + +It was an appeal to the charitable public, occasioned by the +enlargement of an orphan-asylum, with which I had been connected +for many years. What she meant was plain enough now. I said +nothing: I only looked at her. + +Pleased to find that I was clever enough to guess what she meant, +on this occasion, the Minister's wife informed me that the +circumstances were all in our favor. She still persisted in +taking me into partnership--the circumstances were in _our_ +favor. + +"In two years more," she explained, "the child of that detestable +creature who was hanged--do you know, I cannot even look at the +little wretch without thinking of the gallows?--will be old +enough (with your interest to help us) to be received into the +asylum. What a relief it will be to get rid of that child! And +how hard I shall work at canvassing for subscribers' votes! Your +name will be a tower of strength when I use it as a reference. +Pardon me--you are not looking so pleasantly as usual. Do you see +some obstacles in our way?" + +"I see two obstacles." + +"What can they possibly be?" + +For the second time, my politeness gave way under the strain laid +on it. "You know perfectly well," I said, "what one of the +obstacles is." + +"Am I to understand that you contemplate any serious resistance +on the part of my husband?" + +"Certainly!" + +She was unaffectedly amused by my simplicity. + +"Are you a single man?" she asked. + +"I am a widower." + +"Then your experience ought to tell you that I know every weak +point in the Minister's character. I can tell him, on your +authority, that the hateful child will be placed in competent and +kindly hands--and I have my own sweet baby to plead for me. With +these advantages in my favor, do you actually suppose I can fail +to make _my_ way of thinking _his_ way of thinking? You must have +forgotten your own married life! Suppose we go on to the second +of your two obstacles. I hope it will be better worth considering +than the first." + +"The second obstacle will not disappoint you," I answered; "I am +the obstacle, this time." + +"You refuse to help me?" + +"Positively." + +"Perhaps reflection may alter your resolution?" + +"Reflection will do nothing of the kind." + +"You are rude, sir!" + +"In speaking to you, madam, I have no alternative but to speak +plainly." + +She rose. Her shifting eyes, for once, looked at me steadily. + +"What sort of enemy have I made of you?" she asked. "A passive +enemy who is content with refusing to help me? Or an active enemy +who will write to my husband?" + +"It depends entirely," I told her, "on what your husband does. If +he questions me about you, I shall tell him the truth." + +"And if not?" + +"In that case, I shall hope to forget that you ever favored me +with a visit." + +In making this reply I was guiltless of any malicious intention. +What evil interpretation she placed + on my words it is impossible for me to say; I can only declare +that some intolerable sense of injury hurried her into an +outbreak of rage. Her voice, strained for the first time, lost +its tuneful beauty of tone. + +"Come and see us in two years' time," she burst out--"and +discover the orphan of the gallows in our house if you can! If +your Asylum won't take her, some other Charity will. Ha, Mr. +Governor, I deserve my disappointment! I ought to have remembered +that you are only a jailer after all. And what is a jailer? +Proverbially a brute. Do you hear that? A brute!" + +Her strength suddenly failed her. She dropped back into the chair +from which she had risen, with a faint cry of pain. A ghastly +pallor stole over her face. There was wine on the sideboard; I +filled a glass. She refused to take it. At that time in the day, +the Doctor's duties required his attendance in the prison. I +instantly sent for him. After a moment's look at her, he took the +wine out of my hand, and held the glass to her lips. + +"Drink it," he said. She still refused. "Drink it," he +reiterated, "or you will die." + +That frightened her; she drank the wine. The Doctor waited for a +while with his fingers on her pulse. "She will do now," he said. + +"Can I go?" she asked. + +"Go wherever you please, madam--so long as you don't go upstairs +in a hurry." + +She smiled: "I understand you, sir--and thank you for your +advice." + +I asked the Doctor, when we were alone, what made him tell her +not to go upstairs in a hurry. + +"What I felt," he answered, "when I had my fingers on her pulse. +You heard her say that she understood me." + +"Yes; but I don't know what she meant." + +"She meant, probably, that her own doctor had warned her as I +did." + +"Something seriously wrong with her health?" + +"Yes." + +"What is it?" + +"Heart." + + +CHAPTER X. + +MISS CHANCE REAPPEARS. + + +A WEEK had passed, since the Minister's wife had left me, when I +received a letter from the Minister himself. + +After surprising me, as he innocently supposed, by announcing the +birth of his child, he mentioned some circumstances connected +with that event, which I now heard for the first time. + +"Within an easy journey of the populous scene of my present +labors," he wrote, "there is a secluded country village called +Low Lanes. The rector of the place is my wife's brother. Before +the birth of our infant, he had asked his sister to stay for a +while at his house; and the doctor thought she might safely be +allowed to accept the invitation. Through some error in the +customary calculations, as I suppose, the child was born +unexpectedly at the rectory; and the ceremony of baptism was +performed at the church, under circumstances which I am not able +to relate within the limits of a letter: Let me only say that I +allude to this incident without any sectarian bitterness of +feeling--for I am no enemy to the Church of England. You have no +idea what treasures of virtue and treasures of beauty maternity +has revealed in my wife's sweet nature. Other mothers, in her +proud position, might find their love cooling toward the poor +child whom we have adopted. But my household is irradiated by the +presence of an angel, who gives an equal share in her affections +to the two little ones alike." + +In this semi-hysterical style of writing, the poor man +unconsciously told me how cunningly and how cruelly his wife was +deceiving him. + +I longed to exhibit that wicked woman in her true character--but +what could I do? She must have been so favored by circumstances +as to be able to account for her absence from home, without +exciting the slightest suspicion of the journey which she had +really taken, if I declared in my reply to the Minister's letter +that I had received her in my rooms, and if I repeated the +conversation that had taken place, what would the result be? She +would find an easy refuge in positive denial of the truth--and, +in that case, which of us would her infatuated husband believe? + +The one part of the letter which I read with some satisfaction +was the end of it. + +I was here informed that the Minister's plans for concealing the +parentage of his adopted daughter had proved to be entirely +successful. The members of the new domestic household believed +the two children to be infant-sisters. Neither was there any +danger of the adopted child being identified (as the oldest child +of the two) by consultation of the registers. + +Before he left our town, the Minister had seen for himself that +no baptismal name had been added, after the birth of the daughter +of the murderess had been registered, and that no entry of +baptism existed in the registers kept in places of worship. He +drew the inference--in all probability a true inference, +considering the characters of the parents--that the child had +never been baptized; and he performed the ceremony privately, +abstaining, for obvious reasons, from adding her Christian name +to the imperfect register of her birth. "I am not aware," he +wrote, "whether I have, or have not, committed an offense against +the Law. In any case, I may hope to have made atonement by +obedience to the Gospel." + +Six weeks passed, and I heard from my reverend friend once more. + +His second letter presented a marked contrast to the first. It +was written in sorrow and anxiety, to inform me of an alarming +change for the worse in his wife's health. I showed the letter to +my medical colleague. After reading it he predicted the event +that might be expected, in two words:--Sudden death. + +On the next occasion when I heard from the Minister, the Doctor's +grim reply proved to be a prophecy fulfilled. + +When we address expressions of condolence to bereaved friends, +the principles of popular hypocrisy sanction indiscriminate lying +as a duty which we owe to the dead--no matter what their lives +may have been--because they are dead. Within my own little +sphere, I have always been silent, when I could not offer to +afflicted persons expressions of sympathy which I honestly felt. +To have condoled with the Minister on the loss that he had +sustained by the death of a woman, self-betrayed to me as +shamelessly deceitful, and pitilessly determined to reach her own +cruel ends, would have been to degrade myself by telling a +deliberate lie. I expressed in my answer all that an honest man +naturally feels, when he is writing to a friend in distress; +carefully abstaining from any allusion to the memory of his wife, +or to the place which her death had left vacant in his household. +My letter, I am sorry to say, disappointed and offended him. He +wrote to me no more, until years had passed, and time had exerted +its influence in producing a more indulgent frame of mind. These +letters of a later date have been preserved, and will probably be +used, at the right time, for purposes of explanation with which I +may be connected in the future. + +. . . . . . . + +The correspondent whom I had now lost was succeeded by a +gentleman entirely unknown to me. + +Those reasons which induced me to conceal the names of persons, +while I was relating events in the prison, do not apply to +correspondence with a stranger writing from another place. I may, +therefore, mention that Mr. Dunboyne, of Fairmount, on the west +coast of Ireland, was the writer of the letter now addressed to +me. He proved, to my surprise, to be one of the relations whom +the Prisoner under sentence of death had not cared to see, when I +offered her the opportunity of saying farewell. Mr. Dunboyne was +a brother-in-law of the murderess. He had married her sister. + +His wife, he informed me, had died in childbirth, leaving him but +one consolation--a boy, who already recalled all that was +brightest and best in his lost mother. The father was naturally +anxious that the son should never become acquainted with the +disgrace that had befallen the family. + +The letter then proceeded in these terms: + +"I heard yesterday, for the first time, by means of an old +newspaper-cutting sent to me by a friend, that the miserable +woman who suffered the ignominy of public execution has left an +infant child. Can you tell me what has become of the orphan? If +this little girl is, as I fear, not well provided for, I only do +what my wife would have done if she had lived, by offering to + make the child's welfare my especial care. I am willing to place +her in an establishment well known to me, in which she will be +kindly treated, well educated, and fitted to earn her own living +honorably in later life. + +"If you feel some surprise at finding that my good intentions +toward this ill-fated niece of mine do not go to the length of +receiving her as a member of my own family, I beg to submit some +considerations which may perhaps weigh with you as they have +weighed with me. + +"In the first place, there is at least a possibility--however +carefully I might try to conceal it--that the child's parentage +would sooner or later be discovered. In the second place (and +assuming that the parentage had been successfully concealed), if +this girl and my boy grew up together, there is another +possibility to be reckoned with: they might become attached to +each other. Does the father live who would allow his son +ignorantly to marry the daughter of a convicted murderess? I +should have no alternative but to part them cruelly by revealing +the truth." The letter ended with some complimentary expressions +addressed to myself. And the question was: how ought I to answer +it? + +My correspondent had strongly impressed me in his favor; I could +not doubt that he was an honorable man. But the interest of the +Minister in keeping his own benevolent action secure from the +risk of discovery--increased as that interest was by the filial +relations of the two children toward him, now publicly +established--had, as I could not doubt, the paramount claim on +me. The absolutely safe course to take was to admit no one, +friend or stranger, to our confidence. I replied, expressing +sincere admiration of Mr. Dunboyne's motives, and merely +informing him that the child was already provided for. + +After that, I heard no more of the Irish gentleman. + +It is perhaps hardly necessary to add that I kept the Minister in +ignorance of my correspondence with Mr. Dunboyne. I was too well +acquainted with my friend's sensitive and self-tormenting nature +to let him know that a relative of the murderess was living, and +was aware that she had left a child. + +A last event remains to be related, before I close these pages. + +During the year of which I am now writing, our Chaplain added one +more to the many examples that I have seen of his generous +readiness to serve his friends. He had arranged to devote his +annual leave of absence to a tour among the English Lakes, when +he received a letter from a clergyman resident in London, whom he +had known from the time when they had been school-fellows. This +old friend wrote under circumstances of the severest domestic +distress, which made it absolutely necessary that he should leave +London for a while. Having failed to find a representative who +could relieve him of his clerical duties, he applied to the +Chaplain to recommend a clergyman who might be in a position to +help him. My excellent colleague gave up his holiday-plans +without hesitation, and went to London himself. + +On his return, I asked if he had seen anything of some +acquaintances of his and of mine, who were then visitors to the +metropolis. He smiled significantly when he answered me. + +"I have a card to deliver from an acquaintance whom you have not +mentioned," he said; "and I rather think it will astonish you." + +It simply puzzled me. When he gave me the card, this is what I +found printed on it: + +"MRS. TENERUGGEN (OF SOUTH BEVELAND)." + +"Well?" said the Chaplain. + +"Well," I answered; "I never even heard of Mrs. Tenbruggen, of +South Beveland. Who is she?" + +"I married the lady to a foreign gentleman, only last week, at my +friend's church," the Chaplain replied. "Perhaps you may remember +her maiden name?" + +He mentioned the name of the dangerous creature who had first +presented herself to me, in charge of the Prisoner's +child--otherwise Miss Elizabeth Chance. The reappearance of this +woman on the scene--although she was only represented by her +card--caused me a feeling of vague uneasiness, so contemptibly +superstitious in its nature that I now remember it with shame. I +asked a stupid question: + +"How did it happen?" + +"In the ordinary course of such things," my friend said. "They +were married by license, in their parish church. The bridegroom +was a fine tall man, with a bold eye and a dashing manner. The +bride and I recognized each other directly. When Miss Chance had +become Mrs. Tenbruggen, she took me aside, and gave me her card. +'Ask the Governor to accept it,' she said, 'in remembrance of the +time when he took me for a nursemaid. Tell him I am married to a +Dutch gentleman of high family. If he ever comes to Holland, we +shall be glad to see him in our residence at South Beveland.' +There is her message to you, repeated word for word." + +"I am glad she is going to live out of England." + +"Why? Surely you have no reason to fear her?" + +"None whatever." + +"You are thinking, perhaps, of somebody else?" + +I was thinking of the Minister; but it seemed to be safest not to +say so. + +------- + +My pen is laid aside, and my many pages of writing have been sent +to their destination. What I undertook to do, is now done. To +take a metaphor from the stage--the curtain falls here on the +Governor and the Prison. + + +Second Period: 1875. + +THE GIRLS AND THE JOURNALS. + + +CHAPTER XI. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + + +WE both said good-night, and went up to our room with a new +object in view. By our father's advice we had resolved on keeping +diaries, for the first time in our lives, and had pledged +ourselves to begin before we went to bed. + +Slowly and silently and lazily, my sister sauntered to her end of +the room and seated herself at her writing-table. On the desk lay +a nicely bound book, full of blank pages. The word "Journal" was +printed on it in gold letters, and there was fitted to the covers +a bright brass lock and key. A second journal, exactly similar in +every respect to the first, was placed on the writing-table at my +end of the room. I opened my book. The sight of the blank leaves +irritated me; they were so smooth, so spotless, so entirely ready +to do _their_ duty. I took too deep a dip of ink, and began the +first entry in my diary by making a blot. This was discouraging. +I got up, and looked out of window. + +"Helena!" + +My sister's voice could hardly have addressed me in a more weary +tone, if her pen had been at work all night, relating domestic +events. "Well!" I said. "What is it?" + +"Have you done already?" she asked. + +I showed her the blot. My sister Eunice (the strangest as well as +the dearest of girls) always blurts out what she has in her mind +at the time. She fixed her eyes gravely on my spoiled page, and +said: "That comforts me." I crossed the room, and looked at her +book. She had not even summoned energy enough to make a blot. +"What will papa think of us," she said, "if we don't begin +to-night?" + +"Why not begin," I suggested, "by writing down what he said, when +he gave us our journals? Those wise words of advice will be in +their proper place on the first page of the new books." + +Not at all a demonstrative girl naturally; not ready with her +tears, not liberal with her caresses, not fluent in her talk, +Eunice was affected by my proposal in a manner wonderful to see. +She suddenly developed into an excitable person--I declare she +kissed me. "Oh," she burst out, "how clever you are! The very +thing to write about; I'll do it directly." + +She really did it directly; without once stopping to consider, +without once waiting to ask my advice. Line after line, I heard +her noisy pen hurrying to the bottom of a first page, and getting +three-parts of the way toward the end of a second page, before +she closed her diary. I reminded her that she had not turned the +key, in the lock which was intended to keep her writing private. + +"It's not worth while," she answered. "Anybody who cares to do it +may read what I write. Good-night." + +The singular change which I had noticed in her began to +disappear, when she set about her preparations for bed. I noticed +the old easy indolent movements again, and that regular and +deliberate method of brushing her hair, which I can never +contemplate without feeling a stupefying influence that has +helped me to many a deli cious night's sleep. She said her +prayers in her favorite corner of the room, and laid her head on +the pillow with the luxurious little sigh which announces that +she is falling asleep. This reappearance of her usual habits was +really a relief to me. Eunice in a state of excitement is Eunice +exhibiting an unnatural spectacle. + +The next thing I did was to take the liberty which she had +already sanctioned--I mean the liberty of reading what she had +written. Here it is, copied exactly: + +"I am not half so fond of anybody as I am of papa. He is always +kind, he is always right. I love him, I love him, I love him. + +"But this is not how I meant to begin. I must tell how he talked +to us; I wish he was here to tell it himself. + +"He said to me: 'You are getting lazier than ever, Eunice.' He +said to Helena: 'You are feeling the influence of Eunice's +example.' He said to both of us: 'You are too ready, my dear +children, to sit with your hands on your laps, looking at nothing +and thinking of nothing; I want to try a new way of employing +your leisure time.' + +"He opened a parcel on the table. He made each of us a present of +a beautiful book, called 'Journal.' He said: 'When you have +nothing to do, my dears, in the evening, employ yourselves in +keeping a diary of the events of the day. It will be a useful +record in many ways, and a good moral discipline for young +girls.' Helena said: 'Oh, thank you!' I said the same, but not so +cheerfully. + +"The truth is, I feel out of spirits now if I think of papa; I am +not easy in my mind about him. When he is very much interested, +there is a quivering in his face which I don't remember in past +times. He seems to have got older and thinner, all on a sudden. +He shouts (which he never used to do) when he threatens sinners +at sermon-time. Being in dreadful earnest about our souls, he is +of course obliged to speak of the devil; but he never used to hit +the harmless pulpit cushion with his fist as he does now. Nobody +seems to have seen these things but me; and now I have noticed +them what ought I to do? I don't know; I am certain of nothing, +except what I have put in at the top of page one: I love him, I +love him, I love him." + +. . . . . . . + +There this very curious entry ended. It was easy enough to +discover the influence which had made my slow-minded sister so +ready with her. memory and her pen--so ready, in short, to do +anything and everything, provided her heart was in it, and her +father was in it. + +But Eunice is wrong, let me tell her, in what she says of myself. + +I, too, have seen the sad change in my father; but I happen to +know that he dislikes having it spoken of at home, and I have +kept my painful discoveries to myself. Unhappily, the best +medical advice is beyond our reach. The one really competent +doctor in this place is known to be an infidel. But for that +shocking obstacle I might have persuaded my father to see him. As +for the other two doctors whom he has consulted, at different +times, one talked about suppressed gout, and the other told him +to take a year's holiday and enjoy himself on the Continent. + +The clock has just struck twelve. I have been writing and copying +till my eyes are heavy, and I want to follow Eunice's example and +sleep as soundly as she does. We have made a strange beginning of +this journalizing experiment. I wonder how long it will go on, +and what will come of it. + +SECOND DAY. + + +I begin to be afraid that I am as stupid--no; that is not a nice +word to use--let me say as simple as dear Eunice. A diary means a +record of the events of the day; and not one of the events of +yesterday appears in my sister's journal or in mine. Well, it is +easy to set that mistake right. Our lives are so dull (but I +would not say so in my father's hearing for the world) that the +record of one day will be much the same as the record of another. + +After family prayers and breakfast I suffer my customary +persecution at the hands of the cook. That is to say, I am +obliged, being the housekeeper, to order what we have to eat. Oh, +how I hate inventing dinners! and how I admire the enviable +slowness of mind and laziness of body which have saved Eunice +from undertaking the worries of housekeeping in her turn! She can +go and work in her garden, while I am racking my invention to +discover variety in dishes without overstepping the limits of +economy. I suppose I may confess it privately to myself--how +sorry I am not to have been born a man! + +My next employment leads me to my father's study, to write under +his dictation. I don't complain of this; it flatters my pride to +feel that I am helping so great a man. At the same time, I do +notice that here again Eunice's little defects have relieved her +of another responsibility. She can neither keep dictated words in +her memory, nor has she ever been able to learn how to put in her +stops. + +After the dictation, I have an hour's time left for practicing +music. My sister comes in from the garden, with her pencil and +paint-box, and practices drawing. Then we go out for a walk--a +delightful walk, if my father goes too. He has something always +new to tell us, suggested by what we pass on the way. Then, +dinner-time comes--not always a pleasant part of the day to me. +Sometimes I hear paternal complaints (always gentle complaints) +of my housekeeping; sometimes my sister (I won't say the greedy +sister) tells me I have not given her enough to eat. Poor father! +Dear Eunice! + +Dinner having reached its end, we stroll in the garden when the +weather is fine. When it rains, we make flannel petticoats for +poor old women. What a horrid thing old age is to look at! To be +ugly, to be helpless, to be miserably unfit for all the pleasures +of life--I hope I shall not live to be an old woman. What would +my father say if he saw this? For his sake, to say nothing of my +own feelings, I shall do well if I make it a custom to use the +lock of my journal. + +Our next occupation is to join the Scripture class for girls, and +to help the teacher. This is a good discipline for Eunice's +temper, and--oh, I don't deny it!--for my temper, too. I may long +to box the ears of the whole class, but it is my duty to keep a +smiling face and to be a model of patience. From the Scripture +class we sometimes go to my father's lecture. At other times, we +may amuse ourselves as well as we can till the tea is ready. +After tea, we read books which instruct us, poetry and novels +being forbidden. When we are tired of the books we talk. When +supper is over, we have prayers again, and we go to bed. There is +our day. Oh, dear me! there is our day. + +. . . . . . . + +And how has Eunice succeeded in her second attempt at keeping a +diary? Here is what she has written. It has one merit that nobody +can deny--it is soon read: + +"I hope papa will excuse me; I have nothing to write about +to-day." + +Over and over again I have tried to point out to my sister the +absurdity of calling her father by the infantile nickname of +papa. I have reminded her that she is (in years, at least) no +longer a child. "Why don't you call him father, as I do?" I asked +only the other day. + +She made an absurd reply: "I used to call him papa when I was a +little girl." + +"That," I reminded her, "doesn't justify you in calling him papa +now." + +And she actually answered: "Yes it does." What a strange state of +mind! And what a charming girl, in spite of her mind! + +THIRD DAY. + +The morning post has brought with it a promise of some little +variety in our lives--or, to speak more correctly, in the life of +my sister. + +Our new and nice friends, the Staveleys, have written to invite +Eunice to pay them a visit at their house in London. I don't +complain at being left at home. It would be unfilial, indeed, if +we both of us forsook our father; and last year it was my turn to +receive the first invitation, and to enjoy the change of scene. +The Staveleys are excellent people--strictly pious members of the +Methodist Connection--and exceedingly kind to my sister and me. +But it was just as well for my moral welfare that I ended my +visit to our friends when I did. With my fondness for music, I +felt the temptation of the Evil One trying me, when I saw +placards in the street announcing that the Italian Opera + was open. I had no wish to be a witness of the shameful and +sinful dancing which goes on (I am told) at the opera; but I did +feel my principles shaken when I thought of the wonderful singers +and the entrancing music. And this, when I knew what an +atmosphere of wickedness people breathe who enter a theater! I +reflect with horror on what _might_ have happened if I had +remained a little longer in London. + +Helping Eunice to pack up, I put her journal into the box. + +"You will find something to write about now," I told her. "While +I record everything that happens at home, you will keep your +diary of all that you do in London, and when you come back we +will show each other what we have written." My sister is a dear +creature. "I don't feel sure of being able to do it," she +answered; "but I promise to try." Good Eunice! + + +CHAPTER XII. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + + +THE air of London feels very heavy. There is a nasty smell of +smoke in London. There are too many people in London. They seem +to be mostly people in a hurry. The head of a country girl, when +she goes into the streets, turns giddy--I suppose through not +being used to the noise. + +I do hope that it is London that has put me out of temper. +Otherwise, it must be I myself who am ill-tempered. I have not +yet been one whole day in the Staveleys' house, and they have +offended me already. I don't want Helena to hear of this from +other people, and then to ask me why I concealed it from her. We +are to read each other's journals when we are both at home again. +Let her see what I have to say for myself here. + +There are seven Staveleys in all: Mr. and Mrs. (two); three young +Masters (five); two young Misses (seven). An eldest miss and the +second young Master are the only ones at home at the present +time. + +Mr., Mrs., and Miss kissed me when I arrived. Young Master only +shook hands. He looked as if he would have liked to kiss me too. +Why shouldn't he? It wouldn't have mattered. I don't myself like +kissing. What is the use of it? Where is the pleasure of it? + +Mrs. was so glad to see me; she took hold of me by both hands. +She said: "My dear child, you are improving. You were wretchedly +thin when I saw you last. Now you are almost as well-developed as +your sister. I think you are prettier than your sister." Mr. +didn't agree to that. He and his wife began to dispute about me +before my face. I do call that an aggravating thing to endure. + +Mr. said: "She hasn't got her sister's pretty gray eyes." + +Mrs. said; "She has got pretty brown eyes, which are just as +good." + +Mr. said: "You can't compare her complexion with Helena's." + +Mrs. said: "I like Eunice's pale complexion. So delicate." + +Young Miss struck in: "I admire Helena's hair--light brown." + +Young Master took his turn: "I prefer Eunice's hair--dark brown." + +Mr. opened his great big mouth, and asked a question: "Which of +you two sisters is the oldest? I forget." + +Mrs. answered for me: "Helena is the oldest; she told us so when +she was here last." + +I really could _not_ stand that. "You must be mistaken," I burst +out. + +"Certainly not, my dear." + +"Then Helena was mistaken." I was unwilling to say of my sister +that she had been deceiving them, though it did seem only too +likely. + +Mr. and Mrs. looked at each other. Mrs. said: "You seem to be +very positive, Eunice. Surely, Helena ought to know." + +I said: "Helena knows a good deal; but she doesn't know which of +us is the oldest of the two." + +Mr. put in another question: "Do _you_ know?" + +"No more than Helena does." + +Mrs. said: "Don't you keep birthdays?" + +I said: "Yes; we keep both our birthdays on the same day." + +"On what day?" + +"The first day of the New Year." + +Mr. tried again: "You can't possibly be twins?" + +"I don't know." + +"Perhaps Helena knows?" + +"Not she!" + +Mrs. took the next question out of her husband's mouth: "Come, +come, my dear! you must know how old you are." + +"Yes; I do know that. I'm eighteen." + +"And how old is Helena?" + +"Helena's eighteen." + +Mrs. turned round to Mr.: "Do you hear that?" + +Mr. said: "I shall write to her father, and ask what it means." + +I said: "Papa will only tell you what he told us--years ago." + +"What did your father say?" + +"He said he had added our two ages together, and he meant to +divide the product between us. It's so long since, I don't +remember what the product was then. But I'll tell you what the +product is now. Our two ages come to thirty-six. Half thirty-six +is eighteen. I get one half, and Helena gets the other. When we +ask what it means, and when friends ask what it means, papa has +got the same answer for everybody, 'I have my reasons.' That's +all he says--and that's all I say." + +I had no intention of making Mr. angry, but he did get angry. He +left off speaking to me by my Christian name; he called me by my +surname. He said: "Let me tell you, Miss Gracedieu, it is not +becoming in a young lady to mystify her elders." + +I had heard that it was respectful in a young lady to call an old +gentleman, Sir, and to say, If you please. I took care to be +respectful now. "If you please, sir, write to papa. You will find +that I have spoken the truth." + +A woman opened the door, and said to Mrs. Staveley: "Dinner, +ma'am." That stopped this nasty exhibition of our tempers. We had +a very good dinner. + +. . . . . . . + +The next day I wrote to Helena, asking her what she had really +said to the Staveleys about her age and mine, and telling her +what I had said. I found it too great a trial of my patience to +wait till she could see what I had written about the dispute in +my journal. The days, since then, have passed, and I have been +too lazy and stupid to keep my diary. + +To-day it is different. My head is like a dark room with the +light let into it. I remember things; I think I can go on again. + +We have religious exercises in this house, morning and evening, +just as we do at home. (Not to be compared with papa's religious +exercises.) Two days ago his answer came to Mr. Staveley's +letter. He did just what I had expected--said I had spoken truly, +and disappointed the family by asking to be excused if he +refrained from entering into explanations. Mr. said: "Very odd;" +and Mrs. agreed with him. Young Miss is not quite as friendly now +as she was at first. And young Master was impudent enough to ask +me if "I had got religion." To conclude the list of my worries, I +received an angry answer from Helena. "Nobody but a simpleton," +she wrote, "would have contradicted me as you did. Who but you +could have failed to see that papa's strange objection to let it +be known which of us is the elder makes us ridiculous before +other people? My presence of mind prevented that. You ought to +have been grateful, and held your tongue." Perhaps Helena is +right--but I don't feel it so. + +On Sunday we went to chapel twice. We also had a sermon read at +home, and a cold dinner. In the evening, a hot dispute on +religion between Mr. Staveley and his son. I don't blame them. +After being pious all day long on Sunday, I have myself felt my +piety give way toward evening. + +There is something pleasant in prospect for to-morrow. All London +is going just now to the exhibition of pictures. We are going +with all London. + +. . . . . . . + +I don't know what is the matter with me tonight. I have +positively been to bed, without going to sleep! After tossing and +twisting and trying all sorts of positions, I am so angry with +myself that I have got up again. Rather than do nothing, I have +opened my ink-bottle, and I mean to go on with my journal. + +Now I think of it, it seems likely that the exhibition of works +of art may have upset me. + +I found a dreadfully large number of pictures, matched by a +dreadfully large number of people to look at them. It is not +possible for me to write about what I saw: there was too much of +it. Besides, the show disappointed me. I would rather write about +a disagreement (oh, dear, another dispute!) I had with Mrs. +Staveley. The cause of it was a famous artist; not himself, but +his works. He exhibited four pictures--what they call figure +subjects. Mrs. Staveley had a pencil. At every one of the great +man's four pictures, she made a big mark of admiration on her +catalogue. At the fourth one, she spoke to me: "Perfectly +beautiful, + Eunice, isn't it?" + +I said I didn't know. She said: "You strange girl, what do you +mean by that?" + +It would have been rude not to have given the best answer I could +find. I said: "I never saw the flesh of any person's face like +the flesh in the faces which that man paints. He reminds me of +wax-work. Why does he paint the same waxy flesh in all four of +his pictures? I don't see the same colored flesh in all the faces +about us." Mrs. Staveley held up her hand, by way of stopping me. +She said: "Don't speak so loud, Eunice; you are only exposing +your own ignorance." + +A voice behind us joined in. The voice said: "Excuse me, Mrs. +Staveley, if I expose _my_ ignorance. I entirely agree with the +young lady." + +I felt grateful to the person who took my part, just when I was +at a loss what to say for myself, and I looked round. The person +was a young gentleman. + +He wore a beautiful blue frock-coat, buttoned up. I like a +frock-coat to be buttoned up. He had light-colored trousers and +gray gloves and a pretty cane. I like light-colored trousers and +gray gloves and a pretty cane. What color his eyes were is more +than I can say; I only know they made me hot when they looked at +me. Not that I mind being made hot; it is surely better than +being made cold. He and Mrs. Staveley shook hands. + +They seemed to be old friends. I wished I had been an old +friend--not for any bad reason, I hope. I only wanted to shake +hands, too. What Mrs. Staveley said to him escaped me, somehow. I +think the picture escaped me also; I don't remember noticing +anything except the young gentleman, especially when he took off +his hat to me. He looked at me twice before he went away. I got +hot again. I said to Mrs. Staveley: "Who is he?" + +She laughed at me. I said again: "Who is he?" She said: "He is +young Mr. Dunboyne." I said: "Does he live in London?" She +laughed again. I said again: "Does he live in London?" She said: +"He is here for a holiday; he lives with his father at Fairmount, +in Ireland." + +Young Mr. Dunboyne--here for a holiday--lives with his father at +Fairmount, in Ireland. I have said that to myself fifty times +over. And here it is, saying itself for the fifty-first time in +my Journal. I must indeed be a simpleton, as Helena says. I had +better go to bed again. + +CHAPTER XIII. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + + +NOT long before I left home, I heard one of our two servants +telling the other about a person who had been "bewitched." Are +you bewitched when you don't understand your own self? That has +been my curious case, since I returned from the picture show. +This morning I took my drawing materials out of my box, and tried +to make a portrait of young Mr. Dunboyne from recollection. I +succeeded pretty well with his frock-coat and cane; but, try as I +might, his face was beyond me. I have never drawn anything so +badly since I was a little girl; I almost felt ready to cry. What +a fool I am! + +This morning I received a letter from papa--it was in reply to a +letter that I had written to him--so kind, so beautifully +expressed, so like himself, that I felt inclined to send him a +confession of the strange state of feeling that has come over me, +and to ask him to comfort and advise me. On second thoughts, I +was afraid to do it. Afraid of papa! I am further away from +understanding myself than ever. + +Mr. Dunboyne paid us a visit in the afternoon. Fortunately, +before we went out. + +I thought I would have a good look at him; so as to know his face +better than I had known it yet. Another disappointment was in +store for me. Without intending it, I am sure, he did what no +other young man has ever done--he made me feel confused. Instead +of looking at him, I sat with my head down, and listened to his +talk. His voice--this is high praise--reminded me of papa's +voice. It seemed to persuade me as papa persuades his +congregation. I felt quite at ease again. When he went away, we +shook hands. He gave my hand a little squeeze. I gave him back +the squeeze--without knowing why. When he was gone, I wished I +had not done it--without knowing why, either. + +I heard his Christian name for the first time to-day. Mrs. +Staveley said to me: "We are going to have a dinner-party. Shall +I ask Philip Dunboyne?" I said to Mrs. Staveley: "Oh, do!" + +She is an old woman; her eyes are dim. At times, she can look +mischievous. She looked at me mischievously now. I wished I had +not been so eager to have Mr. Dunboyne asked to dinner. + +A fear has come to me that I may have degraded myself. My spirits +are depressed. This, as papa tells us in his sermons, is a +miserable world. I am sorry I accepted the Staveleys' invitation. +I am sorry I went to see the pictures. When that young man comes +to dinner, I shall say I have got a headache, and shall stop +upstairs by myself. I don't think I like his Christian name. I +hate London. I hate everybody. + +What I wrote up above, yesterday, is nonsense. I think his +Christian name is perfect. I like London. I love everybody. + +He came to dinner to-day. I sat next to him. How beautiful a +dress-coat is, and a white cravat! We talked. He wanted to know +what my Christian name was. I was so pleased when I found he was +one of the few people who like it. His hair curls naturally. In +color, it is something between my hair and Helena's. He wears his +beard. How manly! It curls naturally, like his hair; it smells +deliciously of some perfume which is new to me. He has white +hands; his nails look as if he polished them; I should like to +polish my nails if I knew how. Whatever I said, he agreed with +me; I felt satisfied with my own conversation, for the first time +in my life. Helena won't find me a simpleton when I go home. What +exquisite things dinner-parties are! + + +My sister told me (when we said good-by) to be particular in +writing down my true opinion of the Staveleys. Helena wishes to +compare what she thinks of them with what I think of them. + +My opinion of Mr. Staveley is--I don't like him. My opinion of +Miss Staveley is--I can't endure her. As for Master Staveley, my +clever sister will understand that _he_ is beneath notice. But, +oh, what a wonderful woman Mrs. Staveley is! We went out +together, after luncheon today, for a walk in Kensington Gardens. +Never have I heard any conversation to compare with Mrs. +Staveley's. Helena shall enjoy it here, at second hand. I am +quite changed in two things. First: I think more of myself than I +ever did before. Second: writing is no longer a difficulty to me. +I could fill a hundred journals, without once stopping to think. + +Mrs. Staveley began nicely; "I suppose, Eunice, you have often +been told that you have a good figure, and that you walk well?" + +I said: "Helena thinks my figure is better than my face. But do I +really walk well? Nobody ever told me that." + +She answered: "Philip Dunboyne thinks so. He said to me, 'I +resist the temptation because I might be wanting in respect if I +gave way to it. But I should like to follow her when she goes +out--merely for the pleasure of seeing her walk.' " + +I stood stockstill. I said nothing. When you are as proud as a +peacock (which never happened to me before), I find you can't +move and can't talk. You can only enjoy yourself. + +Kind Mrs. Staveley had more things to tell me. She said: "I am +interested in Philip. I lived near Fairmount in the time before I +was married; and in those days he was a child. I want him to +marry a charming girl, and be happy." + +What made me think directly of Miss Staveley? What made me mad to +know if she was the charming girl? I was bold enough to ask the +question. Mrs. Staveley turned to me with that mischievous look +which I have noticed already. I felt as if I had been running at +the top of my speed, and had not got my breath again, yet. + +But this good motherly friend set me at my ease. She explained +herself: "Philip is not much liked, poor fellow, in our house. My +husband considers him to be weak and vain and fickle. And my +daughter agrees with her father. There are times when she is +barely civil to Philip. He is too good-natured to complain, but +_I_ see it. Tell me, my dear, do you like Philip?" + +"Of course I do!" Out it came in those words, before I could stop +it. Was there something unbecoming to a young lady in + saying what I had just said? Mrs. Staveley seemed to be more +amused than angry with me. She took my arm kindly, and led me +along with her. "My dear, you are as clear as crystal, and as +true as steel. You are a favorite of mine already." + +What a delightful woman! as I said just now. I asked if she +really liked me as well as she liked my sister. + +She said: "Better." + +I didn't expect that, and didn't want it. Helena is my superior. +She is prettier than I am, cleverer than I am, better worth +liking than I am. Mrs. Staveley shifted the talk back to Philip. +I ought to have said Mr. Philip. No, I won't; I shall call him +Philip. If I had a heart of stone, I should feel interested in +him, after what Mrs. Staveley has told me. + +Such a sad story, in some respects. Mother dead; no brothers or +sisters. Only the father left; he lives a dismal life on a lonely +stormy coast. Not a severe old gentleman, for all that. His +reasons for taking to retirement are reasons (so Mrs. Staveley +says) which nobody knows. He buries himself among his books, in +an immense library; and he appears to like it. His son has not +been brought up. like other young men, at school and college. He +is a great scholar, educated at home by his father. To hear this +account of his learning depressed me. It seemed to put such a +distance between us. I asked Mrs. Staveley if he thought me +ignorant. As long as I live I shall remember the reply: "He +thinks you charming." + +Any other girl would have been satisfied with this. I am the +miserable creature who is always making mistakes. My stupid +curiosity spoiled the charm of Mrs. Staveley's conversation. And +yet it seemed to be a harmless question; I only said I should +like to know what profession Philip belonged to. + +Mrs. Staveley answered: "No profession." + +I foolishly put a wrong meaning on this. I said: "Is he idle?" + +Mrs. Staveley laughed. "My dear, he is an only son--and his +father is a rich man." + +That stopped me--at last. + +We have enough to live on in comfort at home--no more. Papa has +told us himself that he is not (and can never hope to be) a rich +man. This is not the worst of it. Last year, he refused to marry +a young couple, both belonging to our congregation. This was very +unlike his usual kind self. Helena and I asked him for his +reasons. They were reasons that did not take long to give. The +young gentleman's father was a rich man. He had forbidden his son +to marry a sweet girl--because she had no fortune. + +I have no fortune. And Philip's father is a rich man. + +The best thing I can do is to wipe my pen, and shut up my +Journal, and go home by the next train. + +. . . . . . . + +I have a great mind to burn my Journal. It tells me that I had +better not think of Philip any more. + +On second thoughts, I won't destroy my Journal; I will only put +it away. If I live to be an old woman, it may amuse me to open my +book again, and see how foolish the poor wretch was when she was +young. + +What is this aching pain in my heart? + +I don't remember it at any other time in my life. Is it trouble? +How can I tell?--I have had so little trouble. It must be many +years since I was wretched enough to cry. I don't even understand +why I am crying now. My last sorrow, so far as I can remember, +was the toothache. Other girls' mothers comfort them when they +are wretched. If my mother had lived--it's useless to think about +that. We lost her, while I and my sister were too young to +understand our misfortune. + +I wish I had never seen Philip. + +This seems an ungrateful wish. Seeing him at the picture-show was +a new enjoyment. Sitting next to him at dinner was a happiness +that I don't recollect feeling, even when Papa has been most +sweet and kind to me. I ought to be ashamed of myself to confess +this. Shall I write to my sister? But how should she know what is +the matter with me, when I don't know it myself? Besides, Helena +is angry; she wrote unkindly to me when she answered my last +letter. + +There is a dreadful loneliness in this great house at night. I +had better say my prayers, and try to sleep. If it doesn't make +me feel happier, it will prevent me spoiling my Journal by +dropping tears on it. + +. . . . . . . + +What an evening of evenings this has been! Last night it was +crying that kept me awake. To-night I can't sleep for joy. + +Philip called on us again to-day. He brought with him tickets for +the performance of an Oratorio. Sacred music is not forbidden +music among our people. Mrs. Staveley and Miss Staveley went to +the concert with us. Philip and I sat next to each other. + +My sister is a musician--I am nothing. That sounds bitter; but I +don't mean it so. All I mean is, that I like simple little songs, +which I can sing to myself by remembering the tune. There, my +musical enjoyment ends. When voices and instruments burst out +together by hundreds, I feel bewildered. I also get attacked by +fidgets. This last misfortune is sure to overtake me when +choruses are being performed. The unfortunate people employed are +made to keep singing the same words, over and over and over +again, till I find it a perfect misery to listen to them. The +choruses were unendurable in the performance to-night. This is +one of them: "Here we are all alone in the wilderness--alone in +the wilderness--in the wilderness alone, alone, alone--here we +are in the wilderness--alone in the wilderness--all all alone in +the wilderness," and soon, till I felt inclined to call for the +learned person who writes Oratorios, and beg him to give the poor +music a more generous allowance of words. + +Whenever I looked at Philip, I found him looking at me. Perhaps +he saw from the first that the music was wearying music to my +ignorant ears. With his usual delicacy he said nothing for some +time. But when he caught me yawning (though I did my best to hide +it, for it looked like being ungrateful for the tickets), then he +could restrain himself no longer. He whispered in my ear: + +"You are getting tired of this. And so am I." + +"I am trying to like it," I whispered back. + +"Don't try," he answered. "Let's talk." + +He meant, of course, talk in whispers. We were a good deal +annoyed--especially when the characters were all alone in the +wilderness--by bursts of singing and playing which interrupted us +at the most interesting moments. Philip persevered with a manly +firmness. What could I do but follow his example--at a distance? + +He said: "Is it really true that your visit to Mrs. Staveley is +coming to an end?" + +I answered: "It comes to an end the day after to-morrow." + +"Are you sorry to be leaving your friends in London?" + +What I might have said if he had made that inquiry a day earlier, +when I was the most miserable creature living, I would rather not +try to guess. Being quite happy as things were, I could honestly +tell him I was sorry. + +"You can't possibly be as sorry as I am, Eunice. May I call you +by your pretty name?" + +"Yes, if you please." + +"Eunice!" + +"Yes." + +"You will leave a blank in my life when you go away--" + +There another chorus stopped him, just as I was eager for more. +It was such a delightfully new sensation to hear a young +gentleman telling me that I had left a blank in his life. The +next change in the Oratorio brought up a young lady, singing +alone. Some people behind us grumbled at the smallness of her +voice. We thought her voice perfect. It seemed to lend itself so +nicely to our whispers. + +He said: "Will you help me to think of you while you are away? I +want to imagine what your life is at home. Do you live in a town +or in the country?" + +I told him the name of our town. When we give a person +information, I have always heard that we ought to make it +complete. So I mentioned our address in the town. But I was +troubled by a doubt. Perhaps he preferred the country. Being +anxious about this, I said: "Would you rather have heard that I +live in the country?" + +"Live where you may, Eunice, the place will be a favorite place +of mine. Besides, your town is famous. It has a public attraction +which brings visitors to it." + +I made another of those mistakes which no sensible girl, in my +position, would have committed. I asked if he alluded to our new +market-place. + +He set me right in the sweetest manner: "I alluded to a building + hundreds of years older than your market-place--your beautiful +cathedral." + +Fancy my not having thought of the cathedral! This is what comes +of being a Congregationalist. If I had belonged to the Church of +England, I should have forgotten the market-place, and remembered +the cathedral. Not that I want to belong to the Church of +England. Papa's chapel is good enough for me. + +The song sung by the lady with the small voice was so pretty that +the audience encored it. Didn't Philip and I help them! With the +sweetest smiles the lady sang it all over again. The people +behind us left the concert. + +He said: "Do you know, I take the greatest interest in +cathedrals. I propose to enjoy the privilege and pleasure of +seeing _your_ cathedral early next week." + +I had only to look at him to see that I was the cathedral. It was +no surprise to hear next that he thought of "paying his respects +to Mr. Gracedieu." He begged me to tell him what sort of +reception he might hope to meet with when he called at our house. +I got so excited in doing justice to papa that I quite forgot to +whisper when the next question came. Philip wanted to know if Mr. +Gracedieu disliked strangers. When I answered, "Oh dear, no!" I +said it out loud, so that the people heard me. Cruel, cruel +people! They all turned round and stared. One hideous old woman +actually said, "Silence!" Miss Staveley looked disgusted. Even +kind Mrs. Staveley lifted her eyebrows in astonishment. + +Philip, dear Philip, protected and composed me. + +He held my hand devotedly till the end of the performance. When +he put us into the carriage, I was last. He whispered in my ear: +"Expect me next week." Miss Staveley might be as ill-natured as +she pleased, on the way home. It didn't matter what she said. The +Eunice of yesterday might have been mortified and offended. The +Eunice of to-day was indifferent to the sharpest things that +could be said to her. + +. . . . . . . + +All through yesterday's delightful evening, I never once thought +of Philip's father. When I woke this morning, I remembered that +old Mr. Dunboyne was a rich man. I could eat no breakfast for +thinking of the poor girl who was not allowed to marry her young +gentleman, because she had no money. + +Mrs. Staveley waited to speak to me till the rest of them had +left us together. I had expected her to notice that I looked dull +and dismal. No! her cleverness got at my secret in quite another +way. + +She said: "How do you feel after the concert? You must be hard to +please indeed if you were not satisfied with the accompaniments +last night." + +"The accompaniments of the Oratorio?" + +"No, my dear. The accompaniments of Philip." + +I suppose I ought to have laughed. In my miserable state of mind, +it was not to be done. I said: "I hope Mr. Dunboyne's father will +not hear how kind he was to me." + +Mrs. Staveley asked why. + +My bitterness overflowed at my tongue. I said: "Because papa is a +poor man." + +"And Philip's papa is a rich man," says Mrs. Staveley, putting my +own thought into words for me. "Where do you get these ideas, +Eunice? Surely, you are not allowed to read novels?" + +"Oh no!" + +"And you have certainly never seen a play?" + +"Never." + +"Clear your head, child, of the nonsense that has got into it--I +can't think how. Rich Mr. Dunboyne has taught his heir to despise +the base act of marrying for money. He knows that Philip will +meet young ladies at my house; and he has written to me on the +subject of his son's choice of a wife. 'Let Philip find good +principles, good temper, and good looks; and I promise beforehand +to find the money.' There is what he says. Are you satisfied with +Philip's father, now?" + +I jumped up in a state of ecstasy. Just as I had thrown my arms +round Mrs. Staveley's neck, the servant came in with a letter, +and handed it to me. + +Helena had written again, on this last day of my visit. Her +letter was full of instructions for buying things that she wants, +before I leave London. I read on quietly enough until I came to +the postscript. The effect of it on me may be told in two words: +I screamed. Mrs. Staveley was naturally alarmed. "Bad news?" she +asked. Being quite unable to offer an opinion, I read the +postscript out loud, and left her to judge for herself. + +This was Helena's news from home: + +"I must prepare you for a surprise, before your return. You will +find a strange lady established at home. Don't suppose there is +any prospect of her bidding us good-by, if we only wait long +enough. She is already (with father's full approval) as much a +member of the family as we are. You shall form your own unbiased +opinion of her, Eunice. For the present, I say no more." + +I asked Mrs. Staveley what she thought of my news from home. She +said: "Your father approves of the lady, my dear. I suppose it's +good news." + +But Mrs. Staveley did not look as if she believed in the good +news, for all that. + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + + +TO-DAY I went as usual to the Scripture-class for girls. It was +harder work than ever, teaching without Eunice to help me. +Indeed, I felt lonely all day without my sister. When I got home, +I rather hoped that some friend might have come to see us, and +have been asked to stay to tea. The housemaid opened the door to +me. I asked Maria if anybody had called. + +"Yes, miss; a lady, to see the master." + +"A stranger?" + +"Never saw her before, miss, in all my life." I put no more +questions. Many ladies visit my father. They call it consulting +the Minister. He advises them in their troubles, and guides them +in their religious difficulties, and so on. They come and go in a +sort of secrecy. So far as I know, they are mostly old maids, and +they waste the Minister's time. + +When my father came in to tea, I began to feel some curiosity +about the lady who had called on him. Visitors of that sort, in +general, never appear to dwell on his mind after they have gone +away; he sees too many of them, and is too well accustomed to +what they have to say. On this particular evening, however, I +perceived appearances that set me thinking; he looked worried and +anxious. + +"Has anything happened, father, to vex you?" I said. + +"Yes." + +"Is the lady concerned in it?" + +"What lady, my dear?" + +"The lady who called on you while I was out." + +"Who told you she had called on me?" + +"I asked Maria--" + +"That will do, Helena, for the present." + +He drank his tea and went back to his study, instead of staying a +while, and talking pleasantly as usual. My respect submitted to +his want of confidence in me; but my curiosity was in a state of +revolt. I sent for Maria, and proceeded to make my own +discoveries, with this result: + +No other person had called at the house. Nothing had happened, +except the visit of the mysterious lady. "She looked between +young and old. And, oh dear me, she was certainly not pretty. Not +dressed nicely, to my mind; but they do say dress is a matter of +taste." + +Try as I might, I could get no more than that out of our stupid +young housemaid. + +Later in the evening, the cook had occasion to consult me about +supper. This was a person possessing the advantages of age and +experience. I asked if she had seen the lady. The cook's reply +promised something new: "I can't say I saw the lady; but I heard +her." + +"Do you mean that you heard her speaking?" + +"No, miss--crying." + +"Where was she crying?" + +"In the master's study." + +"How did you come to hear her?" + +"Am I to understand, miss, that you suspect me of listening?" + +Is a lie told by a look as bad as a lie told by words? I looked +shocked at the bare idea of suspecting a respectable person of +listening. The cook's sense of honor was satisfied; she readily +explained herself: "I was passing the door, miss, on my way +upstairs." + +Here my discoveries came to an end. It was certainly possible +that an afflicted member of my father's congregation might have +called on him to be comforted. But he sees plenty of afflicted +ladies, without looking worried and anxious after they leave him. +Still suspecting something out of the ordinary course of events, +I waited hopefully for our next meeting at supper-time. Nothing +came of it. My father left me by myself again, when the meal was +over. He is always courteous to his daughters; and he made an +apology : "Excuse me, Helena, I want to think." + +. . . . . . . + +I went to bed in a vile humor, and slept badly; wondering, in the +long wakeful hours, what new rebuff I should meet with on the +next day. + +At breakfast this morning I was agreeably surprised. No signs of +anxiety showed themselves in my father's face. Instead of +retiring to his study when we rose from the table, he proposed +taking a turn in the garden: "You are looking pale, Helena, and +you will be the better for a little fresh air. Besides, I have +something to say to you." + +Excitement, I am sure, is good for young women. I saw in his +face, I heard in his last words, that the mystery of the lady was +at last to be revealed. The sensation of languor and fatigue +which follows a disturbed night left me directly. + +My father gave me his arm, and we walked slowly up and down the +lawn. + +"When that lady called on me yesterday," he began, "you wanted to +know who she was, and you were surprised and disappointed when I +refused to gratify your curiosity. My silence was not a selfish +silence, Helena. I was thinking of you and your sister; and I was +at a loss how to act for the best. You shall hear why my children +were in my mind, presently. I must tell you first that I have +arrived at a decision; I hope and believe on reasonable grounds. +Ask me any questions you please; my silence will be no longer an +obstacle in your way." + +This was so very encouraging that I said at once: "I should like +to know who the lady is." + +"The lady is related to me," he answered. "We are cousins." + +Here was a disclosure that I had not anticipated. In the little +that I have seen of the world, I have observed that cousins--when +they happen to be brought together under interesting +circumstances--can remember their relationship, and forget their +relationship, just as it suits them. "Is your cousin a married +lady?" I ventured to inquire. + +"No." + +Short as it was, that reply might perhaps mean more than appeared +on the surface. The cook had heard the lady crying. What sort of +tender agitation was answerable for those tears? Was it possible, +barely possible, that Eunice and I might go to bed, one night, a +widower's daughters, and wake up the next day to discover a +stepmother? + +"Have I or my sister ever seen the lady?" I asked. + +"Never. She has been living abroad; and I have not seen her +myself since we were both young people." + +My excellent innocent father! Not the faintest idea of what I had +been thinking of was in his mind. Little did he suspect how +welcome was the relief that he had afforded to his daughter's +wicked doubts of him. But he had not said a word yet about his +cousin's personal appearance. There might be remains of good +looks which the housemaid was too stupid to discover. + +"After the long interval that has passed since you met," I said, +"I suppose she has become an old woman?" + +"No, my dear. Let us say, a middle-aged woman." + +"Perhaps she is still an attractive person?" + +He smiled. "I am afraid, Helena, that would never have been a +very accurate description of her." + +I now knew all that I wanted to know about this alarming person, +excepting one last morsel of information which my father had +strangely forgotten. + +"We have been talking about the lady for some time," I said; "and +you have not yet told me her name." + +Father looked a little embarrassed "It's not a very pretty name," +he answered. "My cousin, my unfortunate cousin, is--Miss +Jillgall." + +I burst out with such a loud "Oh!" that he laughed. I caught the +infection, and laughed louder still. Bless Miss Jillgall! The +interview promised to become an easy one for both of us, thanks +to her name. I was in good spirits, and I made no attempt to +restrain them. "The next time Miss Jillgall honors you with a +visit," I said, "you must give me an opportunity of being +presented to her." + +He made a strange reply: "You may find your opportunity, Helena, +sooner than you anticipate." + +Did this mean that she was going to call again in a day or two? I +am afraid I spoke flippantly. I said: "Oh, father, another lady +fascinated by the popular preacher?" + +The garden chairs were near us. He signed to me gravely to be +seated by his side, and said to himself: "This is my fault." + +"What is your fault?" I asked. + +"I have left you in ignorance, my dear, of my cousin's sad story. +It is soon told; and, if it checks your merriment, it will make +amends by deserving your sympathy. I was indebted to her father, +when I was a boy, for acts of kindness which I can never forget. +He was twice married. The death of his first wife left him with +one child--once my playfellow; now the lady whose visit has +excited your curiosity. His second wife was a Belgian. She +persuaded him to sell his business in London, and to invest the +money in a partnership with a brother of hers, established as a +sugar-refiner at Antwerp. The little daughter accompanied her +father to Belgium. Are you attending to me, Helena?" + +I was waiting for the interesting part of the story, and was +wondering when he would get to it. + +"As time went on," he resumed, "the new partner found that the +value of the business at Antwerp had been greatly overrated. +After a long struggle with adverse circumstances, he decided on +withdrawing from the partnership before the whole of his capital +was lost in a failing commercial speculation. The end of it was +that he retired, with his daughter, to a small town in East +Flanders; the wreck of his property having left him with an +income of no more than two hundred pounds a year." + +I showed my father that I was attending to him now, by inquiring +what had become of the Belgian wife. Those nervous quiverings, +which Eunice has mentioned in her diary, began to appear in his +face. + +"It is too shameful a story," he said, "to be told to a young +girl. The marriage was dissolved by law; and the wife was the +person to blame. I am sure, Helena, you don't wish to hear any +more of _this_ part of the story." + +I did wish. But I saw that he expected me to say No--so I said +it. + +"The father and daughter," he went on, "never so much as thought +of returning to their own country. They were too poor to live +comfortably in England. In Belgium their income was sufficient +for their wants. On the father's death, the daughter remained in +the town. She had friends there, and friends nowhere else; and +she might have lived abroad to the end of her days, but for a +calamity to which we are all liable. A long and serious illness +completely prostrated her. Skilled medical attendance, costing +large sums of money for the doctors' traveling expenses, was +imperatively required. Experienced nurses, summoned from a +distant hospital, were in attendance night and day. Luxuries, far +beyond the reach of her little income, were absolutely required +to support her wasted strength at the time of her tedious +recovery. In one word, her resources were sadly diminished, when +the poor creature had paid her debts, and had regained her hold +on life. At that time, she unhappily met with the man who has +ruined her." + +It was getting interesting at last. "Ruined her?" I repeated. "Do +you mean that he robbed her?" + +"That, Helena, is exactly what I mean--and many and many a +helpless woman has been robbed in the same way. The man of whom I +am now speaking was a lawyer in large practice. He bore an +excellent character, and was highly respected for his exemplary +life. My cousin (not at all a discreet person, I am bound to +admit) was induced to consult him on her pecuniary affairs. He +expressed the most generous sympathy--offered to employ her +little capital in his business--and pledged himself to pay her +double the interest for her money, which she had been in the +habit of receiving from the sound investment chosen by her +father." + +"And of course he got the money, and never paid the interest?" +Eager to hear the end, I interrupted the story in those +inconsiderate words. My father's answer quietly reproved me. + +"He paid the interest regularly as long as he lived." + +"And what happened when he died?" + +"He died a bankrupt; the secret profligacy of his life was at +last exposed. Nothing, actually nothing, was left for his +creditors. The unfortunate creature, whose ugly name has amused +you, must get help somewhere, or must go to the workhouse." + +If I had been in a state of mind to attend to trifles, this would +have explained the reason why the cook had heard Miss Jillgall +crying. But the prospect before me--the unendurable prospect of +having a strange woman in the house--had showed itself too +plainly to be mistaken. I could think of nothing else. With +infinite difficulty I assumed a momentary appearance of +composure, and suggested that Miss Jillgall's foreign friends +might have done something to help her. + +My father defended her foreign friends. "My dear, they were poor +people, and did all they could afford to do. But for their +kindness, my cousin might not have been able to return to +England." + +"And to cast herself on your mercy," I added, "in the character +of a helpless woman." + +"No, Helena! Not to cast herself on my mercy--but to find my +house open to her, as her father's house was open to me in the +bygone time. I am her only surviving relative; and, while I live, +she shall not be a helpless woman." + +I began to wish that I had not spoken out so plainly. My father's +sweet temper--I do so sincerely wish I had inherited it!--made +the kindest allowances for me. + +"I understand the momentary bitterness of feeling that has +escaped you," he said; "I may almost say that I expected it. My +only hesitation in this matter has been caused by my sense of +what I owe to my children. It was putting your endurance, and +your sister's endurance, to a trial to expect you to receive a +stranger (and that stranger not a young girl like yourselves) as +one of the household, living with you in the closest intimacy of +family life. The consideration which has decided me does justice, +I hope, to you and Eunice, as well as to myself. I think that +some allowance is due from my daughters to the father who has +always made loving allowance for _them._ Am I wrong in believing +that my good children have not forgotten this, and have only +waited for the occasion to feel the pleasure of rewarding me?" + +It was beautifully put. There was but one thing to be done--I +kissed him. And there was but one thing to be said. I asked at +what time we might expect to receive Miss Jillgall. + +"She is staying, Helena, at a small hotel in the town. I have +already sent to say that we are waiting to see her. Perhaps you +will look at the spare bedroom?" + +"It shall be got ready, father, directly." + +I ran into the house; I rushed upstairs into the room that is +Eunice's and mine; I locked the door, and then I gave way to my +rage, before it stifled me. I stamped on the floor, I clinched my +fists, I cast myself on the bed, I reviled that hateful woman by +every hard word that I could throw at her. Oh, the luxury of it! +the luxury of it! + +Cold water and my hairbrush soon made me fit to be seen again. + +As for the spare room, it looked a great deal too comfortable for +an incubus from foreign parts. The one improvement that I could +have made, if a friend of mine had been expected, was suggested +by the window-curtains. I was looking at a torn place in one of +them, and determined to leave it unrepaired, when I felt an arm +slipped round my waist from behind. A voice, so close that it +tickled my neck, said: "Dear girl, what friends we shall be!" I +turned round, and confronted Miss Jillgall. + + +CHAPTER XV. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + + +IF I am not a good girl, where is a good girl to be found? This +is in Eunice's style. It sometimes amuses me to mimic my simple +sister. + +I have just torn three pages out of my diary, in deference to the +expression of my father's wishes. He took the first opportunity +which his cousin permitted him to enjoy of speaking to me +privately; and his object was to caution me against hastily +relying on first impressions of anybody--especially of Miss +Jillgall. "Wait for a day or two," he said; "and then form your +estimate of the new member of our household." + +The stormy state of my temper had passed away, and had left my +atmosphere calm again. I could feel that I had received good +advice; but unluckily it reached me too late. + +I had formed my estimate of Miss Jillgall, and had put it in +writing for my own satisfaction, at least an hour before my +father found himself at liberty to speak to me. I don't agree +with him in distrusting first impressions; and I had proposed to +put my opinion to the test, by referring to what I had written +about his cousin at a later time. However, after what he had said +to me, I felt bound in filial duty to take the pages out of my +book, and to let two days pass before I presumed to enjoy the +luxury of hating Miss Jillgall. + +On one thing I am determined: Eunice shall not form a hasty +opinion, either. She shall undergo the same severe discipline of +self-restraint to which her sister is obliged to submit. Let us +be just, as somebody says, before we are generous. No more for +to-day. + +. . . . . . . + +I open my diary again--after the prescribed interval has elapsed. +The first impression produced on me by the new member of our +household remains entirely unchanged. + +Have I already made the remark that, when one removes a page from +a book, it does not necessarily follow that one destroys the page +afterward? or did I leave this to be inferred? In either case, my +course of proceeding was the same. I ordered some paste to be +made. Then I unlocked a drawer, and found my poor ill-used +leaves, and put them back in my Journal. An act of justice is +surely not the less praiseworthy because it is an act of justice +done to one's self. + +My father has often told me that he revises his writings on +religious subjects. I may harmlessly imitate that good example, +by revising my restored entry. It is now a sufficiently +remarkable performance to be distinguished by a title. Let me +call it: + +Impressions of Miss Jillgall. + +My first impression was a strong one--it was produced by the +state of this lady's breath. In other words, I was obliged to let +her kiss me. It is a duty to be considerate toward human +infirmity. I will only say that I thought I should have fainted. + +My second impression draws a portrait, and produces a striking +likeness. + +Figure, little and lean--hair of a dirty drab color which we see +in string--small light gray eyes, sly and restless, and deeply +sunk in the head--prominent cheekbones, and a florid +complexion--an inquisitive nose, turning up at the end--a large +mouth and a servile smile--raw-looking hands, decorated with +black mittens--a misfitting white jacket and a limp +skirt--manners familiar--temper cleverly hidden--voice too +irritating to be mentioned. Whose portrait is this? It is the +portrait of Miss Jillgall, taken in words. + +Her true character is not easy to discover; I suspect that it +will only show itself little by little. That she is a born +meddler in other people's affairs, I think I can see already. I +also found out that she trusted to flattery as the easiest means +of making herself agreeable. She tried her first experiment on +myself. + +"You charming girl," she began, "your bright face encourages me +to ask a favor. Pray make me useful! The one aspiration of my +life is to be useful. Unless you employ me in that way, I have no +right to intrude myself into your family circle. Yes, yes, I know +that your father has opened his house and his heart to me. But I +dare not found any claim--your name is Helena, isn't it? Dear +Helena, I dare not found any claim on what I owe to your father's +kindness." + +"Why not?" I inquired. + +"Because your father is not a man--" + +I was rude enough to interrupt her: "What is he, then?" + +"An angel," Miss Jillgall answered, solemnly. "A destitute +earthly creature like me must not look up as high as your father. +I might be dazzled." + +This was rather more than I could endure patiently. "Let us try," +I suggested, "if we can't understand each other, at starting." + +Miss Jillgall's little eyes twinkled in their bony caverns. "The +very thing I was going to propose!" she burst out. + +"Very well," I went on; "then, let me tell you plainly that +flattery is not relished in this house." + +"Flattery?" She put her hand to her head as she repeated the +word, and looked quite bewildered. "Dear Helena, I have lived all +my life in East Flande rs, and my own language is occasionally +strange to me. Can you tell me what flattery is in Flemish?" + +"I don't understand Flemish." + +"How very provoking! You don't understand Flemish, and I don't +understand Flattery. I should so like to know what it means. Ah, +I see books in this lovely room. Is there a dictionary among +them?" She darted to the bookcase, and discovered a dictionary. +"Now I shall understand Flattery," she remarked--"and then we +shall understand each other. Oh, let me find it for myself!" She +ran her raw red finger along the alphabetical headings at the top +of each page. " 'FAD.' That won't do. 'FIE.' Further on still. +'FLE.' Too far the other way. 'FLA.' Here we are! 'Flattery: +False praise. Commendation bestowed for the purpose of gaining +favor and influence.' Oh, Helena, how cruel of you!" She dropped +the book, and sank into a chair--the picture, if such a thing can +be, of a broken-hearted old maid. + +I should most assuredly have taken the opportunity of leaving her +to her own devices, if I had been free to act as I pleased. But +my interests as a daughter forbade me to make an enemy of my +father's cousin, on the first day when she had entered the house. +I made an apology, very neatly expressed. + +She jumped up--let me do her justice; Miss Jillgall is as nimble +as a monkey--and (Faugh!) she kissed me for the second time. If I +had been a man, I am afraid I should have called for that deadly +poison (we are all temperance people in this house) known by the +name of Brandy. + +"If you will make me love you," Miss Jillgall explained, "you +must expect to be kissed. Dear girl, let us go back to my poor +little petition. Oh, do make me useful! There are so many things +I can do: you will find me a treasure in the house. I write a +good hand; I understand polishing furniture; I can dress hair +(look at my own hair); I play and sing a little when people want +to be amused; I can mix a salad and knit stockings--who is this?" +The cook came in, at the moment, to consult me; I introduced her. +"And, oh," cried Miss Jillgall, in ecstasy, "I can cook! Do, +please, let me see the kitchen." + +The cook's face turned red. She had come to me to make a +confession; and she had not (as she afterward said) bargained for +the presence of a stranger. For the first time in her life she +took the liberty of whispering to me: "I must ask you, miss, to +let me send up the cauliflower plain boiled; I don't understand +the directions in the book for doing it in the foreign way." + +Miss Jillgall's ears--perhaps because they are so large--possess +a quickness of hearing quite unparalleled in my experience. Not +one word of the cook's whispered confession had escaped her. + +"Here," she declared, "is an opportunity of making myself useful! +What is the cook's name? Hannah? Take me downstairs, Hannah, and +I'll show you how to do the cauliflower in the foreign way. She +seems to hesitate. Is it possible that she doesn't believe me? +Listen, Hannah, and judge for yourself if I am deceiving you. +Have you boiled the cauliflower? Very well; this is what you must +do next. Take four ounces of grated cheese, two ounces of best +butter, the yolks of four eggs, a little bit of glaze, +lemon-juice, nutmeg--dear, dear, how black she looks. What have I +said to offend her?" + +The cook passed over the lady who had presumed to instruct her, +as if no such person had been present, and addressed herself to +me: "If I am to be interfered with in my own kitchen, miss, I +will ask you to suit yourself at a month's notice." + +Miss Jillgall wrung her hands in despair. + +"I meant so kindly," she said; "and I seem to have made mischief. +With the best intentions, Helena, I have set you and your servant +at variance. I really didn't know you had such a temper, Hannah," +she declared, following the cook to the door. "I'm sure there's +nothing I am not ready to do to make it up with you. Perhaps you +have not got the cheese downstairs? I'm ready to go out and buy +it for you. I could show you how to keep eggs sweet and fresh for +weeks together. Your gown doesn't fit very well; I shall be glad +to improve it, if you will leave it out for me after you have +gone to bed. There!" cried Miss Jillgall, as the cook +majestically left the room, without even looking at her, "I have +done my best to make it up, and you see how my advances are +received. What more could I have done? I really ask you, dear, as +a friend, what more _could_ I have done?" + +I had it on the tip of my tongue to say: "The cook doesn't ask +you to buy cheese for her, or to teach her how to keep eggs, or +to improve the fit of her gown; all she wants is to have her +kitchen to herself." But here again it was necessary to remember +that this odious person was my father's guest. + +"Pray don't distress yourself," I began; "I am sure you are not +to blame, Miss Jillgall--" + +"Oh, don't!" + +"Don't--what?" + +"Don't call me Miss Jillgall. I call you Helena. Call me Selina." + +I had really not supposed it possible that she could be more +unendurable than ever. When she mentioned her Christian name, she +succeeded nevertheless in producing that result. In the whole +list of women's names, is there any one to be found so absolutely +sickening as "Selina"? I forced myself to pronounce it; I made +another neatly-expressed apology; I said English servants were so +very peculiar. Selina was more than satisfied; she was quite +delighted. + +"Is that it, indeed? An explanation was all I wanted. How good of +you! And now tell me--is there no chance, in the house or out of +the house, of my making myself useful? Oh, what's that? Do I see +a chance? I do! I do!" + +Miss Jillgall's eyes are more than mortal. At one time, they are +microscopes. At another time, they are telescopes. She discovered +(right across the room) the torn place in the window-curtain. In +an instant, she snatched a dirty little leather case out of her +pocket, threaded her needle and began darning the curtain. She +sang over her work. "My heart is light, my will is free--" I can +repeat no more of it. When I heard her singing voice, I became +reckless of consequences, and ran out of the room with my hands +over my ears. + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + + + +WHEN I reached the foot of the stairs, my father called me into +his study. + +I found him at his writing-table, with such a heap of torn-up +paper in his waste-basket that it overflowed on to the floor. He +explained to me that he had been destroying a large accumulation +of old letters, and had ended (when his employment began to grow +wearisome) in examining his correspondence rather carelessly. The +result was that he had torn up a letter, and a copy of the reply, +which ought to have been set aside as worthy of preservation. +After collecting the fragments, he had heaped them on the table. +If I could contrive to put them together again on fair sheets of +paper, and fasten them in their right places with gum, I should +be doing him a service, at a time when he was too busy to set his +mistake right for himself. + +Here was the best excuse that I could desire for keeping out of +Miss Jillgall's way. I cheerfully set to work on the restoration +of the letters, while my father went on with his writing. + +Having put the fragments together--excepting a few gaps caused by +morsels that had been lost--I was unwilling to fasten them down +with gum, until I could feel sure of not having made any +mistakes; especially in regard to some of the lost words which I +had been obliged to restore by guess-work. So I copied the +letters, and submitted them, in the first place, to my father's +approval. + +He praised me in the prettiest manner for the care that I had +taken. But, when he began, after some hesitation, to read my +copy, I noticed a change. The smile left his face, and the +nervous quiverings showed themselves again. + +"Quite right, my child," he said, in low sad tones. + +On returning to my side of the table, I expected to see him +resume his writing. He crossed the room to the window and stood +(with his back to me) looking out. + +When I had first discovered the sense of the letters, they failed +to interest me. A tiresome woman, presuming on the kindness of a +good-natured man to beg a favor which she had no right to ask, +and r eceiving a refusal which she had richly deserved, was no +remarkable event in my experience as my father's secretary and +copyist. But the change in his face, while he read the +correspondence, altered my opinion of the letters. There was more +in them evidently than I had discovered. I kept my manuscript +copy--here it is: + + +From Miss Elizabeth Chance to the Rev. Abel Gracedieu. + +(Date of year, 1859. Date of month, missing.) + + +"DEAR SIR--You have, I hope, not quite forgotten the interesting +conversation that we had last year in the Governor's rooms. I am +afraid I spoke a little flippantly at the time; but I am sure you +will believe me when I say that this was out of no want of +respect to yourself. My pecuniary position being far from +prosperous, I am endeavoring to obtain the vacant situation of +housekeeper in a public institution the prospectus of which I +inclose. You will see it is a rule of the place that a candidate +must be a single woman (which I am), and must be recommended by a +clergyman. You are the only reverend gentleman whom it is my good +fortune to know, and the thing is of course a mere formality. +Pray excuse this application, and oblige me by acting as my +reference. + +"Sincerely yours, + +"ELIZABETH CHANCE." + + +"P. S.--Please address: Miss E. Chance, Poste Restante, St. +Martin's-le-Grand, London." + + +"From the Rev. Abel Gracedieu to Miss Chance. + +(Copy.) + + +"MADAM--The brief conversation to which your letter alludes, took +place at an accidental meeting between us. I then saw you for the +first time, and I have not seen you since. It is impossible for +me to assert the claim of a perfect stranger, like yourself, to +fill a situation of trust. I must beg to decline acting as your +reference. + +"Your obedient servant, + +"ABEL GRACEDIEU." + +. . . . . . . + +My father was still at the window. + +In that idle position he could hardly complain of me for +interrupting him, if I ventured to talk about the letters which I +had put together. If my curiosity displeased him, he had only to +say so, and there would be an end to any allusions of mine to the +subject. My first idea was to join him at the window. On +reflection, and still perceiving that he kept his back turned on +me, I thought it might be more prudent to remain at the table. + +"This Miss Chance seems to be an impudent person?" I said. + +"Yes." + +"Was she a young woman, when you met with her?" + +"Yes." + +"What sort of a woman to look at? Ugly?" + +"No." + +Here were three answers which Eunice herself would have been +quick enough to interpret as three warnings to say no more. I +felt a little hurt by his keeping his back turned on me. At the +same time, and naturally, I think, I found my interest in Miss +Chance (I don't say my friendly interest) considerably increased +by my father's unusually rude behavior. I was also animated by an +irresistible desire to make him turn round and look at me. + +"Miss Chance's letter was written many years ago," I resumed. "I +wonder what has become of her since she wrote to you." + +"I know nothing about her." + +"Not even whether she is alive or dead?" + +"Not even that. What do these questions mean, Helena?" + +"Nothing, father." + +I declare he looked as if he suspected me! + +"Why don't you speak out?" he said. "Have I ever taught you to +conceal your thoughts? Have I ever been a hard father, who +discouraged you when you wished to confide in him? What are you +thinking about? Do _you_ know anything of this woman?" + +"Oh, father, what a question! I never even heard of her till I +put the torn letters together. I begin to wish you had not asked +me to do it." + +"So do I. It never struck me that you would feel such +extraordinary--I had almost said, such vulgar--curiosity about a +worthless letter." + +This roused my temper. When a young lady is told that she is +vulgar, if she has any self-conceit--I mean self-respect--she +feels insulted. I said something sharp in my turn. It was in the +way of argument. I do not know how it may be with other young +persons, I never reason so well myself as when I am angry. + +"You call it a worthless letter," I said, "and yet you think it +worth preserving." + +"Have you nothing more to say to me than that?" he asked. + +"Nothing more," I answered. + +He changed again. After having looked unaccountably angry, he now +looked unaccountably relieved. + +"I will soon satisfy you," he said, "that I have a good reason +for preserving a worthless letter. Miss Chance, my dear, is not a +woman to be trusted. If she saw her advantage in making a bad use +of my reply, I am afraid she would not hesitate to do it. Even if +she is no longer living, I don't know into what vile hands my +letter may not have fallen, or how it might be falsified for some +wicked purpose. Do you see now how a correspondence may become +accidentally important, though it is of no value in itself?" + +I could say "Yes" to this with a safe conscience. + +But there were some perplexities still left in my mind. It seemed +strange that Miss Chance should (apparently) have submitted to +the severity of my father's reply. "I should have thought," I +said to him, "that she would have sent you another impudent +letter--or perhaps have insisted on seeing you, and using her +tongue instead of her pen." + +"She could do neither the one nor the other, Helena. Miss Chance +will never find out my address again; I have taken good care of +that." + +He spoke in a loud voice, with a flushed face--as if it was quite +a triumph to have prevented this woman from discovering his +address. What reason could he have for being so anxious to keep +her away from him? Could I venture to conclude that there was a +mystery in the life of a man so blameless, so truly pious? It +shocked one even to think of it. + +There was a silence between us, to which the housemaid offered a +welcome interruption. Dinner was ready. + +He kissed me before we left the room. "One word more, Helena," he +said, "and I have done. Let there be no more talk between us +about Elizabeth Chance." + + +CHAPTER XVIL + +HELENA'S DIARY. + + +MISS JILLGALL joined us at the dinner-table, in a state of +excitement, carrying a book in her hand. + +I am inclined, on reflection, to suspect that she is quite clever +enough to have discovered that I hate her--and that many of the +aggravating things she says and does are assumed, out of +retaliation, for the purpose of making me angry. That ugly face +is a double face, or I am much mistaken. + +To return to the dinner-table, Miss Jillgall addressed herself, +with an air of playful penitence, to my father. + +"Dear cousin, I hope I have not done wrong. Helena left me all by +myself. When I had finished darning the curtain, I really didn't +know what to do. So I opened all the bedroom doors upstairs and +looked into the rooms. In the big room with two beds--oh, I am so +ashamed--I found this book. Please look at the first page." + +My father looked at the title-page: "Doctor Watts's Hymns. Well, +Selina, what is there to be ashamed of in this?" + +"Oh, no! no! It's the wrong page. Do look at the other page--the +one that comes first before that one." + +My patient father turned to the blank page. + +"Ah," he said quietly, "my other daughter's name is written in +it--the daughter whom you have not seen. Well?" + +Miss Jillgall clasped her hands distractedly. "It's my ignorance +I'm so ashamed of. Dear cousin, forgive me, enlighten me. I don't +know how to pronounce your other daughter's name. Do you call her +Euneece?" + +The dinner was getting cold. I was provoked into saying: "No, we +don't." + +She had evidently not forgiven me for leaving her by herself. +"Pardon me, Helena, when I want information I don't apply to you: +I sit, as it were, at the feet of your learned father. Dear +cousin, is it--" + +Even my father declined to wait for his dinner any longer. +"Pronounce it as you like, Selina. Here we say Euni'ce--with the +accent on the 'i' and with the final 'e' sounded: Eu-ni'-see. Let +me give you some soup." + +Miss Jillgall groaned. "Oh, how difficult it seems to be! Quite +beyond my poor brains! I shall ask the dear girl's leave to call +her Euneece. What very strong soup! Isn't it rather a waste of +meat? Give me a little more, please." + +I discovered another of Miss Jillgall's peculiarities. Her +appetite was enormous , and her ways were greedy. You heard her +eat her soup. She devoured the food on her plate with her eyes +before she put it into her mouth; and she criticised our English +cookery in the most impudent manner, under pretense of asking +humbly how it was done. There was, however, some temporary +compensation for this. We had less of her talk while she was +eating her dinner. + +With the removal of the cloth, she recovered the use of her +tongue; and she hit on the one subject of all others which proves +to be the sorest trial to my father's patience. + +"And now, dear cousin, let us talk of your other daughter, our +absent Euneece. I do so long to see her. When is she coming +back?" + +"In a few days more." + +"How glad I am! And do tell me--which is she? Your oldest girl or +your youngest?" + +"Neither the one nor the other, Selina." + +"Oh, my head! my head! This is even worse than the accent on the +'i' and the final 'e.' Stop! I am cleverer than I thought I was. +You mean that the girls are twins. Are they both so exactly like +each other that I shan't know which is which? What fun!" + +When the subject of our ages was unluckily started at Mrs. +Staveley's, I had slipped out of the difficulty easily by +assuming the character of the eldest sister--an example of ready +tact which my dear stupid Eunice doesn't understand. In my +father's presence, it is needless to say that I kept silence, and +left it to him. I was sorry to be obliged to do this. Owing to +his sad state of health, he is easily irritated--especially by +inquisitive strangers. + +"I must leave you," he answered, without taking the slightest +notice of what Miss Jillgall had said to him. "My work is waiting +for me." + +She stopped him on his way to the door. "Oh, tell me--can't I +help you?" + +"Thank you; no." + +"Well--but tell me one thing. Am I right about the twins?" + +"You are wrong." + +Miss Jillgall's demonstrative hands flew up into the air again, +and expressed the climax of astonishment by quivering over her +head. "This is positively maddening," she declared. "What does it +mean?" + +"Take my advice, cousin. Don't attempt to find out what it +means." + +He left the room. Miss Jillgall appealed to me. I imitated my +father's wise brevity of expression: "Sorry to disappoint you, +Selina; I know no more about it than you do. Come upstairs." + +Every step of the way up to the drawing-room was marked by a +protest or an inquiry. Did I expect her to believe that I +couldn't say which of us was the elder of the two? that I didn't +really know what my father's motive was for this extraordinary +mystification? that my sister and I had submitted to be robbed, +as it were, of our own ages, and had not insisted on discovering +which of us had come into the world first? that our friends had +not put an end to this sort of thing by comparing us personally, +and discovering which was the elder sister by investigation of +our faces? To all this I replied: First, that I did certainly +expect her to believe whatever I might say: Secondly, that what +she was pleased to call the "mystification" had begun when we +were both children; that habit had made it familiar to us in the +course of years; and above all, that we were too fond of our good +father to ask for explanations which we knew by experience would +distress him: Thirdly, that friends did try to discover, by +personal examination, which was the elder sister, and differed +perpetually in their conclusions; also that we had amused +ourselves by trying the same experiment before our +looking-glasses, and that Eunice thought Helena was the oldest, +and Helena thought Eunice was the oldest: Fourthly (and finally), +that the Reverend Mr. Gracedieu's cousin had better drop the +subject, unless she was bent on making her presence in the house +unendurable to the Reverend Mr. Gracedieu himself. + +I write it with a sense of humiliation; Miss Jillgall listened +attentively to all I had to say--and then took me completely by +surprise. This inquisitive, meddlesome, restless, impudent woman +suddenly transformed herself into a perfect model of amiability +and decorum. She actually said she agreed with me, and was much +obliged for my good advice! + +A stupid young woman, in my place, would have discovered that +this was not natural, and that Miss Jillgall was presenting +herself to me in disguise, to reach some secret end of her own. I +am not a stupid young woman; I ought to have had at my service +penetration enough to see through and through Cousin Selina. +Well! Cousin Selina was an impenetrable mystery to me. + +The one thing to be done was to watch her. I was at least sly +enough to take up a book, and pretend to be reading it. How +contemptible! + +She looked round the room, and discovered our pretty +writing-table; a present to my father from his congregation. +After a little consideration, she sat down to write a letter. + +"When does the post go out?" she asked. + +I mentioned the hour; and she began her letter. Before she could +have written more than the first two or three lines, she turned +round on her seat, and began talking to me. + +"Do you like writing letters, my dear?" + +"Yes--but then I have not many letters to write." + +"Only a few friends, Helena, but those few worthy to be loved? My +own case exactly. Has your father told you of my troubles? Ah, I +am glad of that. It spares me the sad necessity of confessing +what I have suffered. Oh, how good my friends, my new friends, +were to me in that dull little Belgian town! One of them was +generosity personified--ah, she had suffered, too! A vile husband +who had deceived and deserted her. Oh, the men! When she heard of +the loss of my little fortune, that noble creature got up a +subscription for me, and went round herself to collect. Think of +what I owe to her! Ought I to let another day pass without +writing to my benefactress? Am I not bound in gratitude to make +her happy in the knowledge of _my_ happiness--I mean the refuge +opened to me in this hospitable house?" + +She twisted herself back again to the writing-table, and went on +with her letter. + +I have not attempted to conceal my stupidity. Let me now record a +partial recovery of my intelligence. + +It was not to be denied that Miss Jillgall had discovered a good +reason for writing to her friend; but I was at a loss to +understand why she should have been so anxious to mention the +reason. Was it possible--after the talk which had passed between +us--that she had something mischievous to say in her letter, +relating to my father or to me? Was she afraid I might suspect +this? And had she been so communicative for the purpose of +leading my suspicions astray? These were vague guesses; but, try +as I might, I could arrive at no clearer view of what was passing +in Miss Jillgall's mind. What would I not have given to be able +to look over her shoulder, without discovery! + +She finished her letter, and put the address, and closed the +envelope. Then she turned round toward me again. + +"Have you got a foreign postage stamp, dear?" + +If I could look at nothing else, I was resolved to look at her +envelope. It was only necessary to go to the study, and to apply +to my father. I returned with the foreign stamp, and I stuck it +on the envelope with my own hand. + +There was nothing to interest _me_ in the address, as I ought to +have foreseen, if I had not been too much excited for the +exercise of a little common sense. Miss Jillgall's wonderful +friend was only remarkable by her ugly foreign name--MRS. +TENBRUGGEN. + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + + +HERE I am, writing my history of myself, once more, by my own +bedside. Some unexpected events have happened while I have been +away. One of them is the absence of my sister. + +Helena has left home on a visit to a northern town by the +seaside. She is staying in the house of a minister (one of papa's +friends), and is occupying a position of dignity in which I +should certainly lose my head. The minister and his wife and +daughters propose to set up a Girls' Scripture Class, on the plan +devised by papa; and they are at a loss, poor helpless people, to +know how to begin. Helena has volunteered to set the thing going. +And there she is now, advising everybody, governing everybody, +encouraging everybody--issuing directions, f inding fault, +rewarding merit--oh, dear, let me put it all in one word, and +say: thoroughly enjoying herself. + +Another event has happened, relating to papa. It so distressed me +that I even forgot to think of Philip--for a little while. + +Traveling by railway (I suppose because I am not used to it) +gives me the headache. When I got to our station here, I thought +it would do me more good to walk home than to ride in the noisy +omnibus. Half-way between the railway and the town, I met one of +the doctors. He is a member of our congregation; and he it was +who recommended papa, some time since, to give up his work as a +minister and take a long holiday in foreign parts. + +"I am glad to have met with you," the doctor said. "Your sister, +I find, is away on a visit; and I want to speak to one of you +about your father." + +It seemed that he had been observing papa, in chapel, from what +he called his own medical point of view. He did not conceal from +me that he had drawn conclusions which made him feel uneasy. "It +may be anxiety," he said, "or it may be overwork. In either case, +your father is in a state of nervous derangement, which is likely +to lead to serious results--unless he takes the advice that I +gave him when he last consulted me. There must be no more +hesitation about it. Be careful not to irritate him--but remember +that he must rest. You and your sister have some influence over +him; he won't listen to me." + +Poor dear papa! I did see a change in him for the worse--though I +had only been away for so short a time. + +When I put my arms round his neck, and kissed him, he turned +pale, and then flushed up suddenly: the tears came into his eyes. +Oh, it was hard to follow the doctor's advice, and not to cry, +too; but I succeeded in controlling myself. I sat on his knee, +and made him tell me all that I have written here about Helena. +This led to our talking next of the new lady, who is to live with +us as a member of the family. I began to feel less uneasy at the +prospect of being introduced to this stranger, when I heard that +she was papa's cousin. And when he mentioned her name, and saw +how it amused me, his poor worn face brightened into a smile. "Go +and find her," he said, "and introduce yourself. I want to hear, +Eunice, if you and my cousin are likely to get on well together." + +The servants told me that Miss Jillgall was in the garden. + +I searched here, there, and everywhere, and failed to find her. +The place was so quiet, it looked so deliciously pure and bright, +after smoky dreary London, that I sat down at the further end of +the garden and let my mind take me back to Philip. What was he +doing at that moment, while I was thinking of him? Perhaps he was +in the company of other young ladies, who drew all his thoughts +away to themselves? Or perhaps he was writing to his father in +Ireland, and saying something kindly and prettily about me? Or +perhaps he was looking forward, as anxiously as I do, to our +meeting next week. + +I have had my plans, and I have changed my plans. + +On the railway journey, I thought I would tell papa at once of +the new happiness which seems to have put a new life into me. It +would have been delightful to make my confession to that first +and best and dearest of friends; but my meeting with the doctor +spoiled it all. After what he had said to me, I discovered a +risk. If I ventured to tell papa that my heart was set on a young +gentleman who was a stranger to him, could I be sure that he +would receive my confession favorably? There was a chance that it +might irritate him--and the fault would then be mine of doing +what I had been warned to avoid. It might be safer in every way +to wait till Philip paid his visit, and he and papa had been +introduced to each other and charmed with each other. Could +Helena herself have arrived at a wiser conclusion? I declare I +felt proud of my own discretion. + +In this enjoyable frame of mind I was disturbed by a woman's +voice. The tone was a tone of distress, and the words reached my +ears from the end of the garden: "Please, miss, let me in." + +A shrubbery marks the limit of our little bit of pleasure-ground. +On the other side of it there is a cottage standing on the edge +of the common. The most good-natured woman in the world lives +here. She is our laundress--married to a stupid young fellow +named Molly, and blessed with a plump baby as sweet-tempered at +herself. Thinking it likely that the piteous voice which had +disturbed me might be the voice of Mrs. Molly, I was astonished +to hear her appealing to anybody (perhaps to me?) to "let her +in." So I passed through the shrubbery, wondering whether the +gate had been locked during my absence in London. No; it was as +easy to open as ever. + +The cottage door was not closed. + +I saw our amiable laundress in the passage, on her knees, trying +to open an inner door which seemed to be locked. She had her eye +at the keyhole; and, once again, she called out: "Please, miss, +let me in." I waited to see if the door would be opened--nothing +happened. I waited again, to hear if some person inside would +answer--nobody spoke. But somebody, or something, made a sound of +splashing water on the other side of the door. + +I showed myself, and asked what was the matter. + +Mrs. Molly looked at me helplessly. She said: "Miss Eunice, it's +the baby." + +"What has the baby done?" I inquired. + +Mrs. Molly got on her feet, and whispered in my ear: "You know +he's a fine child?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, miss, he's bewitched a lady." + +"What lady?" + +"Miss Jillgall." + +The very person I had been trying to find! I asked where she was. + +The laundress pointed dolefully to the locked door: "In there." + +"And where is your baby?" + +The poor woman still pointed to the door: "I'm beginning to +doubt, miss, whether it is my baby." + +"Nonsense, Mrs. Molly. If it isn't yours, whose baby can it be?" + +"Miss Jillgall's." + +Her puzzled face made this singular reply more funny still. The +splashing of water on the other side of the door began again. +"What is Miss Jillgall doing now?" I said. + +"Washing the baby, miss. A week ago, she came in here, one +morning; very pleasant and kind, I must own. She found me putting +on the baby's things. She says: 'What a cherub!' which I took as +a compliment. She says: 'I shall call again to-morrow.' She +called again so early that she found the baby in his crib. 'You +be a good soul,' she says, 'and go about your work, and leave the +child to me.' I says: 'Yes, miss, but please to wait till I've +made him fit to be seen.' She says: 'That's just what I mean to +do myself.' I stared; and I think any other person would have +done the same in my place. 'If there's one thing more than +another I enjoy,' she says, 'it's making myself useful. Mrs. +Molly, I've taken a fancy to your boy-baby,' she says, 'and I +mean to make myself useful to _him._' If you will believe me, +Miss Jillgall has only let me have one opportunity of putting my +own child tidy. She was late this morning, and I got my chance, +and had the boy on my lap, drying him--when in she burst like a +blast of wind, and snatched the baby away from me. 'This is your +nasty temper,' she says; 'I declare I'm ashamed of you!' And +there she is, with the door locked against me, washing the child +all over again herself. Twice I've knocked, and asked her to let +me in, and can't even get an answer. They do say there's luck in +odd numbers; suppose I try again?" Mrs. Molly knocked, and the +proverb proved to be true; she got an answer from Miss Jillgall +at last: "If you don't be quiet and go away, you shan't have the +baby back at all." Who could help it?--I burst out laughing. Miss +Jillgall (as I supposed from the tone of her voice) took severe +notice of this act of impropriety. "Who's that laughing?" she +called out; "give yourself a name." I gave my name. The door was +instantly thrown open with a bang. Papa's cousin appeared, in a +disheveled state, with splashes of soap and water all over her. +She held the child in one arm, and she threw the other arm round +my neck. "Dearest Euneece, I have been longing to see you. How do +you like Our baby?" + +To the curious story of my introduction to Miss Jillgall, I ought +perhaps to add that I have got to be friends with her al ready. I +am the friend of anybody who amuses me. What will Helena say when +she reads this? + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + + + +WHEN people are interested in some event that is coming, do they +find the dull days, passed in waiting for it, days which they are +not able to remember when they look back? This is my unfortunate +case. Night after night, I have gone to bed without so much as +opening my Journal. There was nothing worth writing about, +nothing that I could recollect, until the postman came to-day. I +ran downstairs, when I heard his ring at the bell, and stopped +Maria on her way to the study. There, among papa's usual handful +of letters, was a letter for me. + +"DEAR MISS EUNICE: + +. . . . . . . + +"Yours ever truly." + +I quote the passages in Philip's letter which most deeply +interested me--I am his dear miss; and he is mine ever truly. The +other part of the letter told me that he had been detained in +London, and he lamented it. At the end was a delightful +announcement that he was coming to me by the afternoon train. I +ran upstairs to see how I looked in the glass. + +My first feeling was regret. For the thousandth time, I was +obliged to acknowledge that I was not as pretty as Helena. But +this passed off. A cheering reflection occurred to me. Philip +would not have found, in my sister's face, what seems to have +interested him in my face. Besides, there is my figure. + +The pity of it is that I am so ignorant about some things. If I +had been allowed to read novels, I might (judging by what papa +said against them in one of his sermons) have felt sure of my own +attractions; I might even have understood what Philip really +thought of me. However, my mind was quite unexpectedly set at +ease on the subject of my figure. The manner in which it happened +was so amusing--at least, so amusing to me--that I cannot resist +mentioning it. + +My sister and I are forbidden to read newspapers, as well as +novels. But the teachers at the Girls' Scripture Class are too +old to be treated in this way. When the morning lessons were +over, one of them was reading the newspaper to the other, in the +empty schoolroom; I being in the passage outside, putting on my +cloak. + +It was a report of "an application made to the magistrates by the +lady of his worship the Mayor." Hearing this, I stopped to +listen. The lady of his worship (what a funny way of describing a +man's wife!) is reported to be a little too fond of notoriety, +and to like hearing the sound of her own voice on public +occasions. But this is only my writing; I had better get back to +the report. "In her address to the magistrates, the Mayoress +stated that she had seen a disgusting photograph in the shop +window of a stationer, lately established in the town. She +desired to bring this person within reach of the law, and to have +all his copies of the shameless photograph destroyed. The usher +of the court was thereupon sent to purchase the photograph."--On +second thoughts, I prefer going back to my own writing again; it +is so uninteresting to copy other people's writing. Two of the +magistrates were doing justice. They looked at the +photograph--and what did it represent? The famous statue called +the Venus de' Medici! One of the magistrates took this discovery +indignantly. He was shocked at the gross ignorance which could +call the classic ideal of beauty and grace a disgusting work. The +other one made polite allowances. He thought the lady was much to +be pitied; she was evidently the innocent victim of a neglected +education. Mrs. Mayor left the court in a rage, telling the +justices she knew where to get law. "I shall expose Venus," she +said, "to the Lord Chancellor." + +When the Scripture Class had broken up for the day, duty ought to +have taken me home. Curiosity led me astray--I mean, led me to +the stationer's window. + +There I found our two teachers, absorbed in the photograph; +having got to the shop first by a short cut. They seemed to think +I had taken a liberty whom I joined them. "We are here," they +were careful to explain, "to get a lesson in the ideal of beauty +and grace." There was quite a little crowd of townsfolk collected +before the window. Some of them giggled; and some of them +wondered whether it was taken from the life. For my own part, +gratitude to Venus obliges me to own that she effected a great +improvement in the state of my mind. She encouraged me. If that +stumpy little creature--with no waist, and oh, such uncertain +legs!--represented the ideal of beauty and grace, I had reason +indeed to be satisfied with my own figure, and to think it quite +possible that my sweetheart's favorable opinion of me was not +ill-bestowed. + +I was at the bedroom window when the time approached for Philip's +arrival. + +Quite at the far end of the road, I discovered him. He was on +foot; he walked like a king. Not that I ever saw a king, but I +have my ideal. Ah, what a smile he gave me, when I made him look +up by waving my handkerchief out of the window! "Ask for papa," I +whispered as he ascended the house-steps. + +The next thing to do was to wait, as patiently as I could, to be +sent for downstairs. Maria came to me in a state of excitement. +"Oh, miss, what a handsome young gentleman, and how beautifully +dressed! Is he--?" Instead of finishing what she had to say, she +looked at me with a sly smile. I looked at her with a sly smile. +We were certainly a couple of fools. But, dear me, how happy +sometimes a fool can be! + +My enjoyment of that delightful time was checked when I went into +the drawing-room. + +I had expected to see papa's face made beautiful by his winning +smile. He was not only serious; he actually seemed to be ill at +ease when he looked at me. At the same time, I saw nothing to +make me conclude that Philip had produced an unfavorable +impression. The truth is, we were all three on our best behavior, +and we showed it. Philip had brought with him a letter from Mrs. +Staveley, introducing him to papa. We spoke of the Staveleys, of +the weather, of the Cathedral--and then there seemed to be +nothing more left to talk about. + +In the silence that followed--what a dreadful thing silence +is!--papa was sent for to see somebody who had called on +business. He made his excuses in the sweetest manner, but still +seriously. When he and Philip had shaken hands, would he leave us +together? No; he waited. Poor Philip had no choice but to take +leave of me. Papa then went out by the door that led into his +study, and I was left alone. + +Can any words say how wretched I felt? + +I had hoped so much from that first meeting--and where were my +hopes now? A profane wish that I had never been born was finding +its way into my mind, when the door of the room was opened +softly, from the side of the passage. Maria, dear Maria, the best +friend I have, peeped in. She whispered: "Go into the garden, +miss, and you will find somebody there who is dying to see you. +Mind you let him out by the shrubbery gate." I squeezed her hand; +I asked if she had tried the shrubbery gate with a sweetheart of +her own. "Hundreds of times, miss." + +Was it wrong for me to go to Philip, in the garden? Oh, there is +no end to objections! Perhaps I did it _because_ it was wrong. +Perhaps I had been kept on my best behavior too long for human +endurance. + +How sadly disappointed he looked! And how rashly he had placed +himself just where he could be seen from the back windows! I took +his arm and led him to the end of the garden. There we were out +of the reach of inquisitive eyes; and there we sat down together, +under the big mulberry tree. + +"Oh, Eunice, your father doesn't like me!" + +Those were his first words. In justice to papa (and a little for +my own sake too) I told him he was quite wrong. I said: "Trust my +father's goodness, trust his kindness, as I do." + +He made no reply. His silence was sufficiently expressive; he +looked at me fondly. + +I may be wrong, but fond looks surely require an acknowledgment +of some kind? Is a young woman guilty of boldness who only +follows her impulses? I slipped my hand into his hand. Philip +seemed to like it. We returned to our conversation. + +He began: "Tell me, dear, is Mr. Gracedieu always as serious as +he is to-day?" + +"Oh no!" + +"When he takes exercise, does he ri de? or does he walk?" + +"Papa always walks." + +"By himself?" + +"Sometimes by himself. Sometimes with me. Do you want to meet him +when he goes out?" + +"Yes." + +"When he is out with me?" + +"No. When he is out by himself." + +Was it possible to tell me more plainly that I was not wanted? I +did my best to express indignation by snatching my hand away from +him. He was completely taken by surprise. + +"Eunice! don't you understand me?" + +I was as stupid and as disagreeable as I could possibly be: "No; +I don't!" + +"Then let me help you," he said, with a patience which I had not +deserved. + +Up to that moment I had been leaning against the back of a garden +chair. Something else now got between me and my chair. It stole +round my waist--it held me gently--it strengthened its hold--it +improved my temper--it made me fit to understand him. All done by +what? Only an arm! + +Philip went on: + +"I want to ask your father to do me the greatest of all +favors--and there is no time to lose. Every day, I expect to get +a letter which may recall me to Ireland." + +My heart sank at this horrid prospect; and in some mysterious way +my head must have felt it too. I mean that I found my head +resting on his shoulder. He went on: + +"How am I to get my opportunity of speaking to Mr. Gracedieu? I +mustn't call on him again as soon as to-morrow or next day. But I +might meet him, out walking alone, if you will tell me how to do +it. A note to my hotel is all I want. Don't tremble, my sweet. If +you are not present at the time, do you see any objection to my +owning to your father that I love you?" + +I felt his delicate consideration for me--I did indeed feel it +gratefully. If he only spoke first, how well I should get on with +papa afterward! The prospect before me was exquisitely +encouraging. I agreed with Philip in everything; and I waited +(how eagerly was only known to myself) to hear what he would say +to me next. He prophesied next: + +"When I have told your father that I love you, he will expect me +to tell him something else. Can you guess what it is?" + +If I had not been confused, perhaps I might have found the answer +to this. As it was, I left him to reply to himself. He did it, in +words which I shall remember as long as I live. + +"Dearest Eunice, when your father has heard my confession, he +will suspect that there is another confession to follow it--he +will want to know if you love me. My angel, will my hopes be your +hopes too, when I answer him?" + +What there was in this to make my heart beat so violently that I +felt as if I was being stifled, is more than I can tell. He +leaned so close to me, so tenderly, so delightfully close, that +our faces nearly touched. He whispered: "Say you love me, in a +kiss!" + +His lips touched my lips, pressed them, dwelt on them--oh, how +can I tell of it! Some new enchantment of feeling ran deliciously +through and through me. I forgot my own self; I only knew of one +person in the world. He was master of my lips; he was master of +my heart. When he whispered, "kiss me," I kissed. What a moment +it was! A faintness stole over me; I felt as if I was going to +die some exquisite death; I laid myself back away from him--I was +not able to speak. There was no need for it; my thoughts and his +thoughts were one--he knew that I was quite overcome; he saw that +he must leave me to recover myself alone. I pointed to the +shrubbery gate. We took one long last look at each other for that +day; the trees hid him; I was left by myself. + + +CHAPTER XX. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + + +How long a time passed before my composure came back to me, I +cannot remember now. It seemed as if I was waiting through some +interval of my life that was a mystery to myself. I was content +to wait, and feel the light evening air in the garden wafting +happiness over me. And all this had come from a kiss! I can call +the time to mind when I used to wonder why people made such a +fuss about kissing. + +I had been indebted to Maria for my first taste of Paradise. I +was recalled by Maria to the world that I had been accustomed to +live in; the world that was beginning to fade away in my memory +already. She had been sent to the garden in search of me; and she +had a word of advice to offer, after noticing my face when I +stepped out of the shadow of the tree: "Try to look more like +yourself, miss, before you let them see you at the tea-table." + + +Papa and Miss Jillgall were sitting together talking, when I +opened the door. They left off when they saw me; and I supposed, +quite correctly as it turned out, that I had been one of the +subjects in their course of conversation. My poor father seemed +to be sadly anxious and out of sorts. Miss Jillgall, if I had +been in the humor to enjoy it, would have been more amusing than +ever. One of her funny little eyes persisted in winking at me; +and her heavy foot had something to say to my foot, under the +table, which meant a great deal perhaps, but which only succeeded +in hurting me. + +My father left us; and Miss Jillgall explained herself. + +"I know, dearest Euneece, that we have only been acquainted for a +day or two and that I ought not perhaps to have expected you to +confide in me so soon. Can I trust you not to betray me if I set +an example of confidence? Ah, I see I can trust you! And, my +dear, I do so enjoy telling secrets to a friend. Hush! Your +father, your excellent father, has been talking to me about young +Mr. Dunboyne." + +She provokingly stopped there. I entreated her to go on. She +invited me to sit on her knee. "I want to whisper," she said. It +was too ridiculous--but I did it. Miss Jillgall's whisper told me +serious news. + +"The minister has some reason, Euneece, for disapproving of Mr. +Dunboyne; but, mind this, I don't think he has a bad opinion of +the young man himself. He is going to return Mr. Dunboyne's call. +Oh, I do so hate formality; I really can't go on talking of _Mr._ +Dunboyne. Tell me his Christian name. Ah, what a noble name! How +I long to be useful to him! Tomorrow, my dear, after the one +o'clock dinner, your papa will call on Philip, at his hotel. I +hope he won't be out, just at the wrong time." + +I resolved to prevent that unlucky accident by writing to Philip. +If Miss Jillgall would have allowed it, I should have begun my +letter at once. But she had more to say; and she was stronger +than I was, and still kept me on her knee. + +"It all looks bright enough so far, doesn't it, dear sister? Will +you let me be your second sister? I do so love you, Euneece. +Thank you! thank you! But the gloomy side of the picture is to +come next! The minister--no! now I am your sister I must call him +papa; it makes me feel so young again! Well, then, papa has asked +me to be your companion whenever you go out. 'Euneece is too +young and too attractive to be walking about this great town (in +Helena's absence) by herself.' That was how he put it. Slyly +enough, if one may say so of so good a man. And he used your +sister (didn't he?) as a kind of excuse. I wish your sister was +as nice as you are. However, the point is, why am I to be your +companion? Because, dear child, you and your young gentleman are +not to make appointments and to meet each other alone. Oh, +yes--that's it! Your father is quite willing to return Philip's +call; he proposes (as a matter of civility to Mrs. Staveley) to +ask Philip to dinner; but, mark my words, he doesn't mean to let +Philip have you for his wife." + +I jumped off her lap; it was horrible to hear her. "Oh," I said, +"_can_ you be right about it?" Miss Jillgall jumped up too. She +has foreign ways of shrugging her shoulders and making signs with +her hands. On this occasion she laid both hands on the upper part +of her dress, just below her throat, and mysteriously shook her +head. + +"When my views are directed by my affections," she assured me, "I +never see wrong. My bosom is my strong point." + +She has no bosom, poor soul--but I understood what she meant. It +failed to have any soothing effect on my feelings. I felt grieved +and angry and puzzled, all in one. Miss Jillgall stood looking at +me, with her hands still on the place where her bosom was +supposed to be. She made my temper hotter than ever. + +"I mean to marry Philip," I said. + +"Certainly, my dear Euneece. But please don't be so fierce about +it." + +"If my father does really object to my marriage," I went on, "it +must be because he dislikes Philip. There can be no other +reason." + +"Oh, yes, dear--there can." + +"What is the reason, then?" + +"That, my sweet girl, is one of the things that we have got to +find out." + +. . . . . . . + +The post of this morning brought a letter from my sister. We were +to expect her return by the next day's train. This was good news. +Philip and I might stand in need of clever Helena's help, and we +might be sure of getting it now. + +In writing to Philip, I had asked him to let me hear how papa and +he had got on at the hotel. + +I won't say how often I consulted my watch, or how often I looked +out of the window for a man with a letter in his hand. It will be +better to get on at once to the discouraging end of it, when the +report of the interview reached me at last. Twice Philip had +attempted to ask for my hand in marriage--and twice my father had +"deliberately, obstinately" (Philip's own words) changed the +subject. Even this was not all. As if he was determined to show +that Miss Jillgall was perfectly right, and I perfectly wrong, +papa (civil to Philip as long as he did not talk of Me) had asked +him to dine with us, and Philip had accepted the invitation! + +What were we to think of it? What were we to do? + +I wrote back to my dear love (so cruelly used) to tell him that +Helena was expected to return on the next day, and that her +opinion would be of the greatest value to both of us. In a +postscript I mentioned the hour at which we were going to the +station to meet my sister. When I say "we," I mean Miss Jillgall +as well as myself. + +. . . . . . . + +We found him waiting for us at the railway. I am afraid he +resented papa's incomprehensible resolution not to give him a +hearing. He was silent and sullen. I could not conceal that to +see this state of feeling distressed me. He showed how truly he +deserved to be loved--he begged my pardon, and he became his own +sweet self again directly. I am more determined to marry him than +ever. + +When the train entered the station, all the carriages were full. +I went one way, thinking I had seen Helena. Miss Jillgall went +the other way, under the same impression. Philip was a little way +behind me. + +Not seeing my sister, I had just turned back, when a young man +jumped out of a carriage, opposite Philip, and recognized and +shook hands with him. I was just near enough to hear the stranger +say, "Look at the girl in our carriage." Philip looked. "What a +charming creature!" he said, and then checked himself for fear +the young lady should hear him. She had just handed her traveling +bag and wraps to a porter, and was getting out. Philip politely +offered his hand to help her. She looked my way. The charming +creature of my sweetheart's admiration was, to my infinite +amusement, Helena herself. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + + +THE day of my return marks an occasion which I am not likely to +forget. Hours have passed since I came home--and my agitation +still forbids the thought of repose. + +As I sit at my desk I see Eunice in bed, sleeping peacefully, +except when she is murmuring enjoyment in some happy dream. To +what end has my sister been advancing blindfold, and (who knows?) +dragging me with her, since that disastrous visit to our friends +in London? Strange that there should be a leaven of superstition +in _my_ nature! Strange that I should feel fear of something--I +hardly know what! + +I have met somewhere (perhaps in my historical reading) with the +expression: "A chain of events." Was I at the beginning of that +chain, when I entered the railway carriage on my journey home? + +Among the other passengers there was a young gentleman, +accompanied by a lady who proved to be his sister. They were both +well-bred people. The brother evidently admired me, and did his +best to make himself agreeable. Time passed quickly in pleasant +talk, and my vanity was flattered--and that was all. + +My fellow-travelers were going on to London. When the train +reached our station the young lady sent her brother to buy some +fruit, which she saw in the window of the refreshment-room. The +first man whom he encountered on the platform was one of his +friends; to whom he said something which I failed to hear. When I +handed my traveling bag and my wraps to the porter, and showed +myself at the carriage door, I heard the friend say: "What a +charming creature!" Having nothing to conceal in a journal which +I protect by a lock, I may own that the stranger's personal +appearance struck me, and that what I felt this time was not +flattered vanity, but gratified pride. He was young, he was +remarkably handsome, he was a distinguished-looking man. + +All this happened in one moment. In the moment that followed, I +found myself in Eunice's arms. That odious person, Miss Jillgall, +insisted on embracing me next. And then I was conscious of an +indescribable feeling of surprise. Eunice presented the +distinguished-looking gentleman to me as a friend of hers--Mr. +Philip Dunboyne. + +"I had the honor of meeting your sister," he said, "in London, at +Mr. Staveley's house." He went on to speak easily and gracefully +of the journey I had taken, and of his friend who had been my +fellow-traveler; and he attended us to the railway omnibus before +he took his leave. I observed that Eunice had something to say to +him confidentially, before they parted. This was another example +of my sister's childish character; she is instantly familiar with +new acquaintances, if she happens to like them. I anticipated +some amusement from hearing how she had contrived to establish +confidential relations with a highly-cultivated man like Mr. +Dunboyne. But, while Miss Jillgall was with us, it was just as +well to keep within the limits of commonplace conversation. + +Before we got out of the omnibus I had, however, observed one +undesirable result of my absence from home. Eunice and Miss +Jillgall--the latter having, no doubt, finely flattered the +former--appeared to have taken a strong liking to each other. + +Two curious circumstances also caught my attention. I saw a +change to, what I call self -assertion, in my sister's manner; +something seemed to have raised her in her own estimation. Then, +again, Miss Jillgall was not like her customary self. She had +delightful moments of silence; and when Eunice asked how I liked +Mr. Dunboyne, she listened to my reply with an appearance of +interest in her ugly face which was quite a new revelation in my +experience of my father's cousin. + +These little discoveries (after what I had already observed at +the railway-station) ought perhaps to have prepared me for what +was to come, when my sister and I were alone in our room. But +Eunice, whether she meant to do it or not, baffled my customary +penetration. She looked as if she had plenty of news to tell +me--with some obstacle in the way of doing it, which appeared to +amuse instead of annoying her. If there is one thing more than +another that I hate, it is being puzzled. I asked at once if +anything remarkable had happened during Eunice's visit to London. + +She smiled mischievously. "I have got a delicious surprise for +you, my dear; and I do so enjoy prolonging it. Tell me, Helena, +what did you propose we should both do when we found ourselves at +home again?" + +My memory was at fault. Eunice's good spirits became absolutely +boisterous. She called out: "Catch!" and tossed her journal into +my hands, across the whole length of the room. "We were to read +each other's diaries," she said. "There is mine to begin with." + +Innocent of any suspicion of the true state of affairs, I began +the reading of Eunice's journal. + +If I had not seen the familiar handwriting, nothing would have +induced me to believe that a girl brought up in a pious +household, the well-beloved daughter of a distinguished +Congregational Minister, could have written that shameless record +of passions unknown to young ladies in respectable English life. +What to say, what to do, when I had closed the book, was more +than I felt myself equal to decide. My wretched sister spared me +the anxiety which I might otherwise have felt. It was she who +first opened her lips, after the silence that had fal len on us +while I was reading. These were literally the words that she +said: + +"My darling, why don't you congratulate me?" + +No argument could have persuaded me, as this persuaded me, that +all sisterly remonstrance on my part would be completely thrown +away. + +"My dear Eunice," I said, "let me beg you to excuse me. I am +waiting--" + +There she interrupted me--and, oh, in what an impudent manner! +She took my chin between her finger and thumb, and lifted my +downcast face, and looked at me with an appearance of eager +expectation which I was quite at a loss to understand. + +"You have been away from home, too." she said. "Do I see in this +serious face some astonishing news waiting to overpower me? Have +_you_ found a sweetheart? Are _you_ engaged to be married?" + +I only put her hand away from me, and advised her to return to +her chair. This perfectly harmless proceeding seemed absolutely +to frighten her. + +"Oh, my dear," she burst out, "surely you are not jealous of me?" + +There was but one possible reply to this: I laughed at it. Is +Eunice's head turned? She kissed me! + +"Now you laugh," she said, "I begin to understand you again; I +ought to have known that you are superior to jealousy. But, do +tell me, would it be so very wonderful if other girls found +something to envy in my good luck? Just think of it! Such a +handsome man, such an agreeable man, such a clever man, such a +rich man--and, not the least of his merits, by-the-by, a man who +admires You. Come! if you won't congratulate me, congratulate +yourself on having such a brother-in-law in prospect!" + +Her head _was_ turned. I drew the poor soul's attention +compassionately to what I had said a moment since. + +"Pardon me, dear, for reminding you that I have not yet refused +to offer my congratulations. I only told you I was waiting." + +"For what?" + +"Waiting, of course, to hear what my father thinks of your +wonderful good luck." + +This explanation, offered with the kindest intentions, produced +another change in my very variable sister. I had extinguished her +good spirits as I might have extinguished a light. She sat down +by me, and sighed in the saddest manner. The heart must be hard +indeed which can resist the distress of a person who is dear to +us. I put my arm round her; she was becoming once more the Eunice +whom I so dearly loved. + +"My poor child," I said. "don't distress yourself by speaking of +it; I understand. Your father objects to your marrying Mr. +Dunboyne." + +She shook her head. "I can't exactly say, Helena, that papa does +that. He only behaves very strangely." + +"Am I indiscreet, dear, if I ask in what way father's behavior +has surprised you?" + +She was quite willing to enlighten me. It was a simple little +story which, to my mind, sufficiently explained the strange +behavior that had puzzled my unfortunate sister. + +There could indeed be no doubt that my father considered Eunice +far too childish in character, as yet, to undertake the duties of +matrimony. But, with his customary delicacy, and dread of causing +distress to others, he had deferred the disagreeable duty of +communicating his opinion to Mr. Dunboyne. The adverse decision +must, however, be sooner or later announced; and he had arranged +to inflict disappointment, as tenderly as might be, at his own +table. + +Considerately leaving Eunice in the enjoyment of any vain hopes +which she may have founded on the event of the dinner-party, I +passed the evening until supper-time came in the study with my +father. + +Our talk was mainly devoted to the worthy people with whom I had +been staying, and whose new schools I had helped to found. Not a +word was said relating to my sister, or to Mr. Dunboyne. Poor +father looked so sadly weary and ill that I ventured, after what +the doctor had said to Eunice, to hint at the value of rest and +change of scene to an overworked man. Oh, dear me, he frowned, +and waved the subject away from him impatiently, with a wan, pale +hand. + +After supper, I made an unpleasant discovery. Not having +completely finished the unpacking of my boxes, I left Miss +Jillgall and Eunice in the drawing-room, and went upstairs. In +half an hour I returned, and found the room empty. What had +become of them? It was a fine moonlight night; I stepped into the +back drawing-room, and looked out of the window. There they were, +walking arm-in-arm with their heads close together, deep in talk. +With my knowledge of Miss Jillgall, I call this a bad sign. + +An odd thought has just come to me. I wonder what might have +happened, if I had been visiting at Mrs. Staveley's, instead of +Eunice, and if Mr. Dunboyne had seen me first. + +Absurd! if I was not too tired to do anything more, those last +lines should be scratched out. + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + + +I SAID so to Miss Jillgall, and I say it again here. Nothing will +induce me to think ill of Helena. + +My sister is a good deal tired, and a little out of temper after +the railway journey. This is exactly what happened to me when I +went to London. I attribute her refusal to let me read her +journal, after she had read mine, entirely to the disagreeable +consequences of traveling by railway. Miss Jillgall accounted for +it otherwise, in her own funny manner: "My sweet child, your +sister's diary is full of abuse of poor me." I humored the joke: +"Dearest Selina, keep a diary of your own, and fill it with abuse +of my sister." This seemed to be a droll saying at the time. But +it doesn't look particularly amusing, now it is written down. We +had ginger wine at supper, to celebrate Helena's return. Although +I only drank one glass, I daresay it may have got into my head. + +However that may be, when the lovely moonlight tempted us into +the garden, there was an end to our jokes. We had something to +talk about which still dwells disagreeably on my mind. + +Miss Jillgall began it. + +"If I trust you, dearest Euneece, with my own precious secrets, +shall I never, never, never live to repent it?" + +I told my good little friend that she might depend on me, +provided her secrets did no harm to any person whom I loved. + +She clasped her hands and looked up at the moon--I can only +suppose that her sentiments overpowered her. She said, very +prettily, that her heart and my heart beat together in heavenly +harmony. It is needless to add that this satisfied me. + +Miss Jillgall's generous confidence in my discretion was, I am +afraid, not rewarded as it ought to have been. I found her +tiresome at first. + +She spoke of an excellent friend (a lady), who had helped her, at +the time when she lost her little fortune, by raising a +subscription privately to pay the expenses of her return to +England. Her friend's name--not very attractive to English +ears--was Mrs. Tenbruggen; they had first become acquainted under +interesting circumstances. Miss Jillgall happened to mention that +my father was her only living relative; and it turned out that +Mrs. Tenbruggen was familiar with his name, and reverenced his +fame as a preacher. When he had generously received his poor +helpless cousin under his own roof, Miss Jillgall's gratitude and +sense of duty impelled her to write and tell Mrs. Tenbruggen how +happy she was as a member of our family. + +Let me confess that I began to listen more attentively when the +narrative reached this point. + +"I drew a little picture of our domestic circle here," Miss +Jillgall said, describing her letter; "and I mentioned the +mystery in which Mr. Gracedieu conceals the ages of you two dear +girls. Mrs. Tenbruggen --shall we shorten her ugly name and call +her Mrs. T.? Very well--Mrs. T. is a remarkably clever woman, and +I looked for interesting results, if she would give her opinion +of the mysterious circumstance mentioned in my letter." + +By this time, I was all eagerness to hear more. + +"Has she written to you?" I asked. + +Miss Jillgall looked at me affectionately, and took the reply out +of her pocket. + +"Listen, Euneece; and you shall hear her own words. Thus she +writes: + +" 'Your letter, dear Selina, especially interests me by what it +says about the _two_ Miss Gracedieus. '--Look, dear; she +underlines the word Two. Why, I can't explain. Can you? Ah, I +thought not. Well, let us get back to the letter. My accomplished +friend continues in these term s: + +" 'I can understand the surprise which you have felt at the +strange course taken by their father, as a means of concealing +the difference which there must be in the ages of these young +ladies. Many years since, I happened to discover a romantic +incident in the life of your popular preacher, which he has his +reasons, as I suspect, for keeping strictly to himself. If I may +venture on a bold guess, I should say that any person who could +discover which was the oldest of the two daughters, would be also +likely to discover the true nature of the romance in Mr. +Gracedieu's life.'--Isn't that very remarkable, Euneece? You +don't seem to see it--you funny child! Pray pay particular +attention to what comes next. These are the closing sentences in +my friend's letter: + +" 'If you find anything new to tell me which relates to this +interesting subject, direct your letter as before--provided you +write within a week from the present time. Afterward, my letters +will be received by the English physician whose card I inclose. +You will be pleased to hear that my professional interests call +me to London at the earliest moment that I can spare.' --There. +dear child, the letter comes to an end. I daresay you wonder what +Mrs. T. means, when she alludes to her professional interests?" + +No: I was not wondering about anything. It hurt me to hear of a +strange woman exercising her ingenuity in guessing at mysteries +in papa's life. + +But Miss Jillgall was too eagerly bent on setting forth the +merits of her friend to notice this. I now heard that Mrs. T.'s +marriage had turned out badly, and that she had been reduced to +earn her own bread. Her manner of doing this was something quite +new to me. She went about, from one place to another, curing +people of all sorts of painful maladies, by a way she had of +rubbing them with her hands. In Belgium she was called a +"Masseuse." When I asked what this meant in English, I was told, +"Medical Rubber," and that the fame of Mrs. T.'s wonderful cures +had reached some of the medical newspapers published in London. + +After listening (I must say for myself) very patiently, I was +bold enough to own that my interest in what I had just heard was +not quite so plain to me as I could have wished it to be. + +Miss Jillgall looked shocked at my stupidity. She reminded me +that there was a mystery in Mrs. Tenbruggen's letter and a +mystery in papa's strange conduct toward Philip. "Put two and two +together, darling," she said; "and, one of these days, they may +make four." + +If this meant anything, it meant that the reason which made papa +keep Helena's age and my age unknown to everybody but himself, +was also the reason why he seemed to be so strangely unwilling to +let me be Philip's wife. I really could not endure to take such a +view of it as that, and begged Miss Jillgall to drop the subject. +She was as kind as ever. + +"With all my heart, dear. But don't deceive yourself--the subject +will turn up again when we least expect it." + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + + +ONLY two days now, before we give our little dinner-party, and +Philip finds his opportunity of speaking to papa. Oh, how I wish +that day had come and gone! + +I try not to take gloomy views of things; but I am not quite so +happy as I had expected to be when my dear was in the same town +with me. If papa had encouraged him to call again, we might have +had some precious time to ourselves. As it is, we can only meet +in the different show-places in the town--with Helena on one +side, and Miss Jillgall on the other, to take care of us. I do +call it cruel not to let two young people love each other, +without setting third persons to watch them. If I was Queen of +England, I would have pretty private bowers made for lovers, in +the summer, and nice warm little rooms to hold two, in the +winter. Why not? What harm could come of it, I should like to +know? + +The cathedral is the place of meeting which we find most +convenient, under the circumstances. There are delightful nooks +and corners about this celebrated building in which lovers can +lag behind. If we had been in papa's chapel I should have +hesitated to turn it to such a profane use as this; the cathedral +doesn't so much matter. + +Shall I own that I felt my inferiority to Helena a little keenly? +She could tell Philip so many things that I should have liked to +tell him first. My clever sister taught him how to pronounce the +name of the bishop who began building the cathedral; she led him +over the crypt, and told him how old it was. He was interested in +the crypt; he talked to Helena (not to me) of his ambition to +write a work on cathedral architecture in England; he made a +rough little sketch in his book of our famous tomb of some king. +Helena knew the late royal personage's name, and Philip showed +his sketch to her before he showed it to me. How can I blame him, +when I stood there the picture of stupidity, trying to recollect +something that I might tell him, if it was only the Dean's name? +Helena might have whispered it to me, I think. She remembered it, +not I--and mentioned it to Philip, of course. I kept close by him +all the time, and now and then he gave me a look which raised my +spirits. He might have given me something better than that--I +mean a kiss--when we had left the cathedral, and were by +ourselves for a moment in a corner of the Dean's garden. But he +missed the opportunity. Perhaps he was afraid of the Dean himself +coming that way, and happening to see us. However, I am far from +thinking the worse of Philip. I gave his arm a little +squeeze--and that was better than nothing. + +. . . . . . . + +He and I took a walk along the bank of the river to-day; my +sister and Miss Jillgall looking after us as usual. + +On our way through the town, Helena stopped to give an order at a +shop. She asked us to wait for her. That best of good creatures, +Miss Jillgall, whispered in my ear: "Go on by yourselves, and +leave me to wait for her." Philip interpreted this act of +kindness in a manner which would have vexed me, if I had not +understood that it was one of his jokes. He said to me: "Miss +Jillgall sees a chance of annoying your sister, and enjoys the +prospect." + +Well, away we went together; it was just what I wanted; it gave +me an opportunity of saying something to Philip, between +ourselves. + +I could now beg of him, in his interests and mine, to make the +best of himself when he came to dinner. Clever people, I told +him, were people whom papa liked and admired. I said: "Let him +see, dear, how clever _you_ are, and how many things you +know--and you can't imagine what a high place you will have in +his opinion. I hope you don't think I am taking too much on +myself in telling you how to behave." + +He relieved that doubt in a manner which I despair of describing. +His eyes rested on me with such a look of exquisite sweetness and +love that I was obliged to hold by his arm, I trembled so with +the pleasure of feeling it. + +"I do sincerely believe," he said, "that you are the most +innocent girl, the sweetest, truest girl that ever lived. I wish +I was a better man, Eunice; I wish I was good enough to be worthy +of you!" + +To hear him speak of himself in that way jarred on me. If such +words had fallen from any other man's lips, I should have been +afraid that he had done something, or thought something, of which +he had reason to feel ashamed. With Philip this was impossible. + +He was eager to walk on rapidly, and to turn a corner in the +path, before we could be seen. "I want to be alone with you," he +said. + +I looked back. We were too late; Helena and Miss Jillgall had +nearly overtaken us. My sister was on the point of speaking to +Philip, when she seemed to change her mind, and only looked at +him. Instead of looking at her in return, he kept his eyes cast +down and drew figures on the pathway with his stick. I think +Helena was out of temper; she suddenly turned my way. "Why didn't +you wait for me?" she asked. + +Philip took her up sharply. "If Eunice likes seeing the river +better than waiting in the street," he said, "isn't she free to +do as she pleases?" + +Helena said nothing more; Philip walked on slowly by himself. Not +knowing what to make of it, I turned to Miss Jillgall. + +"Surely Phi lip can't have quarreled with Helena?" I said. + +Miss Jillgall answered in an odd off-hand manner: "Not he! He is +a great deal more likely to have quarreled with himself." + +"Why?" + +"Suppose you ask him why?" + +It was not to be thought of; it would have looked like prying +into his thoughts. "Selina!" I said, "there is something odd +about you to-day. What is the matter? I don't understand you." + +"My poor dear, you will find yourself understanding me before +long." I thought I saw something like pity in her face when she +said that. + +"My poor dear?" I repeated. "What makes you speak to me in that +way?" + +"I don't know--I'm tired; I'm an old fool-- I'll go back to the +house." + +Without another word, she left me. I turned to look for Philip, +and saw that my sister had joined him while I had been speaking +to Miss Jillgall. It pleased me to find that they were talking in +a friendly way when I joined them. A quarrel between Helena and +my husband that is to be--no, my husband that _shall_ be--would +have been too distressing, too unnatural I might almost call it. + +Philip looked along the backward path, and asked what had become +of Miss Jillgall. "Have you any objection to follow her example?" +he said to me, when I told him that Selina had returned to the +town. "I don't care for the banks of this river." + +Helena, who used to like the river at other times, was as ready +as Philip to leave it now. I fancy they had both been kindly +waiting to change our walk, till I came to them, and they could +study my wishes too. Of course I was ready to go where they +pleased. I asked Philip if there was anything he would like to +see, when we got into the streets again. + +Clever Helena suggested what seemed to be a strange amusement to +offer to Philip. "Let's take him to the Girls' School," she said. + +It appeared to be a matter of perfect indifference to him; he +was, what they call, ironical. "Oh, yes, of course. Deeply +interesting! deeply interesting!" He suddenly broke into the +wildest good spirits, and tucked my hand under his arm with a +gayety which it was impossible to resist. "What a boy you are!" +Helena said, enjoying his delightful hilarity as I did. + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + + +ON entering the schoolroom we lost our gayety, all in a moment. +Something unpleasant had evidently happened. + +Two of the eldest girls were sitting together in a corner, +separated from the rest, and looking most wickedly sulky. The +teachers were at the other end of the room, appearing to be ill +at ease. And there, standing in the midst of them, with his face +flushed and his eyes angry--there was papa, sadly unlike his +gentle self in the days of his health and happiness. On former +occasions, when the exercise of his authority was required in the +school, his forbearing temper always set things right. When I saw +him now, I thought of what the doctor had said of his health, on +my way home from the station. + +Papa advanced to us the moment we showed ourselves at the door. + +He shook hands--cordially shook hands--with Philip. It was +delightful to see him, delightful to hear him say: "Pray don't +suppose, Mr. Dunboyne, that you are intruding; remain with us by +all means if you like." Then he spoke to Helena and to me, still +excited, still not like himself: "You couldn't have come here, my +dears, at a time when your presence was more urgently needed." He +turned to the teachers. "Tell my daughters what has happened; +tell them why they see me here--shocked and distressed, I don't +deny it." + +We now heard that the two girls in disgrace had broken the rules, +and in such a manner as to deserve severe punishment. + +One of them had been discovered hiding a novel in her desk. The +other had misbehaved herself more seriously still--she had gone +to the theater. Instead of expressing any regret, they had +actually dared to complain of having to learn papa's improved +catechism. They had even accused him of treating them with +severity, because they were poor girls brought up on charity. "If +we had been young ladies," they were audacious enough to say, +"more indulgence would have been shown to us; we should have been +allowed to read stories and to see plays." + +All this time I had been asking myself what papa meant, when he +told us we could not have come to the schoolroom at a better +time. His meaning now appeared. When he spoke to the offending +girls, he pointed to Helena and to me. + +"Here are my daughters," he said. "You will not deny that they +are young ladies. Now listen. They shall tell you themselves +whether my rules make any difference between them and you. +Helena! Eunice! do I allow you to read novels? do I allow you to +go to the play?" + +We said, "No"--and hoped it was over. But he had not done yet. He +turned to Helena. + +"Answer some of the questions," he went on, "from my Manual of +Christian Obligation, which the girls call my catechism." He +asked one of the questions: "If you are told to do unto others as +you would they should do unto you, and if you find a difficulty +in obeying that Divine Precept, what does your duty require?" + +It is my belief that Helena has the materials in her for making +another Joan of Arc. She rose, and answered without the slightest +sign of timidity: "My duty requires me to go to the minister, and +to seek for advice and encouragement." + +"And if these fail?" + +"Then I am to remember that my pastor is my friend. He claims no +priestly authority or priestly infallibility. He is my +fellow-Christian who loves me. He will tell me how he has himself +failed; how he has struggled against himself; and what a blessed +reward has followed his victory--a purified heart, a peaceful +mind." + +Then papa released my sister, after she had only repeated two out +of all the answers in Christian Obligation, which we first began +to learn when we were children. He then addressed himself again +to the girls. + +"Is what you have just heard a part of my catechism? Has my +daughter been excused from repeating it because she is a young +lady? Where is the difference between the religious education +which is given to my own child, and that given to you?" + +The wretched girls still sat silent and obstinate, with their +heads down. I tremble again as I write of what happened next. +Papa fixed his eyes on me. He said, out loud: "Eunice!"--and +waited for me to rise and answer, as my sister had done. + +It was entirely beyond my power to get on my feet. + +Philip had (innocently, I am sure) discouraged me; I saw +displeasure, I saw contempt in his face. There was a dead silence +in the room. Everybody looked at me. My heart beat furiously, my +hands turned cold, the questions and answers in Christian +Obligation all left my memory together. I looked imploringly at +papa. + +For the first time in his life, he was hard on me. His eyes were +as angry as ever; they showed me no mercy. Oh, what had come to +me? what evil spirit possessed me? I felt resentment; horrid, +undutiful resentment, at being treated in this cruel way. My +fists clinched themselves in my lap, my face felt as hot as fire. +Instead of asking my father to excuse me, I said: "I can't do +it." He was astounded, as well he might be. I went on from bad to +worse. I said: "I won't do it." + +He stooped over me; he whispered: "I am going to ask you +something; I insist on your answering, Yes or No." He raised his +voice, and drew himself back so that they could all see me. + +"Have you been taught like your sister?" he asked. "Has the +catechism that has been her religious lesson, for all her life, +been your religious lesson, for all your life, too?" + +I said: "Yes"--and I was in such a rage that I said it out loud. +If Philip had handed me his cane, and had advised me to give the +young hussies who were answerable for this dreadful state of +things a good beating, I believe I should have done it. Papa +turned his back on me and offered the girls a last chance: "Do +you feel sorry for what you have done? Do you ask to be +forgiven?" + +Neither the one nor the other answered him. He called across the +room to the teachers: "Those two pupils are expelled the school." + +Both the women looked horrified. The elder of the two approached +him, and tried to plead for a milder sentence. He answered in one +stern w ord: "Silence!"--and left the schoolroom, without even a +passing bow to Philip. And this, after he had cordially shaken +hands with my poor dear, not half an hour before. + +I ought to have made affectionate allowance for his nervous +miseries; I ought to have run after him, and begged his pardon. +There must be something wrong, I am afraid, in girls loving +anybody but their fathers. When Helena led the way out by another +door, I ran after Philip; and I asked _him_ to forgive me. + +I don't know what I said; it was all confusion. The fear of +having forfeited his fondness must, I suppose, have shaken my +mind. I remember entreating Helena to say a kind word for me. She +was so clever, she had behaved so well, she had deserved that +Philip should listen to her. "Oh," I cried out to him +desperately, "what must you think of me?" + +"I will tell you what I think of you," he said. "It is your +father who is in fault, Eunice--not you. Nothing could have been +in worse taste than his management of that trumpery affair in the +schoolroom; it was a complete mistake from beginning to end. Make +your mind easy; I don't blame You." + +"Are you, really and truly, as fond of me as ever?" + +"Yes, to be sure!" + +Helena seemed to be hardly as much interested in this happy +ending of my anxieties as I might have anticipated. She walked on +by herself. Perhaps she was thinking of poor papa's strange +outbreak of excitement, and grieving over it. + +We had only a little way to walk, before we passed the door of +Philip's hotel. He had not yet received the expected letter from +his father-- the cruel letter which might recall him to Ireland. +It was then the hour of delivery by our second post; he went to +look at the letter-rack in the hall. Helena saw that I was +anxious. She was as kind again as ever; she consented to wait +with me for Philip, at the door. + +He came out to us with an open letter in his hand. + +"From my father, at last," he said--and gave me the letter to +read. It only contained these few lines: + +"Do not be alarmed, my dear boy, at the change for the worse in +my handwriting. I am suffering for my devotion to the studious +habits of a lifetime: my right hand is attacked by the malady +called Writer's Cramp. The doctor here can do nothing. He tells +me of some foreign woman, mentioned in his newspaper, who cures +nervous derangements of all kinds by hand-rubbing, and who is +coming to London. When you next hear from me, I may be in London +too." --There the letter ended. + +Of course I knew who the foreign woman, mentioned in the +newspaper, was. + +But what does Miss Jillgall's friend matter to me? The one +important thing is, that Philip has not been called back to +Ireland. Here is a fortunate circumstance, which perhaps means +more good luck. I may be Mrs. Philip Dunboyne before the year is +out. + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + + +THEY all notice at home that I am looking worn and haggard. That +hideous old maid, Miss Jillgall, had her malicious welcome ready +for me when we met at breakfast this morning: "Dear Helena, what +has become of your beauty? One would think you had left it in +your room!" Poor deluded Eunice showed her sisterly sympathy: +"Don't joke about it, Selina: can't you see that Helena is ill?" + +I _have_ been ill; ill of my own wickedness. + +But the recovery to my tranquillity will bring with it the +recovery of my good looks. My fatal passion for Philip promises +to be the utter destruction of everything that is good in me. +Well! what is good in me may not be worth keeping. There is a +fate in these things. If I am destined to rob Eunice of the one +dear object of her love and hope--how can I resist? The one kind +thing I can do is to keep her in ignorance of what is coming, by +acts of affectionate deceit. + +Besides, if she suffers, I suffer too. In the length and breadth +of England, I doubt if there is a much more wicked young woman to +be found than myself. Is it nothing to feel that, and to endure +it as I do? + +Upon my word, there is no excuse for me! + +Is this sheer impudence? No; it is the bent of my nature. I have +a tendency to self-examination, accompanied by one merit--I don't +spare myself. + +There are excuses for Eunice. She lives in a fools' paradise; and +she sees in her lover a radiant creature, shining in the halo +thrown over him by her own self-delusion, Nothing of this sort is +to be said for me. I see Philip as he is. My penetration looks +into the lowest depths of his character--when I am not in his +company. There seems to be a foundation of good, somewhere in his +nature. He despises and hates himself (he has confessed it to +me), when Eunice is with him--still believing in her false +sweetheart. But how long do these better influences last? I have +only to show myself, in my sister's absence, and Philip is mine +body and soul. His vanity and his weakness take possession of him +the moment he sees my face. He is one of those men--even in my +little experience I have met with them--who are born to be led by +women. If Eunice had possessed my strength of character, he would +have been true to her for life. + +Ought I not, in justice to myself, to have lifted my heart high +above the reach of such a creature as this? Certainly I ought! I +know it, I feel it. And yet, there is some fascination in having +him which I am absolutely unable to resist. + +What, I ask myself, has fed the new flame which is burning in me? +Did it begin with gratified pride? I might well feel proud when I +found myself admired by a man of his beauty, set off by such +manners and such accomplishments as his. Or, has the growth of +this masterful feeling been encouraged by the envy and jealousy +stirred in me, when I found Eunice (my inferior in every respect) +distinguished by the devotion of a handsome lover, and having a +brilliant marriage in view--while I was left neglected, with no +prospect of changing my title from Miss to Mrs.? Vain inquiries! +My wicked heart seems to have secrets of its own, and to keep +them a mystery to me. + +What has become of my excellent education? I don't care to +inquire; I have got beyond the reach of good books and religious +examples. Among my other blamable actions there may now be +reckoned disobedience to my father. I have been reading novels in +secret. + +At first I tried some of the famous English works, published at a +price within the reach of small purses. Very well written, no +doubt--but with one unpardonable drawback, so far as I am +concerned. Our celebrated native authors address themselves to +good people, or to penitent people who want to be made good; not +to wicked readers like me. + +Arriving at this conclusion, I tried another experiment. In a +small bookseller's shop I discovered some cheap translations of +French novels. Here, I found what I wanted--sympathy with sin. +Here, there was opened to me a new world inhabited entirely by +unrepentant people; the magnificent women diabolically beautiful; +the satanic men dead to every sense of virtue, and alive--perhaps +rather dirtily alive--to the splendid fascinations of crime. I +know now that Love is above everything but itself. Love is the +one law that we are bound to obey. How deep! how consoling! how +admirably true! The novelists of England have reason indeed to +hide their heads before the novelists of France. All that I have +felt, and have written here, is inspired by these wonderful +authors. + + +I have relieved my mind, and may now return to the business of my +diary--the record of domestic events. + +An overwhelming disappointment has fallen on Eunice. Our +dinner-party has been put off. + +The state of father's health is answerable for this change in our +arrangements That wretched scene at the school, complicated by my +sister's undutiful behavior at the time, so seriously excited him +that he passed a sleepless night, and kept his bedroom throughout +the day. Eunice's total want of discretion added, no doubt, to +his sufferings: she rudely intruded on him to express her regret +and to ask his pardon. Having carried her point, she was at +leisure to come to me, and to ask (how amazingly simple of her!) +what she and Philip were to do next. + +"We had arranged it all so nicely," the poor wretch began. +"Philip was to have been so clever and agreeable + at dinner, and was to have chosen his time so very discreetly, +that papa would have been ready to listen to anything he said. +Oh, we should have succeeded; I haven't a doubt of it! Our only +hope, Helena, is in you. What are we to do now?" + +"Wait," I answered. + +"Wait?" she repeated, hotly. "Is my heart to be broken? and, what +is more cruel still, is Philip to be disappointed? I expected +something more sensible, my dear, from you. What possible reason +can there be for waiting?" + +The reason--if I could only have mentioned it--was beyond +dispute. I wanted time to quiet Philip's uneasy conscience, and +to harden his weak mind against outbursts of violence, on +Eunice's part, which would certainly exhibit themselves when she +found that she had lost her lover, and lost him to me. In the +meanwhile, I had to produce my reason for advising her to wait. +It was easily done. I reminded her of the irritable condition of +our father's nerves, and gave it as my opinion that he would +certainly say No, if she was unwise enough to excite him on the +subject of Philip, in his present frame of mind. + +These unanswerable considerations seemed to produce the right +effect on her. "I suppose you know best," was all she said. And +then she left me. + +I let her go without feeling any distrust of this act of +submission on her part; it was such a common experience, in my +life, to find my sister guiding herself by my advice. But +experience is not always to be trusted. Events soon showed that I +had failed to estimate Eunice's resources of obstinacy and +cunning at their true value. + +Half an hour later I heard the street door closed, and looked out +of the window. Miss Jillgall was leaving the house; no one was +with her. My dislike of this person led me astray once more. I +ought to have suspected her of being bent on some mischievous +errand, and to have devised some means of putting my suspicions +to the test. I did nothing of the kind. In the moment when I +turned my head away from the window, Miss Jillgall was a person +forgotten--and I was a person who had made a serious mistake. + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + + + +THE event of to-day began with the delivery of a message +summoning me to my father's study. He had decided--too hastily, +as I feared--that he was sufficiently recovered to resume his +usual employments. I was writing to his dictation, when we were +interrupted. Maria announced a visit from Mr. Dunboyne. + +Hitherto Philip had been content to send one of the servants of +the hotel to make inquiry after Mr. Gracedieu's health. Why had +he now called personally? Noticing that father seemed to be +annoyed, I tried to make an opportunity of receiving Philip +myself. "Let me see him," I suggested; "I can easily say you are +engaged." + +Very unwillingly, as it was easy to see, my father declined to +allow this. "Mr. Dunboyne's visit pays me a compliment," he said; +"and I must receive him." I made a show of leaving the room, and +was called back to my chair. "This is not a private interview, +Helena; stay where you are." + +Philip came in--handsomer than ever, beautifully dressed--and +paid his respects to my father with his customary grace. He was +too well-bred to allow any visible signs of embarrassment to +escape him. But when he shook hands with me, I felt a little +trembling in his fingers, through the delicate gloves which +fitted him like a second skin. Was it the true object of his +visit to try the experiment designed by Eunice and himself, and +deferred by the postponement of our dinner-party? Impossible +surely that my sister could have practiced on his weakness, and +persuaded him to return to his first love! I waited, in +breathless interest, for his next words. They were not worth +listening to. Oh, the poor commonplace creature! + +"I am glad, Mr. Gracedieu, to see that you are well enough to be +in your study again," he said. The writing materials on the table +attracted his attention. "Am I one of the idle people," he asked, +with his charming smile, "who are always interrupting useful +employment?" + +He spoke to my father, and he was answered by my father. Not once +had he addressed a word to me--no, not even when we shook hands. +I was angry enough to force him into taking some notice of me, +and to make an attempt to confuse him at the same time. + +"Have you seen my sister?" I asked. + +"No." + +It was the shortest reply that he could choose. Having flung it +at me, he still persisted in looking at my father and speaking to +my father: "Do you think of trying change of air, Mr. Gracedieu, +when you feel strong enough to travel?" + +"My duties keep me here," father answered; "and I cannot honestly +say that I enjoy traveling. I dislike manners and customs that +are strange to me; I don't find that hotels reward me for giving +up the comforts of my own house. How do you find the hotel here?" + +"I submit to the hotel, sir. They are sad savages in the kitchen; +they put mushroom ketchup into their soup, and mustard and +cayenne pepper into their salads. I am half-starved at +dinner-time, but I don't complain." + +Every word he said was an offense to me. With or without reason, +I attacked him again. + +"I have heard you acknowledge that the landlord and landlady are +very obliging people," I said. "Why don't you ask them to let you +make your own soup and mix your own salad?" + +I wondered whether I should succeed in attracting his notice, +after this. Even in these private pages, my self-esteem finds it +hard to confess what happened. I succeeded in reminding Philip +that he had his reasons for requesting me to leave the room. + +"Will you excuse me, Miss Helena," he said, "if I ask leave to +speak to Mr. Gracedieu in private?" + +The right thing for me to do was, let me hope, the thing that I +did. I rose, and waited to see if my father would interfere. He +looked at Philip with suspicion in his face, as well as surprise. +"May I ask," he said, coldly, "what is the object of the +interview?" + +"Certainly," Philip answered, "when we are alone." This cool +reply placed my father between two alternatives; he must either +give way, or be guilty of an act of rudeness to a guest in his +own house. The choice reserved for me was narrower still--I had +to decide between being told to go, or going of my own accord. Of +course, I left them together. + +The door which communicated with the next room was pulled to, but +not closed. On the other side of it, I found Eunice. + +"Listening!" I said, in a whisper. + +"Yes," she whispered back. "You listen, too!" + +I was so indignant with Philip, and so seriously interested in +what was going on in the study, that I yielded to temptation. We +both degraded ourselves. We both listened. + +Eunice's base lover spoke first. Judging by the change in his +voice, he must have seen something in my father's face that +daunted him. Eunice heard it, too. "He's getting nervous," she +whispered; "he'll forget to say the right thing at the right +time." + +"Mr. Gracedieu," Philip began, "I wish to speak to you--" + +Father interrupted him: "We are alone now, Mr. Dunboyne. I want +to know why you consult me in private?" + +"I am anxious to consult you, sir, on a subject--" + +"On what subject? Any religious difficulty?" + +"No." + +"Anything I can do for you in the town?" + +"Not at all. If you will only allow me--" + +"I am still waiting, sir, to know what it is about." + +Philip's voice suddenly became an angry voice. "Once for all, Mr. +Gracedieu," he said, "will you let me speak? It's about your +daughter--" + +"No more of it, Mr. Dunboyne!" (My father was now as loud as +Philip.) "I don't desire to hold a private conversation with you +on the subject of my daughter." + +"If you have any personal objection to me, sir, be so good as to +state it plainly." + +"You have no right to ask me to do that." + +"You refuse to do it?" + +"Positively." + +"You are not very civil, Mr. Gracedieu." + +"If I speak without ceremony, Mr. Dunboyne, you have yourself to +thank for it." + +Philip replied to this in a tone of savage irony. "You are a +minister of religion, and you are an old man. Two privileges--and +you presume on them both. Good-morning." + +I drew back into a corner, just in time to escape discovery in +the character of a listener. Eunice never moved. When Philip +dashed int o the room, banging the door after him, she threw +herself impulsively on his breast: "Oh, Philip! Philip! what have +you done? Why didn't you keep your temper?" + +"Did you hear what your father said to me?" he asked. + +"Yes, dear; but you ought to have controlled yourself--you ought, +indeed, for my sake." + +Her arms were still round him. It struck me that he felt her +influence. "If you wish me to recover myself," he said, gently, +"you had better let me go." + +"Oh, how cruel, Philip, to leave me when I am so wretched! Why do +you want to go?" + +"You told me just now what I ought to do," he answered, still +restraining himself. "If I am to get the better of my temper, I +must be left alone." + +"I never said anything about your temper, darling." + +"Didn't you tell me to control myself?" + +"Oh, yes! Go back to papa. and beg him to forgive you." + +"I'll see him damned first!" + +If ever a stupid girl deserved such an answer as this, the girl +was my sister. I had hitherto (with some difficulty) refrained +from interfering. But when Eunice tried to follow Philip out of +the house, I could hesitate no longer; I held her back. "You +fool," I said; "haven't you made mischief enough already?" + +"What am I to do?" she burst out, helplessly. + +"Do what I told you to do yesterday--wait." + +Before she could reply, or I could say anything more, the door +that led to the landing was opened softly and slyly, and Miss +Jillgall peeped in. Eunice instantly left me, and ran to the +meddling old maid. They whispered to each other. Miss Jillgall's +skinny arm encircled my sister's waist; they disappeared +together. + +I was only too glad to get rid of them both, and to take the +opportunity of writing to Philip. I insisted on an explanation of +his conduct while I was in the study--to be given within an +hour's time, at a place which I appointed. "You are not to +attempt to justify yourself in writing," I added in conclusion. +"Let your reply merely inform me if you can keep the appointment. +The rest, when we meet." + +Maria took the letter to the hotel, with instructions to wait. + +Philip's reply reached me without delay. It pledged him to +justify himself as I had desired, and to keep the appointment. My +own belief is that the event of to-day will decide his future and +mine. + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + + +INDEED, I am a most unfortunate creature; everything turns out +badly with me. My good, true friend, my dear Selina, has become +the object of a hateful doubt in my secret mind. I am afraid she +is keeping something from me. + +Talking with her about my troubles, I heard for the first time +that she had written again to Mrs. Tenbruggen. The object of her +letter was to tell her friend of my engagement to young Mr. +Dunboyne. I asked her why she had done this. The answer informed +me that there was no knowing, in the present state of my affairs, +how soon I might not want the help of a clever woman. I ought, I +suppose, to have been satisfied with this. But there seemed to be +something not fully explained yet. + +Then again, after telling Selina what I heard in the study, and +how roughly Philip had spoken to me afterward, I asked her what +she thought of it. She made an incomprehensible reply: "My sweet +child, I mustn't think of it--I am too fond of you." + +It was impossible to make her explain what this meant. She began +to talk of Philip; assuring me (which was quite needless) that +she had done her best to fortify and encourage him, before he +called on papa. When I asked her to help me in another way--that +is to say, when I wanted to find out where Philip was at that +moment--she had no advice to give me. I told her that I should +not enjoy a moment's ease of mind until I and my dear one were +reconciled. She only shook her head and declared that she was +sorry for me. When I hit on the idea of ringing for Maria, this +little woman, so bright, and quick and eager to help me at other +times, said "I leave it to you, dear," and turned to the piano +(close to which I was sitting), and played softly and badly +stupid little tunes. + +"Maria, did you open the door for Mr. Dunboyne when he went away +just now?" + +"No, miss." + +Nothing but ill-luck for me! If I had been left to my own +devices, I should now have let the housemaid go. But Selina +contrived to give me a hint, on a strange plan of her own. Still +at the piano, she began to confuse talking to herself with +playing to herself. The notes went _tinkle, tinkle_--and the +tongue mixed up words with the notes in this way: "Perhaps they +have been talking in the kitchen about Philip?" + +The suggestion was not lost on me. I said to Maria--who was +standing at the other end of the room, near the door--" Did you +happen to hear which way Mr. Dunboyne went when he left us?" + +"I know where he was, miss, half an hour ago." + +"Where was he?" + +"At the hotel." + +Selina went on with her hints in the same way as before. "How +does she know--ah, how does she know?" was the vocal part of the +performance this time. My clever inquiries followed the vocal +part as before: + +"How do you know that Mr. Dunboyne was at the hotel?" + +"I was sent there with a letter for him, and waited for the +answer." + +There was no suggestion required this time. The one possible +question was: "Who sent you?" + +Maria replied, after first reserving a condition: "You won't tell +upon me, miss?" + +I promised not to tell. Selina suddenly left off playing. + +"Well," I repeated, "who sent you?" + +"Miss Helena." + +Selina looked round at me. Her little eyes seemed to have +suddenly become big, they stared me so strangely in the face. I +don't know whether she was in a state of fright or of wonder. As +for myself, I simply lost the use of my tongue. Maria, having no +more questions to answer, discreetly left us together. + +Why should Helena write to Philip at all--and especially without +mentioning it to me? Here was a riddle which was more than I +could guess. I asked Selina to help me. She might at least have +tried, I thought; but she looked uneasy, and made excuses. + +I said: "Suppose I go to Helena, and ask her why she wrote to +Philip?" And Selina said: "Suppose you do, dear." + +I rang for Maria once more: "Do you know where my sister is?" + +"Just gone out, miss." + +There was no help for it but to wait till she came back, and to +get through the time in the interval as I best might. But for one +circumstance, I might not have known what to do. The truth is, +there was a feeling of shame in me when I remembered having +listened at the study door. Curious notions come into one's +head--one doesn't know how or why. It struck me that I might make +a kind of atonement for having been mean enough to listen, if I +went to papa, and offered to keep him company in his solitude. If +we fell into pleasant talk, I had a sly idea of my own--I meant +to put in a good word for poor Philip. + +When I confided my design to Selina, she shut up the piano and +ran across the room to me. But somehow she was not like her old +self again, yet. + +"You good little soul, you are always right. Look at me again, +Euneece. Are you beginning to doubt me? Oh, my darling, don't do +that! It isn't using me fairly. I can't bear it--I can't bear +it!" + +I took her hand; I was on the point of speaking to her with the +kindness she deserved from me. On a sudden she snatched her hand +away and ran back to the piano. When she was seated on the +music-stool, her face was hidden from me. At that moment she +broke into a strange cry--it began like a laugh, and it ended +like a sob. + +"Go away to papa! Don't mind me--I'm a creature of impulse--ha! +ha! ha! a little hysterical--the state of the weather--I get rid +of these weaknesses, my dear, by singing to myself. I have a +favorite song: 'My heart is light, my will is free.'--Go away! +oh, for God's sake, go away!" + +I had heard of hysterics, of course; knowing nothing about them, +however, by my own experience. What could have happened to +agitate her in this extraordinary manner? + +Had Helena's letter anything to do with it? Was my sister +indignant with Philip for swearing in my presence; and had she +written him an angry letter, in her zeal on my behalf? But Selina +could not possibly have seen the letter-- and Helena (who is +often hard on me when I do stupid th ings) showed little +indulgence for me, when I was so unfortunate as to irritate +Philip. I gave up the hopeless attempt to get at the truth by +guessing, and went away to forget my troubles, if I could, in my +father's society. + +After knocking twice at the door of the study, and receiving no +reply, I ventured to look in. + +The sofa in this room stood opposite the door. Papa was resting +on it, but not in comfort. There were twitching movements in his +feet, and he shifted his arms this way and that as if no restful +posture could he found for them. But what frightened me was this. +His eyes, staring straight at the door by which I had gone in, +had an inquiring expression, as if he actually did not know me! I +stood midway between the door and the sofa, doubtful about going +nearer to him. + +He said: "Who is it?" This to me--to his own daughter. He said: +"What do you want?" + +I really could _not_ bear it. I went up to him. I said: "Papa, +have you forgotten Eunice?" + +My name seemed (if one may say such a thing) to bring him to +himself again. He sat upon the sofa--and laughed as he answered +me. + +"My dear child, what delusion has got into that pretty little +head of yours? Fancy her thinking that I had forgotten my own +daughter! I was lost in thought, Eunice. For the moment, I was +what they call an absent man. Did I ever tell you the story of +the absent man? He went to call upon some acquaintance of his; +and when the servant said, 'What name, sir?' He couldn't answer. +He was obliged to confess that he had forgotten his own name. The +servant said, 'That's very strange.' The absent man at once +recovered himself. 'That's it!' he said: 'my name is Strange.' +Droll, isn't it? If I had been calling on a friend to-day, I +daresay _I_ might have forgotten my name, too. Much to think of, +Eunice--too much to think of." + +Leaving the sofa with a sigh. as if he was tired of it, he began +walking up and down. He seemed to be still in good spirits. +"Well, my dear," he said, "what can I do for you?" + +"I came here, papa to see if there was anything I could do for +You." + +He looked at some sheets of paper, strung together, and laid on +the table. They were covered with writing (from his dictation) in +my sister's hand. "I ought to get on with my work," he said. +"Where is Helena?" + +I told him that she had gone out, and begged leave to try what I +could do to supply her place. + +The request seemed to please him; but he wanted time to think. I +waited; noticing that his face grew gradually worried and +anxious. There came a vacant look into his eyes which it grieved +me to see; he appeared to have quite lost himself again. "Read +the last page," he said, pointing to the manuscript on the table; +"I don't remember where I left off." + +I turned to the last page. As well as I could tell, it related to +some publication, which he was recommending to religious persons +of our way of thinking. + +Before I had read half-way through it, he began to dictate, +speaking so rapidly that my pen was not always able to follow +him. My handwriting is as bad as bad can be when I am hurried. To +make matters worse still, I was confused. What he was now saying +seemed to have nothing to do with what I had been reading. + +Let me try if I can call to mind the substance of it. + +He began in the most strangely sudden way by asking: "Why should +there be any fear of discovery, when every possible care had been +taken to prevent it? The danger from unexpected events was far +more disquieting. A man might find himself bound in honor to +disclose what it had been the chief anxiety of his life to +conceal. For example, could he let an innocent person be the +victim of deliberate suppression of the truth--no matter how +justifiable that suppression might appear to be? On the other +hand, dreadful consequences might follow an honorable confession. +There might be a cruel sacrifice of tender affection; there might +be a shocking betrayal of innocent hope and trust." + +I remember those last words, just as he dictated them, because he +suddenly stopped there; looking, poor dear, distressed and +confused. He put his hand to his head, and went back to the sofa. + +"I'm tired," he said. "Wait for me while I rest." + +In a few minutes he fell asleep. It was a deep repose that came +to him now; and, though I don't think it lasted much longer than +half an hour, it produced a wonderful change in him for the +better when he woke. He spoke quietly and kindly; and when he +returned to me at the table and looked at the page on which I had +been writing, he smiled. + +"Oh, my dear, what bad writing! I declare I can't read what I +myself told you to write. No! no! don't be downhearted about it. +You are not used to writing from dictation; and I daresay I have +been too quick for you." He kissed me and encouraged me. "You +know how fond I am of my little girl," he said; "I am afraid I +like my Eunice just the least in the world more than I like my +Helena. Ah, you are beginning to look a little happier now!" + +He had filled me with such confidence and such pleasure that I +could not help thinking of my sweetheart. Oh dear, when shall I +learn to be distrustful of my own feelings? The temptation to say +a good word for Philip quite mastered any little discretion that +I possessed. + +I said to papa: "If you knew how to make me happier than I have +ever been in all my life before, would you do it?" + +"Of course I would." + +"Then send for Philip, dear, and be a little kinder to him, this +time." + +His pale face turned red with anger; he pushed me away from him. + +"That man again!" he burst out. "Am I never to hear the last of +him? Go away, Eunice. You are of no use here." He took up my +unfortunate page of writing and ridiculed it with a bitter laugh. +"What is this fit for?" He crumpled it up in his hand and tossed +it into the fire. + +I ran out of the room in such a state of mortification that I +hardly knew what I was about. If some hard-hearted person had +come to me with a cup of poison, and had said: "Eunice, you are +not fit to live any longer; take this," I do believe I should +have taken it. If I thought of anything, I thought of going back +to Selina. My ill luck still pursued me; she had disappeared. I +looked about in a helpless way, completely at a loss what to do +next--so stupefied, I may even say, that it was some time before +I noticed a little three-cornered note on the table by which I +was standing. The note was addressed to me: + + +"EVER-DEAREST EUNEECE--I have tried to make myself useful to you, +and have failed. But how can I see the sad sight of your +wretchedness, and not feel the impulse to try again? I have gone +to the hotel to find Philip, and to bring him back to you a +penitent and faithful man. Wait for me, and hope for great +things. A. hundred thousand kisses to my sweet Euneece. + +"S. J." + + +Wait for her, after reading that note! How could she expect it? I +had only to follow her, and to find Philip. In another minute, I +was on my way to the hotel. + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +HELENA'S DIARY. + + +LOOKING at the last entry in my Journal, I see myself +anticipating that the event of to-day will decide Philip's future +and mine. This has proved prophetic. All further concealment is +now at an end. + +Forced to it by fate, or helped to it by chance, Eunice has made +the discovery of her lover's infidelity. "In all human +probability" (as my father says in his sermons), we two sisters +are enemies for life. + + +I am not suspected, as Eunice is, of making appointments with a +sweetheart. So I am free to go out alone, and to go where I +please. Philip and I were punctual to our appointment this +afternoon. + +Our place of meeting was in a secluded corner of the town park. +We found a rustic seat in our retirement, set up (one would +suppose) as a concession to the taste of visitors who are fond of +solitude. The view in front of us was bounded by the park wall +and railings, and our seat was prettily approached on one side by +a plantation of young trees. No entrance gate was near; no +carriage road crossed the grass. A more safe and more solitary +nook for conversation, between two persons desiring to be alone, +it would be hard to find in most public parks. Lovers are said to +know it well, and to be especially fon d of it toward evening. We +were there in broad daylight, and we had the seat to ourselves. + +My memory of what passed between us is, in some degree, disturbed +by the formidable interruption which brought our talk to an end. + +But among other things, I remember that I showed him no mercy at +the outset. At one time I was indignant; at another I was +scornful. I declared, in regard to my object in meeting him, that +I had changed my mind, And had decided to shorten a disagreeable +interview by waiving my right to an explanation, and bidding him +farewell. Eunice, as I pointed out, had the first claim to him; +Eunice was much more likely to suit him, as a companion for life, +than I was. "In short," I said, in conclusion, "my inclination +for once takes sides with my duty, and leaves my sister in +undisturbed possession of young Mr. Dunboyne." With this +satirical explanation, I rose to say good-by. + +I had merely intended to irritate him. He showed a superiority to +anger for which I was not prepared. + +"Be so kind as to sit down again," he said quietly. + +He took my letter from his pocket, and pointed to that part of it +which alluded to his conduct, when we had met in my father 's +study. + +"You have offered me the opportunity of saying a word in my own +defense," he went on. "I prize that privilege far too highly to +consent to your withdrawing it, merely because you have changed +your mind. Let me at least tell you what my errand was, when I +called on your father. Loving you, and you only, I had forced +myself to make a last effort to be true to your sister. Remember +that, Helena, and then say--is it wonderful if I was beside +myself, when I found You in the study?" + +"When you tell me you were beside yourself," I said, "do you +mean, ashamed of yourself?" + +That touched him. "I mean nothing of the kind," he burst out. +"After the hell on earth in which I have been living between you +two sisters, a man hasn't virtue enough left in him to be +ashamed. He's half mad--that's what he is. Look at my position! I +had made up my mind never to see you again; I had made up my mind +(if I married Eunice) to rid myself of my own miserable life when +I could endure it no longer. In that state of feeling, when my +sense of duty depended on my speaking with Mr. Gracedieu alone, +whose was the first face I saw when I entered the room? If I had +dared to look at you, or to speak to you, what do you think would +have become of my resolution to sacrifice myself?" + +"What has become of it now?" I asked. + +"Tell me first if I am forgiven," he said-- "and you shall know." + +"Do you deserve to be forgiven?" + +It has been discovered by wiser heads than mine that weak people +are always in extremes. So far, I had seen Philip in the vain and +violent extreme. He now shifted suddenly to the sad and +submissive extreme. When I asked him if he deserved to be +forgiven, he made the humblest of all replies--he sighed and said +nothing. + +"If I did my duty to my sister," I reminded him, "I should refuse +to forgive you, and send you back to Eunice." + +"Your father's language and your father's conduct," he answered, +"have released me from that entanglement. I can never go back to +Eunice. If you refuse to forgive me, neither you nor she will see +anything more of Philip Dunboyne; I promise you that. Are you +satisfied now?" + +After holding out against him resolutely, I felt myself beginning +to yield. When a man has once taken their fancy, what helplessly +weak creatures women are! I saw through his vacillating +weakness--and yet I trusted him, with both eyes open. My +looking-glass is opposite to me while I write. It shows me a +contemptible Helena. I lied, and said I was satisfied--to please +_him._ + +"Am I forgiven?" he asked. + +It is absurd to put it on record. Of course, I forgave him. What +a good Christian I am, after all! + +He took my willing hand. "My lovely darling," he said, "our +marriage rests with you. Whether your father approves of it or +not, say the word; claim me, and I am yours for life." + +I must have been infatuated by his voice and his look; my heart +must have been burning under the pressure of his hand on mine. +Was it my modesty or my self-control that deserted me? I let him +take me in his arms. Again, and again, and again I kissed him. We +were deaf to what we ought to have heard; we were blind to what +we ought to have seen. Before we were conscious of a movement +among the trees, we were discovered. My sister flew at me like a +wild animal. Her furious hands fastened themselves on my throat. +Philip started to his feet. When he touched her, in the act of +forcing her back from me, Eunice's raging strength became utter +weakness in an instant. Her arms fell helpless at her sides--her +head drooped--she looked at him in silence which was dreadful, at +such a moment as that. He shrank from the unendurable reproach in +those tearless eyes. Meanly, he turned away from her. Meanly, I +followed him. Looking back for an instant, I saw her step +forward; perhaps to stop him, perhaps to speak to him. The effort +was too much for her strength; she staggered back against the +trunk of a tree. Like strangers, walking separate one from the +other, we left her to her companion--the hideous traitress who +was my enemy and her friend. + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + + +ON reaching the street which led to Philip's hotel, we spoke to +each other for the first time. + +"What are we to do?" I said. + +"Leave this place," he answered. + +"Together?" I asked. + +"Yes." + +To leave us (for a while), after what had happened, might be the +wisest thing which a man, in Philip's critical position, could +do. But if I went with him--unprovided as I was with any friend +of my own sex, whose character and presence might sanction the +step I had taken--I should be lost beyond redemption. Is any man +that ever lived worth that sacrifice? I thought of my father's +house closed to me, and of our friends ashamed of me. I have +owned, in some earlier part of my Journal, that I am not very +patient under domestic cares. But the possibility of Eunice being +appointed housekeeper, with my power, in my place, was more than +I could calmly contemplate. "No," I said to Philip. "Your +absence, at such a time as this, may help us both; but, come what +may of it, I must remain at home." + +He yielded, without an attempt to make me alter my mind. There +was a sullen submission in his manner which it was not pleasant +to see. Was he despairing already of himself and of me? Had +Eunice aroused the watchful demons of shame and remorse? + +"Perhaps you are right," he said, gloomily. "Good-by." + +My anxiety put the all-important question to him without +hesitation. + +"Is it good-by forever, Philip?" + +His reply instantly relieved me: "God forbid!" + +But I wanted more: "You still love me?" I persisted. + +"More dearly than ever!" + +"And yet you leave me!" + +He turned pale. "I leave you because I am afraid." + +"Afraid of what?" + +"Afraid to face Eunice again." + +The only possible way out of our difficulty that I could see, now +occurred to me. "Suppose my sister can be prevailed on to give +you up?" I suggested. "Would you come back to us in that case?" + +"Certainly!" + +"And you would ask my father to consent to our marriage?" + +"On the day of my return, if you like." + +"Suppose obstacles get in our way," I said--"suppose time passes +and tries your patience--will you still consider yourself engaged +to me?" + +"Engaged to you," he answered, "in spite of obstacles and in +spite of time." + +"And while you are away from me," I ventured to add, "we shall +write to each other?" + +"Go where I may," he said, "you shall always hear from me." + +I could ask no more, and he could concede no more. The impression +evidently left on him by Eunice's terrible outbreak, was far more +serious than I had anticipated. I was myself depressed and ill at +ease. No expressions of tenderness were exchanged between us. +There was something horrible in our barren farewell. We merely +clasped hands, at parting. He went his way--and I went mine. + +There are some occasions when women set an example of courage to +men. I was ready to endure whatever might happen to me, when I +got home. What a desperate wretch! some people might say, if they +could look into this di ary! + +Maria opened the door; she told me that my sister had already +returned, accompanied by Miss Jillgall. There had been apparently +some difference of opinion between them, before they entered the +house. Eunice had attempted to go on to some other place; and +Miss Jillgall had remonstrated. Maria had heard her say: "No, you +would degrade yourself"--and, with that, she had led Eunice +indoors. I understood, of course, that my sister had been +prevented from following Philip to the hotel. There was probably +a serious quarrel in store for me. I went straight to the +bedroom, expecting to find Eunice there, and prepared to brave +the storm that might burst on me. There was a woman at Eunice's +end of the room, removing dresses from the wardrobe. I could only +see her back, but it was impossible to mistake _that_ +figure--Miss Jillgall. + +She laid the dresses on Eunice's bed, without taking the +slightest notice of me. In significant silence I pointed to the +door. She went on as coolly with her occupation as if the room +had been, not mine but hers; I stepped up to her, and spoke +plainly. + +"You oblige me to remind you," I said, "that you are not in your +own room." There, I waited a little, and found that I had +produced no effect. "With every disposition," I resumed, "to make +allowance for the disagreeable peculiarities of your character, I +cannot consent to overlook an act of intrusion, committed by a +Spy. Now, do you understand me?" + +She looked round her. "I see no third person here," she said. +"May I ask if you mean me?" + +"I mean you." + +"Will you be so good, Miss Helena, as to explain yourself?" + +Moderation of language would have been thrown away on this woman. +"You followed me to the park," I said. "It was you who found me +with Mr. Dunboyne, and betrayed me to my sister. You are a Spy, +and you know it. At this very moment you daren't look me in the +face." + +Her insolence forced its way out of her at last. Let me record +it--and repay it, when the time comes. + +"Quite true," she replied. "If I ventured to look you in the +face, I am afraid I might forget myself. I have always been +brought up like a lady, and I wish to show it even in the company +of such a wretch as you are. There is not one word of truth in +what you have said of me. I went to the hotel to find Mr. +Dunboyne. Ah, you may sneer! I haven't got your good looks--and a +vile use you have made of them. My object was to recall that base +young man to his duty to my dear charming injured Euneece. The +hotel servant told me that Mr. Dunboyne had gone out. Oh, I had +the means of persuasion in my pocket! The man directed me to the +park, as he had already directed Mr. Dunboyne. It was only when I +had found the place, that I heard some one behind me. Poor +innocent Euneece had followed me to the hotel, and had got her +directions, as I had got mine. God knows how hard I tried to +persuade her to go back, and how horribly frightened I was--No! I +won't distress myself by saying a word more. It would be too +humiliating to let _you_ see an honest woman in tears. Your +sister has a spirit of her own, thank God! She won't inhabit the +same room with you; she never desires to see your false face +again. I take the poor soul's dresses and things away--and as a +religious person I wait, confidently wait, for the judgment that +will fall on you!" + +She caught up the dresses all together; some of them were in her +arms, some of them fell on her shoulders, and one of them towered +over her head. Smothered in gowns, she bounced out of the room +like a walking milliner's shop. I have to thank the wretched old +creature for a moment of genuine amusement, at a time of +devouring anxiety. The meanest insect, they say, has its use in +this world--and why not Miss Jillgall? + +In half an hour more, an unexpected event raised my spirits. I +heard from Philip. + +On his return to the hotel he had found a telegram waiting for +him. Mr. Dunboyne the elder had arrived in London; and Philip had +arranged to join his father by the next train. He sent me the +address, and begged that I would write and tell him my news from +home by the next day's post. + +Welcome, thrice welcome, to Mr. Dunboyne the elder! If Philip can +manage, under my advice, to place me favorably in the estimation +of this rich old man, his presence and authority may do for us +what we cannot do for ourselves. Here is surely an influence to +which my father must submit, no matter how unreasonable or how +angry he may be when he hears what has happened. I begin already +to feel hopeful of the future. + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + + +THROUGH the day, and through the night, I feel a misery that +never leaves me--I mean the misery of fear. + +I am trying to find out some harmless means of employing myself, +which will keep evil remembrances from me. If I don't succeed, my +fear tells me what will happen. I shall be in danger of going +mad. + +I dare not confide in any living creature. I don't know what +other persons might think of me, or how soon I might find myself +perhaps in an asylum. In this helpless condition, doubt and +fright seem to be driving me back to my Journal. I wonder whether +I shall find harmless employment here. + +I have heard of old people losing their memories. What would I +not give to be old! I remember! oh, how I remember! One day after +another I see Philip, I see Helena, as I first saw them when I +was among the trees in the park. My sweetheart's arms, that once +held me, hold my sister now. She kisses him, kisses him, kisses +him. + +Is there no way of making myself see something else? I want to +get back to remembrances that don't burn in my head and tear at +my heart. How is it to be done? + +I have tried books--no! I have tried going out to look at the +shops--no! I have tried saying my prayers--no! And now I am +making my last effort; trying my pen. My black letters fall from +it, and take their places on the white paper. Will my black +letters help me? Where can I find something consoling to write +down? Where? Where? + +Selina--poor Selina, so fond of me, so sorry for me. When I was +happy, she was happy, too. It was always amusing to hear her +talk. Oh, my memory, be good to me! Save me from Philip and +Helena. I want to remember the pleasant days when my kind little +friend and I used to gossip in the garden. + +No: the days in the garden won't come back. What else can I think +of? + +. . . . . . . + +The recollections that I try to encourage keep away from me. The +other recollections that I dread, come crowding back. Still +Philip! Still Helena! + +But Selina mixes herself up with them. Let me try again if I can +think of Selina. + +How delightfully good to me and patient with me she was, on our +dismal way home from the park! And how affectionately she excused +herself for not having warned me of it, when she first suspected +that my own sister and my worst enemy were one and the same! + +"I know I was wrong, my dear, to let my love and pity close my +lips. But remember how happy you were at the time. The thought of +making you miserable was more than I could endure--I am so fond +of you! Yes; I began to suspect them, on the day when they first +met at the station. And, I am afraid, I thought it just likely +that you might be as cunning as I was, and have noticed them, +too." + +Oh, how ignorant she must have been of my true thoughts and +feelings! How strangely people seem to misunderstand their +dearest friends! knowing, as I did, that I could never love any +man but Philip, could I be wicked enough to suppose that Philip +would love any woman but me? + +I explained to Selina how he had spoken to me, when we were +walking together on the bank of the river. Shall I ever forget +those exquisite words? "I wish I was a better man, Eunice; I wish +I was good enough to be worthy of you." I asked Selina if she +thought he was deceiving me when he said that. She comforted me +by owning that he must have been in earnest, at the time--and +then she distressed me by giving the reason why. + +"My love, you must have innocently said something to him, when +you and he were alone, which touched his conscience (when he +_had_ a conscience), and made him ashamed of himself. Ah, you +were too fond of him to see how he changed for the worse, when yo +ur vile sister joined you, and took possession of him again. It +made my heart ache to see you so unsuspicious of them. You asked +me, my poor dear, if they had quarreled--you believed they were +tired of walking by the river, when it was you they were tired +of--and you wondered why Helena took him to see the school. My +child! she was the leading spirit at the school, and you were +nobody. Her vanity saw the chance of making him compare you at a +disadvantage with your clever sister. I declare, Euneece, I lose +my head if I only think of it! All the strong points in my +character seem to slip away from me. Would you believe it?--I +have neglected that sweet infant at the cottage; I have even let +Mrs. Molly have her baby back again. If I had the making of the +laws, Philip Dunboyne and Helena Gracedieu should be hanged +together on the same gallows. I see I shock you. Don't let us +talk of it! Oh, don't let us talk of it!" + +And here am I writing of it! What I had determined not to do, is +what I have done. Am I losing my senses already? The very names +that I was most anxious to keep out of my memory stare me in the +face in the lines that I have just written. Philip again! Helena +again! + +. . . . . . . + +Another day, and something new that must and will be remembered, +shrink from it as I may. This afternoon, I met Helena on the +stairs. + +She stopped, and eyed me with a wicked smile; she held out her +hand. "We are likely to meet often, while we are in the same +house," she said; "hadn't we better consult appearances, and +pretend to be as fond of each other as ever?" + +I took no notice of her hand; I took no notice of her shameless +proposal. She tried again: "After all, it isn't my fault if +Philip likes me better than he likes you. Don't you see that?" I +still refused to speak to her. She still persisted. "How black +you look, Eunice! Are you sorry you didn't kill me, when you had +your hands on my throat?" + +I said: "Yes." + +She laughed, and left me. I was obliged to sit down on the +stair--I trembled so. My own reply frightened me. I tried to find +out why I had said Yes. I don't remember being conscious of +meaning anything. It was as if somebody else had said Yes--not I. +Perhaps I was provoked, and the word escaped me before I could +stop it. Could I have stopped it? I don't know. + +. . . . . . . + +Another sleepless night. + +Did I pass the miserable hours in writing letters to Philip and +then tearing them up? Or did I only fancy that I wrote to him? I +have just looked at the fireplace. The torn paper in it tells me +that I did write. Why did I destroy my letters? I might have sent +one of them to Philip. After what has happened? Oh, no! no! + +Having been many days away from the Girls' Scripture Class, it +seemed to be possible that going back to the school and the +teaching might help me to escape from myself. + +Nothing succeeds with me. I found it impossible to instruct the +girls as usual; their stupidity soon reached the limit of my +patience--suffocated me with rage. One of them, a poor, fat, +feeble creature, began to cry when I scolded her. I looked with +envy at the tears rolling over her big round cheeks. If I could +only cry, I might perhaps bear my hard fate with submission. + +I walked toward home by a roundabout way; feeling as if want of +sleep was killing me by inches. + +In the High Street, I saw Helena; she was posting a letter, and +was not aware that I was near her. Leaving the post-office, she +crossed the street, and narrowly escaped being run over. Suppose +the threatened accident had really taken place--how should I have +felt, if it had ended fatally? What a fool I am to be putting +questions to myself about things that have not happened! + +The walking tired me; I went straight home. + +Before I could ring the bell, the house door opened, and the +doctor came out. He stopped to speak to me. While I had been away +(he said), something had happened at home (he neither knew nor +wished to know what) which had thrown my father into a state of +violent agitation. The doctor had administered composing +medicine. "My patient is asleep now," he told me; "but remember +what I said to you the last time we met; a longer rest than any +doctor's prescription can give him is what he wants. You are not +looking well yourself, my dear. What is the matter?" + +I told him of my wretched restless nights; and asked if I might +take some of the composing medicine which he had given to my +father. He forbade me to touch a drop of it. "What is physic for +your father, you foolish child, is not physic for a young +creature like you," he said. "Count a thousand, if you can't +sleep to-night, or turn your pillow. I wish you pleasant dreams." +He went away, amused at his own humor. + +I found Selina waiting to speak with me, on the subject of poor +papa. + +She had been startled on hearing his voice, loud in anger. In the +fear that something serious had happened, she left her room to +make inquiries, and saw Helena on the landing of the flight of +stairs beneath, leaving the study. After waiting till my sister +was out of the way, Selina ventured to present herself at the +study door, and to ask if she could be of any use. My father, +walking excitedly up and down the room, declared that both his +daughters had behaved infamously, and that he would not suffer +them to speak to him again until they had come to their senses, +on the subject of Mr. Dunboyne. He would enter into no further +explanation; and he had ordered, rather than requested, Selina to +leave him. Having obeyed, she tried next to find me, and had just +looked into the dining-room to see if I was there, when she was +frightened by the sound of a fall in the room above--that is to +say, in the study. Running upstairs again, she had found him +insensible on the floor and had sent for the doctor. + +"And mind this," Selina continued, "the person who has done the +mischief is the person whom I saw leaving the study. What your +unnatural sister said to provoke her father--" + +"That your unnatural sister will tell you herself," Helena's +voice added. She had opened the door while we were too much +absorbed in our talk to hear her. + +Selina attempted to leave the room. I caught her by the hand, and +held her back. I was afraid of what I might do if she left me by +myself. Never have I felt anything like the rage that tortured +me, when I saw Helena looking at us with the same wicked smile on +her lips that had insulted me when we met on the stairs. Have +_we_ anything to be ashamed of?" I said to Selina. "Stay where +you are." + +"You may be of some use, Miss Jillgall, if you stay," my sister +suggested. "Eunice seems to be trembling. Is she angry, or is she +ill?" + +The sting of this was in the tone of her voice. It was the +hardest thing I ever had to do in my life--but I did succeed in +controlling myself. + +"Go on with what you have to say," I answered, "and don't notice +me." + +"You are not very polite, my dear, but I can make allowances. Oh, +come! come! putting up your hands to stop your ears is too +childish. You would do better to express regret for having misled +your father. Yes! you did mislead him. Only a few days since, you +left him to suppose that you were engaged to Philip. It became my +duty, after that, to open his eyes to the truth; and if I +unhappily provoked him, it was your fault. I was strictly careful +in the language I used. I said: 'Dear father, you have been +misinformed on a very serious subject. The only marriage +engagement for which your kind sanction is requested, is _my_ +engagement. _I_ have consented to become Mrs. Philip Dunboyne.' " + +"Stop!" I said. + +"Why am I to stop?" + +"Because I have something to say. You and I are looking at each +other. Does my face tell you what is passing in my mind?" + +"Your face seems to be paler than usual," she answered--"that's +all." + +"No," I said; "that is not all. The devil that possessed me, when +I discovered you with Philip, is not cast out of me yet. Silence +the sneering devil that is in You, or we may both live to regret +it." + +Whether I did or did not frighten her, I cannot say. This only I +know--she turned away silently to the door, and went out. + +I dropped on the sofa. That horrid hungering for revenge, which I +felt for the firs t time when I knew how Helena had wronged me, +began to degrade and tempt me again. In the effort to get away +from this new evil self of mine, I tried to find sympathy in +Selina, and called to her to come and sit by me. She seemed to be +startled when I looked at her, but she recovered herself, and +came to me, and took my hand. + +"I wish I could comfort you!" she said, in her kind simple way. + +"Keep my hand in your hand," I told her; "I am drowning in dark +water--and I have nothing to hold by but you." + +"Oh, my darling, don't talk in that way!" + +"Good Selina! dear Selina! You shall talk to Me. Say something +harmless--tell me a melancholy story--try to make me cry." + +My poor little friend looked sadly bewildered. + +"I'm more likely to cry myself," she said. "This is so +heart-breaking--I almost wish I was back in the time, before you +came home, the time when your detestable sister first showed how +she hated me. I was happy, meanly happy, in the spiteful +enjoyment of provoking her. Oh, Euneece, I shall never recover my +spirits again! All the pity in the world would not be pity enough +for _you._ So hardly treated! so young! so forlorn! Your good +father too ill to help you; your poor mother--" + +I interrupted her; she had interested me in something better than +my own wretched self. I asked directly if she had known my +mother. + +"My dear child, I never even saw her!" + +"Has my father never spoken to you about her?" + +"Only once, when I asked him how long she had been dead. He told +me you lost her while you were an infant, and he told me no more. +I was looking at her portrait in the study, only yesterday. I +think it must be a bad portrait; your mother's face disappoints +me." + +I had arrived at the same conclusion years since. But I shrank +from confessing it. + +"At any rate," Selina continued, "you are not like her. Nobody +would ever guess that you were the child of that lady, with the +long slanting forehead and the restless look in her eyes." + +What Selina had said of me and my mother's portrait, other +friends had said. There was nothing that I know of to interest me +in hearing it repeated--and yet it set me pondering on the want +of resemblance between my mother's face and mine, and wondering +(not for the first time) what sort of woman my mother was. When +my father speaks of her, no words of praise that he can utter +seem to be good enough for her. Oh, me, I wish I was a little +more like my mother! + +It began to get dark; Maria brought in the lamp. The sudden +brightness of the flame struck my aching eyes, as if it had been +a blow from a knife. I was obliged to hide my face in my +handkerchief. Compassionate Selina entreated me to go to bed. +"Rest your poor eyes, my child, and your weary head--and try at +least to get some sleep." She found me very docile; I kissed her, +and said good-night. I had my own idea. + +When all was quiet in the house, I stole out into the passage and +listened at the door of my father's room. + +I heard his regular breathing, and opened the door and went in. +The composing medicine, of which I was in search, was not on the +table by his bedside. I found it in the cupboard--perhaps placed +purposely out of his reach. They say that some physic is poison, +if you take too much of it. The label on the bottle told me what +the dose was. I dropped it into the medicine glass, and swallowed +it, and went back to my father. + +Very gently, so as not to wake him, I touched poor papa's +forehead with my lips. "I must have some of your medicine," I +whispered to him; "I want it, dear, as badly as you do." + +Then I returned to my own room--and lay down in bed, waiting to +be composed. + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + + +My restless nights are passed in Selina's room. + +Her bed remains near the window. My bed has been placed opposite, +near the door. Our night-light is hidden in a corner, so that the +faint glow of it is all that we see. What trifles these are to +write about! But they mix themselves up with what I am determined +to set down in my Journal, and then to close the book for good +and all. + +I had not disturbed my little friend's enviable repose, either +when I left our bed-chamber, or when I returned to it. The night +was quiet, and the stars were out. Nothing moved but the +throbbing at my temples. The lights and shadows in our +half-darkened room, which at other times suggest strange +resemblances to my fancy, failed to disturb me now. I was in a +darkness of my own making, having bound a handkerchief, cooled +with water, over my hot eyes. There was nothing to interfere with +the soothing influence of the dose that I had taken, if my +father's medicine would only help me. + +I began badly. The clock in the hall struck the quarter past the +hour, the half-past, the three-quarters past, the new hour. Time +was awake--and I was awake with Time. + +It was such a trial to my patience that I thought of going back +to my father's room, and taking a second dose of the medicine, no +matter what the risk might be. On attempting to get up, I became +aware of a change in me. There was a dull sensation in my limbs +which seemed to bind them down on the bed. It was the strangest +feeling. My will said, Get up--and my heavy limbs said, No. + +I lay quite still, thinking desperate thoughts, and getting +nearer and nearer to the end that I had been dreading for so many +days past. Having been as well educated as most girls, my lessons +in history had made me acquainted with assassination and murder. +Horrors which I had recoiled from reading in past happy days, now +returned to my memory; and, this time, they interested instead of +revolting me. I counted the three first ways of killing as I +happened to remember them, in my books of instruction:--a way by +stabbing; a way by poison; a way in a bed, by suffocation with a +pillow. On that dreadful night, I never once called to mind what +I find myself remembering now--the harmless past time, when our +friends used to say: "Eunice is a good girl; we are all fond of +Eunice." Shall I ever be the same lovable creature again? + +While I lay thinking, a strange thing happened. Philip, who had +haunted me for days and nights together, vanished out of my +thoughts. My memory of the love which had begun so brightly, and +had ended so miserably, became a blank. Nothing was left but my +own horrid visions of vengeance and death. + +For a while, the strokes of the clock still reached my ears. But +it was an effort to count them; I ended in letting them pass +unheeded. Soon afterward, the round of my thoughts began to +circle slowly and more slowly. The strokes of the clock died out. +The round of my thoughts stopped. + +All this time, my eyes were still covered by the handkerchief +which I had laid over them. + +The darkness began to weigh on my spirits, and to fill me with +distrust. I found myself suspecting that there was some +change--perhaps an unearthly change--passing over the room. To +remain blindfolded any longer was more than I could endure. I +lifted my hand--without being conscious of the heavy sensation +which, some time before, had laid my limbs helpless on the bed--I +lifted my hand, and drew the handkerchief away from my eyes. + +The faint glow of the night-light was extinguished. + +But the room was not quite dark. There was a ghastly light +trembling over it; like nothing that I have ever seen by day; +like nothing that I have ever seen by night. I dimly discerned +Selina's bed, and the frame of the window, and the curtains on +either side of it--but not the starlight, and not the shadowy +tops of the trees in the garden. + +The light grew fainter and fainter; the objects in the room faded +slowly away. Darkness came. + +It may be a saying hard to believe--but, when I declare that I +was not frightened, I am telling the truth. Whether the room was +lighted by awful light, or sunk in awful dark, I was equally +interested in the expectation of what might happen next. I +listened calmly for what I might hear: I waited calmly for what I +might feel. + +A touch came first. I feel it creeping on my face--like a little +fluttering breeze. The sensation pleased me for a while. Soon it +grew colder, and colder, and colder, till it froze me. + +"Oh, no more!" I cried out. "You are killing me with an icy de +ath!" + +The dead-cold touches lingered a moment longer--and left me. + +The first sound came. + +It was the sound of a whisper on my pillow, close to my ear. My +strange insensibility to fear remained undisturbed. The whisper +was welcome, it kept me company in the dark room. + +It said to me: "Do you know who I am?" + +I answered: "No." + +It said.: "Who have you been thinking of this evening?" + +I answered: "My mother." + +The whisper said: "I am your mother." + +"Oh, mother, command the light to come back! Show yourself to +me!" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"My face was hidden when I passed from life to death. My face no +mortal creature may see." + +"Oh, mother, touch me! Kiss me!" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"My touch is poison. My kiss is death." + +The sense of fear began to come to me now. I moved my head away +on the pillow. The whisper followed my movement. + +"Leave me," I said. "You are an Evil Spirit." + +The whisper answered: "I am your mother." + +"You come to tempt me." + +"I come to harden your heart. Daughter of mine, whose blood is +cool; daughter of mine, who tamely submits--you have loved. Is it +true?" + +"It is true." + +"The man you loved has deserted you. Is it true?" + +"It is true." + +"A woman has lured him away to herself. A woman has had no mercy +on you, or on him. Is it true?" + +"It is true." + +"If she lives, what crime toward you will she commit next?" + +"If she lives, she will marry him." + +"Will you let her live?" + +"Never." + +"Have I hardened your heart against her?" + +"Yes." + +"Will you kill her?" + +"Show me how." + +There was a sudden silence. I was still left in the darkness; +feeling nothing, hearing nothing. Even the consciousness that I +was lying on my bed deserted me. I had no idea that I was in the +bedroom; I had no knowledge of where I was. + +The ghastly light that I had seen already dawned on me once more. +I was no longer in my bed, no longer in my room, no longer in the +house. Without wonder, without even a feeling of surprise, I +looked round. The place was familiar to me. I was alone in the +Museum of our town. + +The light flowed along in front of me. I followed, from room to +room in the Museum, where the light led. + +First, through the picture-gallery, hung with the works of modern +masters; then, through the room filled with specimens of stuffed +animals. The lion and the tiger, the vulture of the Alps and the +great albatross, looked like living creatures threatening me, in +the supernatural light. I entered the third room, devoted to the +exhibition of ancient armor, and the weapons of all nations. Here +the light rose higher, and, leaving me in darkness where I stood, +showed a collection of swords, daggers, and knives arranged on +the wall in imitation of the form of a star. + +The whisper sounded again, close at my ear. It echoed my own +thought, when I called to mind the ways of killing which history +had taught me. It said: "Kill her with the knife." + +No. My heart failed me when I thought of the blood. I hid the +dreadful weapons from my view. I cried out: "Let me go! let me +go!" + +Again, I was lost in darkness. Again, I had no knowledge in me of +where I was. Again, after an interval, the light showed me the +new place in which I stood. + +I was alone in the burial-ground of our parish church. The light +led me on, among the graves, to the lonely corner in which the +great yew tree stands; and, rising higher, revealed the solemn +foliage, brightened by the fatal red fruit which hides in itself +the seeds of death. + +The whisper tempted me again. It followed again the train of my +own thought. It said: "Kill her by poison." + +No. Revenge by poison steals its way to its end. The base +deceitfulness of Helena's crime against me seemed to call for a +day of reckoning that hid itself under no disguise. I raised my +cry to be delivered from the sight of the deadly tree, The +changes which I have tried to describe followed once more the +confession of what I felt; the darkness was dispelled for the +third time. + +I was standing in Helena's room, looking at her as she lay asleep +in her bed. + +She was quite still now; but she must have been restless at some +earlier time. The bedclothes were disordered, her head had sunk +so low that the pillow rose high and vacant above her. There, +colored by a tender flush of sleep, was the face whose beauty put +my poor face to shame. There, was the sister who had committed +the worst of murders--the wretch who had killed in me all that +made life worth having. While that thought was in my mind, I +heard the whisper again. "Kill her openly," the tempter mother +said. "Kill her daringly. Faint heart, do you still want courage? +Rouse your spirit; look! see yourself in the act!" + +The temptation took a form which now tried me for the first time. + +As if a mirror had reflected the scene, I saw myself standing by +the bedside, with the pillow that was to smother the sleeper in +my hands. I heard the whispering voice telling me how to speak +the words that warned and condemned her: "Wake! you who have +taken him from me! Wake! and meet your doom." + +I saw her start up in bed. The sudden movement disordered the +nightdress over her bosom and showed the miniature portrait of a +man, hung round her neck. + +The man was Philip. The likeness was looking at me. + +So dear, so lovely--those eyes that had once been the light of my +heart, mourned for me and judged me now. They saw the guilty +thought that polluted me; they brought me to my knees, imploring +him to help me back to my better self: "One last mercy, dear, to +comfort me under the loss of you. Let the love that was once my +life, be my good angel still. Save me, Philip, even though you +forsake me--save me from myself!" + +. . . . . . . + +There was a sudden cry. + +The agony of it pierced my brain--drove away the ghastly +light--silenced the tempting whispers. I came to myself. I +saw--and not in a dream. + +Helena _had_ started up in her bed. That cry of terror, at the +sight of me in her room at night, _had_ burst from her lips. The +miniature of Philip hung round her neck, a visible reality. +Though my head was dizzy, though my heart was sinking, I had not +lost my senses yet. All that the night lamp could show me, I +still saw; and I heard the sound, faintly, when the door of the +bed-chamber was opened. Alarmed by that piercing cry, my father +came hurrying into the room. + +Not a word passed between us three. The whispers that I had heard +were wicked; the thoughts that had been in my mind were vile. Had +they left some poison in the air of the room, which killed the +words on our lips? + +My father looked at Helena. With a trembling hand she pointed to +me. He put his arm round me and held me up. I remember his +leading me away--and I remember nothing more. + +My last words are written. I lock up this journal of +misery--never, I hope and pray, to open it again. + +----- + +Second Period (continued). + +EVENTS IN THE FAMILY, RELATED BY THE GOVERNOR. + +----- + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +THE MIDDLE-AGED LADY. + + +IN the year 1870 I found myself compelled to submit to the +demands of two hard task-masters. + +Advancing age and failing health reminded the Governor of the +Prison of his duty to his successor, in one unanswerable +word--Resign. + +When they have employed us and interested us, for the greater +part of our lives, we bid farewell to our duties--even to the +gloomy duties of a prison--with a sense of regret. My view of the +future presented a vacant prospect indeed, when I looked at my +idle life to come, and wondered what I should do with it. Loose +on the world--at my age!--I drifted into domestic refuge, under +the care of my two dear and good sons. After a while (never mind +how long a while) I began to grow restless under the heavy burden +of idleness. Having nothing else to complain of, I complained of +my health, and consulted a doctor. That sagacious man hit on the +right way of getting rid of me--he recommended traveling. + +This was unexpected advice. After some hesitation, I accepted it +reluctantly. + +The instincts of age recoil from making new acquaintances, +contemplating new places, and adopting new habits. Besides, I +hate railway traveling. However, I contrived to get as far as +Italy, and stopped to rest at Florence. Here, I found pictures by +the old masters that I could really + enjoy, a public park that I could honestly admire, and an +excellent friend and colleague of former days; once chaplain to +the prison, now clergyman in charge of the English Church. We met +in the gallery of the Pitti Palace; and he recognized me +immediately. I was pleased to find that the lapse of years had +made so little difference in my personal appearance. + +The traveler who advances as far as Florence, and does not go on +to Rome, must be regardless indeed of the opinions of his +friends. Let me not attempt to conceal it--I am that insensible +traveler. Over and over again, I said to myself: "Rome must be +done"; and over and over again I put off doing it. To own the +truth, the fascinations of Florence, aided by the society of my +friend, laid so strong a hold on me that I believe I should have +ended my days in the delightful Italian city, but for the +dangerous illness of one of my sons. This misfortune hurried me +back to England, in dread, every step of the way, of finding that +I had arrived too late. The journey (thank God!) proved to have +been taken without need. My son was no longer in danger, when I +reached London in the year 1875. + +At that date I was near enough to the customary limit of human +life to feel the necessity of rest and quiet. In other words, my +days of travel had come to their end. + +Having established myself in my own country, I did not forget to +let old friends know where they might find me. Among those to +whom I wrote was another colleague of past years, who still held +his medical appointment in the prison. When I received the +doctor's reply, it inclosed a letter directed to me at my old +quarters in the Governor's rooms. Who could possibly have sent a +letter to an address which I had left five years since? My +correspondent proved to be no less a person than the +Congregational Minister--the friend whom I had estranged from me +by the tone in which I had written to him, on the long-past +occasion of his wife's death. + +It was a distressing letter to read. I beg permission to give +only the substance of it in this place. + +Entreating me, with touching expressions of humility and sorrow, +to forgive his long silence, the writer appealed to my friendly +remembrance of him. He was in sore need of counsel, under serious +difficulties; and I was the only person to whom he could apply +for help. In the disordered state of his health at that time, he +ventured to hope that I would visit him at his present place of +abode, and would let him have the happiness of seeing me as +speedily as possible. He concluded with this extraordinary +postscript: + +"When you see my daughters, say nothing to either of them which +relates, in any way, to the subject of their ages. You shall hear +why when we meet." + +The reading of this letter naturally reminded me of the claims +which my friend's noble conduct had established on my admiration +and respect, at the past time when we met in the prison. I could +not hesitate to grant his request--strangely as it was expressed, +and doubtful as the prospect appeared to be of my answering the +expectations which he had founded on the renewal of our +intercourse. Answering his letter by telegraph, I promised to be +with him on the next day. + +On arriving at the station, I found that I was the only traveler, +by a first-class carriage, who left the train. A young lady, +remarkable by her good looks and good dressing, seemed to have +noticed this trifling circumstance. She approached me with a +ready smile. "I believe I am speaking to my father's friend," she +said; "my name is Helena Gracedieu." + +Here was one of the Minister's two "daughters"; and that one of +the two--as I discovered the moment I shook hands with her--who +was my friend's own child. Miss Helena recalled to me her +mother's face, infinitely improved by youth and health, and by a +natural beauty which that cruel and deceitful woman could never +have possessed. The slanting forehead and the shifting, flashing +eyes, that I recollected in the parent, were reproduced (slightly +reproduced, I ought to say) in the child. As for the other +features, I had never seen a more beautiful nose and mouth, or a +more delicately-shaped outline, than was presented by the lower +part of the face. But Miss Helena somehow failed to charm me. I +doubt if I should have fallen in love with her, even in the days +when I was a foolish young man. + +The first question that I put, as we drove from the station to +the house, related naturally to her father. + +"He is very ill," she began; "I am afraid you must prepare +yourself to see a sad change. Nerves. The mischief first showed +itself, the doctor tells us, in derangement of his nervous +system. He has been, I regret to tell you, obstinate in refusing +to give up his preaching and pastoral work. He ought to have +tried rest at the seaside. Things have gone on from bad to worse. +Last Sunday, at the beginning of his sermon, he broke down. Very, +very sad, is it not? The doctor says that precious time has been +lost, and he must make up his mind to resign his charge. He won't +hear of it. You are his old friend. Please try to persuade him." + +Fluently spoken; the words well chosen; the melodious voice +reminding me of the late Mrs. Gracedieu's advantages in that +respect; little sighs judiciously thrown in here and there, just +at the right places; everything, let me own, that could present a +dutiful daughter as a pattern of propriety--and nothing, let me +add, that could produce an impression on my insensible +temperament. If I had not been too discreet to rush at a hasty +conclusion, I might have been inclined to say: her mother's +child, every inch of her! + +The interest which I was still able to feel in my friend's +domestic affairs centered in the daughter whom he had adopted. + +In her infancy I had seen the child, and liked her; I was the one +person living (since the death of Mrs. Gracedieu) who knew how +the Minister had concealed the sad secret of her parentage; and I +wanted to discover if the hereditary taint had begun to show +itself in the innocent offspring of the murderess. Just as I was +considering how I might harmlessly speak of Miss Helena's +"sister," Miss Helena herself introduced the subject. + +"May I ask," she resumed, "if you were disappointed when you +found nobody but me to meet you at our station?" + +Here was an opportunity of paying her a compliment, if I had been +a younger man, or if she had produced a favorable impression on +me. As it was, I hit--if I may praise myself--on an ingenious +compromise. + +"What excuse could I have," I asked, "for feeling disappointed?" + +"Well, I hear you are an official personage--I ought to say, +perhaps, a retired official personage. We might have received you +more respectfully, if _both_ my father's daughters had been +present at the station. It's not my fault that my sister was not +with me." + +The tone in which she said this strengthened my prejudice against +her. It told me that the two girls were living together on no +very friendly terms; and it suggested--justly or unjustly I could +not then decide--that Miss Helena was to blame. + +"My sister is away from home." + +"Surely, Miss Helena, that is a good reason for her not coming to +meet me?" + +"I beg your pardon--it is a bad reason. She has been sent away +for the recovery of her health--and the loss of her health is +entirely her own fault." + +What did this matter to me? I decided on dropping the subject. My +memory reverted, however, to past occasions on which the loss of +_my_ health had been entirely my own fault. There was something +in these personal recollections, which encouraged my perverse +tendency to sympathize with a young lady to whom I had not yet +been introduced. The young lady's sister appeared to be +discouraged by my silence. She said: "I hope you don't think the +worse of me for what I have just mentioned?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Perhaps you will fail to see any need of my speaking of my +sister at all? Will you kindly listen, if I try to explain +myself?" + +"With pleasure." + +She slyly set the best construction on my perfectly commonplace +reply. + +"Thank you," she said. "The fact is, my father (I can't imagine +why) wishes you to see my sister as well as me. He has written to +the fa rmhouse at which she is now staying, to tell her to come +home to-morrow. It is possible--if your kindness offers me an +opportunity--that I may ask to be guided by your experience, in a +little matter which interests me. My sister is rash, and +reckless, and has a terrible temper. I should be very sorry +indeed if you were induced to form an unfavorable opinion of me, +from anything you might notice if you see us together. You +understand me, I hope?" + +"I quite understand you." + +To set me against her sister, in her own private +interests--there, as I felt sure, was the motive under which she +was acting. As hard as her mother, as selfish as her mother, and, +judging from those two bad qualities, probably as cruel as her +mother. That was how I understood Miss Helena Gracedieu, when our +carriage drew up at her father's house. + +A middle-aged lady was on the doorstep, when we arrived, just +ringing the bell. She looked round at us both; being evidently as +complete a stranger to my fair companion as she was to me. When +the servant opened the door, she said: + +"Is Miss Jillgall at home?" + +At the sound of that odd name, Miss Helena tossed her head +disdainfully. She took no sort of notice of the stranger-lady who +was at the door of her father's house. This young person's +contempt for Miss Jillgall appeared to extend to Miss Jillgall's +friends. + +In the meantime, the servant's answer was: "Not at home." + +The middle aged lady said: "Do you expect her back soon?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"I will call again, later in the day." + +"What name, if you please?" + +The lady stole another look at me, before she replied. + +"Never mind the name," she said--and walked away. + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +THE MINISTER'S MISFORTUNE. + + +"Do you know that lady?" Miss Helena asked, as we entered the +house. + +"She is a perfect stranger to me," I answered. + +"Are you sure you have not forgotten her?" + +"Why do you think I have forgotten her?" + +"Because she evidently remembered you." + +The lady had no doubt looked at me twice. If this meant that my +face was familiar to her, I could only repeat what I have already +said. Never, to my knowledge, had I seen her before. + +Leading the way upstairs, Miss Helena apologized for taking me +into her father's bedroom. "He is able to sit up in an armchair," +she said; "and he might do more, as I think, if he would exert +himself. He won't exert himself. Very sad. Would you like to look +at your room, before you see my father? It is quite ready for +you. We hope"--she favored me with a fascinating smile, devoted +to winning my heart when her interests required it--"we hope you +will pay us a long visit; we look on you as one of ourselves." + +I thanked her, and said I would shake hands with my old friend +before I went to my room. We parted at the bedroom door. + +It is out of my power to describe the shock that overpowered me +when I first saw the Minister again, after the long interval of +time that had separated us. Nothing that his daughter said, +nothing that I myself anticipated, had prepared me for that +lamentable change. For the moment, I was not sufficiently master +of myself to be able to speak to him. He added to my +embarrassment by the humility of his manner, and the formal +elaboration of his apologies. + +"I feel painfully that I have taken a liberty with you," he said, +"after the long estrangement between us--for which my want of +Christian forbearance is to blame. Forgive it, sir, and forget +it. I hope to show that necessity justifies my presumption, in +subjecting you to a wearisome journey for my sake." + +Beginning to recover myself, I begged that he would make no more +excuses. My interruption seemed to confuse him. + +"I wished to say," he went on, "that you are the one man who can +understand me. There is my only reason for asking to see you, and +looking forward as I do to your advice. You remember the +night--or was it the day?--before that miserable woman was +hanged? You were the only person present when I agreed to adopt +the poor little creature, stained already (one may say) by its +mother's infamy. I think your wisdom foresaw what a terrible +responsibility I was undertaking; you tried to prevent it. Well! +well! you have been in my confidence--you only. Mind! nobody in +this house knows that one of the two girls is not really my +daughter. Pray stop me, if you find me wandering from the point. +My wish is to show that you are the only man I can open my heart +to. She--" He paused, as if in search of a lost idea, and left +the sentence uncompleted. "Yes," he went on, "I was thinking of +my adopted child. Did I ever tell you that I baptized her myself? +and by a good Scripture name too--Eunice. Ah, sir, that little +helpless baby is a grown-up girl now; of an age to inspire love, +and to feel love. I blush to acknowledge it; I have behaved with +a want of self-control, with a cowardly weakness.--No! I am, +indeed, wandering this time. I ought to have told you first that +I have been brought face to face with the possibility of Eunice's +marriage. And, to make it worse still, I can't help liking the +young man. He comes of a good family--excellent manners, highly +educated, plenty of money, a gentleman in every sense of the +word. And poor little Eunice is so fond of him! Isn't it dreadful +to be obliged to check her dearly-loved Philip? The young +gentleman's name is Philip. Do you like the name? I say I am +obliged to cheek her sweetheart in the rudest manner, when all he +wants to do is to ask me modestly for my sweet Eunice's hand. Oh, +what have I not suffered, without a word of sympathy to comfort +me, before I had courage enough to write to you! Shall I make a +dreadful confession? If my religious convictions had not stood in +my way, I believe I should have committed suicide. Put yourself +in my place. Try to see yourself shrinking from a necessary +explanation, when the happiness of a harmless girl--so dutiful, +so affectionate--depended on a word of kindness from your lips. +And that word you are afraid to speak! Don't take offense, sir; I +mean myself, not you. Why don't you say something?" he burst out +fiercely, incapable of perceiving that he had allowed me no +opportunity of speaking to him. "Good God! don't you understand +me, after all?" + +The signs of mental confusion in his talk had so distressed me, +that I had not been composed enough to feel sure of what he +really meant, until he described himself as "shrinking from a +necessary explanation." Hearing those words, my knowledge of the +circumstances helped me; I realized what his situation really +was. + +"Compose yourself," I said, "I understand you at last." + +He had suddenly become distrustful. + +"Prove it," he muttered, with a furtive look at me. "I want to be +satisfied that you understand my position." + +"This is your position," I told him. "You are placed between two +deplorable alternatives. If you tell this young gentleman that +Miss Eunice's mother was a criminal hanged for murder, his +family--even if he himself doesn't recoil from it--will +unquestionably forbid the marriage; and your adopted daughter's +happiness will be the sacrifice." + +"True!" he said. "Frightfully true! Go on." + +"If, on the other hand, you sanction the marriage, and conceal +the truth, you commit a deliberate act of deceit; and you leave +the lives of the young couple at the mercy of a possible +discovery, which might part husband and wife--cast a slur on +their children--and break up the household." + +He shuddered while he listened to me. "Come to the end of it," he +cried. + +I had no more to say, and I was obliged to answer him to that +effect. + +"No more to say?" he replied. "You have not told me yet what I +most want to know." + +I did a rash thing; I asked what it was that he most wanted to +know. + +"Can't you see it for yourself?" he demanded indignantly. +"Suppose you were put between those two alternatives which you +mentioned just now." + +"Well?" + +"What would you do, sir, in my place? Would you own the +disgraceful truth--before the marriage--or run the risk, and keep +the horrid story to yourself?" + +Either way, my reply might lead to serious consequences. I +hesitated. + +He threatened me with his poor feeble hand. It was only the anger +of a moment; his humor changed to supplication. He reminded me +piteously of bygone days: "You used to be a kind-hearted man. Has +age hardened you? Have you no pity left for your old friend? My +poor heart is sadly in want of a word of wisdom, spoken kindly." + +Who could have resisted this? I took his hand: "Be at ease, dear +Minister. In your place I should run the risk, and keep that +horrid story to myself." + +He sank back gently in his chair. "Oh, the relief of it!" he +said. "How can I thank you as I ought for quieting my mind?" + +I seized the opportunity of quieting his mind to good purpose by +suggesting a change of subject. "Let us have done with serious +talk for the present," I proposed. "I have been an idle man for +the last five years, and I want to tell you about my travels." + +His attention began to wander, he evidently felt no interest in +my travels. "Are you sure," he asked anxiously, "that we have +said all we ought to say? No!" he cried, answering his own +question. "I believe I have forgotten something--I am certain I +have forgotten something. Perhaps I mentioned it in the letter I +wrote to you. Have you got my letter?" + +I showed it to him. He read the letter, and gave it back to me +with a heavy sigh. "Not there!" he said despairingly. "Not +there!" + +"Is the lost remembrance connected with anybody in the house?" I +asked, trying to help him. "Does it relate, by any chance, to one +of the young ladies?" + +"You wonderful man! Nothing escapes you. Yes; the thing I have +forgotten concerns one of the girls. Stop! Let me get at it by +myself. Surely it relates to Helena?" He hesitated; his face +clouded over with an expression of anxious thought. "Yes; it +relates to Helena," he repeated "but how?" His eyes filled with +tears. "I am ashamed of my weakness," he said faintly. "You don't +know how dreadful it is to forget things in this way." + +The injury that his mind had sustained now assumed an aspect that +was serious indeed. The subtle machinery, which stimulates the +memory, by means of the association of ideas, appeared to have +lost its working power in the intellect of this unhappy man. I +made the first suggestion that occurred to me, rather than add to +his distress by remaining silent. + +"If we talk of your daughter," I said, "the merest accident--a +word spoken at random by. you or me--may be all your memory wants +to rouse it." + +He agreed eagerly to this: "Yes! Yes! Let me begin. Helena met +you, I think, at the station. Of course, I remember that; it only +happened a few hours since. Well?" he went on, with a change in +his manner to parental pride, which it was pleasant to see, "did +you think my daughter a fine girl? I hope Helena didn't +disappoint you?" + +"Quite the contrary." Having made that necessary reply, I saw my +way to keeping his mind occupied by a harmless subject. "It must, +however, be owned," I went on, "that your daughter surprised me." + +"In what way?" + +"When she mentioned her name. Who could have supposed that +you--an inveterate enemy to the Roman Catholic Church--would have +christened your daughter by the name of a Roman Catholic Saint?" + +He listened to this with a smile. Had I happily blundered on some +association which his mind was still able to pursue? + +"You happen to be wrong this time," he said pleasantly. "I never +gave my girl the name of Helena; and, what is more, I never +baptized her. You ought to know that. Years and years ago, I +wrote to tell you that my poor wife had made me a proud and happy +father. And surely I said that the child was born while she was +on a visit to her brother's rectory. Do you remember the name of +the place? I told you it was a remote little village, called-- +Suppose we put _your_ memory to a test? Can you remember the +name?" he asked, with a momentary appearance of triumph showing +itself, poor fellow, in his face. + +After the time that had elapsed, the name had slipped my memory. +When I confessed this, he exulted over me, with an unalloyed +pleasure which it was cheering to see. + +"_Your_ memory is failing you now," he said. "The name is Long +Lanes. And what do you think my wife did--this is so +characteristic of her!--when I presented myself at her bedside. +Instead of speaking of our own baby, she reminded me of the name +that I had given to our adopted daughter when I baptized the +child. 'You chose the ugliest name that a girl can have,' she +said. I begged her to remember that 'Eunice' was a name in +Scripture. She persisted in spite of me. (What firmness of +character!) 'I detest the name of Eunice!' she said; 'and now +that I have a girl of my own, it's my turn to choose the name; I +claim it as my right.' She was beginning to get excited; I +allowed her to have her own way, of course. 'Only let me know,' I +said, 'what the name is to be when you have thought of it.' My +dear sir, she had the name ready, without thinking about it: 'My +baby shall be called by the name that is sweetest in my ears, the +name of my dear lost mother.' We had--what shall I call it?--a +slight difference of opinion when I heard that the name was to be +Helena. I really could _not_ reconcile it to my conscience to +baptize a child of mine by the name of a Popish saint. My wife's +brother set things right between us. A worthy good man; he died +not very long ago--I forget the date. Not to detain you any +longer, the rector of Long Lanes baptized our daughter. That is +how she comes by her un-English name; and so it happens that her +birth is registered in a village which her father has never +inhabited. I hope, sir, you think a little better of my memory +now?" + +I was afraid to tell him what I really did think. + +He was not fifty years old yet; and he had just exhibited one of +the sad symptoms which mark the broken memory of old age. Lead +him back to the events of many years ago, and (as he had just +proved to me) he could remember well and relate coherently. But +let him attempt to recall circumstances which had only taken +place a short time since, and forgetfulness and confusion +presented the lamentable result, just as I have related it. + +The effort that he had made, the agitation that he had undergone +in talking to me, had confirmed my fears that he would overtask +his wasted strength. He lay back in his chair. "Let us go on with +our conversation," he murmured. "We haven't recovered what I had +forgotten, yet." His eyes closed, and opened again languidly. +"There was something I wanted to recall--" he resumed, "and you +were helping me." His weak voice died away; his weary eyes closed +again. After waiting until there could be no doubt that he was +resting peacefully in sleep, I left the room. + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +THE LIVELY OLD MAID. + +A PERFECT stranger to the interior of the house (seeing that my +experience began and ended with the Minister's bedchamber), I +descended the stairs, in the character of a guest in search of +domestic information. + +On my way down, I heard the door of a room on the ground floor +opened, and a woman' s voice below, speaking in a hurry: "My +dear, I have not a moment to spare; my patients are waiting for +me." This was followed by a confidential communication, judging +by the tone. "Mind! not a word about me to that old gentleman!" +Her patients were waiting for her--had I discovered a female +doctor? And there was some old gentleman whom she was not willing +to trust--surely I was not that much-injured man? + +Reaching the hall just as the lady said her last words, I caught +a glimpse of her face, and discovered the middle-aged stranger +who had called on "Miss Jillgall," and had promised to repeat her +visit. A second lady was at the door, with her back to me, taking +leave of her friend. Having said good-by, she turned round--and +we confronted each other. + +I found her to be a little person, wiry and active; past the +prime of life, and ugly enough to encourage prejudice, in persons +who take a superficial view of their fellow-creatures. Looking +impartially at the little sunken eyes which rested on me with a +comical expression of embarrassment, I saw signs that said: There +is some good here, under a disagreeable surface, if you can only +find it. + +She saluted me with a carefully-performed curtsey, and threw open +the door of a room on the ground floor. + +"Pray walk in, sir, and permit me to introduce myself. I am Mr. +Gracedieu's cousin--Miss Jillgall. Proud indeed to make the +acquaintance of a gentleman distinguished in the service of his +country--or perhaps I ought to say, in the service of the Law. +The Governor offers hospitality to prisoners. And who introduces +prisoners to board and lodging with the Governor?--the Law. +Beautiful weather for the time of year, is it not? May I +ask--have you seen your room?" + +The embarrassment which I had already noticed had extended by +this time to her voice and her manner. She was evidently trying +to talk herself into a state of confidence. It seemed but too +probable that I was indeed the person mentioned by her prudent +friend at the door. + +Having acknowledged that I had not seen my room yet, my +politeness attempted to add that there was no hurry. The wiry +little lady was of the contrary opinion; she jumped out of her +chair as if she had been shot out of it. "Pray let me make myself +useful. The dream of my life is to make myself useful to others; +and to such a man as you--I consider myself honored. Besides, I +do enjoy running up and down stairs. This way, dear sir; this way +to your room." + +She skipped up the stairs, and stopped on the first landing. "Do +you know, I am a timid person, though I may not look like it. +Sometimes, curiosity gets the better of me--and then I grow bold. +Did you notice a lady who was taking leave of me just now at the +house door?" + +I replied that I had seen the lady for a moment, but not for the +first time. "Just as I arrived here from the station," I said, "I +found her paying a visit when you were not at home." + +"Yes--and do tell me one thing more." My readiness in answering +seemed to have inspired Miss Jillgall with confidence. I heard no +more confessions of overpowering curiosity. "Am I right," she +proceeded, "in supposing that Miss Helena accompanied you, on +your way here from the station?" + +"Quite right." + +"Did she say anything particular, when she saw the lady asking +for me at the door?" + +"Miss Helena thought," I said, "that the lady recognized me as a +person whom she had seen before." + +"And what did you think yourself?" + +"I thought Miss Helena was wrong." + +"Very extraordinary!" With that remark, Miss Jillgall dropped the +subject. The meaning of her reiterated inquiries was now, as it +seemed to me, clear enough. She was eager to discover how I could +have inspired the distrust of me, expressed in the caution +addressed to her by her friend. + +When we reached the upper floor, she paused before the Minister's +room. + +"I believe many years have passed," she said, "since you last saw +Mr. Gracedieu. I am afraid you have found him a sadly changed +man? You won't be angry with me, I hope, for asking more +questions? I owe Mr. Gracedieu a debt of gratitude which no +devotion, on my part, can ever repay. You don't know what a favor +I shall consider it, if you will tell me what you think of him. +Did it seem to you that he was not quite himself? I don't mean in +his looks, poor dear--I mean in his mind." + +There was true sorrow and sympathy in her face. I believe I +should hardly have thought her ugly, if we had first met at that +moment. Thus far, she had only amused me. I began really to like +Miss Jillgall now. + +"I must not conceal from you," I replied, "that the state of Mr. +Gracedieu's mind surprised and distressed me. But I ought also to +tell you that I saw him perhaps at his worst. The subject on +which he wished to speak with me would have agitated any man, in +his state of health. He consulted me about his daughter's +marriage." + +Miss Jillgall suddenly turned pale. + +"His daughter's marriage?" she repeated. "Oh, you frighten me!" + +"Why should I frighten you?" + +She seemed to find some difficulty in expressing herself. "I +hardly know how to put it, sir. You will excuse me (won't you?) +if I say what I feel. You have influence--not the sort of +influence that finds places for people who don't deserve them, +and gets mentioned in the newspapers--I only mean influence over +Mr. Gracedieu. That's what frightens me. How do I know--? Oh, +dear, I'm asking another question! Allow me, for once, to be +plain and positive. I'm afraid, sir, you have encouraged the +Minister to consent to Helena's marriage." + +"Pardon me," I answered, "you mean Eunice's marriage." + +"No, sir! Helena." + +"No, madam! Eunice." + +"What does he mean?" said Miss Jillgall to herself. + +I heard her. "This is what I mean," I asserted, in my most +positive manner. "The only subject on which the Minister has +consulted me is Miss Eunice's marriage." + +My tone left her no alternative but to believe me. She looked not +only bewildered, but alarmed. "Oh, poor man, has he lost himself +in such a dreadful way as that?" she said to herself. "I daren't +believe it!" She turned to me. "You have been talking with him +for some time. Please try to remember. While Mr. Gracedieu was +speaking of Euneece, did he say nothing of Helena's infamous +conduct to her sister?" + +Not the slightest hint of any such thing, I assured her, had +reached my ears. + +"Then," she cried, "I can tell you what he has forgotten! We kept +as much of that miserable story to ourselves as we could, in +mercy to him. Besides, he was always fondest of Euneece; she +would live in his memory when he had forgotten the other--the +wretch, the traitress, the plotter, the fiend!" Miss Jillgall's +good manners slipped, as it were, from under her; she clinched +her fists as a final means of expressing her sentiments. "The +wretched English language isn't half strong enough for me," she +declared with a look of fury. + +I took a liberty. "May I ask what Miss Helena has done?" I said. + +"_May_ you ask? Oh, Heavens! you must ask, you shall ask. Mr. +Governor, if your eyes are not opened to Helena's true character, +I can tell you what she will do; she will deceive you into taking +her part. Do you think she went to the station out of regard for +the great man? Pooh! she went with an eye to her own interests; +and she means to make the great man useful. Thank God, I can stop +that!" + +She checked herself there, and looked suspiciously at the door of +Mr. Gracedieu's room. + +"In the interest of our conversation," she whispered, "we have +not given a thought to the place we have been talking in. Do you +think the Minister has heard us?" + +"Not if he is asleep--as I left him," + +Miss Jillgall shook her head ominously. "The safe way is this +way," she said. "Come with me." + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +THE FUTURE LOOKS GLOOMY. + + +MY ever-helpful guide led me to my room--well out of Mr. +Gracedieu's hearing, if he happened to be awake--at the other end +of the passage. Having opened the door, she paused on the +threshold. The decrees of that merciless English despot, +Propriety, claimed her for their own. "Oh, dear!" she said to +herself, "ought I to go in?" + +My interest as a man (and, what is more, an old man) in the +coming disclosure was too serious to be trifled with in this way. +I took her arm, and led her into my room as if I was at a +dinner-party, leading her to the table. Is it the good or the +evil fortune of mortals that the comic side of life, and the +serious side of life, are perpetually in collision with each +other? We burst out laughing, at a moment of grave importance to +us both. Perfectly inappropriate, and perfectly natural. But we +were neither of us philosophers, and we were ashamed of our own +merriment the moment it had ceased. + +"When you hear what I have to tell you," Miss Jillgall began, "I +hope you will think as I do. What has slipped Mr. Gracedieu' s +memory, it may be safer to say--for he is sometimes irritable, +poor dear--where he won't know anything about it." + +With that she told the lamentable story of the desertion of +Eunice. + +In silence I listened, from first to last. How could I trust +myself to speak, as I must have spoken, in the presence of a +woman? The cruel injury inflicted on the poor girl, who had +interested and touched me in the first innocent year of her +life--who had grown to womanhood to be the victim of two +wretches, both trusted by her, both bound to her by the sacred +debt of love--so fired my temper that I longed to be within reach +of the man, with a horsewhip in my hand. Seeing in my face, as I +suppose, what was passing in my mind, Miss Jillgall expressed +sympathy and admiration in her own quaint way: "Ah, I like to see +you so angry! It's grand to know that a man who has governed +prisoners has got such a pitying heart. Let me tell you one +thing, sir. You will be more angry than ever, when you see my +sweet girl to-morrow. And mind this--it is Helena's devouring +vanity, Helena's wicked jealousy of her sister's good fortune, +that has done the mischief. Don't be too hard on Philip? I do +believe, if the truth was told, he is ashamed of himself." + +I felt inclined to be harder on Philip than ever. "Where is he?" +I asked. + +Miss Jillgall started. "Oh, Mr. Governor, don't show the severe +side of yourself, after the pretty compliment I have just paid to +you! What a masterful voice! and what eyes, dear sir; what +terrifying eyes! I feel as if I was one of your prisoners, and +had misbehaved myself." + +I repeated my question with improvement, I hope, in my looks and +tones: "Don't think me obstinate, my dear lady. I only want to +know if he is in this town." + +Miss Jillgall seemed to take a curious pleasure in disappointing +me; she had not forgotten my unfortunate abruptness of look and +manner. "You won't find him here," she said. + +"Perhaps he has left England?" + +"If you must know, sir, he is in London--with Mr. Dunboyne." + +The name startled me. + +In a moment more it recalled to my memory a remarkable letter, +addressed to me many years ago, which will be found in my +introductory narrative. The writer--an Irish gentleman, named +Dunboyne confided to me that his marriage had associated him with +the murderess, who had then been recently executed, as +brother-in-law to that infamous woman. This circumstance he had +naturally kept a secret from every one, including his son, then a +boy. I alone was made an exception to the general rule, because I +alone could tell him what had become of the poor little girl, who +in spite of the disgraceful end of her mother was still his +niece. If the child had not been provided for, he felt it his +duty to take charge of her education, and to watch over her +prospects in the future. Such had been his object in writing to +me; and such was the substance of his letter. I had merely +informed him, in reply, that his kind intentions had been +anticipated, and that the child's prosperous future was assured. + +Miss Jillgall's keen observation noticed the impression that had +been produced upon me. "Mr. Dunboyne's name seems to surprise +you." she said. + +"This is the first time I have heard you mention it," I answered. + +She looked as if she could hardly believe me. "Surely you must +have heard the name," she said, "when I told you about poor +Euneece?" + +"No." + +"Well, then, Mr. Gracedieu must have mentioned it?" + +"No." + +This second reply in the negative irritated her. + +"At any rate," she said, sharply, "you appeared to know Mr. +Dunboyne's name, just now." + +"Certainly!" + +"And yet," she persisted, "the name seemed to come upon you as a +surprise. I don't understand it. If I have mentioned Philip's +name once, I have mentioned it a dozen times." + +We were completely at cross-purposes. She had taken something for +granted which was an unfathomable mystery to me. + +"Well," I objected, "if you did mention his name a dozen +times--excuse me for asking the question---what then?" + +"Good heavens!" cried Miss Jillgall, "do you mean to say you +never guessed that Philip was Mr. Dunboyne's son?" + +I was petrified. + +His son! Dunboyne's son! How could I have guessed it? + +At a later time only, the good little creature who had so +innocently deceived me, remembered that the mischief might have +been wrought by the force of habit. While he had still a claim on +their regard the family had always spoken of Eunice's unworthy +lover by his Christian name; and what had been familiar in their +mouths felt the influence of custom, before time enough had +elapsed to make them think as readily of the enemy as they had +hitherto thought of the friend. + +But I was ignorant of this: and the disclosure by which I found +myself suddenly confronted was more than I could support. For the +moment, speech was beyond me. + +His son! Dunboyne's son! + +What a position that young man had occupied, unsuspected by his +father, unknown to himself! kept in ignorance of the family +disgrace, he had been a guest in the house of the man who had +consoled his infamous aunt on the eve of her execution--who had +saved his unhappy cousin from poverty, from sorrow, from shame. +And but one human being knew this. And that human being was +myself! + +Observing my agitation, Miss Jillgall placed her own construction +on it. + +"Do you know anything bad of Philip?" she asked eagerly. "If it's +something that will prevent Helena from marrying him, tell me +what it is, I beg and pray." + +I knew no more of "Philip" (whom she still called by his +Christian name!) than she had told me herself: there was no help +for it but to disappoint her. At the same time I was unable to +conceal that I was ill at ease, and that it might be well to +leave me by myself. After a look round the bedchamber to see that +nothing was wanting to my comfort, she made her quaint curtsey, +and left me with her own inimitable form of farewell. + +"Oh, indeed, I have been here too long! And I'm afraid I have +been guilty, once or twice, of vulgar familiarity. You will +excuse me, I hope. This has been an exciting interview--I think I +am going to cry." + +She ran out of the room; and carried away with her some of my +kindliest feelings, short as the time of our acquaintance had +been. What a wife and what a mother was lost there--and all for +want of a pretty face! + +Left alone, my thoughts inevitably reverted to Dunboyne the +elder, and to all that had happened in Mr. Gracedieu's family +since the Irish gentleman had written to me in bygone years. + +The terrible choice of responsibilities which had preyed on the +Minister's mind had been foreseen by Mr. Dunboyne, when he first +thought of adopting his infant niece, and had warned him to dread +what might happen in the future, if he brought her up as a member +of the family with his own boy, and if the two young people +became at a later period attached to each other. How had the wise +foresight, which offered such a contrast to the poor Minister's +impulsive act of mercy, met with its reward? Fate or Providence +(call it which we may) had brought Dunboyne's son and the +daughter of the murderess together; had inspired those two +strangers with love; and had emboldened them to plight their +troth by a marriage engagement. Was the man's betrayal of the +trust placed in him by the faithful girl to be esteemed a +fortunate circumstance by the two persons who knew the true story +of her parentage, the Minister and myself? Could we rejoice in an +act of infidelity which had embittered and darkened the gentle +harmless life of the victim? Or could we, on the other hand, +encourage the ruthless deceit, the hateful treachery, which had +put the wicked Helena--with no exposure to dread if _she_ +married--into her wronged sister's place? Impossible! In the one +case as in the other, impossible! + +Equally hopeless did the prospect appear, when I tried to +determine what my own individual course of action ought to be. + +In my calmer moments, the idea had occurred to my mind of going +to Dunboyne the younger, and, if he had any sense of shame left, +exerting my influence to lead him back to his betrothed wife. How +could I now do this, consistently with my duty to the young man's +father; knowing what I knew, and not forgetting that I had myself +advised Mr. Gracedieu to keep the truth concealed, when I was +equally ignorant of Philip Dunboyne's parentage and of Helena +Gracedieu's treachery? + +Even if events so ordered it that the marriage of Eunice might +yet take place--without any interference exerted to produce that +result, one way or the other, on my part--it would be just as +impossible for me to speak out now, as it had been in the +long-past years when I had so cautiously answered Mr. Dunboyne's +letter. But what would he think of me if accident led, sooner or +later, to the disclosure which I had felt bound to conceal? The +more I tried to forecast the chances of the future, the darker +and the darker was the view that faced me. + +To my sinking heart and wearied mind, good Dame Nature presented +a more acceptable prospect, when I happened to look out of the +window of my room. There I saw the trees and flowerbeds of a +garden, tempting me irresistibly under the cloudless sunshine of +a fine day. I was on my way out, to recover heart and hope, when +a knock at the door stopped me. + +Had Miss Jillgall returned? When I said "Come in," Mr. Gracedieu +opened the door, and entered the room. + +He was so weak that he staggered as he approached me. Leading him +to a chair, I noticed a wild look in his eyes, and a flush on his +haggard cheeks. Something had happened. + +"When you were with me in my room," he began, "did I not tell you +that I had forgotten something?" + +"Certainly you did." + +"Well, I have found the lost remembrance. My misfortune--I ought +to call it the punishment for my sins, is recalled to me now. The +worst curse that can fall on a father is the curse that has come +to me. I have a wicked daughter. My own child, sir! my own +child!" + +Had he been awake, while Miss Jillgall and I had been talking +outside his door? Had he heard her ask me if Mr. Gracedieu had +said nothing of Helena's infamous conduct to her sister, while he +was speaking of Eunice? The way to the lost remembrance had +perhaps been found there. In any case, after that bitter allusion +to his "wicked daughter" some result must follow. Helena +Gracedieu and a day of reckoning might be nearer to each other +already than I had ventured to hope. + +I waited anxiously for what he might say to me next. + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +THE WANDERING MIND. + +FOR the moment, the Minister disappointed me. + +Without speaking, without even looking up, he took out his +pocketbook, and began to write in it. Constantly interrupted +either by a trembling in the hand that held the pencil, or by a +difficulty (as I imagined) in expressing thoughts imperfectly +realized--his patience gave way; he dashed the book on the floor. + +"My mind is gone!" he burst out. "Oh, Father in Heaven, let death +deliver me from a body without a mind!" + +Who could hear him, and be guilty of the cruelty of preaching +self-control? I picked up the pocketbook, and offered to help +him. + +"Do you think you can?" he asked. + +"I can at least try." + +"Good fellow! What should I do without you? See now; here is my +difficulty. I have got so many things to say, I want to separate +them--or else they will all run into each other. Look at the +book," my poor friend said mournfully; "they have run into each +other in spite of me." + +The entries proved to be nearly incomprehensible. Here and there +I discovered some scattered words, which showed themselves more +or less distinctly in the midst of the surrounding confusion. The +first word that I could make out was "Education." Helped by that +hint, I trusted to guess-work to guide me in speaking to him. It +was necessary to be positive, or he would have lost all faith in +me. + +"Well?" he said impatiently. + +"Well," I answered, "you have something to say to me about the +education which you have given to your daughters." + +"Don't put them together!" he cried. "Dear, patient, sweet Eunice +must not be confounded with that she-devil--" + +"Hush, hush, Mr. Gracedieu! Badly as Miss Helena has behaved, she +is your own child." + +"I repudiate her, sir! Think for a moment of what she has +done--and then think of the religious education that I have given +her. Heartless! Deceitful! The most ignorant creature in the +lowest dens of this town could have done nothing more basely +cruel. And this, after years on years of patient Christian +instruction on my part! What is religion? What is education? I +read a horrible book once (I forget who was the author); it +called religion superstition, and education empty form. I don't +know; upon my word I don't know that the book may not--Oh, my +tongue! Why don't I keep a guard over my tongue? Are you a +father, too? Don't interrupt me. Put yourself in my place, and +think of it. Heartless, deceitful, and _my_ daughter. Give me the +pocketbook; I want to see which memorandum comes first." + +He had now wrought himself into a state of excitement, which +relieved his spirits of the depression that had weighed on them +up to this time. His harmless vanity, always, as I suspect, a +latent quality in his kindly nature, had already restored his +confidence. With a self-sufficient smile he consulted his own +unintelligible entries, and made his own wild discoveries. + +"Ah, yes; 'M' stands for Minister; I come first. Am I to blame? +Am I--God forgive me my many sins--am I heartless? Am I +deceitful?" + +"My good friend, not even your enemies could say that!" + +"Thank you. Who comes next?" He consulted the book again. "Her +mother, her sainted mother, comes next. People say she is like +her mother. Was my wife heartless? Was the angel of my life +deceitful?" + +("That," I thought to myself, "is exactly what your wife was--and +exactly what reappears in your wife's child.") + +"Where does her wickedness come from?" he went on. "Not from her +mother; not from me; not from a neglected education." He suddenly +stepped up to me and laid his hands on my shoulders; his voice +dropped to hoarse, moaning, awestruck tones. "Shall I tell you +what it is? A possession of the devil." + +It was so evidently desirable to prevent any continuation of such +a train of thought as this, that I could feel no hesitation in +interrupting him. + +"Will you hear what I have to say?" I asked bluntly. + +His humor changed again; he made me a low bow, and went back to +his chair. "I will hear you with pleasure," he answered politely. +"You are the most eloquent man I know, with one +exception--myself. Of course--myself." + +"It is mere waste of time," I continued, "to regret the excellent +education which your daughter has misused." Making that reply, I +was tempted to add another word of truth. All education is at the +mercy of two powerful counter-influences: the influence of +temperament, and the influence of circumstances. But this was +philosophy. How could I expect him to submit to philosophy? "What +we know of Miss Helena," I went on, "must be enough for us. She +has plotted, and she means to succeed. Stop her." + +"Just my idea!" he declared firmly. "I refuse my consent to that +abominable marriage." + +In the popular phrase, I struck while the iron was hot. "You must +do more than that, sir," I told him. + +His vanity suddenly took the alarm--I was leading him rather too +undisguisedly. He handed his book back to me. "You will find," he +said loftily, "that I have put it all down there." + +I pretended to find it, and read an imaginary entry to this +effect: "After what she has already done, Helena is capable of +marrying in defiance of my wishes and commands. This must be +considered and provided against." So far, I had succeeded in +flattering him. But when (thinking of his paternal authority) I +alluded next to his daughter's age, his eyes rested on me with a +look of downright terror. + +"No more of that!" he said. "I won't talk of the girls' ages even +with you." + +What did he mean? It was useless to ask. I went on with the +matter in hand--still deliberately speaking to him, as I might +have spoken to a man with an intellect as clear as my own. In my +experience, this practice generally stimulates a weak +intelligence to do its best. We all know how children receive +talk that is lowered, or books that are lowered, to their +presumed level. + +"I shall take it for granted," I continued, "that Miss Helena is +still under your lawful authority. She can only arrive at her +ends by means of a runaway marriage. In that case, much depends +on the man. You told me you couldn't help liking him. This was, +of course, before you knew of the infamous manner in which he has +behaved. You must have changed your opinion now." + +He seemed to be at a loss how to reply. "I am afraid," he said, +"the young man was drawn into it by Helena." + +Here was Miss Jillgall's apology for Philip Dunboyne repeated in +other words. Despising and detesting the fellow as I did, I was +forced to admit to myself that he must be recommended by personal +attractions which it would be necessary to reckon with. I tried +to get s ome more information from Mr. Gracedieu. + +"The excuse you have just made for him," I resumed, "implies that +he is a weak man; easily persuaded, easily led." + +The Minister answered by nodding his head. + +"Such weakness as that," I persisted, "is a vice in itself. It +has led already, sir, to the saddest results." + +He admitted this by another nod. + +"I don't wish to shock you, Mr. Gracedieu; but I must recommend +employing the means that present themselves. You must practice on +this man's weakness, for the sake of the good that may come of +it. I hear he is in London with his father. Try the strong +influence, and write to his father. There is another reason +besides for doing this. It is quite possible that the truth has +been concealed from Mr. Dunboyne the elder. Take care that he is +informed of what has really happened. Are you looking for pen, +ink, and paper? Let me offer you the writing materials which I +use in traveling." + +I placed them before him. He took up the pen; he arranged the +paper; he was eager to begin. + +After writing a few words, he stopped--reflected--tried +again--stopped again--tore up the little that he had done--and +began a new letter, ending in the same miserable result. It was +impossible to witness his helplessness, to see how pitiably +patient he was over his own incapacity, and to let the melancholy +spectacle go on. I proposed to write the letter; authenticating +it, of course, by his signature. When he allowed me to take the +pen, he turned away his face, ashamed to let me see what he +suffered. Was this the same man, whose great nature had so nobly +asserted itself in the condemned cell? Poor mortality! + +The letter was easily written. + +I had only to inform Mr. Dunboyne of his son's conduct; +repeating, in the plainest language that I could use, what Miss +Jillgall had related to me. Arrived at the conclusion, I +contrived to make Mr. Gracedieu express himself in these strong +terms: "I protest against the marriage in justice to you, sir, as +well as to myself. We can neither of us content to be accomplices +in an act of domestic treason of the basest kind." + +In silence, the Minister read the letter, and attached his +signature to it. In silence, he rose and took my arm. I asked if +he wished to go to his room. He only replied by a sign. I offered +to sit with him, and try to cheer him. Gratefully, he pressed my +hand: gently, he put me back from the door. Crushed by the +miserable discovery of the decay of his own faculties! What could +I do? what could I say? Nothing! + + + +Miss Jillgall was in the drawing-room. With the necessary +explanations, I showed her the letter. She read it with +breathless interest. "It terrifies one to think how much depends +on old Mr. Dunboyne," she said. "You know him. What sort of man +is he?" + +I could only assure her (after what I remembered of his letter to +me) that he was a man whom we could depend upon. + +Miss Jillgall possessed treasures of information to which I could +lay no claim. Mr. Dunboyne, she told me, was a scholar, and a +writer, and a rich man. His views on marriage were liberal in the +extreme. Let his son find good principles, good temper, and good +looks, in a wife, and he would promise to find the money. + +"I get these particulars," said Miss Jillgall, "from dear +Euneece. They are surely encouraging? That Helena may carry out +Mr. Dunboyne's views in her personal appearance is, I regret to +say, what I can't deny. But as to the other qualifications, how +hopeful is the prospect! Good principles, and good temper? Ha! +ha! Helena has the principles of Jezebel, and the temper of Lady +Macbeth." + +After dashing off this striking sketch of character, the fair +artist asked to look at my letter again, and observed that the +address was wanting. "I can set this right for you," she resumed, +"thanks, as before, to my sweet Euneece. And (don't be in a +hurry) I can make myself useful in another way. Oh, how I do +enjoy making myself useful! If you trust your letter to the +basket in the hall, Helena's lovely eyes--capable of the meanest +conceivable actions--are sure to take a peep at the address. In +that case, do you think your letter would get to London? I am +afraid you detect a faint infusion of spitefulness in that +question. Oh, for shame! I'll post the letter myself." + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +THE SHAMELESS SISTER. + + +FOR some reason, which my unassisted penetration was unable to +discover, Miss Helena Gracedieu kept out of my way. + +At dinner, on the day of my arrival, and at breakfast on the next +morning, she was present of course; ready to make herself +agreeable in a modest way, and provided with the necessary supply +of cheerful small-talk. But the meal having come to an end, she +had her domestic excuse ready, and unostentatiously disappeared +like a well-bred young lady. I never met her on the stairs, never +found myself intruding on her in the drawing-room, never caught +her getting out of my way in the garden. As much at a loss for an +explanation of these mysteries as I was, Miss Jillgall's interest +in my welfare led her to caution me in a vague and general way. + +"Take my word for it, dear Mr. Governor, she has some design on +you. Will you allow an insignificant old maid to offer a +suggestion? Oh, thank you; I will venture to advise. Please look +back at your experience of the very worst female prisoner you +ever had to deal with--and be guided accordingly if Helena +catches you at a private interview." + +In less than half an hour afterward, Helena caught me. I was +writing in my room, when the maidservant came in with a message: +"Miss Helena's compliments, sir, and would you please spare her +half an hour, downstairs?" + +My first excuse was of course that I was engaged. This was +disposed of by a second message, provided beforehand, no doubt, +for an anticipated refusal: "Miss Helena wished me to say, sir, +that her time is your time." I was still obstinate; I pleaded +next that my day was filled up. A third message had evidently +been prepared, even for this emergency: "Miss Helena will regret, +sir, having the pleasure deferred, but she will leave you to make +your own appointment for to-morrow." Persistency so inveterate as +this led to a result which Mr. Gracedieu's cautious daughter had +not perhaps contemplated: it put me on my guard. There seemed to +be a chance, to say the least of it, that I might serve Eunice's +interests if I discovered what the enemy had to say. I locked up +my writing--declared myself incapable of putting Miss Helena to +needless inconvenience--and followed the maid to the lower floor +of the house. + +The room to which I was conducted proved to be empty. I looked +round me. + +If I had been told that a man lived there who was absolutely +indifferent to appearances, I should have concluded that his +views were faithfully represented by his place of abode. The +chairs and tables reminded me of a railway waiting-room. The +shabby little bookcase was the mute record of a life indifferent +to literature. The carpet was of that dreadful drab color, still +the cherished favorite of the average English mind, in spite of +every protest that can be entered against it, on behalf of Art. +The ceiling, recently whitewashed; made my eyes ache when they +looked at it. On either side of the window, flaccid green +curtains hung helplessly with nothing to loop them up. The +writing-desk and the paper-case, viewed as specimens of woodwork, +recalled the ready-made bedrooms on show in cheap shops. The +books, mostly in slate-colored bindings, were devoted to the +literature which is called religious; I only discovered three +worldly publications among them--Domestic Cookery, Etiquette for +Ladies, and Hints on the Breeding of Poultry. An ugly little +clock, ticking noisily in a black case, and two candlesticks of +base metal placed on either side of it, completed the ornaments +on the chimney-piece. Neither pictures nor prints hid the +barrenness of the walls. I saw no needlework and no flowers. The +one object in the place which showed any pretensions to beauty +was a looking-glass in an elegant gilt frame--sacred to vanity, +and worthy of the office that it filled. Such was Helena +Gracedieu's sitting-room. I really could not help thinking: How +like her! + +She came in with a face perfectly adapted to the +circumstances--pleased and smiling; amiably deferential, in +consideration of the claims of her father's guest--and, to my +surprise, in some degree suggestive of one of those incorrigible +female prisoners, to whom Miss Jillgall had referred me when she +offered a word of advice. + +"How kind of you to come so soon! Excuse my receiving you in my +housekeeping-room; we shall not be interrupted here. Very plainly +furnished, is it not? I dislike ostentation and display. +Ornaments are out of place in a room devoted to domestic +necessities. I hate domestic necessities. You notice the +looking-glass? It's a present. I should never have put such a +thing up. Perhaps my vanity excuses it." + +She pointed the last remark by a look at herself in the glass; +using it, while she despised it. Yes: there was a handsome face, +paying her its reflected compliment--but not so well matched as +it might have been by a handsome figure. Her feet were too large; +her shoulders were too high; the graceful undulations of a +well-made girl were absent when she walked; and her bosom was, to +my mind, unduly developed for her time of life. + +She sat down by me with her back to the light. Happening to be +opposite to the window, I offered her the advantage of a clear +view of my face. She waited for me, and I waited for her--and +there was an awkward pause before we spoke. She set the example. + +"Isn't it curious?" she remarked. "When two people have something +particular to say to each other, and nothing to hinder them, they +never seem to know how to say it. You are the oldest, sir. Why +don't you begin?" + +"Because I have nothing particular to say." + +"In plain words, you mean that I must begin?" + +"If you please." + +"Very well. I want to know whether I have given you (and Miss +Jillgall, of course) as much time as you want, and as many +opportunities as you could desire?" + +"Pray go on, Miss Helena." + +"Have I not said enough already?" + +"Not enough, I regret to say, to convey your meaning to me." + +She drew her chair a little further away from me. "I am sadly +disappointed," she said. "I had such a high opinion of your +perfect candor. I thought to myself: There is such a striking +expression of frankness in his face. Another illusion gone! I +hope you won't think I am offended, if I say a bold word. I am +only a young girl, to be sure; but I am not quite such a fool as +you take me for. Do you really think I don't know that Miss +Jillgall has been telling you everything that is bad about me; +putting every mistake that I have made, every fault that I have +committed, in the worst possible point of view? And you have +listened to her--quite naturally! And you are prejudiced, +strongly prejudiced, against me--what else could you be, under +the circumstances? I don't complain; I have purposely kept out of +your way, and out of Miss Jillgall's way; in short, I have +afforded you every facility, as the prospectuses say. I only want +to know if my turn has come at last. Once more, have I given you +time enough, and opportunities enough?" + +"A great deal more than enough." + +"Do you mean that you have made up your mind about me without +stopping to think?" + +"That is exactly what I mean. An act of treachery, Miss Helena, +_is_ an act of treachery; no honest person need hesitate to +condemn it. I am sorry you sent for me." + +I got up to go. With an ironical gesture of remonstrance, she +signed to me to sit down again. + +"Must I remind you, dear sir, of our famous native virtue? Fair +play is surely due to a young person who has nobody to take her +part. You talked of treachery just how. I deny the treachery. +Please give me a hearing." + +I returned to my chair. + +"Or would you prefer waiting," she went out, "till my sister +comes here later in the day, and continues what Miss Jillgall has +begun, with the great advantage of being young and nice-looking?" + +When the female mind gets into this state, no wise man answers +the female questions. + +"Am I to take silence as meaning Go on?" Miss Helena inquired. + +I begged her to interpret my silence in the sense most agreeable +to herself. + +This naturally encouraged her. She made a proposal: + +"Do you mind changing places, sir?" + +"Just as you like, Miss Helena." + +We changed chairs; the light now fell full on her face. Had she +deliberately challenged me to look into her secret mind if I +could? Anything like the stark insensibility of that young girl +to every refinement of feeling, to every becoming doubt of +herself, to every customary timidity of her age and sex in the +presence of a man who had not disguised his unfavorable opinion +of her, I never met with in all my experience of the world and of +women. + +"I wish to be quite mistress of myself," she explained; "your +face, for some reason which I really don't know, irritates me. +The fact is, I have great pride in keeping my temper. Please make +allowances. Now about Miss Jillgall. I suppose she told you how +my sister first met with Philip Dunboyne?" + +"Yes." + +"She also mentioned, perhaps, that he was a highly-cultivated +man?" + +"She did." + +"Now we shall get on. When Philip came to our town here, and saw +me for the first time--Do you object to my speaking familiarly of +him, by his Christian name?" + +"In the case of any one else in your position, Miss Helena, I +should venture to call it bad taste." + +I was provoked into saying that. It failed entirely as a +well-meant effort in the way of implied reproof. Miss Helena +smiled. + +"You grant me a liberty which you would not concede to another +girl." That was how she viewed it. "We are getting on better +already. To return to what I was saying. When Philip first saw +me--I have it from himself, mind--he felt that I should have been +his choice, if he had met with me before he met with my sister. +Do you blame him?" + +"If you will take my advice," I said, "you will not inquire too +closely into my opinion of Mr. Philip Dunboyne." + +"Perhaps you don't wish me to say anymore?" she suggested. + +"On the contrary, pray go on, if you like." + +After that concession, she was amiability itself. "Oh, yes," she +assured me, "that's easily done." And she went on accordingly: +"Philip having informed me of the state of his affections, I +naturally followed his example. In fact, we exchanged +confessions. Our marriage engagement followed as a matter of +course. Do you blame me?" + +"I will wait till you have done." + +"I have no more to say." + +She made that amazing reply with such perfect composure, that I +began to fear there must have been some misunderstanding between +us. "Is that really all you have to say for yourself?" I +persisted. + +Her patience with me was most exemplary. She lowered herself to +my level. Not trusting to words only on this occasion, she (so to +say) beat her meaning into my head by gesticulating on her +fingers, as if she was educating a child. + +"Philip and I," she began, "are the victims of an accident, which +kept us apart when we ought to have met together--we are not +responsible for an accident." She impressed this on me by +touching her forefinger. "Philip and I fell in love with each +other at first sight--we are not responsible for the feelings +implanted in our natures by an all-wise Providence." She assisted +me in understanding this by touching her middle finger. "Philip +and I owe a duty to each other, and accept a responsibility under +those circumstances--the responsibility of getting married." A +touch on her third finger, and an indulgent bow, announced that +the lesson was ended. "I am not a clever man like you," she +modestly acknowledged, "but I ask you to help us, when you next +see my father, with some confidence. You know exactly what to say +to him, by this time. Nothing has been forgotten." + +"Pardon me," I said, "a person has been forgotten." + +"Indeed? What person?" + +"Your sister." + +A little perplexed at first, Miss Helena reflected, and recovered +herself. + +"Ah, yes," she said; "I was afraid I might be obliged to trouble +you for an explanation--I see it now. You are shocked (very +properly) when feelings of enmity exist between near relations; +and you wish to be assured that I bear no malice toward Eunice. +She is violent, she is sulky, she is stupid, she is selfish ; and +she cruelly refuses to live in the same house with me. Make your +mind easy, sir, I forgive my sister." + +Let me not attempt to disguise it--Miss Helena Gracedieu +confounded me. + +Ordinary audacity is one of those forms of insolence which mature +experience dismisses with contempt. This girl's audacity struck +down all resistance, for one shocking reason: it was +unquestionably sincere. Strong conviction of her own virtue +stared at me in her proud and daring eyes. At that time, I was +not aware of what I have learned since. The horrid hardening of +her moral sense had been accomplished by herself. In her diary, +there has been found the confession of a secret course of +reading--with supplementary reflections flowing from it, which +need only to be described as worthy of their source. + +A person capable of repentance and reform would, in her place, +have seen that she had disgusted me. Not a suspicion of this +occurred to Miss Helena. "I see you are embarrassed," she +remarked, "and I am at no loss to account for it. You are too +polite to acknowledge that I have not made a friend of you yet. +Oh, I mean to do it!" + +"No," I said, "I think not." + +"We shall see," she replied. "Sooner or later, you will find +yourself saying a kind word to my father for Philip and me." She +rose, and took a turn in the room--and stopped, eying me +attentively. "Are you thinking of Eunice?" she asked. + +"Yes." + +"She has your sympathy, I suppose?" + +"My heart-felt sympathy." + +"I needn't ask how I stand in your estimation, after that. Pray +express yourself freely. Your looks confess it--you view me with +a feeling of aversion." + +"I view you with a feeling of horror." + +The exasperating influences of her language, her looks, and her +tones would, as I venture to think, have got to the end of +another man's self-control before this. Anyway, she had at last +irritated me into speaking as strongly as I felt. What I said had +been so plainly (perhaps so rudely) expressed, that +misinterpretation of it seemed to be impossible. She mistook me, +nevertheless. The most merciless disclosure of the dreary side of +human destiny is surely to be found in the failure of words, +spoken or written, so to answer their purpose that we can trust +them, in our attempts to communicate with each other. Even when +he seems to be connected, by the nearest and dearest relations, +with his fellow-mortals, what a solitary creature, tried by the +test of sympathy, the human being really is in the teeming world +that he inhabits! Affording one more example of the impotence of +human language to speak for itself, my misinterpreted words had +found their way to the one sensitive place in Helena Gracedieu's +impenetrable nature. She betrayed it in the quivering and +flushing of her hard face, and in the appeal to the looking-glass +which escaped her eyes the next moment. My hasty reply had roused +the idea of a covert insult addressed to her handsome face. In +other words, I had wounded her vanity. Driven by resentment, out +came the secret distrust of me which had been lurking in that +cold heart, from the moment when we first met. + +"I inspire you with horror, and Eunice inspires you with +compassion," she said. "That, Mr. Governor, is not natural." + +"May I ask why?" + +"You know why." + +"No." + +"You will have it?" + +"I want an explanation, Miss Helena, if that is what you mean." + +"Take your explanation, then! You are not the stranger you are +said to be to my sister and to me. Your interest in Eunice is a +personal interest of some kind. I don't pretend to guess what it +is. As for myself, it is plain that somebody else has been +setting you against me, before Miss Jillgall got possession of +your private ear." + +In alluding to Eunice, she had blundered, strangely enough, on +something like the truth. But when she spoke of herself, the +headlong malignity of her suspicions--making every allowance for +the anger that had hurried her into them--seemed to call for some +little protest against a false assertion. I told her that she was +completely mistaken. + +"I am completely right," she answered; "I saw it." + +"Saw what?" + +"Saw you pretending to be a stranger to me." + +"When did I do that?" + +"You did it when we met at the station." + +The reply was too ridiculous for the preservation of any control +over my own sense of humor. It was wrong; but it was +inevitable--I laughed. She looked at me with a fury, revealing a +concentration of evil passion in her which I had not seen yet. I +asked her pardon; I begged her to think a little before she +persisted in taking a view of my conduct unworthy of her, and +unjust to myself. + +"Unjust to You!" she burst out. "Who are you? A man who has +driven your trade has spies always at his command--yes! and knows +how to use them. You were primed with private information--you +had, for all I know, a stolen photograph of me in your +pocket--before ever you came to our town. Do you still deny it? +Oh, sir, why degrade yourself by telling a lie?" + +No such outrage as this had ever been inflicted on me, at any +time in my life. My forbearance must, I suppose, have been more +severely tried than I was aware of myself. With or without excuse +for me, I was weak enough to let a girl's spiteful tongue sting +me, and, worse still, to let her see that I felt it. + +"You shall have no second opportunity, Miss Gracedieu, of +insulting me." With that foolish reply, I opened the door +violently and went out. + +She ran after me, triumphing in having roused the temper of a man +old enough to have been her grandfather, and caught me by the +arm. "Your own conduct has exposed you." (That was literally how +she expressed herself.) "I saw it in your eyes when we met at the +station. You, the stranger--you who allowed poor ignorant me to +introduce myself--you knew me all the time, knew me by sight!" + +I shook her hand off with an inconsiderable roughness, +humiliating to remember. "It's false!" I cried. "I knew you by +your likeness to your mother." + +The moment the words had passed my lips, I came to my senses +again; I remembered what fatal words they might prove to be, if +they reached the Minister's ears. + +Heard only by his daughter, my reply seemed to cool the heat of +her anger in an instant. + +"So you knew my mother?" she said. "My father never told us that, +when he spoke of your being such a very old friend of his. +Strange, to say the least of it." + +I was wise enough--now when wisdom had come too late--not to +attempt to explain myself, and not to give her an opportunity of +saying more. "We are neither of us in a state of mind," I +answered, "to allow this interview to continue. I must try to +recover my composure; and I leave you to do the same." + +In the solitude of my room, I was able to look my position fairly +in the face. + +Mr. Gracedieu's wife had come to me, in the long-past time, +without her husband's knowledge. Tempted to a cruel resolve by +the maternal triumph of having an infant of her own, she had +resolved to rid herself of the poor little rival in her husband's +fatherly affection, by consigning the adopted child to the +keeping of a charitable asylum. She had dared to ask me to help +her. I had kept the secret of her shameful visit--I can honestly +say, for the Minister's sake. And now, long after time had doomed +those events to oblivion, they were revived--and revived by me. +Thanks to my folly, Mr. Gracedieu's daughter knew what I had +concealed from Mr. Gracedieu himself. + +What course did respect for my friend, and respect for myself, +counsel me to take? + +I could only see before me a choice of two evils. To wait for +events--with the too certain prospect of a vindictive betrayal of +my indiscretion by Helena Gracedieu. Or to take the initiative +into my own hands, and risk consequences which I might regret to +the end of my life, by making my confession to the Minister. + +Before I had decided, somebody knocked at the door. It was the +maid-servant again. Was it possible she had been sent by Helena? + +"Another message?" + +"Yes, sir. My master wishes to see you." + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +THE GIRLS' AGES. + + +HAD the Minister's desire to see me been inspired by his +daughter's betrayal of what I had unfortunately said to her? +Although he would certainly not consent to receive her +personally, she would be at liberty to adopt a written method of +communication with him, and the letter might be addressed in such +a manner as to pique his curiosity. If Helena's vindictive +purpose had been already accomplished--and if Mr. Gracedieu left +me no alternative but to present his unworthy wife in her true +character--I can honestly say that I dreaded the consequences, +not as they might affect myself, but as they might affect my +unhappy friend in his enfeebled state of body and mind. + +When I entered his room, he was still in bed. + +The bed-curtains were so drawn, on the side nearest to the +window, as to keep the light from falling too brightly on his +weak eyes. In the shadow thus thrown on him, it was not possible +to see his face plainly enough, from the open side of the bed, to +arrive at any definite conclusion as to what might be passing in +his mind. After having been awake for some hours during the +earlier part of the night, he had enjoyed a long and undisturbed +sleep. "I feel stronger this morning," he said, "and I wish to +speak to you while my mind is clear." + +If the quiet tone of his voice was not an assumed tone, he was +surely ignorant of all that had passed between his daughter and +myself. + +"Eunice will be here soon," he proceeded, "and I ought to explain +why I have sent for her to come and meet you. I have reasons, +serious reasons, mind, for wishing you to compare her personal +appearance with Helena's personal appearance, and then to tell me +which of the two, on a fair comparison, looks the eldest. Pray +bear in mind that I attach the greatest importance to the +conclusion at which you may arrive." + +He spoke more clearly and collectedly than I had heard him speak +yet. + +Here and there I detected hesitations and repetitions, which I +have purposely passed over. The substance of what he said to me +is all that I shall present in this place. Careful as I have been +to keep my record of events within strict limits, I have written +at a length which I was far indeed from contemplating when I +accepted Mr. Gracedieu's invitation. + +Having promised to comply with the strange request which he had +addressed to me, I ventured to remind him of past occasions on +which he had pointedly abstained, when the subject presented +itself, from speaking of the girls' ages. "You have left it to my +discretion," I added, "to decide a question in which you are +seriously interested, relating to your daughters. Have I no +excuse for regretting that I have not been admitted to your +confidence a little more freely?" + +"You have every excuse," he answered. "But you trouble me all the +same. There was something else that I had to say to you--and your +curiosity gets in the way." + +He said this with a sullen emphasis. In my position, the worst of +evils was suspense. I told him that my curiosity could wait; and +I begged that he would relieve his mind of what was pressing on +it at the moment. + +"Let me think a little," he said. + +I waited anxiously for the decision at which he might arrive. +Nothing came of it to justify my misgivings. "Leave what I have +in my mind to ripen in my mind," he said. "The mystery about the +girls' ages seems to irritate you. If I put my good friend's +temper to any further trial, he will be of no use to me. Never +mind if my head swims; I'm used to that. Now listen!" + +Strange as the preface was, the explanation that followed was +stranger yet. I offer a shortened and simplified version, giving +accurately the substance of what I heard. + +The Minister entered without reserve on the mysterious subject of +the ages. Eunice, he informed me, was nearly two years older than +Helena. If she outwardly showed her superiority of age, any +person acquainted with the circumstances under which the adopted +infant had been received into Mr. Gracedieu's childless +household, need only compare the so-called sisters in after-life, +and would thereupon identify the eldest-looking young lady of the +two as the offspring of the woman who had been hanged for murder. +With such a misfortune as this presenting itself as a possible +prospect, the Minister was bound to prevent the girls from +ignorantly betraying each other by allusions to their ages and +their birthdays. After much thought, he had devised a desperate +means of meeting the difficulty--already made known, as I am +told, for the information of strangers who may read the pages +that have gone before mine. My friend's plan of proceeding had, +by the nature of it, exposed him to injurious comment, to +embarrassing questions, and to doubts and misconceptions, all +patiently endured in consideration of the security that had been +attained. Proud of his explanation, Mr. Gracedieu's vanity called +upon me to acknowledge that my curiosity had been satisfied, and +my doubts completely set at rest. + +No: my obstinate common sense was not reduced to submission, even +yet. Looking back over a lapse of seventeen years, I asked what +had happened, in that long interval, to justify the anxieties +which still appeared to trouble my friend. + +This time, my harmless curiosity could be gratified by a reply +expressed in three words--nothing had happened. + +Then what, in Heaven's name, was the Minister afraid of? + +His voice dropped to a whisper. He said: "I am afraid of the +women." + +Who were the women? + +Two of them actually proved to be the servants employed in Mr. +Gracedieu's house, at the bygone time when be had brought the +child home with him from the prison! To point out the absurdity +of the reasons that he gave for fearing what female curiosity +might yet attempt, if circumstances happened to encourage it, +would have been a mere waste of words. Dismissing the subject, I +next ascertained that the Minister's doubts extended even to the +two female warders, who had been appointed to watch the murderess +in turn, during her last days in prison. I easily relieved his +mind in this case. One of the warders was dead. The other had +married a farmer in Australia. Had we exhausted the list of +suspected persons yet? No: there was one more left; and the +Minister declared that he had first met with her in my official +residence, at the time when I was Governor of the prison. + +"She presented herself to me by name," he said; "and she spoke +rudely. A Miss--" He paused to consult his memory, and this time +(thanks perhaps to his night's rest) his memory answered the +appeal. "I have got it!" he cried--"Miss Chance." + +My friend had interested me in his imaginary perils at last. It +was just possible that he might have a formidable person to deal +with now. + +During my residence at Florence, the Chaplain and I had taken +many a retrospective look (as old men will) at past events in our +lives. My former colleague spoke of the time when he had +performed clerical duty for his friend, the rector of a parish +church in London. Neither he nor I had heard again of the "Miss +Chance" of our disagreeable prison experience, whom he had +married to the dashing Dutch gentleman, Mr. Tenbruggen. We could +only wonder what had become of that mysterious married pair. + +Mr. Gracedieu being undoubtedly ignorant of the woman's marriage, +it was not easy to say what the consequence might be, in his +excitable state, if I informed him of it. He would, in all +probability, conclude that I knew more of the woman than he did. +I decided on keeping my own counsel, for the present at least. + +Passing at once, therefore, to the one consideration of any +importance, I endeavored to find out whether Mr. Gracedieu and +Mrs. Tenbruggen had met, or had communicated with each other in +any way, during the long period of separation that had taken +place between the Minister and myself. If he had been so unlucky +as to offend her, she was beyond all doubt an enemy to be +dreaded. Apart, however, from a misfortune of this kind, she +would rank, in my opinion, with the other harmless objects of Mr. +Gracedieu's distrust. + +In making my inquiries, I found that I had an obstacle to contend +with. + +While he felt the renovating influence of the repose that he +enjoyed, the Minister had been able to think and to express +himself with less difficulty than usual. But the reserves of +strength, on which the useful exercise of his memory depe nded, +began to fail him as the interview proceeded. He distinctly +recollected that "something unpleasant had passed between that +audacious woman and himself." But at what date--and whether by +word of mouth or by correspondence--was more than his memory +could now recall. He believed be was not mistaken in telling me +that he "had been in two minds about her." At one time, he was +satisfied that he had taken wise measures for his own security, +if she attempted to annoy him. But there was another and a later +time, when doubts and fears had laid hold of him again. If I +wanted to know how this had happened, he fancied it was through a +dream; and if I asked what the dream was, he could only beg and +pray that I would spare his poor head. + +Unwilling even yet to submit unconditionally to defeat, it +occurred to me to try a last experiment on my friend, without +calling for any mental effort on his own part. The "Miss Chance" +of former days might, by a bare possibility, have written to him. +I asked accordingly if he was in the habit of keeping his +letters, and if he would allow me (when he had rested a little) +to lay them open before him, so that he could look at the +signatures. "You might find the lost recollection in that way," I +suggested, "at the bottom of one of your letters." + +He was in that state of weariness, poor fellow, in which a man +will do anything for the sake of peace. Pointing to a cabinet in +his room, he gave me a key taken from a little basket on his bed. +"Look for yourself," he said. After some hesitation--for I +naturally recoiled from examining another man's correspondence--I +decided on opening the cabinet, at any rate. + +The letters--a large collection--were, to my relief, all neatly +folded, and indorsed with the names of the writers. I could run +harmlessly through bundle after bundle in search of the one name +that I wanted, and still respect the privacy of the letters. My +perseverance deserved a reward--and failed to get it. The name I +wanted steadily eluded my search. Arriving at the upper shelf of +the cabinet, I found it so high that I could barely reach it with +my hand. Instead of getting more letters to look over, I pulled +down two newspapers. + +One of them was an old copy of the _Times,_ dating back as far as +the 13th December, 1858. It was carefully folded, longwise, with +the title-page uppermost. On the first column, at the left-hand +side of the sheet, appeared the customary announcements of +Births. A mark with a blue pencil, against one of the +advertisements, attracted my attention. I read these lines: + +"On the 10th inst., the wife of the Rev. Abel Gracedieu, of a +daughter." + +The second newspaper bore a later date, and contained nothing +that interested me. I naturally assumed that the advertisement in +the _Times_ had been inserted at the desire of Mrs. Gracedieu; +and, after all that I had heard, there was little difficulty in +attributing the curious omission of the place in which the child +had been born to the caution of her husband. If Mrs. Tenbruggen +(then Miss Chance) had happened to see the advertisement in the +great London newspaper, Mr. Gracedieu might yet have good reason +to congratulate himself on his prudent method of providing +against mischievous curiosity. + +I turned toward the bed and looked at him. His eyes were closed. +Was he sleeping? Or was he trying to remember what he had desired +to say to me, when the demands which I made on his memory had +obliged him to wait for a later opportunity? + +Either way, there was something that quickened my sympathies, in +the spectacle of his helpless repose. It suggested to me personal +reasons for his anxieties, which he had not mentioned, and which +I had not thought of, up to this time. If the discovery that he +dreaded took place, his household would be broken up, and his +position as pastor would suffer in the estimation of the flock. +His own daughter would refuse to live under the same roof with +the daughter of an infamous woman. Popular opinion, among his +congregation, judging a man who had passed off the child of other +parents as his own, would find that man guilty of an act of +deliberate deceit. + +Still oppressed by reflections which pointed to the future in +this discouraging way, I was startled by a voice outside the +door--a sweet, sad voice--saying, "May I come in?" + +The Minister's eyes opened instantly: he raised himself in his +bed. + +"Eunice, at last!" he cried. "Let her in." + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +THE ADOPTED CHILD + + +I OPENED the door. + +Eunice passed me with the suddenness almost of a flash of light. +When I turned toward the bed, her arms were round her father's +neck. "Oh, poor papa, how ill you look!" Commonplace expressions +of fondness, and no more; but the tone gave them a charm that +subdued me. Never had I felt so indulgent toward Mr. Gracedieu's +unreasonable fears as when I saw him in the embrace of his +adopted daughter. She had already reminded me of the bygone day +when a bright little child had sat on my knee and listened to the +ticking of my watch. + +The Minister gently lifted her head from his breast. "My +darling," he said, "you don't see my old friend. Love him, and +look up to him, Eunice. He will be your friend, too, when I am +gone." + +She came to me and offered her cheek to be kissed. It was sadly +pale, poor soul--and I could guess why. But her heart was now +full of her father. "Do you think he is seriously ill?" she +whispered. What I ought to have said I don't know. Her eyes, the +sweetest, truest, loveliest eyes I ever saw in a human face, were +pleading with me. Let my enemies make the worst of it, if they +like--I did certainly lie. And if I deserved my punishment, I got +it; the poor child believed me! "Now I am happier," she said, +gratefully. "Only to hear your voice seems to encourage me. On +our way here, Selina did nothing but talk of you. She told me I +shouldn't have time to feel afraid of the great man; he would +make me fond of him directly. I said, 'Are you fond of him?' She +said, 'Madly in love with him, my dear.' My little friend really +thinks you like her, and is very proud of it There are some +people who call her ugly. I hope you don't agree with them?" + +I believe I should have lied again, if Mr. Gracedieu had not +called me to the bedside + +"How does she strike you?" he whispered, eagerly. "Is it too soon +to ask if she shows her age in her face?" + +"Neither in her face nor her figure," I answered: "it astonishes +me that you can ever have doubted it. No stranger, judging by +personal appearance, could fail to make the mistake of thinking +Helena the oldest of the two." + +He looked fondly at Eunice. "Her figure seems to bear out what +you say," he went on. "Almost childish, isn't it?" + +I could not agree to that. Slim, supple, simply graceful in every +movement, Eunice's figure, in the charm of first youth, only +waited its perfect development. Most men, looking at her as she +stood at the other end of the room with her back toward us, would +have guessed her age to be sixteen. + +Finding that I failed to agree with him, Mr. Gracedieu's +misgivings returned. "You speak very confidently," he said, +"considering that you have not seen the girls together. Think +what a dreadful blow it would be to me if you made a mistake." + +I declared, with perfect sincerity, that there was no fear of a +mistake. The bare idea of making the proposed comparison was +hateful to me. If Helena and I had happened to meet at that +moment, I should have turned away from her by instinct--she would +have disturbed my impressions of Eunice. + +The Minister signed to me to move a little nearer to him. "I must +say it," he whispered, "and I am afraid of her hearing me. Is +there anything in her face that reminds you of her miserable +mother?" + +I had hardly patience to answer the question: it was simply +preposterous. Her hair was by many shades darker than her +mother's hair; her eyes were of a different color. There was an +exquisite tenderness and sincerity in their expression--made +additionally beautiful, to my mind, by a gentle, uncomplaining +sadness. It was impossible even to think of the eyes of the +murderess when I looked at her child. Eunice's lower features, +again, had none of her mother's regularity of p roportion. Her +smile, simple and sweet, and soon passing away, was certainly not +an inherited smile on the maternal side. Whether she resembled +her father, I was unable to conjecture--having never seen him. +The one thing certain was, that not the faintest trace, in +feature or expression, of Eunice's mother was to be seen in +Eunice herself. Of the two girls, Helena--judging by something in +the color of her hair, and by something in the shade of her +complexion--might possibly have suggested, in those particulars +only, a purely accidental resemblance to my terrible prisoner of +past times. + +The revival of Mr. Gracedieu's spirits indicated a temporary +change only, and was already beginning to pass away. The eyes +which had looked lovingly at Eunice began to look languidly now: +his head sank on the pillow with a sigh of weak content. "My +pleasure has been almost too much for me," he said. "Leave me for +a while to rest, and get used to it." + +Eunice kissed his forehead--and we left the room. + + +CHAPTER XL. + +THE BRUISED HEART. + + +WHEN we stepped out on the landing, I observed that my companion +paused. She looked at the two flights of stairs below us before +she descended them. It occurred to me that there must be somebody +in the house whom she was anxious to avoid. + +Arrived at the lower hall, she paused again, and proposed in a +whisper that we should go into the garden. As we advanced along +the backward division of the hall, I saw her eyes turn +distrustfully toward the door of the room in which Helena had +received me. At last, my slow perceptions felt with her and +understood her. Eunice's sensitive nature recoiled from a chance +meeting with the wretch who had laid waste all that had once been +happy and hopeful in that harmless young life. + +"Will you come with me to the part of the garden that I am +fondest of?" she asked. + +I offered her my arm. She led me in silence to a rustic seat, +placed under the shade of a mulberry tree. I saw a change in her +face as we sat down--a tender and beautiful change. At that +moment the girl's heart was far away from me. There was some +association with this corner of the garden, on which I felt that +I must not intrude. + +"I was once very happy here," she said. "When the time of the +heartache came soon after, I was afraid to look at the old tree +and the bench under it. But that is all over now. I like to +remember the hours that were once dear to me, and to see the +place that recalls them. Do you know who I am thinking of? Don't +be afraid of distressing me. I never cry now." + +"My dear child, I have heard your sad story--but I can't trust +myself to speak of it." + +"Because you are so sorry for me?" + +"No words can say how sorry I am!" + +"But you are not angry with Philip?" + +"Not angry! My poor dear, I am afraid to tell you how angry I am +with him." + +"Oh, no! You mustn't say that. If you wish to be kind to me--and +I am sure you do wish it--don't think bitterly of Philip." + +When I remember that the first feeling she roused in me was +nothing worthier of a professing Christian than astonishment, I +drop in my own estimation to the level of a savage. "Do you +really mean," I was base enough to ask, "that you have forgiven +him?" + +She said, gently: "How could I help forgiving him?" + +The man who could have been blessed with such love as this, and +who could have cast it away from him, can have been nothing but +an idiot. On that ground--though I dared not confess it to +Eunice--I forgave him, too. + +"Do I surprise you?" she asked simply. "Perhaps love will bear +any humiliation. Or perhaps I am only a poor weak creature. You +don't know what a comfort it was to me to keep the few letters +that I received from Philip. When I heard that he had gone away, +I gave his letters the kiss that bade him good-by. That was the +time, I think, when my poor bruised heart got used to the pain; I +began to feel that there was one consolation still left for me--I +might end in forgiving him. Why do I tell you all this? I think +you must have bewitched me. Is this really the first time I have +seen you?" + +She put her little trembling hand into mine; I lifted it to my +lips, and kissed it. Sorely was I tempted to own that I had +pitied and loved her in her infancy. It was almost on my lips to +say: "I remember you an easily-pleased little creature, amusing +yourself with the broken toys which were once the playthings of +my own children." I believe I should have said it, if I could +have trusted myself to speak composedly to her. This was not to +be done. Old as I was, versed as I was in the hard knowledge of +how to keep the mask on in the hour of need, this was not to be +done. + +Still trying to understand that I was little better than a +stranger to her, and still bent on finding the secret of the +sympathy that united us, Eunice put a strange question to me. + +"When you were young yourself," she said, "did you know what it +was to love, and to be loved--and then to lose it all?" + +It is not given to many men to marry the woman who has been the +object of their first love. My early life had been darkened by a +sad story; never confided to any living creature; banished +resolutely from my own thoughts. For forty years past, that part +of my buried self had lain quiet in its grave--and the chance +touch of an innocent hand had raised the dead, and set us face to +face again! Did I know what it was to love, and to be loved, and +then to lose it all? "Too well, my child; too well!" + +That was all I could say to her. In the last days of my life, I +shrank from speaking of it. When I had first felt that calamity, +and had felt it most keenly, I might have given an answer +worthier of me, and worthier of her. + +She dropped my hand, and sat by me in silence, thinking. Had +I--without meaning it, God knows!--had I disappointed her? + +"Did you expect me to tell my own sad story," I said, "as frankly +and as trustfully as you have told yours?" + +"Oh, don't think that! I know what an effort it was to you to +answer me at all. Yes, indeed! I wonder whether I may ask +something. The sorrow you have just told me of is not the only +one--is it? You have had other troubles?" + +"Many of them." + +"There are times," she went on, "when one can't help thinking of +one's own miserable self. I try to be cheerful, but those times +come now and then." + +She stopped, and looked at me with a pale fear confessing itself +in her face. + +"You know who Selina is?" she resumed. "My friend! The only +friend I had, till you came here." + +I guessed that she was speaking of the quaint, kindly little +woman, whose ugly surname had been hitherto the only name known +to me. + +"Selina has, I daresay, told you that I have been ill," she +continued, "and that I am staying in the country for the benefit +of my health." + +It was plain that she had something to say to me, far more +important than this, and that she was dwelling on trifles to gain +time and courage. Hoping to help her, I dwelt on trifles, too; +asking commonplace questions about the part of the country in +which she was staying. She answered absently--then, little by +little, impatiently. The one poor proof of kindness that I could +offer, now, was to say no more. + +"Do you know what a strange creature I am?" she broke out. "Shall +I make you angry with me? or shall I make you laugh at me? What I +have shrunk from confessing to Selina--what I dare not confess to +my father--I must, and will, confess to You." + +There was a look of horror in her face that alarmed me. I drew +her to me so that she could rest her head on my shoulder. My own +agitation threatened to get the better of me. For the first time +since I had seen this sweet girl, I found myself thinking of the +blood that ran in her veins, and of the nature of the mother who +had borne her. + +"Did you notice how I behaved upstairs?" she said. "I mean when +we left my father, and came out on the lauding." + +It was easily recollected; I begged her to go on. + +"Before I went downstairs," she proceeded, "you saw me look and +listen. Did you think I was afraid of meeting some person? and +did you guess who it was I wanted to avoid?" + +"I guessed that--and I understood you." + +"No! You are not wicked enough to understand me. Will you do me a +favor? I want you to lo ok at me." + +It was said seriously. She lifted her head for a moment, so that +I could examine her face. + +"Do you see anything," she asked, "which makes you fear that I am +not in my right mind?" + +"Good God! how can you ask such a horrible question? + +She laid her head back on my shoulder with a sad little sigh of +resignation. "I ought to have known better," she said; "there is +no such easy way out of it as that. Tell me--is there one kind of +wickedness more deceitful than another? Can it be hid in a person +for years together, and show itself when a time of suffering--no; +I mean when a sense of injury comes? Did you ever see that, when +you were master in the prison?" + +I had seen it--and, after a moment's doubt, I said I had seen it. + +"Did you pity those poor wretches?" + +"Certainly! They deserved pity." + +"I am one of them!" she said. "Pity _me._ If Helena looks at +me--if Helena speaks to me--if I only see Helena by accident--do +you know what she does? She tempts me! Tempts me to do dreadful +things! Tempts me--" The poor child threw her arms round my neck, +and whispered the next fatal words in my ear. + +The mother! Prepared as I was for the accursed discovery, the +horror of it shook me. + +She left me, and started to her feet. The inherited energy showed +itself in furious protest against the inherited evil. "What does +it mean?" she cried. "I'll submit to anything. I'll bear my hard +lot patiently, if you will only tell me what it means. Where does +this horrid transformation of me out of myself come from? Look at +my good father. In all this world there is no man so perfect as +he is. And oh, how he has taught me! there isn't a single good +thing that I have not learned from him since I was a little +child. Did you ever hear him speak of my mother? You must have +heard him. My mother was an angel. I could never be worthy of her +at my best--but I have tried! I have tried! The wickedest girl in +the world doesn't have worse thoughts than the thoughts that have +come to me. Since when? Since Helena--oh, how can I call her by +her name as if I still loved her? Since my sister--can she be my +sister, I ask myself sometimes! Since my enemy--there's the word +for her--since my enemy took Philip away from me. What does it +mean? I have asked in my prayers--and have got no answer. I ask +you. What does it mean? You must tell me! You shall tell me! What +does it mean?" + +Why did I not try to calm her? I had vainly tried to calm her--I +who knew who her mother was, and what her mother had been. + +At last, she had forced the sense of my duty on me. The simplest +way of calming her was to put her back in the place by my side +that she had left. It was useless to reason with her, it was +impossible to answer her. I had my own idea of the one way in +which I might charm Eunice back to her sweeter self. + +"Let us talk of Philip," I said. + +The fierce flush on her face softened, the swelling trouble of +her bosom began to subside, as that dearly-loved name passed my +lips! But there was some influence left in her which resisted me. + +"No," she said; "we had better not talk of him." + +"Why not?" + +"I have lost all my courage. If you speak of Philip, you will +make me cry." + +I drew her nearer to me. If she had been my own child, I don't +think I could have felt for her more truly than I felt at that +moment. I only looked at her; I only said: + +"Cry!" + +The love that was in her heart rose, and poured its tenderness +into her eyes. I had longed to see the tears that would comfort +her. The tears came. + +There was silence between us for a while. It was possible for me +to think. + +In the absence of physical resemblance between parent and child, +is an unfavorable influence exercised on the tendency to moral +resemblance? Assuming the possibility of such a result as this, +Eunice (entirely unlike her mother) must, as I concluded, have +been possessed of qualities formed to resist, as well as of +qualities doomed to undergo, the infection of evil. While, +therefore, I resigned myself to recognize the existence of the +hereditary maternal taint, I firmly believed in the +counterbalancing influences for good which had been part of the +girl's birthright. They had been derived, perhaps, from the +better qualities in her father's nature; they had been certainly +developed by the tender care, the religious vigilance, which had +guarded the adopted child so lovingly in the Minister's +household; and they had served their purpose until time brought +with it the change, for which the tranquil domestic influences +were not prepared. With the great, the vital transformation, +which marks the ripening of the girl into the woman's maturity of +thought and passion, a new power for Good, strong enough to +resist the latent power for Evil, sprang into being, and +sheltered Eunice under the supremacy of Love. Love ill-fated and +ill-bestowed--but love that no profanation could stain, that no +hereditary evil could conquer--the True Love that had been, and +was, and would be, the guardian angel of Eunice's life. + +If I am asked whether I have ventured to found this opinion on +what I have observed in one instance only, I reply that I have +had other opportunities of investigation, and that my conclusions +are derived from experience which refers to more instances than +one. + +No man in his senses can doubt that physical qualities are +transmitted from parents to children. But inheritance of moral +qualities is less easy to trace. Here, the exploring mind finds +its progress beset by obstacles. That those obstacles have been +sometimes overcome I do not deny. Moral resemblances have been +traced between parents and children. While, however, I admit +this, I doubt the conclusion which sees, in inheritance of moral +qualities, a positive influence exercised on moral destiny. There +are inherent emotional forces in humanity to which the inherited +influences must submit; they are essentially influences under +control--influences which can be encountered and forced back. +That we, who inhabit this little planet, may be the doomed +creatures of fatality, from the cradle to the grave, I am not +prepared to dispute. But I absolutely refuse to believe that it +is a fatality with no higher origin than can be found in our +accidental obligation to our fathers and mothers. + + + +Still absorbed in these speculations, I was disturbed by a touch +on my arm. + +I looked up. Eunice's eyes were fixed on a shrubbery, at some +little distance from us, which closed the view of the garden on +that side. I noticed that she was trembling. Nothing to alarm her +was visible that I could discover. I asked what she had seen to +startle her. She pointed to the shrubbery. + +"Look again," she said. + +This time I saw a woman's dress among the shruhs. The woman +herself appeared in a moment more. It was Helena. She carried a +small portfolio, and she approached us with a smile. + + +CHAPTER XLI. + +THE WHISPERING VOICE. + + +I LOOKED at Eunice. She had risen, startled by her first +suspicion of the person who was approaching us through the +shrubbery; but she kept her place near me, only changing her +position so as to avoid confronting Helena. Her quickened +breathing was all that told me of the effort she was making to +preserve her self-control. + +Entirely free from unbecoming signs of hurry and agitation, +Helena opened her business with me by means of an apology. + +"Pray excuse me for disturbing you. I am obliged to leave the +house on one of my tiresome domestic errands. If you will kindly +permit it, I wish to express, before I go, my very sincere regret +for what I was rude enough to say, when I last had the honor of +seeing you. May I hope to be forgiven? How-do-you-do, Eunice? +Have you enjoyed your holiday in the country?" + +Eunice neither moved nor answered. Having some doubt of what +might happen if the two girls remained together, I proposed to +Helena to leave the garden and to let me hear what she had to +say, in the house. + +"Quite needless," she replied; "I shall not detain you for more +than a minute. Please look at this." + +She offered to me the portfolio that she had been carrying, and +pointed to a morsel of paper attached to it, which contained this +inscription: + + +"Philip's Letters To Me. Private. Helena Gracedieu." + + +"I have a favor to ask," she said, "and a proof of confidence in +you to offer. Will you be so good as to look over what you find +in my portfolio? I am unwilling to give up the hopes that I had +founded on our interview, when I asked for it. The letters will, +I venture to think, plead my cause more convincingly than I was +able to plead it for myself. I wish to forget what passed between +us, to the last word. To the last word," she repeated +emphatically--with a look which sufficiently informed me that I +had not been betrayed to her father yet. "Will you indulge me?" +she asked, and offered her portfolio for the second time. + +A more impudent bargain could not well have been proposed to me. + +I was to read, and to be favorably impressed by, Mr. Philip +Dunboyne's letters; and Miss Helena was to say nothing of that +unlucky slip of the tongue, relating to her mother, which she had +discovered to be a serious act of self-betrayal--thanks to my +confusion at the time. If I had not thought of Eunice, and of the +desolate and loveless life to which the poor girl was so +patiently resigned, I should have refused to read Miss +Gracedieu's love-letters. + +But, as things were, I was influenced by the hope (innocently +encouraged by Eunice herself) that Philip Dunboyne might not be +so wholly unworthy of the sweet girl whom he had injured as I had +hitherto been too hastily disposed to believe. To act on this +view with the purpose of promoting a reconciliation was +impossible, unless I had the means of forming a correct estimate +of the man's character. It seemed to me that I had found the +means. A fair chance of putting his sincerity to a trustworthy +test, was surely offered by the letters (the confidential +letters) which I had been requested to read. To feel this as +strongly as I felt it, brought me at once to a decision. I +consented to take the portfolio--on my own conditions. + +"Understand, Miss Helena," I said, "that I make no promises. I +reserve my own opinion, and my own right of action." + +"I am not afraid of your opinions or your actions," she answered +confidently, "if you will only read the letters. In the meantime, +let me relieve my sister, there, of my presence. I hope you will +soon recover, Eunice, in the country air." + +If the object of the wretch was to exasperate her victim, she had +completely failed. Eunice remained as still as a statue. To all +appearance, she had not even heard what had been said to her. +Helena looked at me, and touched her forehead with a significant +smile. "Sad, isn't it?" she said--and bowed, and went briskly +away on her household errand. + +We were alone again. + +Still, Eunice never moved. I spoke to her, and produced no +impression. Beginning to feel alarmed, I tried the effect of +touching her. With a wild cry, she started into a state of +animation. Almost at the same moment, she weakly swayed to and +fro as if the pleasant breeze in the garden moved her at its +will, like the flowers. I held her up, and led her to the seat. + +"There is nothing to be afraid of," I said. "She has gone." + +Eunice's eyes rested on me in vacant surprise. "How do you know?" +she asked. "I hear her; but I never see her. Do you see her?" + +"My dear child! of what person are you speaking?" + +She answered: "Of no person. I am speaking of a Voice that +whispers and tempts me, when Helena is near." + +"What voice, Eunice?" + +"The whispering Voice. It said to me, 'I am your mother;' it +called me Daughter when I first heard it. My father speaks of my +mother, the angel. That good spirit has never come to me from the +better world. It is a mock-mother who comes to me--some spirit of +evil. Listen to this. I was awake in my bed. In the dark I heard +the mock-mother whispering, close at my ear. Shall I tell you how +she answered me, when I longed for light to see her by, when I +prayed to her to show herself to me? She said: 'My face was +hidden when I passed from life to death; my face no mortal +creature may see.' I have never seen her--how can _you_ have seen +her? But I heard her again, just now. She whispered to me when +Helena was standing there--where you are standing. She freezes +the life in me. Did she freeze the life in _you?_ Did you hear +her tempting me? Don't speak of it, if you did. Oh, not a word! +not a word!" + +A man who has governed a prison may say with Macbeth, "I have +supped full with horrors." Hardened as I was--or ought to have +been--the effect of what I had just heard turned me cold. If I +had not known it to be absolutely impossible, I might have +believed that the crime and the death of the murderess were known +to Eunice, as being the crime and the death of her mother, and +that the horrid discovery had turned her brain. This was simply +impossible. What did it mean? Good God! what did it mean? + +My sense of my own helplessness was the first sense in me that +recovered. I thought of Eunice's devoted little friend. A woman's +sympathy seemed to be needed now. I rose to lead the way out of +the garden. + +"Selina will think we are lost," I said. "Let us go and find +Selina." + +"Not for the world," she cried. + +"Why not?" + +"Because I don't feel sure of myself. I might tell Selina +something which she must never know; I should be so sorry to +frighten her. Let me stop here with you." + +I resumed my place at her side. + +"Let me take your hand." + +I gave her my hand. What composing influence this simple act may, +or may not, have exercised, it is impossible to say. She was +quiet, she was silent. After an interval, I heard her breathe a +long-drawn sigh of relief. + +"I am afraid I have surprised you," she said. "Helena brings the +dreadful time back to me--" She stopped and shuddered. + +"Don't speak of Helena, my dear." + +"But I am afraid you will think--because I have said strange +things--that I have been talking at random," she insisted. "The +doctor will say that, if you meet with him. He believes I am +deluded by a dream. I tried to think so myself. It was of no use; +I am quite sure he is wrong." + +I privately determined to watch for the doctor's arrival, and to +consult with him. Eunice went on: + +"I have the story of a terrible night to tell you; but I haven't +the courage to tell it now. Why shouldn't you come back with me +to the place that I am staying at? A pleasant farm-house, and +such kind people. You might read the account of that night in my +journal. I shall not regret the misery of having written it, if +it helps you to find out how this hateful second self of mine has +come to me. Hush! I want to ask you something. Do you think +Helena is in the house?" + +"No--she has gone out." + +"Did she say that herself? Are you sure?" + +"Quite sure." + +She decided on going back to the farm, while Helena was out of +the way. We left the garden together. For the first time, my +companion noticed the portfolio. I happened to be carrying it in +the hand that was nearest to her, as she walked by my side. + +"Where did you get that?" she asked. + +It was needless to reply in words. My hesitation spoke for me. + +"Carry it in your other hand," she said--"the hand that's +furthest away from me. I don't want to see it! Do you mind +waiting a moment while I find Selina? You will go to the farm +with us, won't you?" + +I had to look over the letters, in Eunice's own interests; and I +begged her to let me defer my visit to the farm until the next +day. She consented, after making me promise to keep my +appointment. It was of some importance to her, she told me, that +I should make acquaintance with the farmer and his wife and +children, and tell her how I liked them. Her plans for the future +depended on what those good people might be willing to do. When +she had recovered her health, it was impossible for her to go +home again while Helena remained in the house. She had resolved +to earn her own living, if she could get employment as a +governess. The farmer's children liked her; she had already +helped their mother in teaching them; and there was reason to +hope that their father would see his way to employing her +permanently. His house offered the great advantage of being near +enough to the town to enable her to hear news of the Minister's +progress toward recovery, and to see him herself when safe +opportunities offered, from time to ti me. As for her salary, +what did she care about money? Anything would be acceptable, if +the good man would only realize her hopes for the future. + +It was disheartening to hear that hope, at her age, began and +ended within such narrow limits as these. No prudent man would +have tried to persuade her, as I now did, that the idea of +reconciliation offered the better hope of the two. + +"Suppose I see Mr. Philip Dunboyne when I go back to London," I +began, "what shall I say to him?" + +"Say I have forgiven him." + +"And suppose," I went on, "that the blame really rests, where you +all believe it to rest, with Helena. If that young man returns to +you, truly ashamed of himself, truly penitent, will you--?" + +She resolutely interrupted me: "No!" + +"Oh, Eunice, you surely mean Yes?" + +"I mean No!" + +"Why?" + +"Don't ask me! Good-by till to-morrow." + + +CHAPTER XLII. + +THE QUAINT PHILOSOPHER. + + +No person came to my room, and nothing happened to interrupt me +while I was reading Mr. Philip Dunboyne's letters. + +One of them, let me say at once, produced a very disagreeable +impression on me. I have unexpectedly discovered Mrs. +Tenbruggen--in a postscript. She is making a living as a Medical +Rubber (or Masseuse), and is in professional attendance on Mr. +Dunboyne the elder. More of this, a little further on. + +Having gone through the whole collection of young Dunboyne's +letters, I set myself to review the differing conclusions which +the correspondence had produced on my mind. + +I call the papers submitted to me a correspondence, because the +greater part of Philip's letters exhibit notes in pencil, +evidently added by Helena. These express, for the most part, the +interpretation which she had placed on passages that perplexed or +displeased her; and they have, as Philip's rejoinders show, been +employed as materials when she wrote her replies. + +On reflection, I find myself troubled by complexities and +contradictions in the view presented of this young man's +character. To decide positively whether I can justify to myself +and to my regard for Eunice, an attempt to reunite the lovers, +requires more time for consideration than I can reasonably expect +that Helena's patience will allow. Having a quiet hour or two +still before me, I have determined to make extracts from the +letters for my own use; with the intention of referring to them +while I am still in doubt which way my decision ought to incline. +I shall present them here, to speak for themselves. Is there any +objection to this? None that I can see. + +In the first place, those extracts have a value of their own. +They add necessary information to the present history of events. + +In the second place, I am under no obligation to Mr. Gracedieu's +daughter which forbids me to make use of her portfolio. I told +her that I only consented to receive it, under reserve of my own +right of action--and her assent to that stipulation was expressed +in the clearest terms. + + +EXTRACTS FROM MR. PHILIP DUNBOYNE'S LETTERS. + +First Extract. + +You blame me, dear Helena, for not having paid proper attention +to the questions put to me in your last letter. I have only been +waiting to make up my mind, before I replied. + +First question: Do I think it advisable that you should write to +my father? No, my dear; I beg you will defer writing, until you +hear from me again. + +Second question: Considering that he is still a stranger to you, +is there any harm in your asking me what sort of man my father +is? No harm, my sweet one; but, as you will presently see, I am +afraid you have addressed yourself to the wrong person. + +My father is kind, in his own odd way--and learned, and rich--a +more high-minded and honorable man (as I have every reason to +believe) doesn't live. But if you ask me which he prefers, his +books or his son, I hope I do him no injustice when I answer, his +books. His reading and his writing are obstacles between us which +I have never been able to overcome. This is the more to be +regretted because he is charming, on the few occasions when I +find him disengaged. If you wish I knew more about my father, we +are in complete agreement as usual--I wish, too. + +But there is a dear friend of yours and mine, who is just the +person we want to help us. Need I say that I allude to Mrs. +Staveley? + +I called on her yesterday, not long after she had paid a visit to +my father. Luck had favored her. She arrived just at the time +when hunger had obliged him to shut up his books, and ring for +something to eat. Mrs. Staveley secured a favorable reception +with her customary tact and delicacy. He had a fowl for his +dinner. She knows his weakness of old; she volunteered to carve +it for him. + +If I can only repeat what this clever woman told me of their +talk, you will have a portrait of Mr. Dunboyne the elder--not +perhaps a highly-finished picture, but, as I hope and believe, a +good likeness. + +Mrs. Staveley began by complaining to him of the conduct of his +son. I had promised to write to her, and I had never kept my +word. She had reasons for being especially interested in my plans +and prospects, just then; knowing me to be attached (please take +notice that I am quoting her own language) to a charming friend +of hers, whom I had first met at her house. To aggravate the +disappointment that I had inflicted, the young lady had neglected +her, too. No letters, no information. Perhaps my father would +kindly enlighten her? Was the affair going on? or was it broken +off? + +My father held out his plate and asked for the other wing of the +fowl. "It isn't a bad one for London," he said; "won't you have +some yourself?" + +"I don't seem to have interested you," Mrs. Staveley remarked. + +"What did you expect me to be interested in?" my father inquired. +"I was absorbed in the fowl. Favor me by returning to the +subject." + +Mrs. Staveley admits that she answered this rather sharply: "The +subject, sir, was your son's admiration for a charming girl: one +of the daughters of Mr. Gracedieu, the famous preacher." + +My father is too well-bred to speak to a lady while his attention +is absorbed by a fowl. He finished the second wing, and then he +asked if "Philip was engaged to be married." + +"I am not quite sure," Mrs. Staveley confessed. + +"Then, my dear friend, we will wait till we _are_ sure." + +"But, Mr. Dunboyne, there is really no need to wait. I suppose +your son comes here, now and then, to see you?" + +"My son is most attentive. In course of time he will contrive to +hit on the right hour for his visit. At present, poor fellow, he +interrupts me every day." + +"Suppose he hits upon the right time to-morrow?" + +"Yes?" + +"You might ask him if he is engaged?" + +"Pardon me. I think I might wait till Philip mentions it without +asking." + +"What an extraordinary man you are!" + +"Oh, no, no--only a philosopher." + +This tried Mrs. Staveley's temper. You know what a perfectly +candid person our friend is. She owned to me that she felt +inclined to make herself disagreeable. "That's thrown away upon +me," she said: "I don't know what a philosopher is." + +Let me pause for a moment, dear Helena. I have inexcusably +forgotten to speak of my father's personal appearance. It won't +take long. I need only notice one interesting feature which, so +to speak, lifts his face out of the common. He has an eloquent +nose. Persons possessing this rare advantage are blest with +powers of expression not granted to their ordinary +fellow-creatures. My father's nose is a mine of information to +friends familiarly acquainted with it. It changes color like a +modest young lady's cheek. It works flexibly from side to side +like the rudder of a ship. On the present occasion, Mrs. Staveley +saw it shift toward the left-hand side of his face. A sigh +escaped the poor lady. Experience told her that my father was +going to hold forth. + +"You don't know what a philosopher is!" he repeated. "Be so kind +as to look at Me. I am a philosopher." + +Mrs. Staveley bowed. + +"And a philosopher, my charming friend, is a man who has +discovered a system of life. Some systems assert themselves in +volumes--my system asserts itself in two words: Never think of +anything until you have first asked yourself if there is an +absolute necessity for doing it, at that particular moment. +Thinking of things, when things needn't be thought of, is +offering an opportunity to Worry; and Worry is the favorite agent +of Death when the destroyer handles his work in a lingering way, +and achieves premature results. Never look back, and never look +forward, as long as you can possibly help it. Looking back leads +the way to sorrow. And looking forward ends in the cruelest of +all delusions: it encourages hope. The present time is the +precious time. Live for the passing day: the passing day is all +that we can be sure of. You suggested, just now, that I should +ask my son if he was engaged to be married. How do we know what +wear and tear of your nervous texture I succeeded in saving when +I said. 'Wait till Philip mentions it without asking?' There is +the personal application of my system. I have explained it in my +time to every woman on the list of my acquaintance, including the +female servants. Not one of them has rewarded me by adopting my +system. How do you feel about it?" + +Mrs. Staveley declined to tell me whether she had offered a +bright example of gratitude to the rest of the sex. When I asked +why, she declared that it was my turn now to tell her what I had +been doing. + +You will anticipate what followed. She objected to the mystery in +which my prospects seemed to be involved. In plain English, was +I, or was I not, engaged to marry her dear Eunice? I said, No. +What else could I say? If I had told Mrs. Staveley the truth, +when she insisted on my explaining myself, she would have gone +back to my father, and would have appealed to his sense of +justice to forbid our marriage. Finding me obstinately silent, +she has decided on writing to Eunice. So we parted. But don't be +disheartened. On my way out of the house, I met Mr. Staveley +coming in, and had a little talk with him. He and his wife and +his family are going to the seaside, next week. Mrs. Staveley +once out of our way, I can tell my father of our engagement +without any fear of consequences. If she writes to him, the +moment he sees my name mentioned, and finds violent language +associated with it, he will hand the letter to me. "Your +business, Philip: don't interrupt me." He will say that, and go +back to his books. There is my father, painted to the life! +Farewell, for the present. + +. . . . . . . + +Remarks by H. G.--Philip's grace and gayety of style might be +envied by any professional Author. He amuses me, but he rouses my +suspicion at the same time. This slippery lover of mine tells me +to defer writing to his father, and gives no reason for offering +that strange advice to the young lady who is soon to be a member +of the family. Is this merely one more instance of the weakness +of his character? Or, now that he is away from my influence, is +he beginning to regret Eunice already? + +Added by the Governor.--I too have my doubts. Is the flippant +nonsense which Philip has written inspired by the effervescent +good spirits of a happy young man? Or is it assumed for a +purpose? In this latter case, I should gladly conclude that he +was regarding his conduct to Eunice with becoming emotions of +sorrow and shame. + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + +THE MASTERFUL MASSEUSE. + + +My next quotations will suffer a process of abridgment. I intend +them to present the substance of three letters, reduced as +follows: + + +Second Extract. + +Weak as he may be, Mr. Philip Dunboyne shows (in his second +letter) that he can feel resentment, and that he can express his +feelings, in replying to Miss Helena. He protests against +suspicions which he has not deserved. That he does sometimes +think of Eunice he sees no reason to deny. He is conscious of +errors and misdeeds, which--traceable as they are to Helena's +irresistible fascinations--may perhaps be considered rather his +misfortune than his fault. Be that as it may, he does indeed feel +anxious to hear good accounts of Eunice's health. If this honest +avowal excites her sister's jealousy, he will be disappointed in +Helena for the first time. + +His third letter shows that this exhibition of spirit has had its +effect. + +The imperious young lady regrets that she has hurt his feelings, +and is rewarded for the apology by receiving news of the most +gratifying kind. Faithful Philip has told his father that he is +engaged to be married to Miss Helena Gracedieu, daughter of the +celebrated Congregational preacher--and so on, and so on. Has Mr. +Dunboyne the elder expressed any objection to the young lady? +Certainly not! He knows nothing of the other engagement to +Eunice; and he merely objects, on principle, to looking forward. +"How do we know," says the philosopher, "what accidents may +happen, or what doubts and hesitations may yet turn up? I am not +to burden my mind in this matter, till I know that I must do it. +Let me hear when she is ready to go to church, and I will be +ready with the settlements. My compliments to Miss and her papa, +and let us wait a little." Dearest Helena--isn't he funny? + +The next letter has been already mentioned. + +In this there occurs the first startling reference to Mrs. +Tenbruggen, by name. She is in London, finding her way to +lucrative celebrity by twisting, turning, and pinching the flesh +of credulous persons, afflicted with nervous disorders; and she +has already paid a few medical visits to old Mr. Dunboyne. He +persists in poring over his books while Mrs. Tenbruggen operates, +sometimes on his cramped right hand, sometimes (in the fear that +his brain may have something to do with it) on the back of his +neck. One of them frowns over her rubbing, and the other frowns +over his reading. It would be delightfully ridiculous, but for a +drawback; Mr. Philip Dunboyne's first impressions of Mrs. +Tenbruggen do not incline him to look at that lady from a +humorous point of view. + +Helena's remarks follow, as usual. She has seen Mrs. Tenbruggen's +name on the address of a letter written by Miss Jillgall--which +is quite enough to condemn Mrs. Tenbruggen. As for Philip +himself, she feels not quite sure of him, even yet. No more do I. + +Third Extract. + +The letter that follows must be permitted to speak for itself: + +I have flown into a passion, dearest Helena; and I am afraid I +shall make you fly into a passion, too. Blame Mrs. Tenbruggen; +don't blame me. + +On the first occasion when I found my father under the hands of +the Medical Rubber, she took no notice of me. On the second +occasion--when she had been in daily attendance on him for a +week, at an exorbitant fee--she said in the coolest manner: "Who +is this young gentleman?" My father laid down his book, for a +moment only: "Don't interrupt me again, ma'am. The young +gentleman is my son Philip." Mrs. Tenbruggen eyed me with an +appearance of interest which I was at a loss to account for. I +hate an impudent woman. My visit came suddenly to an end. + +The next time I saw my father, he was alone. + +I asked him how he got on with Mrs. Tenbruggen. As badly as +possible, it appeared. "She takes liberties with my neck; she +interrupts me in my reading; and she does me no good. I shall +end, Philip, in applying a medical rubbing to Mrs. Tenbruggen." + +A few days later, I found the masterful "Masseuse" torturing the +poor old gentleman's muscles again. She had the audacity to say +to me: "Well, Mr. Philip, when are you going to marry Miss Eunice +Gracedieu?" My father looked up. "Eunice?" he repeated. "When my +son told me he was engaged to Miss Gracedieu, he said 'Helena'! +Philip, what does this mean?" Mrs. Tenbruggen was so obliging as +to answer for me. "Some mistake, sir; it's Eunice he is engaged +to." I confess I forgot myself. "How the devil do you know that?" +I burst out. Mrs. Tenbruggen ignored me and my language. "I am +sorry to see, sir, that your son's education has been neglected; +he seems to be grossly ignorant of the laws of politeness." +"Never mind the laws of politeness," says my father. "You appear +to be better acquainted with my son's matrimonial prospects than +he is himself. How is that?" Mrs. Tenbruggen favored him with +another ready reply: "My authority is a letter, addressed to me +by a relative of Mr. Gracedieu--my dear and intimate friend, Miss +Jillgall." My father's keen eyes traveled backward and forward +between his female surgeon and his son. "Which am I to believ e?" +he inquired. "I am surprised at your asking the question," I +said. Mrs. Tenbruggen pointed to me. "Look at Mr. Philip, +sir--and you will allow him one merit. He is capable of showing +it, when he knows he has disgraced himself." Without intending +it, I am sure, my father infuriated me; he looked as if he +believed her. Out came one of the smallest and strongest words in +the English language before I could stop it: "Mrs. Tenbruggen, +you lie!" The illustrious Rubber dropped my father's hand--she +had been operating on him all the time--and showed us that she +could assert her dignity when circumstances called for the +exertion: "Either your son or I, sir, must leave the room. Which +is it to be?" She met her match in my father. Walking quietly to +the door, he opened it for Mrs. Tenbruggen with a low bow. She +stopped on her way out, and delivered her parting words: +"Messieurs Dunboyne, father and son, I keep my temper, and merely +regard you as a couple of blackguards." With that pretty +assertion of her opinion, she left us. + +When we were alone, there was but one course to take; I made my +confession. It is impossible to tell you how my father received +it--for he sat down at his library table with his back to me. The +first thing he did was to ask me to help his memory. + +"Did you say that the father of these girls was a parson?" + +"Yes--a Congregational Minister." + +"What does the Minister think of you?" + +"I don't know, sir." + +"Find out." + +That was all; not another word could I extract from him. I don't +pretend to have discovered what he really has in his mind. I only +venture on a suggestion. If there is any old friend in your town, +who has some influence over your father, leave no means untried +of getting that friend to say a kind word for us. And then ask +your father to write to mine. This is, as I see it, our only +chance. + +. . . . . . . + +There the letter ends. Helena's notes on it show that her pride +is fiercely interested in securing Philip as a husband. Her +victory over poor Eunice will, as she plainly intimates, be only +complete when she is married to young Dunboyne. For the rest, her +desperate resolution to win her way to my good graces is +sufficiently intelligible, now. + +My own impressions vary. Philip rather gains upon me; he appears +to have some capacity for feeling ashamed of himself. On the +other hand, I regard the discovery of an intimate friendship +existing between Mrs. Tenbruggen and Miss Jillgall with the +gloomiest views. Is this formidable Masseuse likely to ply her +trade in the country towns? And is it possible that she may come +to this town? God forbid! + + +Of the other letters in the collection, I need take no special +notice. I returned the whole correspondence to Helena, and waited +to hear from her. + +The one recent event in Mr. Gracedieu's family, worthy of record, +is of a melancholy nature. After paying his visit to-day, the +doctor has left word that nobody but the nurse is to go near the +Minister. This seems to indicate, but too surely, a change for +the worse. + +Helena has been away all the evening at the Girls' School. She +left a little note, informing me of her wishes: "I shall expect +to be favored with your decision to-morrow morning, in my +housekeeping room." + +At breakfast time, the report of the poor Minister was still +discouraging. I noticed that Helena was absent from the table. +Miss Jillgall suspected that the cause was bad news from Mr. +Philip Dunboyne, arriving by that morning's post. "If you will +excuse the use of strong language by a lady," she said, "Helena +looked perfectly devilish when she opened the letter. She rushed +away, and locked herself up in her own shabby room. A serious +obstacle, as I suspect, in the way of her marriage. Cheering, +isn't it?" As usual, good Selina expressed her sentiments without +reserve. + +I had to keep my appointment; and the sooner Helena Gracedieu and +I understood each other the better. + +I knocked at the door. It was loudly unlocked, and violently +thrown open. Helena's temper had risen to boiling heat; she +stammered with rage when she spoke to me. + +"I mean to come to the point at once," she said. + +"I am glad to hear it, Miss Helena." + +"May I count on your influence to help me? I want a positive +answer." + +I gave her what she wanted. I said: "Certainly not." + +She took a crumpled letter from her pocket, opened it, and +smoothed it out on the table with a blow of her open hand. + +"Look at that," she said. + +I looked. It was the letter addressed to Mr. Dunboyne the elder, +which I had written for Mr. Gracedieu--with the one object of +preventing Helena's marriage. + +"Of course, I can depend on you to tell me the truth?" she +continued. + +"Without fear or favor," I answered, "you may depend on _that._" + +"The signature to the letter, Mr. Governor, is written by my +father. But the letter itself is in a different hand. Do you, by +any chance, recognize the writing?" + +"I do." + +"Whose writing is it?" + +"Mine." + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +THE RESURRECTION OF THE PAST. + + +AFTER having identified my handwriting, I waited with some +curiosity to see whether Helena would let her anger honestly show +itself, or whether she would keep it down. She kept it down. + +"Allow me to return good for evil." (The evil was uppermost, +nevertheless, when Miss Gracedieu expressed herself in these +self-denying terms.) "You are no doubt anxious to know if +Philip's father has been won over to serve your purpose. Here is +Philip's own account of it: the last of his letters that I shall +trouble you to read." + +I looked it over. The memorandum follows which I made for my own +use: + +An eccentric philosopher is as capable as the most commonplace +human being in existence of behaving like an honorable man. Mr. +Dunboyne read the letter which bore the Minister's signature, and +handed it to his son. "Can you answer that?" was all he said. +Philip's silence confessed that he was unable to answer it--and +Philip himself, I may add, rose accordingly in my estimation. His +father pointed to the writing-desk. "I must spare my cramped +hand," the philosopher resumed, "and I must answer Mr. +Gracedieu's letter. Write, and leave a place for my signature." +He began to dictate his reply. "Sir--My son Philip has seen your +letter, and has no defense to make. In this respect he has set an +example of candor which I propose to follow. There is no excuse +for him. What I can do to show that I feel for you, and agree +with you, shall be done. At the age which this young man has +reached, the laws of England abolish the authority of his father. +If he is sufficiently infatuated to place his honor and his +happiness at the mercy of a lady, who has behaved to her sister +as your daughter has behaved to Miss Eunice, I warn the married +couple not to expect a farthing of my money, either during my +lifetime or after my death. Your faithful servant, DUNBOYNE, +SENIOR." Having performed his duty as secretary, Philip received +his dismissal: "You may send my reply to the post," his father +said; "and you may keep Mr. Gracedieu's letter. Morally speaking, +I regard that last document as a species of mirror, in which a +young gentleman like yourself may see how ugly he looks." This, +Philip declared, was his father's form of farewell. + +I handed back the letter to Helena. Not a word passed between us. +In sinister silence she opened the door and left me alone in the +room. + +That Mrs. Gracedieu and I had met in the bygone time, and--this +was the only serious part of it--had met in secret, would now be +made known to the Minister. Was I to blame for having shrunk from +distressing my good friend, by telling him that his wife had +privately consulted me on the means of removing his adopted child +from his house? And, even if I had been cruel enough to do this, +would he have believed my statement against the positive denial +with which the woman whom he loved and trusted would have +certainly met it? No! let the consequences of the coming +disclosure be what they might, I failed to see any valid reason +for regretting my conduct in the past time. + +I found Miss Jillgall waiting in the passage to see me come out. + +Before I could tell her what had happened, there was a ring at +the house-bell. The visitor proved to be Mr. Wellwood, the +doctor. I was anxious to speak to him on the subject of Mr. +Gracedieu's health. Miss Jillgall introduced me, as an old and +dear friend of the Minister, and left us together in the +dining-room. + +"What do I think of Mr. Gracedieu?" he said, repeating the first +question that I put. "Well, sir, I think badly of him." + +Entering into details, after that ominous reply, Mr. Wellwood did +not hesitate to say that his patient's nerves were completely +shattered. Disease of the brain had, as he feared, been already +set up. "As to the causes which have produced this lamentable +break-down," the doctor continued, "Mr. Gracedieu has been in the +habit of preaching extempore twice a day on Sundays, and +sometimes in the week as well--and has uniformly refused to spare +himself when he was in most urgent need of rest. If you have ever +attended his chapel, you have seen a man in a state of fiery +enthusiasm, feeling intensely every word that he utters. Think of +such exhaustion as that implies going on for years together, and +accumulating its wasting influences on a sensitively organized +constitution. Add that he is tormented by personal anxieties, +which he confesses to no one, not even to his own children and +the sum of it all is that a worse case of its kind, I am grieved +to say, has never occurred in my experience." + +Before the doctor left me to go to his patient, I asked leave to +occupy a minute more of his time. My object was, of course, to +speak about Eunice. + +The change of subject seemed to be agreeable to Mr. Wellwood. He +smiled good-humoredly. + +"You need feel no alarm about the health of that interesting +girl," he said. "When she complained to me--at her age!--of not +being able to sleep, I should have taken it more seriously if I +had been told that she too had her troubles, poor little soul. +Love-troubles, most likely--but don't forget that my professional +limits keep me in the dark! Have you heard that she took some +composing medicine, which I had prescribed for her father? The +effect (certain, in any case, to be injurious to a young girl) +was considerably aggravated by the state of her mind at the time. +A dream that frightened her, and something resembling delirium, +seems to have followed. And she made matters worse, poor child, +by writing in her diary about the visions and supernatural +appearances that had terrified her. I was afraid of fever, on the +day when they first sent for me. We escaped that complication, +and I was at liberty to try the best of all remedies--quiet and +change of air. I have no fears for Miss Eunice." + +With that cheering reply he went up to the Minister's room. + +All that I had found perplexing in Eunice was now made clear. I +understood how her agony at the loss of her lover, and her keen +sense of the wrong that she had suffered, had been strengthened +in their disastrous influence by her experiment on the sleeping +draught intended for her father. In mind and body, both, the poor +girl was in the condition which offered its opportunity to the +lurking hereditary taint. It was terrible to think of what might +have happened, if the all-powerful counter-influence had not been +present to save her. + +Before I had been long alone the servant-maid came in, and said +the doctor wanted to see me. + +Mr. Wellwood was waiting in the passage, outside the Minister's +bedchamber. He asked if he could speak to me without +interruption, and without the fear of being overheard. I led him +at once to the room which I occupied as a guest. + +"At the very time when it is most important to keep Mr. Gracedieu +quiet," he said, "something has happened to excite--I might +almost say to infuriate him. He has left his bed, and is walking +up and down the room; and, I don't scruple to say, he is on the +verge of madness. He insists on seeing you. Being wholly unable +to control him in any other way, I have consented to this. But I +must not allow you to place yourself in what may be a +disagreeable position, without a word of warning. Judging by his +tones and his looks, he seems to have no very friendly motive for +wishing to see you." + +Knowing perfectly well what had happened, and being one of those +impatient people who can never endure suspense--I offered to go +at once to Mr. Gracedieu's room. The doctor asked leave to say +one word more. + +"Pray be careful that you neither say nor do anything to thwart +him," Mr. Wellwood resumed. "If he expresses an opinion, agree +with him. If he is insolent and overbearing, don't answer him. In +the state of his brain, the one hopeful course to take is to let +him have his own way. Pray remember that. I will be within call, +in case of your wanting me." + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + +THE FATAL PORTRAIT. + + + +I KNOCKED at the bedroom door. + +"Who's there?" + +Only two words--but the voice that uttered them, hoarse and +peremptory, was altered almost beyond recognition. If I had not +known whose room it was, I might have doubted whether the +Minister had really spoken to me. + +At the instant when I answered him, I was allowed to pass in. +Having admitted me, he closed the door, and placed himself with +his back against it. The customary pallor of his face had +darkened to a deep red; there was an expression of ferocious +mockery in his eyes. Helena's vengeance had hurt her unhappy +father far more severely than it seemed likely to hurt me. The +doctor had said he was on the verge of madness. To my thinking, +he had already passed the boundary line. + +He received me with a boisterous affectation of cordiality. + +"My excellent friend! My admirable, honorable, welcome guest, you +don't know how glad I am to see you. Stand a little nearer to the +light; I want to admire you." + +Remembering the doctor's advice, I obeyed him in silence. + +"Ah, you were a handsome fellow when I first knew you," he said, +"and you have some remains of it still left. Do you remember the +time when you were a favorite with the ladies? Oh, don't pretend +to be modest; don't turn your back, now you are old, on what you +were in the prime of your life. Do you own that I am right?" + +What his object might be in saying this--if, indeed, he had an +object--it was impossible to guess. The doctor's advice left me +no alternative; I hastened to own that he was right. As I made +that answer, I observed that he held something in his hand which +was half hidden up the sleeve of his dressing-gown. What the +nature of the object was I failed to discover. + +"And when I happened to speak of you somewhere," he went on, "I +forget where--a member of my congregation--I don't recollect who +it was--told me you were connected with the aristocracy. How were +you connected?" + +He surprised me; but, however he had got his information, he had +not been deceived. I told him that I was connected, through my +mother, with the family to which he had alluded. + +"The aristocracy!" he repeated. "A race of people who are rich +without earning their money, and noble because their +great-grandfathers were noble before them. They live in idleness +and luxury--profligates who gratify their passions without shame +and without remorse. Deny, if you dare, that this is a true +description of them." + +It was really pitiable. Heartily sorry for him, I pacified him +again. + +"And don't suppose I forget that you are one of them. Do you hear +me, my noble friend?" + +There was no help for it--I made another conciliatory reply. + +"So far," he resumed, "I don't complain of you. You have not +attempted to deceive me--yet. Absolute silence is what I require +next. Though you may not suspect it, my mind is in a ferment; I +must try to think." + +To some extent at least, his thoughts betrayed themselves in his +actions. He put the object that I had half seen in his hand into +the pocket of his dressing-gown, and moved to the toilet-table. +Opening one of the drawers, he took from it a folded sheet of +paper, and came back to me. + +"A minister of the Gospel," he said, "is a sacred man, and has a +horror of crime. You are safe, so far--provided you obey me. I +have a solemn and terrible duty to perform. This is not the right +place for it. Follow me downstairs." + +He led the way out. The doctor, waiting in the passage, was not +near the stairs, and so escaped notice. "What is it?" Mr. W +ellwood whispered. In the same guarded way, I said: "He has not +told me yet; I have been careful not to irritate him." When we +descended the stairs, the doctor followed us at a safe distance. +He mended his pace when the Minister opened the door of the +study, and when he saw us both pass in. Before he could follow, +the door was closed and locked in his face. Mr. Gracedieu took +out the key and threw it through the open window, into the garden +below. + +Turning back into the room, he laid the folded sheet of paper on +the table. That done, he spoke to me. + +"I distrust my own weakness," he said. "A dreadful necessity +confronts me--I might shrink from the horrid idea, and, if I +could open the door, might try to get away. Escape is impossible +now. We are prisoners together. But don't suppose that we are +alone. There is a third person present, who will judge between +you and me. Look there!" + +He pointed solemnly to the portrait of his wife. It was a small +picture, very simply framed; representing the face in a +"three-quarter" view, and part of the figure only. As a work of +art it was contemptible; but, as a likeness, it answered its +purpose. My unhappy friend stood before it, in an attitude of +dejection, covering his face with his hands. + +In the interval of silence that followed, I was reminded that an +unseen friend was keeping watch outside. + +Alarmed by having heard the key turned in the lock, and realizing +the embarrassment of the position in which I was placed, the +doctor had discovered a discreet way of communicating with me. He +slipped one of his visiting-cards under the door, with these +words written on it: "How can I help you?" + +I took the pencil from my pocketbook, and wrote on the blank side +of the card: "He has thrown the key into the garden; look for it +under the window." A glance at the Minister, before I returned my +reply, showed that his attitude was unchanged. Without being seen +or suspected, I, in my turn, slipped the card under the door. + +The slow minutes followed each other--and still nothing happened. + +My anxiety to see how the doctor's search for the key was +succeeding, tempted me to approach the window. On my way to it, +the tail of my coat threw down a little tray containing pens and +pencils, which had been left close to the edge of the table. +Slight as the noise of the fall was, it disturbed Mr. Gracedieu. +He looked round vacantly. + +"I have been comforted by prayer," he told me. "The weakness of +poor humanity has found strength in the Lord." He pointed to the +portrait once more: "My hands must not presume to touch it, while +I am still in doubt. Take it down." + +I removed the picture and placed it, by his directions, on a +chair that stood midway between us. To my surprise his tones +faltered; I saw tears rising in his eyes. "You may think you see +a picture there," he said. "You are wrong. You see my wife +herself. Stand here, and look at my wife with me." + +We stood together, with our eyes fixed on the portrait. + +Without anything said or done on my part to irritate him, he +suddenly turned to me in a state of furious rage. "Not a sign of +sorrow!" he burst out. "Not a blush of shame! Wretch, you stand +condemned by the atrocious composure that I see in your face!" + +A first discovery of the odious suspicion of which I was the +object, dawned on my mind at that moment. My capacity for +restraining myself completely failed me. I spoke to him as if he +had been an accountable being. "Once for all," I said, "tell me +what I have a right to know. You suspect me of something. What is +it?" + +Instead of directly replying, he seized my arm and led me to the +table. "Take up that paper," he said. "There is writing on it. +Read--and let Her judge between us. Your life depends on how you +answer me." + +Was there a weapon concealed in the room? or had he got it in the +pocket of his dressing-gown? I listened for the sound of the +doctor's returning footsteps in the passage outside, and heard +nothing. My life had once depended, years since, on my success in +heading the arrest of an escaped prisoner. I was not conscious, +then, of feeling my energies weakened by fear. But _that_ man was +not mad; and I was younger, in those days, by a good twenty years +or more. At my later time of life, I could show my old friend +that I was not afraid of him--but I was conscious of an effort in +doing it. + +I opened the paper. "Am I to read this to myself?" I asked. "Or +am I to read it aloud?" + +"Read it aloud!" + +In these terms, his daughter addressed him: + + +"I have been so unfortunate, dearest father, as to displease you, +and I dare not hope that you will consent to receive me. What it +is my painful duty to tell you, must be told in writing. + +"Grieved as I am to distress you, in your present state of +health, I must not hesitate to reveal what it has been my +misfortune--I may even say my misery, when I think of my +mother--to discover. + +"But let me make sure, in such a serious matter as this is, that +I am not mistaken. + +"In those happy past days, when I was still dear to my father, +you said you thought of writing to invite a dearly-valued friend +to pay a visit to this house. You had first known him, as I +understood, when my mother was still living. Many interesting +things you told me about this old friend, but you never mentioned +that he knew, or that he had even seen, my mother. I was left to +suppose that those two had remained strangers to each other to +the day of her death. + +"If there is any misinterpretation here of what you said, or +perhaps of what you meant to say, pray destroy what I have +written without turning to the next page; and forgive me for +having innocently startled you by a false alarm." + + +Mr. Gracedieu interrupted me. + +"Put it down!" he cried; "I won't wait till you have got to the +end--I shall question you now. Give me the paper; it will help me +to keep this mystery of iniquity clear in my own mind." + +I gave him the paper. + +He hesitated--and looked at the portrait once more. "Turn her +away from me," he said; "I can't face my wife." + +I placed the picture with its back to him. + +He consulted the paper, reading it with but little of the +confusion and hesitation which my experience of him had induced +me to anticipate. Had the mad excitement that possessed him +exercised an influence in clearing his mind, resembling in some +degree the influence exercised by a storm in clearing the air? +Whatever the right explanation may be, I can only report what I +saw. I could hardly have mastered what his daughter had written +more readily, if I had been reading it myself. + +"Helena tells me," he began, "that you said you knew her by her +likeness to her mother. Is that true?" + +"Quite true." + +"And you made an excuse for leaving her--see! here it is, written +down. You made an excuse, and left her when she asked for an +explanation." + +"I did." + +He consulted the paper again. + +"My daughter says--No! I won't be hurried and I won't be +interrupted--she says you were confused. Is that so?" + +"It is so. Let your questions wait for a moment. I wish to tell +you why I was confused." + +"Haven't I said I won't be interrupted? Do you think you can +shake _my_ resolution?" He referred to the paper again. "I have +lost the place. It's your fault--find it for me." + +The evidence which was intended to convict me was the evidence +which I was expected to find! I pointed it out to him. + +His natural courtesy asserted itself in spite of his anger. He +said "Thank you," and questioned me the moment after as fiercely +as ever. "Go back to the time, sir, when we met in your rooms at +the prison. Did you know my wife then?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Did you and she see each other--ha! I've got it now--did you see +each other after I had left the town? No prevarication! You own +to telling Helena that you knew her by her likeness to her +mother. You must have seen her mother. Where?" + +I made another effort to defend myself. He again refused +furiously to hear me. It was useless to persist. Whatever the +danger that threatened me might be, the sooner it showed itself +the easier I should feel. I told him that Mrs. Gracedieu had +called on me, after he and his wife had left the town. + +"Do you mean to tell me," he cried, "that She came to Yo u?" + +"I do." + +After that answer, he no longer required the paper to help him. +He threw it from him on the floor. + +"And you received her," he said, "without inquiring whether I +knew of her visit or not? Guilty deception on your part--guilty +deception on her part. Oh, the hideous wickedness of it!" + +When his mad suspicion that I had been his wife's lover betrayed +itself in this way, I made a last attempt, in the face of my own +conviction that it was hopeless, to place my conduct and his +wife's conduct before him in the true light. + +"Mrs. Gracedieu's object was to consult me--" Before I could say +the next words, I saw him put his hand into the pocket of his +dressing-gown. + +"An innocent man," he sternly declared, "would have told me that +my wife had been to see him--you kept it a secret. An innocent +woman would have given me a reason for wishing to go to you--she +kept it a secret, when she left my house; she kept it a secret +when she came back." + +"Mr. Gracedieu, I insist on being heard! Your wife's motive--" + +He drew from his pocket the thing that he had hidden from me. +This time, there was no concealment; he let me see that he was +opening a razor. It was no time for asserting my innocence; I had +to think of preserving my life. When a man is without firearms, +what defense can avail against a razor in the hands of a madman? +A chair was at my side; it offered the one poor means of guarding +myself that I could see. I laid my hand on it, and kept my eye on +him. + +He paused, looking backward and forward between the picture and +me. + +"Which of them shall I kill first?" he said to himself. "The man +who was my trusted friend? Or the woman whom I believed to be an +angel on earth?" He stopped once more, in a state of fierce +self-concentration, debating what he should do. "The woman," he +decided. "Wretch! Fiend! Harlot! How I loved her!!!" + +With a yell of fury, he pounced on the picture--ripped the canvas +out of the frame--and cut it malignantly into fragments. As they +dropped from the razor on the floor, he stamped on them, and +ground them under his foot. "Go, wife of my bosom," he cried, +with a dreadful mockery of voice and look--"go, and burn +everlastingly in the place of torment!" His eyes glared at me. +"Your turn now," he said--and rushed at me with his weapon ready +in his hand. I hurled the chair at his right arm. The razor +dropped on the floor. I caught him by the wrist. Like a wild +animal he tried to bite me. With my free hand--if I had known how +to defend myself in any other way, I would have taken that +way--with my free hand I seized him by the throat; forced him +back; and held him against the wall. My grasp on his throat kept +him quiet. But the dread of seriously injuring him so completely +overcame me, that I forgot I was a prisoner in the room, and was +on the point of alarming the household by a cry for help. + +I was still struggling to preserve my self-control, when the +sound of footsteps broke the silence outside. I heard the key +turn in the lock, and saw the doctor at the open door. + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + +THE CUMBERSOME LADIES. + + +I CANNOT prevail upon myself to dwell at any length on the events +that followed. + +We secured my unhappy friend, and carried him to his bed. It was +necessary to have men in attendance who could perform the duty of +watching him. The doctor sent for them, while I went downstairs +to make the best I could of the miserable news which it was +impossible entirely to conceal. + +All that I could do to spare Miss Jillgall, I did. I was obliged +to acknowledge that there had been an outbreak of violence, and +that the portrait of the Minister's wife had been destroyed by +the Minister himself. Of Helena's revenge on me I said nothing. +It had led to consequences which even her merciless malice could +not have contemplated. There were no obstacles in the way of +keeping secret the attempt on my life. But I was compelled to own +that Mr. Gracedieu had taken a dislike to me, which rendered it +necessary that my visit should be brought to an end. I hastened +to add that I should go to the hotel, and should wait there until +the next day, in the hope of hearing better news. + +Of the multitude of questions with which poor Miss Jillgall +overwhelmed me--of the wild words of sorrow and alarm that +escaped her--of the desperate manner in which she held by my arm, +and implored me not to go away, when I must see for myself that +"she was a person entirely destitute of presence of mind"--I +shall say nothing. The undeserved suffering that is inflicted on +innocent persons by the sins of others demands silent sympathy; +and, to that extent at least, I can say that I honestly felt for +my quaint and pleasant little friend. + +In the evening the doctor called on me at the hotel. The medical +treatment of his patient had succeeded in calming the maddened +brain under the influence of sleep. If the night passed quietly, +better news might be hoped for in the morning. + +On the next day I had arranged to drive to the farm, being +resolved not to disappoint Eunice. But I shrank from the prospect +of having to distress her as I had already distressed Miss +Jillgall. The only alternative left was to repeat the sad story +in writing, subject to the concealments which I had already +observed. This I did, and sent the letter by messenger, +overnight, so that Eunice might know when to expect me. + +The medical report, in the morning, justified some hope. Mr. +Gracedieu had slept well, and there had been no reappearance of +insane violence on his waking. But the doctor's opinion was far +from encouraging when we spoke of the future. He did not +anticipate the cruel necessity of placing the Minister under +restraint--unless some new provocation led to a new outbreak. The +misfortune to be feared was imbecility. + +I was just leaving the hotel to keep my appointment with Eunice, +when the waiter announced the arrival of a young lady who wished +to speak with me. Before I could ask if she had mentioned her +name, the young lady herself walked in--Helena Gracedieu. + +She explained her object in calling on me, with the exasperating +composure which was peculiarly her own. No parallel to it occurs +to me in my official experience of shameless women. + +"I don't wish to speak of what happened yesterday, so far as I +know anything about it," she began. "It is quite enough for me +that you have been obliged to leave the house and to take refuge +in this hotel. I have come to say a word about the future. Are +you honoring me with your attention?" + +I signed to her to go on. If I had answered in words, I should +have told her to leave the room. + +"At first," she resumed, "I thought of writing; but it occurred +to me that you might keep my letter, and show it to Philip, by +way of lowering me in his good opinion, as you have lowered me in +the good opinion of his father. My object in coming here is to +give you a word of warning. If you attempt to make mischief next +between Philip and myself, I shall hear of it--and you know what +to expect, when you have Me for an enemy. It is not worth while +to say any more. We understand each other, I hope?" + +She was determined to have a reply--and she got it. + +"Not quite yet," I said. "I have been hitherto, as becomes a +gentleman, always mindful of a woman's claims to forbearance. You +will do well not to tempt me into forgetting that _you_ are a +woman, by prolonging your visit. Now, Miss Helena Gracedieu, we +understand each other." She made me a low curtsey, and answered +in her finest tone of irony: "I only desire to wish you a +pleasant journey home." + +I rang for the waiter. "Show this lady out," I said. + +Even this failed to have the slightest effect on her. She +sauntered to the door, as perfectly at her ease as if the room +had been hers--not mine. + +I had thought of driving to the farm. Shall I confess it? My +temper was so completely upset that active movement of some kind +offered the one means of relief in which I could find refuge. The +farm was not more than five miles distant, and I had been a good +walker all my life. After making the needful inquiries, I set +forth to visit Eunice on foot. + +My way through the town led me past the, Minister's house. I had +left the door some fifty yards behin d me, when I saw two ladies +approaching. They were walking, in the friendliest manner, arm in +arm. As they came nearer, I discovered Miss Jillgall. Her +companion was the middle-aged lady who had declined to give her +name, when we met accidentally at Mr. Gracedieu's door. + +Hysterically impulsive, Miss Jillgall seized both my hands, and +overwhelmed me with entreaties that I would go back with her to +the house. I listened rather absently. The middle-aged lady +happened to be nearer to me now than on either of the former +occasions on which I had seen her. There was something in the +expression of her eyes which seemed to be familiar to me. But the +effort of my memory was not helped by what I observed in the +other parts of her face. The iron-gray hair, the baggy lower +eyelids, the fat cheeks, the coarse complexion, and the double +chin, were features, and very disagreeable features, too, which I +had never seen at any former time. + +"Do pray come back with us," Miss Jillgall pleaded. "We were just +talking of you. I and my friend--" There she stopped, evidently +on the point of blurting out the name which she had been +forbidden to utter in my hearing. + +The lady smiled; her provokingly familiar eyes rested on me with +a humorous enjoyment of the scene. + +"My dear," she said to Miss Jillgall, "caution ceases to be a +virtue when it ceases to be of any use. The Governor is beginning +to remember me, and the inevitable recognition--with _his_ +quickness of perception--is likely to be a matter of minutes +now." She turned to me. "In more ways than one, sir, women are +hardly used by Nature. As they advance in years they lose more in +personal appearance than the men do. You are white-haired, and +(pray excuse me) you are too fat; and (allow me to take another +liberty) you stoop at the shoulders--but you have not entirely +lost your good looks. _I_ am no longer recognizable. Allow me to +prompt you, as they say on the stage. I am Mrs. Tenbruggen." + +As a man of the world, I ought to have been capable of concealing +my astonishment and dismay. She struck me dumb. + +Mrs. Tenbruggen in the town! The one woman whose appearance Mr. +Gracedieu had dreaded, and justly dreaded, stood before me--free, +as a friend of his kinswoman, to enter his house, at the very +time when he was a helpless man, guarded by watchers at his +bedside. My first clear idea was to get away from both the women, +and consider what was to be done next. I bowed--and begged to be +excused--and said I was in a hurry, all in a breath. + +Hearing this, the best of genial old maids was unable to restrain +her curiosity. "Where are you going?" she asked. + +Too confused to think of an excuse, I said I was going to the +farm. + +"To see my dear Euneece?" Miss Jillgall burst out. "Oh, we will +go with you!" Mrs. Tenbruggen's politeness added immediately, +"With the greatest pleasure." + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + +THE JOURNEY TO THE FARM. + + +MY first ungrateful impulse was to get rid of the two cumbersome +ladies who had offered to be my companions. It was needless to +call upon my invention for an excuse; the truth, as I gladly +perceived, would serve my purpose. I had only to tell them that I +had arranged to walk to the farm. + +Lean, wiry, and impetuous, Miss Jillgall received my excuse with +the sincerest approval of it, as a new idea. "Nothing could be +more agreeable to me," she declared; "I have been a wonderful +walker all my life." She turned to her friend. "We will go with +him, my dear, won't we?" + +Mrs. Tenbruggen's reception of this proposal inspired me with +hope; she asked how far it was to the farm. "Five miles!" she +repeated. "And five miles back again, unless the farmer lends us +a cart. My dear Selina, you might as well ask me to walk to the +North Pole. You have got rid of one of us, Mr. Governor," she +added, pleasantly; "and the other, if you only walk fast enough, +you will leave behind you on the road. If I believed in +luck--which I don't--I should call you a fortunate man." + +But companionable Selina would not hear of a separation. She +asked, in her most irresistible manner, if I objected to driving +instead of walking. Her heart's dearest wish, she said, was to +make her bosom friend and myself better acquainted with each +other. To conclude, she reminded me that there was a cab-stand in +the next street. + +Perhaps I might have been influenced by my distrust of Mrs. +Tenbruggen, or perhaps by my anxiety to protect Eunice. It struck +me that I might warn the defenseless girl to be on her guard with +Mrs. Tenbruggen to better purpose, if Eunice was in a position to +recognize her in any future emergency that might occur. To my +mind, this dangerous woman was doubly formidable--and for a good +reason; she was the bosom friend of that innocent and unwary +person, Miss Jillgall. + +So I amiably consented to forego my walk, yielding to the +superior attraction of Mrs. Tenbruggen's company. On that day the +sunshine was tempered by a delightful breeze. If we had been in +the biggest and worst-governed city on the civilised earth, we +should have found no public vehicle, open to the air, which could +offer accommodation to three people. Being only in a country +town, we had a light four-wheeled chaise at our disposal, as a +matter of course. + +No wise man expects to be mercifully treated, when he is shut +into a carriage with a mature single lady, inflamed by curiosity. +I was not unprepared for Miss Jillgall when she alluded, for the +second time, to the sad events which had happened in the house on +the previous day--and especially to the destruction by Mr. +Gracedieu of the portrait of his wife. + +"Why didn't he destroy something else?" she pleaded, piteously. +"It is such a disappointment to Me. I never liked that picture +myself. Of course I ought to have admired the portrait of the +wife of my benefactor. But no--that disagreeable painted face was +too much for me. I should have felt inexpressibly relieved, if I +could have shown it to Elizabeth, and heard her say that she +agreed with me." + +"Perhaps I saw it when I called on you," Mrs. Tenbruggen +suggested. "Where did the picture hang?" + +"My dear! I received you in the dining-room, and the portrait +hung in Mr. Gracedieu's study." + +What they said to each other next escaped my attention. Quite +unconsciously, Miss Jillgall had revealed to me a danger which +neither the Minister nor I had discovered, though it had +conspicuously threatened us both on the wall of the study. The +act of mad destruction which, if I had possessed the means of +safely interfering, I should certainly have endeavored to +prevent, now assumed a new and startling aspect. If Mrs. +Tenbruggen really had some motive of her own for endeavoring to +identify the adopted child, the preservation of the picture must +have led her straight to the end in view. The most casual +opportunity of comparing Helena with the portrait of Mrs. +Gracedieu would have revealed the likeness between mother and +daughter--and, that result attained, the identification of Eunice +with the infant whom the "Miss Chance" of those days had brought +to the prison must inevitably have followed. It was perhaps +natural that Mr. Gracedieu's infatuated devotion to the memory of +his wife should have blinded him to the betrayal of Helena's +parentage, which met his eyes every time he entered his study. +But that I should have been too stupid to discover what he had +failed to see, was a wound dealt to my self-esteem which I was +vain enough to feel acutely. + +Mrs. Tenbruggen's voice, cheery and humorous, broke in on my +reflections, with an odd question: + +"Mr. Governor, do you ever condescend to read novels?" + +"It's not easy to say, Mrs. Tenbruggen, how grateful I am to the +writers of novels." + +"Ah! I read novels, too. But I blush to confess--do I +blush?--that I never thought of feeling grateful till you +mentioned it. Selina and I don't complain of your preferring your +own reflections to our company. On the contrary, you have +reminded us agreeably of the heroes of fiction, when the author +describes them as being 'absorbed in thought.' For some minutes, +Mr. Governor, you have been a hero; absorbed, as I venture to +guess, in unpleasant remembrances of the time when I was a single +lady. You have not forg otten how badly I behaved, and what +shocking things I said, in those bygone days. Am I right?" + +"You are entirely wrong." + +It is possible that I may have spoken a little too sharply. +Anyway, faithful Selina interceded for her friend. "Oh, dear sir, +don't be hard on Elizabeth! She always means well." Mrs. +Tenbruggen, as facetious as ever, made a grateful return for a +small compliment. She chucked Miss Jillgall under the chin, with +the air of an amorous old gentleman expressing his approval of a +pretty servant-girl. It was impossible to look at the two, in +their relative situations, without laughing. But Mrs. Tenbruggen +failed to cheat me into altering my opinion of her. Innocent Miss +Jillgall clapped her ugly hands, and said: "Isn't she good +company?" + +Mrs. Tenbruggen's social resources were not exhausted yet. She +suddenly shifted to the serious side of her character. + +"Perhaps I have improved a little," she said, "as I have advanced +in years. The sorrows of an unhappy married life may have had a +purifying influence on my nature. My husband and I began badly. +Mr. Tenbruggen thought I had money; and I thought Mr. Tenbruggen +had money. He was taken in by me; and I was taken in by him. When +he repeated the words of the marriage service (most impressively +read by your friend the Chaplain): 'With all my worldly goods I +thee endow'--his eloquent voice suggested one of the largest +incomes in Europe. When I promised and vowed, in my turn, the +delightful prospect of squandering my rich husband's money made +quite a new woman of me. I declare solemnly, when I said I would +love, honor, and obey Mr. T., I looked as if I really meant it. +Wherever he is now, poor dear, he is cheating somebody. Such a +handsome, gentleman-like man, Selina! And, oh, Mr. Governor, such +a blackguard!" + +Having described her husband in those terms, she got tired of the +subject. We were now favored with another view of this many-sided +woman. She appeared in her professional character. + +"Ah, what a delicious breeze is blowing, out here in the +country!" she said. "Will you excuse me if I take off my gloves? +I want to air my hands." She held up her hands to the breeze; +firm, muscular, deadly white hands. "In my professional +occupation," she explained, "I am always rubbing, tickling, +squeezing, tapping, kneading, rolling, striking the muscles of +patients. Selina, do you know the movements of your own joints? +Flexion, extension, abduction, adduction, rotation, +circumduction, pronation, supination, and the lateral movements. +Be proud of those accomplishments, my dear, but beware of +attempting to become a Masseuse. There are drawbacks in that +vocation--and I am conscious of one of them at this moment." She +lifted her hands to her nose. "Pah! my hands smell of other +people's flesh. The delicious country air will blow it away--the +luxury of purification!" Her fingers twisted and quivered, and +got crooked at one moment and straight again at another, and +showed themselves in succession singly, and flew into each other +fiercely interlaced, and then spread out again like the sticks of +a fan, until it really made me giddy to look at them. As for Miss +Jillgall, she lifted her poor little sunken eyes rapturously to +the sky, as if she called the homiest sunlight to witness that +this was the most lovable woman on the face of the earth. + +But elderly female fascination offers its allurements in vain to +the rough animal, man. Suspicion of Mrs. Tenbruggen's motives had +established itself firmly in my mind. Why had the Popular +Masseuse abandoned her brilliant career in London, and plunged +into the obscurity of a country town? An opportunity of clearing +up the doubt thus suggested seemed to have presented itself now. +"Is it indiscreet to ask," I said, "if you are here in your +professional capacity?" + +Her cunning seized its advantage and put a sly question to me. +"Do you wish to be one of my patients yourself?" + +"That is, unfortunately, impossible," I replied "I have arranged +to return to London." + +"Immediately?" + +"To-morrow at the latest." + +Artful as she was, Mrs. Tenbruggen failed to conceal a momentary +expression of relief which betrayed itself, partly in her manner, +partly in her face. She had ascertained, to her own complete +satisfaction, that my speedy departure was an event which might +be relied on. + +"But I have not yet answered you," she resumed. "To tell the +truth, I am eager to try my hands on you. Massage, as I practice +it, would lighten your weight, and restore your figure; I may +even say would lengthen your life. You will think of me, one of +these days, won't you? In the meanwhile--yes! I am here in my +professional capacity. Several interesting cases; and one very +remarkable person, brought to death's door by the doctors; a rich +man who is liberal in paying his fees. There is my quarrel with +London and Londoners. Some of their papers, medical newspapers, +of course, declare that my fees are exorbitant; and there is a +tendency among the patients--I mean the patients who are rolling +in riches--to follow the lead of the newspapers. I am no worm to +be trodden on, in that way. The London people shall wait for me, +until they miss me--and, when I do go back, they will find the +fees increased. _My_ fingers and thumbs, Mr. Governor, are not to +be insulted with impunity." + +Miss Jillgall nodded her head at me. It was an eloquent nod. +"Admire my spirited friend," was the interpretation I put on it. + +At the same time, my private sentiments suggested that Mrs. +Tenbruggen's reply was too perfectly satisfactory, viewed as an +explanation. My suspicions were by no means set at rest; and I +was resolved not to let the subject drop yet. "Speaking of Mr. +Gracedieu, and of the chances of his partial recovery," I said, +"do you think the Minister would benefit by Massage?" + +"I haven't a doubt of it, if you can get rid of the doctor." + +"You think he would be an obstacle in the way?" + +"There are some medical men who are honorable exceptions to the +general rule; and he may be one of them," Mrs. Tenbruggen +admitted. "Don't be too hopeful. As a doctor, he belongs to the +most tyrannical trades-union in existence. May I make a personal +remark?" + +"Certainly." + +"I find something in your manner--pray don't suppose that I am +angry--which looks like distrust; I mean, distrust of Me." + +Miss Jillgall's ever ready kindness interfered in my defense: +"Oh, no, Elizabeth! You are not often mistaken; but indeed you +are wrong now. Look at my distinguished friend. I remember my +copy book, when I was a small creature learning to write, in +England. There were first lines that we copied, in big letters, +and one of them said, 'Distrust Is Mean.' I know a young person, +whose name begins with H, who is one mass of meanness. +But"--excellent Selina paused, and pointed to me with a gesture +of triumph--"no meanness there!" + +Mrs. Tenbruggen waited to hear what I had to say, scornfully +insensible to Miss Jillgall's well-meant interruption. + +"You are not altogether mistaken," I told her. "I can't say that +my mind is in a state of distrust, but I own that you puzzle me." + +"How, if you please?" + +"May I presume that you remember the occasion when we met at Mr. +Gracedieu's house-door? You saw that I failed to recognize you, +and you refused to give your name when the servant asked for it. +A few days afterward, I heard you (quite accidentally) forbid +Miss Jillgall to mention your name in my hearing. I am at a loss +to understand it." + +Before she could answer me, the chaise drew up at the gate of the +farmhouse. Mrs. Tenbruggen carefully promised to explain what had +puzzled me, at the first opportunity. "If it escapes my memory," +she said, "pray remind me of it." + +I determined to remind her of it. Whether I could depend on her +to tell me the truth, might be quite another thing. + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII + +THE DECISION OF EUNICE. + + +EUNICE ran out to meet us, and opened the gate. She was instantly +folded in Miss Jillgall's arms. On her release, she came to me, +eager for news of her father's health. When I had communicated +all that I thought it right to tell her of the doctor's last +report, she noticed Mrs. Tenbruggen. The appearance of a stranger +seemed to embarrass h er. I left Miss Jillgall to introduce them +to each other. + +"Darling Euneece, you remember Mrs. Tenbruggen's name, I am sure? +Elizabeth, this is my sweet girl; I mentioned her in my letters +to you." + +"I hope she will be _my_ sweet girl, when we know each other a +little better. May I kiss you, dear? You have lovely eyes; but I +am sorry to see that they don't look like happy eyes. You want +Mamma Tenbruggen to cheer you. What a charming old house!" + +She put her arm round Eunice's waist and led her to the house +door. Her enjoyment of the creepers that twined their way up the +pillars of the porch was simply perfection as a piece of acting. +When the farmer's wife presented herself, Mrs. Tenbruggen was so +irresistibly amiable, and took such flattering notice of the +children, that the harmless British matron actually blushed with +pleasure. "I'm sure, ma'am, you must have children of your own," +she said. Mrs. Tenbruggen cast her eyes on the floor, and sighed +with pathetic resignation. A sweet little family, and all cruelly +swept away by death. If the performance meant anything, it did +most assuredly mean that. + +"What wonderful self-possession!" somebody whispered in my ear. +The children in the room were healthy, well-behaved little +creatures--but the name of the innocent one among them was +Selina. + +Before dinner we were shown over the farm. + +The good woman of the house led the way, and Miss Jillgall and I +accompanied her. The children ran on in front of us. Still +keeping possession of Eunice, Mrs. Tenbruggen followed at some +distance behind. I looked back, after no very long interval, and +saw that a separation had taken place. Mrs. Tenbruggen passed me, +not looking so pleasantly as usual, joined the children, and +walked with two of them, hand in hand, a pattern of maternal +amiability. I dropped back a little, and gave Eunice an +opportunity of joining me; having purposely left her to form her +own opinion, without any adverse influence exercised on my part. + +"Is that lady a friend of yours?" she asked. "No; only an +acquaintance. What do you think of her?" + +"I thought I should like her at first; she was so kind, and +seemed to take such an interest in me. But she said such strange +things--asked if I was reckoned like my mother, and which of us +was the eldest, my sister or myself, and whether we were my +father's only two children, and if one of us was more his +favorite than the other. What I could tell her, I did tell. But +when I said I didn't know which of us was the oldest, she gave me +an impudent tap on the cheek, and said, 'I don't believe you, +child,' and left me. How can Selina be so fond of her? Don't +mention it to any one else; I hope I shall never see her again." + +"I will keep your secret, Eunice; and you must keep mine. I +entirely agree with you." + +"You agree with me in disliking her?" + +"Heartily." + +We could say no more at that time. Our friends in advance were +waiting for us. We joined them at once. + +If I had felt any doubt of the purpose which had really induced +Mrs. Tenbruggen to leave London, all further uncertainty on my +part was at an end. She had some vile interest of her own to +serve by identifying Mr. Gracedieu's adopted child--but what the +nature of that interest might be, it was impossible to guess. The +future, when I thought of it now, filled me with dismay. A more +utterly helpless position than mine it was not easy to conceive. +To warn the Minister, in his present critical state of health, +was simply impossible. My relations with Helena forbade me even +to approach her. And, as for Selina, she was little less than a +mere tool in the hands of her well-beloved friend. What, in God's +name, was I to do? + +At dinner-time we found the master of the house waiting to bid us +welcome. + +Personally speaking, he presented a remarkable contrast to the +typical British farmer. He was neither big nor burly; he spoke +English as well as I did; and there was nothing in his dress +which would have made him a fit subject for a picture of rustic +life. When he spoke, he was able to talk on subjects unconnected +with agricultural pursuits; nor did I hear him grumble about the +weather and the crops. It was pleasant to see that his wife was +proud of him, and that he was, what all fathers ought to be, his +children's best and dearest friend. Why do I dwell on these +details, relating to a man whom I was not destined to see again? +Only because I had reason to feel grateful to him. When my +spirits were depressed by anxiety, he made my mind easy about +Eunice, as long as she remained in his house. + +The social arrangements, when our meal was over, fell of +themselves into the right train. + +Miss Jillgall went upstairs, with the mother and the children, to +see the nursery and the bedrooms. Mrs. Tenbruggen discovered a +bond of union between the farmer and herself; they were both +skilled players at backgammon, and they sat down to try +conclusions at their favorite game. Without any wearisome +necessity for excuses or stratagems, Eunice took my arm and led +me to the welcome retirement of her own sitting-room. + +I could honestly congratulate her, when I heard that she was +established at the farm as a member of the family. While she was +governess to the children, she was safe from dangers that might +have threatened her, if she had been compelled by circumstances +to return to the Minister's house. + +The entry in her Journal, which she was anxious that I should +read, was placed before me next. + + +I followed the poor child's account of the fearful night that she +had passed, with an interest that held me breathless to the end. +A terrible dream, which had impressed a sense of its reality on +the sleeper by reaching its climax in somnambulism--this was the +obvious explanation, no doubt; and a rational mind would not +hesitate to accept it. But a rational mind is not a universal +gift, even in a country which prides itself on the idol-worship +of Fact. Those good friends who are always better acquainted with +our faults, failings, and weaknesses than we can pretend to be +ourselves, had long since discovered that my nature was +superstitious, and my imagination likely to mislead me in the +presence of events which encouraged it. Well! I was weak enough +to recoil from the purely rational view of all that Eunice had +suffered, and heard, and seen, on the fateful night recorded in +her Journal. Good and Evil walk the ways of this unintelligible +world, on the same free conditions. If we cling, as many of us +do, to the comforting belief that departed spirits can minister +to earthly creatures for good--can be felt moving in us, in a +train of thought, and seen as visible manifestations, in a +dream--with what pretense of reason can we deny that the same +freedom of supernatural influence which is conceded to the +departed spirit, working for good, is also permitted to the +departed spirit, working for evil? If the grave cannot wholly +part mother and child, when the mother's life has been good, does +eternal annihilation separate them, when the mother's life has +been wicked? No! If the departed spirit can bring with it a +blessing, the departed spirit can bring with it a curse. I dared +not confess to Eunice that the influence of her murderess-mother +might, as I thought possible, have been supernaturally present +when she heard temptation whispering in her ear; but I dared not +deny it to myself. All that I could say to satisfy and sustain +her, I did say. And when I declared--with my whole heart +declared--that the noble passion which had elevated her whole +being, and had triumphed over the sorest trials that desertion +could inflict, would still triumph to the end, I saw hope, in +that brave and true heart, showing its bright promise for the +future in Eunice's eyes. + +She closed and locked her Journal. By common consent we sought +the relief of changing the subject. Eunice asked me if it was +really necessary that I should return to London. + +I shrank from telling her that I could be of no further use to +her father, while he regarded me with an enmity which I had not +deserved. But I saw no reason for concealing that it was my +purpose to see Philip Dunboyne. + +"You told me yesterday," I reminded her, "that I was to say you +had forgiven him. Do you still wish me to do that?" + +"Indeed I do!" + +"Have you thought of it seriously? Are you sure of not having +been hurried by a generous impulse into saying more than you +mean?" + +"I have been thinking of it," she said, "through the wakeful +hours of last night--and many things are plain to me, which I was +not sure of in the time when I was so happy. He has caused me the +bitterest sorrow of my life, but he can't undo the good that I +owe to him. He has made a better girl of me, in the time when his +love was mine. I don't forget that. Miserably as it has ended, I +don't forget that." + +Her voice trembled; the tears rose in her eyes. It was impossible +for me to conceal the distress that I felt. The noble creature +saw it. "No," she said faintly; "I am not going to cry. Don't +look so sorry for me." Her hand pressed my hand gently--_she_ +pitied _me._ When I saw how she struggled to control herself, and +did control herself, I declare to God I could have gone down on +my knees before her. + +She asked to be allowed to speak of Philip again, and for the +last time. + +"When you meet with him in London, he may perhaps ask if you have +seen Eunice." + +"My child! he is sure to ask." + +"Break it to him gently--but don't let him deceive himself. In +this world, he must never hope to see me again." + +I tried--very gently--to remonstrate. "At your age, and at his +age," I said, "surely there is hope?" + +"There is no hope." She pressed her hand on her heart. "I know +it, I feel it, here." + +"Oh, Eunice, it's hard for me to say that!" + +"I will try to make it easier for you. Say that I have forgiven +him--and say no more." + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + +THE GOVERNOR ON HIS GUARD. + + +AFTER leaving Eunice, my one desire was to be alone. I had much +to think of, and I wanted an opportunity of recovering myself. On +my way out of the house, in search of the first solitary place +that I could discover, I passed the room in which we had dined. +The door was ajar. Before I could get by it, Mrs. Tenbruggen +stepped out and stopped me. + +"Will you come in here for a moment?" she said. "The farmer has +been called away, and I want to speak to you." + +Very unwillingly--but how could I have refused without giving +offense?--I entered the room. + +"When you noticed my keeping my name from you," Mrs. Tenbruggen +began, "while Selina was with us, you placed me in an awkward +position. Our little friend is an excellent creature, but her +tongue runs away with her sometimes; I am obliged to be careful +of taking her too readily into my confidence. For instance, I +have never told her what my name was before I married. Won't you +sit down?" + +I had purposely remained standing as a hint to her not to prolong +the interview. The hint was thrown away; I took a chair. + +"Selina's letters had informed me," she resumed, "that Mr. +Gracedieu was a nervous invalid. When I came to England, I had +hoped to try what Massage might do to relieve him. The cure of +their popular preacher might have advertised me through the whole +of the Congregational sect. It was essential to my success that I +should present myself as a stranger. I could trust time and +change, and my married name (certainly not known to Mr. +Gracedieu) to keep up my incognito. He would have refused to see +me if he had known that I was once Miss Chance." + +I began to be interested. + +Here was an opportunity, perhaps, of discovering what the +Minister had failed to remember when he had been speaking of this +woman, and when I had asked if he had ever offended her. I was +especially careful in making my inquiries. + +"I remember how you spoke to Mr. Gracedieu," I said, "when you +and he met, long ago, in my rooms. But surely you don't think him +capable of vindictively remembering some thoughtless words, which +escaped you sixteen or seventeen years since?" + +"I am not quite such a fool as that, Mr. Governor. What I was +thinking of was an unpleasant correspondence between the Minister +and myself. Before I was so unfortunate as to meet with Mr. +Tenbruggen, I obtained a chance of employment in a public +Institution, on condition that I included a clergyman among my +references. Knowing nobody else whom I could apply to, I rashly +wrote to Mr. Gracedieu, and received one of those cold and cruel +refusals which only the strictest religious principle can +produce. I was mortally offended at the time; and if your friend +the Minister had been within my reach--" She paused, and finished +the sentence by a significant gesture. + +"Well," I said, "he is within your reach now." + +"And out of his mind," she added. "Besides, one's sense of injury +doesn't last (except in novels and plays) through a series of +years. I don't pity him--and if an opportunity of shaking his +high position among his admiring congregation presented itself, I +daresay I might make a mischievous return for his letter to me. +In the meanwhile, we may drop the subject. I suppose you +understand, now, why I concealed my name from you, and why I kept +out of the house while you were in it." + +It was plain enough, of course. If I had known her again, or had +heard her name, I might have told the Minister that Mrs. +Tenbruggen and Miss Chance were one and the same. And if I had +seen her and talked with her in the house, my memory might have +shown itself capable of improvement. Having politely presented +the expression of my thanks, I rose to go. + +She stopped me at the door. + +"One word more," she said, "while Selina is out of the way. I +need hardly tell you that I have not trusted her with the +Minister's secret. You and I are, as I take it, the only people +now living who know the truth about these two girls. And we keep +our advantage." + +"What advantage?" I asked. + +"Don't you know?" + +"I don't indeed." + +"No more do I. Female folly, and a slip of the tongue; I am old +and ugly, but I am still a woman. About Miss Eunice. Somebody has +told the pretty little fool never to trust strangers. You would +have been amused, if you had heard that sly young person +prevaricating with me. In one respect, her appearance strikes me. +She is not like either the wretch who was hanged, or the poor +victim who was murdered. Can she be the adopted child? Or is it +the other sister, whom I have not seen yet? Oh, come! come! Don't +try to look as if you didn't know. That is really too +ridiculous." + +"You alluded just now," I answered, "to our 'advantage' in being +the only persons who know the truth about the two girls. Well, +Mrs. Tenbruggen, I keep _my_ advantage." + +"In other words," she rejoined, "you leave me to make the +discovery myself. Well, my friend, I mean to do it!" + +. . . . . . . + +In the evening, my hotel offered to me the refuge of which I +stood in need. I could think, for the first time that day, +without interruption. + +Being resolved to see Philip, I prepared myself for the interview +by consulting my extracts once more. The letter, in which Mrs. +Tenbruggen figures, inspired me with the hope of protection for +Mr. Gracedieu, attainable through no less a person than Helena +herself. + +To begin with, she would certainly share Philip's aversion to the +Masseuse, and her dislike of Miss Jillgall would, just as +possibly, extend to Miss Jillgall's friend. The hostile feeling +thus set up might be trusted to keep watch on Mrs. Tenbruggen's +proceedings, with a vigilance not attainable by the coarser +observation of a man. In the event, of an improvement in the +Minister's health, I should hear of it both from the doctor and +from Miss Jillgall, and in that case I should instantly return to +my unhappy friend and put him on his guard. + +I started for London by the early train in the morning. + +My way home from the terminus took me past the hotel at which the +elder Mr. Dunboyne was staying. I called on him. He was reported +to be engaged; that is to say, immersed in his books. The address +on one of Philip's letters had informed me that he was staying at +another hotel. Pursuing my inquiries in this direction, I met +with a severe disappointment. Mr. Philip Dunboyne had left the +hotel that morning; for what destination neither the landlord nor +the waiter could tell me. + +The next day's post brought with it the information which I had +failed to obtain. Miss Jillgall wrote, infor ming me in her +strongest language that Philip Dunboyne had returned to Helena. +Indignant Selina added: "Helena means to make him marry her; and +I promise you she shall fail, if I can stop it." + +In taking leave of Eunice, I had given her my address; had warned +her to be careful, if she and Mrs. Tenbruggen happened to meet +again, and had begged her to write to me, or to come to me, if +anything happened to alarm her in my absence. + +In two days more, I received a line from Eunice, written +evidently in the greatest agitation. + +"Philip has discovered me. He has been here, and has insisted on +seeing me. I have refused. The good farmer has so kindly taken my +part. I can write no more." + + +CHAPTER L. + +THE NEWS FROM THE FARM. + + +WHEN I next heard from Miss Jillgall, the introductory part of +her letter merely reminded me that Philip Dunboyne was +established in the town, and that Helena was in daily +communication with him. I shall do Selina no injustice if my +extract begins with her second page. + +"You will sympathize, I am sure" (she writes), "with the +indignation which urged me to call on Philip, and tell him the +way to the farmhouse. Think of Helena being determined to marry +him, whether he wants to or not! I am afraid this is bad grammar. +But there are occasions when even a cultivated lady fails in her +grammar, and almost envies the men their privilege of swearing +when they are in a rage. My state of mind is truly indescribable. +Grief mingles with anger, when I tell you that my sweet Euneece +has disappointed me, for the first time since I had the happiness +of knowing and admiring her. What can have been the motive of her +refusal to receive her penitent lover? Is it pride? We are told +that Satan fell through pride. Euneece satanic? Impossible! I +feel inclined to go and ask her what has hardened her heart +against a poor young man who bitterly regrets his own folly. Do +you think it was bad advice from the farmer or his wife? In that +case, I shall exert my influence, and take her away. You would do +the same, wouldn't you? + +"I am ashamed to mention the poor dear Minister in a postscript. +The truth is, I don't very well know what I am about. Mr. +Gracedieu is quiet, sleeps better than he did, eats with a keener +appetite, gives no trouble. But, alas, that glorious intellect is +in a state of eclipse! Do not suppose, because I write +figuratively, that I am not sorry for him. He understands +nothing; he remembers nothing; he has my prayers. + +"You might come to us again, if you would only be so kind. It +would make no difference now; the poor man is so sadly altered. I +must add, most reluctantly, that the doctor recommends your +staying at home. Between ourselves, he is little better than a +coward. Fancy his saying; 'No; we must not run that risk yet.' I +am barely civil to him, and no more. + +"In any other affair (excuse me for troubling you with a second +postscript), my sympathy with Euneece would have penetrated her +motives; I should have felt with her feelings. But I have never +been in love; no gentleman gave me the opportunity when I was +young. Now I am middle-aged, neglect has done its dreary work--my +heart is an extinct crater. Figurative again! I had better put my +pen away, and say farewell for the present." + +Miss Jillgall may now give place to Eunice. The same day's post +brought me both letters. + +I should be unworthy indeed of the trust which this affectionate +girl has placed in me, if I failed to receive her explanation of +her conduct toward Philip Dunboyne, as a sacred secret confided +to my fatherly regard. In those later portions of her letter, +which are not addressed to me confidentially, Eunice writes as +follows: + + +"I get news--and what heartbreaking news!--of my father, by +sending a messenger to Selina. It is more than ever impossible +that I can put myself in the way of seeing Helena again. She has +written to me about Philip, in a tone so shockingly insolent and +cruel, that I have destroyed her letter. Philip's visit to the +farm, discovered I don't know how, seems to have infuriated her. +She accuses me of doing all that she might herself have done in +my place, and threatens me--No! I am afraid of the wicked +whisperings of that second self of mine if I think of it. They +were near to tempting me when I read Helena's letter. But I +thought of what you said, after I had shown you my Journal; and +your words took my memory back to the days when I was happy with +Philip. The trial and the terror passed away. + +"Consolation has come to me from the best of good women. Mrs. +Staveley writes as lovingly as my mother might have written, if +death had spared her. I have replied with all the gratitude that +I really feel, but without taking advantage of the services which +she offers. Mrs. Staveley has it in her mind, as you had it in +your mind, to bring Philip back to me. Does she forget, do you +forget, that Helena claims him? But you both mean kindly, and I +love you both for the interest that you feel in me. + +"The farmer's wife--dear good soul!--hardly understands me so +well as her husband does. She confesses to pitying Philip. 'He is +so wretched,' she says. 'And, dear heart, how handsome, and what +nice, winning manners! I don't think I should have had your +courage, in your place. To tell the truth, I should have jumped +for joy when I saw him at the door; and I should have run down to +let him in--and perhaps been sorry for it afterward. If you +really wish to forget him, my dear, I will do all I can to help +you.' + +"These are trifling things to mention, but I am afraid you may +think I am unhappy--and I want to prevent that. + +"I have so much to be thankful for, and the children are so fond +of me. Whether I teach them as well as I might have done, if I +had been a more learned girl, may perhaps be doubtful. They do +more for their governess, I am afraid, than their governess does +for them. When they come into my room in the morning, and rouse +me with their kisses, the hour of waking, which used to be so +hard to endure after Philip left me, is now the happiest hour of +my day." + + +With that reassuring view of her life as a governess, the poor +child's letter comes to an end. + + +CHAPTER LI. + +THE TRIUMPH OF MRS. TENBRUGGEN. + + +MISS JILLGALL appears again, after an interval, on the field of +my extracts. My pleasant friend deserves this time a serious +reception. She informs me that Mrs. Tenbruggen has begun the +inquiries which I have the best reason to dread--for I alone know +the end which they are designed to reach. + +The arrival of this news affected me in two different ways. + +It was discouraging to find that circumstances had not justified +my reliance on Helena's enmity as a counter-influence to Mrs. +Tenbruggen. On the other hand, it was a relief to be assured that +my return to London would serve, rather than compromise, the +interests which it was my chief anxiety to defend. I had foreseen +that Mrs. Tenbruggen would wait to set her enterprise on foot, +until I was out of her way; and I had calculated on my absence as +an event which would at least put an end to suspense by +encouraging her to begin. + +The first sentences in Miss Jillgall's letter explain the nature +of her interest in the proceedings of her friend, and are, on +that account, worth reading. + +"Things are sadly changed for the worse" (Selina writes); "but I +don't forget that Philip was once engaged to Euneece, and that +Mr. Gracedieu's extraordinary conduct toward him puzzled us all. +The mode of discovery which dear Elizabeth suggested by letter, +at that time, appears to be the mode which she is following now. +When I asked why, she said: 'Philip may return to Euneece; the +Minister may recover--and will be all the more likely to do so if +he tries Massage. In that case, he will probably repeat the +conduct which surprised you; and your natural curiosity will ask +me again to find out what it means. Am I your friend, Selina, or +am I not?' This was so delightfully kind, and so irresistibly +conclusive, that I kissed her in a transport of gratitude. With +what breathless interest I have watched her progress toward +penetrating the mystery of the girls' ages, it is quite needless +to tell you." + +. . . . . . . + +Mrs. Tenbruggen's method o f keeping Miss Jillgall in ignorance +of what she was really about, and Miss Jillgall's admirable +confidence in the integrity of Mrs. Tenbruggen, being now set +forth on the best authority, an exact presentation of the state +of affairs will be completed if I add a word more, relating to +the positions actually occupied toward Mrs. Tenbruggen's +enterprise, by my correspondent and myself. + +On her side, Miss Jillgall was entirely ignorant that one of the +two girls was not Mr. Gracedieu's daughter, but his adopted +child. On my side, I was entirely ignorant of Mrs. Tenbruggen's +purpose in endeavoring to identify the daughter of the murderess. +Speaking of myself, individually, let me add that I only waited +the event to protect the helpless ones--my poor demented friend, +and the orphan whom his mercy received into his heart and his +home. + +Miss Jillgall goes on with her curious story, as follows: + +. . . . . . . + +"Always desirous of making myself useful, I thought I would give +my dear Elizabeth a hint which might save time and trouble. 'Why +not begin,' I suggested, 'by asking the Governor to help you?' +That wonderful woman never forgets anything. She had already +applied to you, without success. + +"In my next attempt to be useful, I did violence to my most +cherished convictions, by presenting the wretch Helena to the +admirable Elizabeth. That the former would be cold as ice, in her +reception of any friend of mine, was nothing wonderful. Mrs. +Tenbruggen passed it over with the graceful composure of a woman +of the world. In the course of conversation with Helena, she +slipped in a question: 'Might I ask if you are older than your +sister?' The answer was, of course: 'I don't know.' And here, for +once, the most deceitful girl in existence spoke the truth. + +"When we were alone again, Elizabeth made a remark: 'If personal +appearance could decide the question,' she said, 'the +disagreeable young woman is the oldest of the two. The next thing +to be done is to discover if looks are to be trusted in this +case.' + +"My friend's lawyer received confidential instructions (not shown +to me, which seems rather hard) to trace the two Miss Gracedieus' +registers of birth. Elizabeth described this proceeding (not very +intelligibly to my mind) as a means of finding out which of the +girls could be identified by name as the elder of the two. + +"The report arrived this morning. I was only informed that the +result, in one case, had entirely defeated the inquiries. In the +other case, Elizabeth had helped her agent by referring him to a +Birth, advertised in the customary columns of the _Times_ +newspaper. Even here, there was a fatal obstacle. The name of the +place in which Mr. Gracedieu's daughter had been born was not +added, as usual. + +"I still tried to be useful. Had my friend known the Minister's +wife? My friend had never even seen the Minister's wife. And, as +if by a fatality, her portrait was no longer in existence. I +could only mention that Helena was like her mother. But Elizabeth +seemed to attach very little importance to my evidence, if I may +call it by so grand a name. 'People have such strange ideas about +likenesses,' she said, 'and arrive at such contradictory +conclusions. One can only trust one's own eyes in a matter of +that kind.' + +"My friend next asked me about our domestic establishment. We had +only a cook and a housemaid. If they were old servants who had +known the girls as children, they might be made of some use. Our +luck was as steadily against us as ever. They had both been +engaged when Mr. Gracedieu assumed his new pastoral duties, after +having resided with his wife at her native place. + +"I asked Elizabeth what she proposed to do next. + +"She deferred her answer, until I had first told her whether the +visit of the doctor might be expected on that day. I could reply +to this in the negative. Elizabeth, thereupon, made a startling +request; she begged me to introduce her to Mr. Gracedieu. + +"I said: 'Surely, you have forgotten the sad state of his mind?' +No; she knew perfectly well that he was imbecile. 'I want to +try,' she explained, 'if I can rouse him for a few minutes.' + +" 'By Massage?' I inquired. + +"She burst out laughing. 'Massage, my dear, doesn't act in that +way. It is an elaborate process, pursued patiently for weeks +together. But my hands have more than one accomplishment at their +finger-ends. Oh, make your mind easy! I shall do no harm, if I do +no good. Take me. Selina, to the Minister.' + +"We went to his room. Don't blame me for giving way; I am too +fond of Elizabeth to be able to disappoint her. + +"It was a sad sight when we went in. He was quite happy, playing +like a child, at cup-and-ball. The attendant retired at my +request. I introduced Mrs. Tenbruggen. He smiled and shook hands +with her. He said: 'Are you a Christian or a Pagan? You are very +pretty. How many times can you catch the ball in the cup?' The +effort to talk to her ended there. He went on with his game, and +seemed to forget that there was anybody in the room. It made my +heart ache to remember what he was--and to see him now. + +"Elizabeth whispered: 'Leave me alone with him.' + +"I don't know why I did such a rude thing--I hesitated. + +"Elizabeth asked me if I had no confidence in her. I was ashamed +of myself; I left them together. + +"A long half-hour passed. Feeling a little uneasy, I went +upstairs again and looked into the room. He was leaning back in +his chair; his plaything was on the floor, and he was looking +vacantly at the light that came in through the window. I found +Mrs. Tenbruggen at the other end of the room, in the act of +ringing the bell. Nothing in the least out of the ordinary way +seemed to have happened. When the attendant had answered the +bell, we left the room together. Mr. Gracedieu took no notice of +us. + +" 'Well,' I said, 'how has it ended?' + +"Quite calmly my noble Elizabeth answered: 'In total failure.' + +" 'What did you say to him after you sent me away?' + +" 'I tried, in every possible way, to get him to tell me which of +his two daughters was the oldest.' + +" 'Did he refuse to answer?' + +" 'He was only too ready to answer. First, he said Helena was the +oldest--then he corrected himself, and declared that Eunice was +the oldest--then he said they were twins--then he went back to +Helena and Eunice. Now one was the oldest, and now the other. He +rang the changes on those two names, I can't tell you how often, +and seemed to think it a better game than cup-and-ball.' + +" 'What is to be done?' + +" 'Nothing is to be done, Selina.' + +" 'What!' I cried, 'you give it up?' + +"My heroic friend answered: 'I know when I am beaten, my dear--I +give it up.' She looked at her watch; it was time to operate on +the muscles of one of her patients. Away she went, on her +glorious mission of Massage, without a murmur of regret. What +strength of mind! But, oh, dear, what a disappointment for poor +little me! On one thing I am determined. If I find myself getting +puzzled or frightened, I shall instantly write to you." + +With that expression of confidence in me, Selina's narrative came +to an end. I wish I could have believed, as she did, that the +object of her admiration had been telling her the truth. + +A few days later, Mrs. Tenbruggen honored me with a visit at my +house in the neighborhood of London. Thanks to this circumstance, +I am able to add a postscript which will complete the revelations +in Miss Jillgall's letter. + +The illustrious Masseuse, having much to conceal from her +faithful Selina, was well aware that she had only one thing to +keep hidden from me; namely, the advantage which she would have +gained if her inquiries had met with success. + +"I thought I might have got at what I wanted," she told me, "by +mesmerizing our reverend friend. He is as weak as a woman; I +threw him into hysterics, and had to give it up, and quiet him, +or he would have alarmed the house. You look as if you don't +believe in mesmerism." + +"My looks, Mrs. Tenbruggen, exactly express my opinion. Mesmerism +is a humbug!" + +"You amusing old Tory! Shall I throw you into a state of trance? +No! I'll give you a shock of another kind--a shock of surprise. I +know as much as you do about Mr. Gracedieu's daughters. What do +you think of that?" + +" I think I should like to hear you tell me, which is the adopted +child." + +"Helena, to be sure!" + +Her manner was defiant, her tone was positive; I doubted both. +Under the surface of her assumed confidence, I saw something +which told me that she was trying to read my thoughts in my face. +Many other women had tried to do that. They succeeded when I was +young. When I had reached the wrong side of fifty, my face had +learned discretion, and they failed. + +"How did you arrive at your discovery?" I asked. "I know of +nobody who could have helped you." + +"I helped myself, sir! I reasoned it out. A wonderful thing for a +woman to do, isn't it? I wonder whether you could follow the +process?" + +My reply to this was made by a bow. I was sure of my command over +my face; but perfect control of the voice is a rare power. Here +and there, a great actor or a great criminal possesses it. + +Mrs. Tenbruggen's vanity took me into her confidence. "In the +first place," she said, "Helena is plainly the wicked one of the +two. I was not prejudiced by what Selina had told me of her: I +saw it, and felt it, before I had been five minutes in her +company. If lying tongues ever provoke her as lying tongues +provoked her mother, she will follow her mother's example. Very +well. Now--in the second place--though it is very slight, there +is a certain something in her hair and her complexion which +reminds me of the murderess: there is no other resemblance, I +admit. In the third place, the girls' names point to the same +conclusion. Mr. Gracedieu is a Protestant and a Dissenter. Would +he call a child of his own by the name of a Roman Catholic saint? +No! he would prefer a name in the Bible; Eunice is _his_ child. +And Helena was once the baby whom I carried into the prison. Do +you deny that?" + +"I don't deny it." + +Only four words! But they were deceitfully spoken, and the +deceit--practiced in Eunice's interest, it is needless to +say--succeeded. Mrs. Tenbruggen's object in visiting me was +attained; I had confirmed her belief in the delusion that Helena +was the adopted child. + +She got up to take her leave. I asked if she proposed remaining +in London. No; she was returning to her country patients that +night. + +As I attended her to the house-door, she turned to me with her +mischievous smile. "I have taken some trouble in finding the clew +to the Minister's mystery," she said. "Don't you wonder why?" + +"If I did wonder," I answered, "would you tell me why?" + +She laughed at the bare idea of it. "Another lesson," she said, +"to assist a helpless man in studying the weaker sex. I have +already shown you that a woman can reason. Learn next that a +woman can keep a secret. Good-by. God bless you!" + +Of the events which followed Mrs. Tenbruggen's visit it is not +possible for me, I am thankful to say, to speak from personal +experience. Ought I to conclude with an expression of repentance +for the act of deception to which I have already pleaded guilty? +I don't know. Yes! the force of circumstances does really compel +me to say it, and say it seriously--I declare, on my word of +honor, I don't know. + + +Third period: 1876. + +_HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED._ + + +CHAPTER LII. + +HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED. + + + +WHILE my father remains in his present helpless condition, +somebody must assume a position of command in this house. There +cannot be a moment's doubt that I am the person to do it. + +In my agitated state of mind, sometimes doubtful of Philip, +sometimes hopeful of him, I find Mrs. Tenbruggen simply +unendurable. A female doctor is, under any circumstances, a +creature whom I detest. She is, at her very best, a bad imitation +of a man. The Medical Rubber is worse than this; she is a bad +imitation of a mountebank. Her grinning good-humor, adopted no +doubt to please the fools who are her patients, and her impudent +enjoyment of hearing herself talk, make me regret for the first +time in my life that I am a young lady. If I belonged to the +lowest order of the population, I might take the first stick I +could find, and enjoy the luxury of giving Mrs. Tenbruggen a good +beating. + +She literally haunts the house, encouraged, of course, by her +wretched little dupe, Miss Jillgall. Only this morning, I tried +what a broad hint would do toward suggesting that her visits had +better come to an end. + +"Really, Mrs. Tenbruggen," I said, "I must request Miss Jillgall +to moderate her selfish enjoyment of your company, for your own +sake. Your time is too valuable, in a professional sense, to be +wasted on an idle woman who has no sympathy with your patients, +waiting for relief perhaps, and waiting in vain. + +She listened to this, all smiles and good-humor: "My dear, do you +know how I might answer you, if I was an ill-natured woman?" + +"I have no curiosity to hear it, Mrs. Tenbruggen." + +"I might ask you," she persisted, "to allow me to mind my own +business. But I am incapable of making an ungrateful return for +the interest which you take in my medical welfare. Let me venture +to ask if you understand the value of time." + +"Are you going to say much more, Mrs. Tenbruggen?" + +"I am going to make a sensible remark, my child. If you feel +tired, permit me--here is a chair. Father Time, dear Miss +Gracedieu, has always been a good friend of mine, because I know +how to make the best use of him. The author of the famous saying +_Tempus fugit_ (you understand Latin, of course) was, I take +leave to think, an idle man. The more I have to do, the readier +Time is to wait for me. Let me impress this on your mind by some +interesting examples. The greatest conqueror of the +century--Napoleon--had time enough for everything. The greatest +novelist of the century--Sir Walter Scott--had time enough for +everything. At my humble distance, I imitate those illustrious +men, and my patients never complain of me." + +"Have you done?" I asked. + +"Yes, dear--for the present." + +"You are a clever woman, Mrs. Tenbruggen and you know it. You +have an eloquent tongue, and you know it. But you are something +else, which you don't seem to be aware of. You are a Bore." + +She burst out laughing, with the air of a woman who thoroughly +enjoyed a good joke. I looked back when I left the room, and saw +the friend of Father Time in the easy chair opening our +newspaper. + +This is a specimen of the customary encounter of our wits. I +place it on record in my Journal, to excuse myself _to_ myself. +When she left us at last, later in the day, I sent a letter after +her to the hotel. Not having kept a copy of it, let me present +the substance, like a sermon, under three heads: I begged to be +excused for speaking plainly; I declared that there was a total +want of sympathy between us, on my side; and I proposed that she +should deprive me of future opportunities of receiving her in +this house. The reply arrived immediately in these terms: "Your +letter received, dear girl. I am not in the least angry; partly +because I am very fond of you, partly because I know that you +will ask me to come back again. P. S--Philip sends his love." + +This last piece of insolence was unquestionably a lie. Philip +detests her. They are both staying at the same hotel. But I +happen to know that he won't even look at her, if they meet by +accident on the stairs. + +People who can enjoy the melancholy spectacle of human nature in +a state of degradation would be at a loss which exhibition to +prefer--an ugly old maid in a rage, or an ugly old maid in tears. +Miss Jillgall presented herself in both characters when she heard +what had happened. To my mind, Mrs. Tenbruggen's bosom-friend is +a creature not fit to be seen or heard when she loses her temper. +I only told her to leave the room. To my great amusement, she +shook her bony fist at me, and expressed a frantic wish: "Oh, if +I was rich enough to leave this wicked house!" I wonder whether +there is insanity (as well as poverty) in Miss Jillgall's family? + + +Last night my mind was in a harassed state. Philip was, as usual, +the cause of it. + +Perhaps I acted indiscreetly when I insisted on his leaving +London, and returning to this place. But what else could I have +done? It was not merely my interest, it was an act of downright +necessity, to withdraw him from the influence of his hateful +father--whom I now regard as + the one serious obstacle to my marriage. There is no prospect of +being rid of Mr. Dunboyne the elder by his returning to Ireland. +He is trying a new remedy for his crippled hand--electricity. I +wish it was lightning, to kill him! If I had given that wicked +old man the chance, I am firmly convinced he would not have let a +day pass without doing his best to depreciate me in his son's +estimation. Besides, there was the risk, if I had allowed Philip +to remain long away from me, of losing--no, while I keep my +beauty I cannot be in such danger as that--let me say, of +permitting time and absence to weaken my hold on him. However +sullen and silent he may be, when we meet--and I find him in that +condition far too often--I can, sooner or later, recall him to +his brighter self. My eyes preserve their charm, my talk can +still amuse him, and, better even than that, I feel the answering +thrill in him, which tells me how precious my kisses are--not too +lavishly bestowed! But the time when I am obliged to leave him to +himself is the time that I dread. How do I know that his thoughts +are not wandering away to Eunice? He denies it; he declares that +he only went to the farmhouse to express his regret for his own +thoughtless conduct, and to offer her the brotherly regard due to +the sister of his promised wife. Can I believe it? Oh, what would +I not give to be able to believe it! How can I feel sure that her +refusal to see him was not a cunning device to make him long for +another interview, and plan perhaps in private to go back and try +again. Marriage! Nothing will quiet these frightful doubts of +mine, nothing will reward me for all that I have suffered, +nothing will warm my heart with the delightful sense of triumph +over Eunice, but my marriage to Philip. And what does he say, +when I urge it on him?--yes, I have fallen as low as that, in the +despair which sometimes possesses me. He has his answer, always +the same, and always ready: "How are we to live? where is the +money?" The maddening part of it is that I cannot accuse him of +raising objections that don't exist. We are poorer than ever +here, since my father's illness--and Philip's allowance is barely +enough to suffice him as a single man. Oh, how I hate the rich! + +It was useless to think of going to bed. How could I hope to +sleep, with my head throbbing, and my thoughts in this disturbed +state? I put on my comfortable dressing-gown, and sat down to try +what reading would do to quiet my mind. + +I had borrowed the book from the Library, to which I have been a +subscriber in secret for some time past. It was an old volume, +full of what we should now call Gossip; relating strange +adventures, and scandalous incidents in family history which had +been concealed from public notice. + +One of these last romances in real life caught a strong hold on +my interest. + +It was a strange case of intended poisoning, which had never been +carried out. A young married lady of rank, whose name was +concealed under an initial letter, had suffered some unendurable +wrong (which was not mentioned) at the hands of her husband's +mother. The wife was described as a woman of strong passions, who +had determined on a terrible revenge by taking the life of her +mother-in-law. There were difficulties in the way of her +committing the crime without an accomplice to help her; and she +decided on taking her maid, an elderly woman, into her +confidence. The poison was secretly obtained by this person; and +the safest manner of administering it was under discussion +between the mistress and the maid, when the door of the room was +suddenly opened. The husband, accompanied by his brother, rushed +in, and charged his wife with plotting the murder of his mother. +The young lady (she was only twenty-three) must have been a +person of extraordinary courage and resolution. She saw at once +that her maid had betrayed her, and, with astonishing presence of +mind, she turned on the traitress, and said to her husband: +"There is the wretch who has been trying to persuade me to poison +your mother!" As it happened, the old lady's temper was violent +and overbearing; and the maid had complained of being ill-treated +by her, in the hearing of the other servants. The circumstances +made it impossible to decide which of the two was really the +guilty woman. The servant was sent away, and the husband and wife +separated soon afterward, under the excuse of incompatibility of +temper. Years passed; and the truth was only discovered by the +death-bed confession of the wife. A remarkable story, which has +made such an impression on me that I have written it in my +Journal. I am not rich enough to buy the book. + + +For the last two days, I have been confined to my room with a bad +feverish cold--caught, as I suppose, by sitting at an open window +reading my book till nearly three o'clock in the morning. I sent +a note to Philip, telling him of my illness. On the first day, he +called to inquire after me. On the second day, no visit, and no +letter. Here is the third day--and no news of him as yet. I am +better, but not fit to go out. Let me wait another hour, and, if +that exertion of patience meets with no reward, I shall send a +note to the hotel. + +No news of Philip. I have sent to the hotel. The servant has just +returned, bringing me back my note. The waiter informed her that +Mr. Dunboyne had gone away to London by the morning train. No +apology or explanation left for me. + +_Can_ he have deserted me? I am in such a frenzy of doubt and +rage that I can hardly write that horrible question. Is it +possible--oh, I feel it _is_ possible that he has gone away with +Eunice. Do I know where to find them? if I did know, what could I +do? I feel as if I could kill them both! + +CHAPTER LIII. + +HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED. + + +AFTER the heat of my anger had cooled, I made two discoveries. +One cost me a fee to a messenger, and the other exposed me to the +insolence of a servant. I pay willingly in my purse and my pride, +when the gain is peace of mind. Through my messenger I +ascertained that Eunice had never left the farm. Through my own +inquiries, answered by the waiter with an impudent grin, I heard +that Philip had left orders to have his room kept for him. What +misery our stupid housemaid might have spared me, if she had +thought of putting that question when I sent her to the hotel! + +The rest of the day passed in vain speculations on Philip's +motive for this sudden departure. What poor weak creatures we +are! I persuaded myself to hope that anxiety for our marriage had +urged him to make an effort to touch the heart of his mean +father. Shall I see him to-morrow? And shall I have reason to be +fonder of him than ever? + + +We met again to-day as usual. He has behaved infamously. + +When I asked what had been his object in going to London, I was +told that it was "a matter of business." He made that idiotic +excuse as coolly as if he really thought I should believe it. I +submitted in silence, rather than mar his return to me by the +disaster of a quarrel. But this was an unlucky day. A harder +trial of my self-control was still to come. Without the slightest +appearance of shame, Philip informed me that he was charged with +a message from Mrs. Tenbruggen! She wanted some Irish lace, and +would I be so good as to tell her which was the best shop at +which she could buy it? + +Was he really in earnest? "You," I said, "who distrusted and +detested her--you are on friendly terms with that woman?" + +He remonstrated with me. "My dear Helena, don't speak in that way +of Mrs. Tenbruggen. We have both been mistaken about her. That +good creature has forgiven the brutal manner in which I spoke to +her, when she was in attendance on my father. She was the first +to propose that we should shake hands and forget it. My darling, +don't let all the good feeling be on one side. You have no idea +how kindly she speaks of you, and how anxious she is to help us +to be married. Come! come! meet her half-way. Write down the name +of the shop on my card, and I will take it back to her." + +Sheer amazement kept me silent: I let him go on. He was a mere +child in the hands of Mrs. Tenbruggen: she had only to determine +to make a fool of him, and she could do it. + +But why did she + do it? What advantage had she to gain by insinuating herself in +this way into his good opinion, evidently with the intention of +urging him to reconcile us to each other? How could we two poor +young people be of the smallest use to the fashionable Masseuse? + +My silence began to irritate Philip. "I never knew before how +obstinate you could be," he said; "you seem to be doing your +best--I can't imagine why--to lower yourself in my estimation." + +I held my tongue; I assumed my smile. It is all very well for men +to talk about the deceitfulness of women. What chance (I should +like to ask somebody who knows about it) do the men give us of +making our lives with them endurable, except by deceit! I gave +way, of course, and wrote down the address of the shop. + +He was so pleased that he kissed me. Yes! the most fondly +affectionate kiss that he had given me, for weeks past, was my +reward for submitting to Mrs. Tenbruggen. She is old enough to be +his mother, and almost as ugly as Miss Jillgall--and she has made +her interests his interests already! + + +On the next day, I fully expected to receive a visit from Mrs. +Tenbruggen. She knew better than that. I only got a polite little +note, thanking me for the address, and adding an artless +concession: "I earn more money than I know what to do with; and I +adore Irish lace." + +The next day came, and still she was careful not to show herself +too eager for a personal reconciliation. A splendid nosegay was +sent to me, with another little note: "A tribute, dear Helena, +offered by one of my grateful patients. Too beautiful a present +for an old woman like me. I agree with the poet: 'Sweets to the +sweet.' A charming thought of Shakespeare's, is it not? I should +like to verify the quotation. Would you mind leaving the volume +for me in the hall, if I call to-morrow?" + +Well done, Mrs. Tenbruggen! She doesn't venture to intrude on +Miss Gracedieu in the drawing-room; she only wants to verify a +quotation in the hall. Oh, goddess of Humility (if there is such +a person), how becomingly you are dressed when your milliner is +an artful old woman! + +While this reflection was passing through my mind, Miss Jillgall +came in--saw the nosegay on the table--and instantly pounced on +it. "Oh, for me! for me!" she cried. "I noticed it this morning +on Elizabeth's table. How very kind of her!" She plunged her +inquisitive nose into the poor flowers, and looked up +sentimentally at the ceiling. "The perfume of goodness," she +remarked, "mingled with the perfume of flowers!" "When you have +quite done with it," I said, "perhaps you will be so good as to +return my nosegay?" "_Your_ nosegay!" she exclaimed. "There is +Mrs. Tenbruggen's letter," I replied, "if you would like to look +at it." She did look at it. All the bile in her body flew up into +her eyes, and turned them green; she looked as if she longed to +scratch my face. I gave the flowers afterward to Maria; Miss +Jillgall's nose had completely spoiled them. + + +It would have been too ridiculous to have allowed Mrs. Tenbruggen +to consult Shakespeare in the hall. I had the honor of receiving +her in my own room. We accomplished a touching reconciliation, +and we quite forgot Shakespeare. + +She troubles me; she does indeed trouble me. + +Having set herself entirely right with Philip, she is determined +on performing the same miracle with me. Her reform of herself is +already complete. Her vulgar humor was kept under strict +restraint; she was quiet and well-bred, and readier to listen +than to talk. This change was not presented abruptly. She +contrived to express her friendly interests in Philip and in me +by hints dropped here and there, assisted in their effort by +answers on my part, into which I was tempted so skillfully that I +only discovered the snare set for me, on reflection. What is it, +I ask again, that she has in view in taking all this trouble? +Where is her motive for encouraging a love-affair, which Miss +Jillgall must have denounced to her as an abominable wrong +inflicted on Eunice? Money (even if there was a prospect of such +a thing, in our case) cannot be her object; it is quite true that +her success sets her above pecuniary anxiety. Spiteful feeling +against Eunice is out of the question. They have only met once; +and her opinion was expressed to me with evident sincerity: "Your +sister is a nice girl, but she is like other nice girls--she +doesn't interest me." There is Eunice's character, drawn from the +life in few words. In what an irritating position do I find +myself placed! Never before have I felt so interested in trying +to look into a person's secret mind; and never before have I been +so completely baffled. + +I had written as far as this, and was on the point of closing my +Journal, when a third note arrived from Mrs. Tenbruggen. + +She had been thinking about me at intervals (she wrote) all +through the rest of the day; and, kindly as I had received her, +she was conscious of being the object of doubts on my part which +her visit had failed to remove. Might she ask leave to call on +me, in the hope of improving her position in my estimation? An +appointment followed for the next day. + +What can she have to say to me which she has not already said? Is +it anything about Philip, I wonder? + + +CHAPTER LIV. + +HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED. + + +AT our interview of the next day, Mrs. Tenbruggen's capacity for +self-reform appeared under a new aspect. She dropped all +familiarity with me, and she stated the object of her visit +without a superfluous word of explanation or apology. + +I thought this a remarkable effort for a woman; and I recognized +the merit of it by leaving the lion's share of the talk to my +visitor. In these terms she opened her business with me: + +"Has Mr. Philip Dunboyne told you why he went to London?" + +"He made a commonplace excuse," I answered. "Business, he said, +took him to London. I know no more." + +"You have a fair prospect of happiness, Miss Helena, when you are +married--your future husband is evidently afraid of you. I am not +afraid of you; and I shall confide to your private ear something +which you have an interest in knowing. The business which took +young Mr. Dunboyne to London was to consult a competent person, +on a matter concerning himself. The competent person is the +sagacious (not to say sly) old gentleman--whom we used to call +the Governor. You know him, I believe?" + +"Yes. But I am at a loss to imagine why Philip should have +consulted him." + +"Have you ever heard or read, Miss Helena, of such a thing as 'an +old man's fancy'?" + +"I think I have." + +"Well, the Governor has taken an old man's fancy to your sister. +They appeared to understand each other perfectly when I was at +the farmhouse." + +"Excuse me, Mrs. Tenbruggen, that is what I know already. Why did +Philip go to the Governor?" + +She smiled. "If anybody is acquainted with the true state of your +sister's feelings, the Governor is the man. I sent Mr. Dunboyne +to consult him--and there is the reason for it." + +This open avowal of her motives perplexed and offended me. After +declaring herself to be interested in my marriage-engagement had +she changed her mind, and resolved on favoring Philip's return to +Eunice? What right had he to consult anybody about the state of +that girl's feelings? _My_ feelings form the only subject of +inquiry that was properly open to him. I should have said +something which I might have afterward regretted, if Mrs. +Tenbruggen had allowed me the opportunity. Fortunately for both +of us, she went on with her narrative of her own proceedings. + +"Philip Dunboyne is an excellent fellow," she continued; "I +really like him--but he has his faults. He sadly wants strength +of purpose; and, like weak men in general, he only knows his own +mind when a resolute friend takes him in hand and guides him. I +am his resolute friend. I saw him veering about between you and +Eunice; and I decided for his sake--may I say for your sake +also?--on putting an end to that mischievous state of indecision. +You have the claim on him; you are the right wife for him, and +the Governor was (as I thought likely from what I had myself +observed) the man to make him see it. I am not in anybody's +secrets; it was pure guesswork on my part, and it has succeeded. +Th ere is no more doubt now about Miss Eunice's sentiments. The +question is settled." + +"In my favor?" + +"Certainly in your favor--or I should not have said a word about +it." + +"Was Philip's visit kindly received? Or did the old wretch laugh +at him?" + +"My dear Miss Gracedieu, the old wretch is a man of the world, +and never makes mistakes of that sort. Before he could open his +lips, he had to satisfy himself that your lover deserved to be +taken into his confidence, on the delicate subject of Eunice's +sentiments. He arrived at a favorable conclusion. I can repeat +Philip's questions and the Governor's answers after putting the +young man through a stiff examination just as they passed: 'May I +inquire, sir, if she has spoken to you about me?' 'She has often +spoken about you.' 'Did she seem to be angry with me?' 'She is +too good and too sweet to be angry with you.' 'Do you think she +will forgive me?' 'She has forgiven you.' 'Did she say so +herself?' 'Yes, of her own free will.' 'Why did she refuse to see +me when I called at the farm?' 'She had her own reasons--good +reasons.' 'Has she regretted it since?' 'Certainly not.' 'Is it +likely that she would consent, if I proposed a reconciliation?' +'I put that question to her myself.' 'How did she take it, sir?' +'She declined to take it.' 'You mean that she declined a +reconciliation?' 'Yes.' 'Are you sure she was in earnest?' 'I am +positively sure.' That last answer seems, by young Dunboyne's own +confession, to have been enough, and more than enough for him. He +got up to go--and then an odd thing happened. After giving him +the most unfavorable answers, the Governor patted him paternally +on the shoulder, and encouraged him to hope. 'Before we say +good-by, Mr. Philip, one word more. If I was as young as you are, +I should not despair.' There is a sudden change of front! Who can +explain it?" + +The Governor's mischievous resolution to reconcile Philip and +Eunice explained it, of course. With the best intentions +(perhaps) Mrs. Tenbruggen had helped that design by bringing the +two men together. "Go on," I said; "I am prepared to hear next +that Philip has paid another visit to my sister, and has been +received this time." + +I must say this for Mrs. Tenbruggen: she kept her temper +perfectly. + +"He has not been to the farm," she said, "but he has done +something nearly as foolish. He has written to your sister." + +"And he has received a favorable reply, of course?" + +She put her hand into the pocket of her dress. + +"There is your sister's reply," she said. + +Any persons who have had a crushing burden lifted, unexpectedly +and instantly, from off their minds, will know what I felt when I +read the reply. In the most positive language, Eunice refused to +correspond with Philip, or to speak with him. The concluding +words proved that she was in earnest. "You are engaged to Helena. +Consider me as a stranger until you are married. After that time +you will be my brother-in-law, and then I may pardon you for +writing to me." + +Nobody who knows Eunice would have supposed that she possessed +those two valuable qualities--common-sense and proper pride. It +is pleasant to feel that I can now send cards to my sister, when +I am Mrs. Philip Dunboyne. + +I returned the letter to Mrs. Tenbruggen, with the sincerest +expressions of regret for having doubted her. "I have been +unworthy of your generous interest in me," I said; "I am almost +ashamed to offer you my hand." + +She took my hand, and gave it a good, heady shake. + +"Are we friends?" she asked, in the simplest and prettiest +manner. "Then let us be easy and pleasant again," she went on. +"Will you call me Elizabeth; and shall I call you Helena? Very +well. Now I have got something else to say; another secret which +must be kept from Philip (I call _him_ by his name now, you see) +for a few days more. Your happiness, my dear, must not depend on +his miserly old father. He must have a little income of his own +to marry on. Among the hundreds of unfortunate wretches whom I +have relieved from torture of mind and body, there is a grateful +minority. Small! small! but there they are. I have influence +among powerful people; and I am trying to make Philip private +secretary to a member of Parliament. When I have succeeded, you +shall tell him the good news." + +What a vile humor I must have been in, at the time, not to have +appreciated the delightful gayety of this good creature; I went +to the other extreme now, and behaved like a gushing young miss +fresh from school. I kissed her. + +She burst out laughing. "What a sacrifice!" she cried. "A kiss +for me, which ought to have been kept for Philip! By-the-by, do +you know what I should do, Helena, in your place? I should take +our handsome young man away from that hotel!" + +"I will do anything that you advise," I said. + +"And you will do well, my child. In the first place, the hotel is +too expensive for Philip's small means. In the second place, two +of the chambermaids have audaciously presumed to be charming +girls; and the men, my dear--well! well! I will leave you to find +that out for yourself. In the third place, you want to have +Philip under your own wing; domestic familiarity will make him +fonder of you than ever. Keep him out of the sort of company that +he meets with in the billiard-room and the smoking-room. You have +got a spare bed here, I know, and your poor father is in no +condition to use his authority. Make Philip one of the family." + +This last piece of advice staggered me. I mentioned the +Proprieties. Mrs. Tenbruggen laughed at the Proprieties. + +"Make Selina of some use," she suggested. "While you have got +_her_ in the house, Propriety is rampant. Why condemn poor +helpless Philip to cheap lodgings? Time enough to cast him out to +the feather-bed and the fleas on the night before your marriage. +Besides, I shall be in and out constantly--for I mean to cure +your father. The tongue of scandal is silent in my awful +presence; an atmosphere of virtue surrounds Mamma Tenbruggen. +Think of it." + + +CHAPTER LV. + +HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED. + + +I DID think of it. Philip came to us, and lived in our house. + +Let me hasten to add that the protest of Propriety was duly +entered, on the day before my promised husband arrived. Standing +in the doorway--nothing would induce her to take a chair, or even +to enter the room--Miss Jillgall delivered her opinion on +Philip's approaching visit. Mrs. Tenbruggen reported it in her +pocket-book, as if she was representing a newspaper at a public +meeting. Here it is, copied from her notes: + +"Miss Helena Gracedieu, my first impulse under the present +disgusting circumstances was to leave the house, and earn a bare +crust in the cheapest garret I could find in the town. But my +grateful heart remembers Mr. Gracedieu. My poor afflicted cousin +was good to me when I was helpless. I cannot forsake him when +_he_ is helpless. At whatever sacrifice of my own self-respect, I +remain under this roof, so dear to me for the Minister's sake. I +notice, miss, that you smile. I see my once dear Elizabeth, the +friend who has so bitterly disappointed me--" she stopped, and +put her handkerchief to her eyes, and went on again--"the friend +who has so bitterly disappointed me, taking satirical notes of +what I say. I am not ashamed of what I say. The virtue which will +not stretch a little, where the motive is good, is feeble virtue +indeed. I shall stay in the house, and witness horrors, and rise +superior to them. Good-morning, Miss Gracedieu. Good-morning, +Elizabeth." She performed a magnificent curtsey, and (as Mrs. +Tenbruggen's experience of the stage informed me) made a very +creditable exit. + + +A week has passed, and I have not opened my Diary. + +My days have glided away in one delicious flow of happiness. +Philip has been delightfully devoted to me. His fervent +courtship, far exceeding any similar attentions which he may once +have paid to Eunice, has shown such variety and such +steadfastness of worship, that I despair of describing it. My +enjoyment of my new life is to be felt--not to be coldly +considered, and reduced to an imperfect statement in words. + +For the first time I feel capable, if the circumstances +encouraged me, of acts of exalted virtue. For instance, I could +save my co untry if my country was worth it. I could die a martyr +to religion if I had a religion. In one word, I am exceedingly +well satisfied with myself. The little disappointments of life +pass over me harmless. I do not even regret the failure of good +Mrs. Tenbruggen's efforts to find an employment for Philip, +worthy of his abilities and accomplishments. The member of +Parliament to whom she had applied has chosen a secretary +possessed of political influence. That is the excuse put forward +in his letter to Mrs. Tenbruggen. Wretched corrupt creature! If +he was worth a thought I should pity him. He has lost Philip's +services. + + +Three days more have slipped by. The aspect of my heaven on earth +is beginning to alter. + +Perhaps the author of that wonderful French novel, "L'Ame +Damne'e," is right when he tells us that human happiness is +misery in masquerade. It would be wrong to say that I am +miserable. But I may be on the way to it; I am anxious. + +To-day, when he did not know that I was observing him, I +discovered a preoccupied look in Philip's eyes. He laughed when I +asked if anything had happened to vex him. Was it a natural +laugh? He put his arm round me and kissed me. Was it done +mechanically? I daresay I am out of humor myself. I think I had a +little headache. Morbid, probably. I won't think of it any more. + + +It has occurred to me this morning that he may dislike being left +by himself, while I am engaged in my household affairs. If this +is the case, intensely as I hate her, utterly as I loathe the +idea of putting her in command over my domestic dominions, I +shall ask Miss Jillgall to take my place as housekeeper. + +I was away to-day in the kitchen regions rather longer than +usual. When I had done with my worries, Philip was not to be +found. Maria, looking out of one of the bedroom windows instead +of doing her work, had seen Mr. Dunboyne leave the house. It was +possible that he had charged Miss Jillgall with a message for me. +I asked if she was in her room. No; she, too, had gone out. It +was a fine day, and Philip had no doubt taken a stroll--but he +might have waited till I could join him. There were some orders +to be given to the butcher and the green-grocer. I, too, left the +house, hoping to get rid of some little discontent, caused by +thinking of what had happened. Returning by the way of High +Street--I declare I can hardly believe it even now--I did +positively see Miss Jillgall coming out of a pawnbroker's shop! + +The direction in which she turned prevented her from seeing me. +She was quite unaware that I had discovered her; and I have said +nothing about it since. But I noticed something unusual in the +manner in which her watch-chain was hanging, and I asked her what +o'clock it was. She said, "You have got your own watch." I told +her my watch had stopped. "So has mine," she said. There is no +doubt about it now; she has pawned her watch. What for? She lives +here for nothing, and she has not had a new dress since I have +known her. Why does she want money? + +Philip had not returned when I got home. Another mysterious +journey to London? No. After an absence of more than two hours, +he came back. + +Naturally enough, I asked what he had been about. He had been +taking a long walk. For his health's sake? No: to think. To think +of what? Well, I might be surprised to hear it, but his idle life +was beginning to weigh on his spirits; he wanted employment. Had +he thought of an employment? Not yet. Which way had he walked? +Anyway: he had not noticed where he went. These replies were all +made in a tone that offended me. Besides, I observed there was no +dust on his boots (after a week of dry weather), and his walk of +two hours did not appear to have heated or tired him. I took an +opportunity of consulting Mrs. Tenbruggen. + +She had anticipated that I should appeal to her opinion, as a +woman of the world. + +I shall not set down in detail what she said. Some of it +humiliated me; and from some of it I recoiled. The expression of +her opinion came to this. In the absence of experience, a certain +fervor of temperament was essential to success in the art of +fascinating men. Either my temperament was deficient, or my +intellect overpowered it. It was natural that I should suppose +myself to be as susceptible to the tender passion as the most +excitable woman living. Delusion, my Helena, amiable delusion! +Had I ever observed or had any friend told me that my pretty +hands were cold hands? I had beautiful eyes, expressive of +vivacity, of intelligence, of every feminine charm, except the +one inviting charm that finds favor in the eyes of a man. She +then entered into particulars, which I don't deny showed a true +interest in helping me. I was ungrateful, sulky, +self-opinionated. Dating from that day's talk with Mrs. +Tenbruggen, my new friendship began to show signs of having +caught a chill. + +But I did my best to follow her instructions--and failed. + +It is perhaps true that my temperament is overpowered by my +intellect. Or it is possibly truer still that the fire in my +heart, when it warms to love, is a fire that burns low. My belief +is that I surprised Philip instead of charming him. He responded +to my advances, but I felt that it was not done in earnest, not +spontaneously. Had I any right to complain? Was I in earnest? Was +I spontaneous? We were making love to each other under false +pretenses. Oh, what a fool I was to ask for Mrs. Tenbruggen's +advice! + +A humiliating doubt has come to me suddenly. Has his heart been +inclining to Eunice again? After such a letter as she has written +to him? Impossible! + + +Three events since yesterday, which I consider, trifling as they +may be, intimations of something wrong. + +First, Miss Jillgall, who at one time was eager to take my place, +has refused to relieve me of my housekeeping duties. Secondly, +Philip has been absent again, on another long walk. Thirdly, when +Philip returned, depressed and sulky, I caught Miss Jillgall +looking at him with interest and pity visible in her skinny face. +What do these things mean? + + +I am beginning to doubt everybody. Not one of them, Philip +included, cares for me--but I can frighten them, at any rate. +Yesterday evening, I dropped on the floor as suddenly as if I had +been shot: a fit of some sort. The doctor honestly declared that +he was at a loss to account for it. He would have laid me under +an eternal obligation if he had failed to bring me back to life +again. + +As it is, I am more clever than the doctor. What brought the fit +on is well known to me. Rage--furious, overpowering, deadly +rage--was the cause. I am now in the cold-blooded state, which +can look back at the event as composedly as if it had happened to +some other girl. Suppose that girl had let her sweetheart know +how she loved him as she had never let him know it before. +Suppose she opened the door again the instant after she had left +the room, eager, poor wretch, to say once more, for the fiftieth +time, "My angel, I love you!" Suppose she found her angel +standing with his back toward her, so that his face was reflected +in the glass. And suppose she discovered in that face, so smiling +and so sweet when his head had rested on her bosom only the +moment before, the most hideous expression of disgust that +features can betray. There could be no doubt of it; I had made my +poor offering of love to a man who secretly loathed me. I wonder +that I survived my sense of my own degradation. Well! I am alive; +and I know him in his true character at last. Am I a woman who +submits when an outrage is offered to her? What will happen next? +Who knows? I am in a fine humor. What I have just written has set +me laughing at myself. Helena Gracedieu has one merit at +least--she is a very amusing person. + + +I slept last night. + +This morning, I am strong again, calm, wickedly capable of +deceiving Mr. Philip Dunboyne, as he has deceived me. He has not +the faintest suspicion that I have discovered him. I wish he had +courage enough to kill somebody. How I should enjoy hiring the +nearest window to the scaffold, and seeing him hanged! + +Miss Jillgall is in better spirits than ever. She is going to +take a little holiday; and the cunning creature makes a mystery +of it. "Good-by, Miss Helen a. I am going to stay for a day or +two with a friend." What friend? Who cares? + + +Last night, I was wakeful. In the darkness a daring idea came to +me. To-day, I have carried out the idea. Something has followed +which is well worth entering in my Diary. + +I left the room at the usual hour for attending to my domestic +affairs. The obstinate cook did me a service; she was insolent; +she wanted to have her own way. I gave her her own way. In less +than five minutes I was on the watch in the pantry, which has a +view of the house door. My hat and my parasol were waiting for me +on the table, in case of my going out, too. + +In a few minutes more, I heard the door opened. Mr. Philip +Dunboyne stepped out. He was going to take another of his long +walks. + +I followed him to the street in which the cabs stand. He hired +the first one on the rank, an open chaise; while I kept myself +hidden in a. shop door. + +The moment he started on his drive, I hired a closed cab. "Double +your fare," I said to the driver, "whatever it may be, if you +follow that chaise cleverly, and do what I tell you." + +He nodded and winked at me. A wicked-looking old fellow; just the +man I wanted. + +We followed the chaise. + + + +CHAPTER LVI. + +HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED. + + +WHEN we had left the town behind us, the coachman began to drive +more slowly. In my ignorance, I asked what this change in the +pace meant. He pointed with his whip to the open road and to the +chaise in the distance. + +"If we keep too near the gentleman, miss, he has only got to look +back, and he'll see we are following him. The safe thing to do is +to let the chaise get on a bit. We can't lose sight of it, out +here." + +I had felt inclined to trust in the driver's experience, and he +had already justified my confidence in him. This encouraged me to +consult his opinion on a matter of some importance to my present +interests. I could see the necessity of avoiding discovery when +we had followed the chaise to its destination; but I was totally +at a loss to know how it could be done. My wily old man was ready +with his advice the moment I asked for it. + +"Wherever the chaise stops, miss, we must drive past it as if we +were going somewhere else. I shall notice the place while we go +by; and you will please sit back in the corner of the cab so that +the gentleman can't see you." + +"Well," I said, "and what next?" + +"Next, miss, I shall pull up, wherever it may be, out of sight of +the driver of the chaise. He bears an excellent character, I +don't deny it; but I've known him for years--and we had better +not trust him. I shall tell you where the gentleman stopped; and +you will go back to the place (on foot, of course), and see for +yourself what's to be done, specially if there happens to be a +lady in the case. No offense, miss; it's in my experience that +there's generally a lady in the case. Anyhow, you can judge for +yourself, and you'll know where to find me waiting when you want +me again." + +"Suppose something happens," I suggested, "that we don't expect?" + +"I shan't lose my head, miss, whatever happens." + +"All very well, coachman; but I have only your word for it." In +the irritable state of my mind, the man's confident way of +thinking annoyed me. + +"Begging your pardon, my young lady, you've got (if I may say so) +what they call a guarantee. When I was a young man, I drove a cab +in London for ten years. Will that do?" + +"I suppose you mean," I answered, "that you have learned deceit +in the wicked ways of the great city." + +He took this as a compliment. "Thank you, miss. That's it +exactly." + +After a long drive, or so it seemed to my impatience, we passed +the chaise drawn up at a lonely house, separated by a front +garden from the road. In two or three minutes more, we stopped +where the road took a turn, and descended to lower ground. The +farmhouse which we had left behind us was known to the driver. He +led the way to a gate at the side of the road, and opened it for +me. + +"In your place, miss," he said slyly, "the private way back is +the way I should wish to take. Try it by the fields. Turn to the +right when you have passed the barn, and you'll find yourself at +the back of the house." He stopped, and looked at his big silver +watch. "Half-past twelve," he said, "the Chawbacons--I mean the +farmhouse servants, miss--will be at their dinner. All in your +favor, so far. If the dog happens to be loose, don't forget that +his name's Grinder; call him by his name, and pat him before he +has time enough to think, and he'll let you be. When you want me, +here you'll find me waiting for orders." + +I looked back as I crossed the field. The driver was sitting on +the gate, smoking his pipe, and the horse was nibbling the grass +at the roadside. Two happy animals, without a burden on their +minds! + +After passing the barn, I saw nothing of the dog. Far or near, no +living creature appeared; the servants must have been at dinner, +as the coachman had foreseen. Arriving at a wooden fence, I +opened a gate in it, and found myself on a bit of waste ground. +On my left, there was a large duck-pond. On my right, I saw the +fowl-house and the pigstyes. Before me was a high impenetrable +hedge; and at some distance behind it--an orchard or a garden, as +I supposed, filling the intermediate space--rose the back of the +house. I made for the shelter of the hedge, in the fear that some +one might approach a window and see me. Once sheltered from +observation, I might consider what I should do next. It was +impossible to doubt that this was the house in which Eunice was +living. Neither could I fail to conclude that Philip had tried to +persuade her to see him, on those former occasions when he told +me he had taken a long walk. + +As I crouched behind the hedge, I heard voices approaching on the +other side of it. At last fortune had befriended me. The person +speaking at the moment was Miss Jillgall; and the person who +answered her was Philip. + +"I am afraid, dear Mr. Philip, you don't quite understand my +sweet Euneece. Honorable, high minded, delicate in her feelings, +and, oh, so unselfish! I don't want to alarm you, but when she +hears you have been deceiving Helena--" + +"Upon my word, Miss Jillgall, you are so provoking! I have not +been deceiving Helena. Haven't I told you what discouraging +answers I got, when I went to see the Governor? Haven't I shown +you Eunice's reply to my letter? You can't have forgotten it +already?" + +"Oh, yes, I have. Why should I remember it? Don't I know poor +Euneece was in your mind, all the time?" + +"You're wrong again! Eunice was not in my mind all the time. I +was hurt--I was offended by the cruel manner in which she had +treated me. And what was the consequence? So far was I from +deceiving Helena--she rose in my estimation by comparison with +her sister." + +"Oh, come, come, Mr. Philip! that won't do. Helena rising in +anybody's estimation? Ha! ha! ha!" + +"Laugh as much as you like, Miss Jillgall, you won't laugh away +the facts. Helena loved me; Helena was true to me. Don't be hard +on a poor fellow who is half distracted. What a man finds he can +do on one day, he finds he can't do on another. Try to understand +that a change does sometimes come over one's feelings." + +"Bless my soul, Mr. Philip, that's just what I have been +understanding all the time! I know your mind as well as you know +it yourself. You can't forget my sweet Euneece." + +"I tell you I tried to forget her! On my word of honor as a +gentleman, I tried to forget her, in justice to Helena. Is it my +fault that I failed? Eunice was in my mind, as you said just now. +Oh, my friend--for you are my friend, I am sure--persuade her to +see me, if it's only for a minute!" + +(Was there ever a man's mind in such a state of confusion as +this! First, I rise in his precious estimation, and Eunice drops. +Then Eunice rises, and I drop. Idiot! Mischievous idiot! Even +Selina seemed to be disgusted with him, when she spoke next.) + +"Mr. Philip, you are hard and unreasonable. I have tried to +persuade her, and I have made my darling cry. Nothing you can say +will induce me to distress her again. Go back, you very +undetermined man--go back to your Helena." + +"Too late." + +"Nonsense!" + +"I say too late. If I could have married Helena when I first went +to + stay in the house, I might have faced the sacrifice. As it is, I +can't endure her; and (I tell you this in confidence) she has +herself to thank for what has happened." + +"Is that really true?" + +"Quite true." + +"Tell me what she did. + +"Oh, don't talk of her! Persuade Eunice to see me. I shall come +back again, and again, and again till you bring her to me." + +"Please don't talk nonsense. If she changes her mind, I will +bring her with pleasure. If she still shrinks from it, I regard +Euneece's feelings as sacred. Take my advice; don't press her. +Leave her time to think of you, and to pity you--and that true +heart may be yours again, if you are worthy of it." + +"Worthy of it? What do you mean?" + +"Are you quite sure, my young friend, that you won't go back to +Helena?" + +"Go back to _her?_ I would cut my throat if I thought myself +capable of doing it!" + +"How did she set you against her? Did the wretch quarrel with +you?" + +"It might have been better for both of us if she had done that. +Oh, her fulsome endearments! What a contrast to the charming +modesty of Eunice! If I was rich, I would make it worth the while +of the first poor fellow I could find to rid me of Helena by +marrying her. I don't like saying such a thing of a woman, but if +you will have the truth--" + +"Well, Mr. Philip--and what is the truth?" + +"Helena disgusts me." + + +CHAPTER LVII. + +HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED. + + +So it was all settled between them. Philip is to throw me away, +like one of his bad cigars, for this unanswerable reason: "Helena +disgusts me." And he is to persuade Eunice to take my place, and +be his wife. Yes! if I let him do it. + +I heard no more of their talk. With that last, worst outrage +burning in my memory, I left the place. + +On my way back to the carriage, the dog met me. Truly, a grand +creature. I called him by his name, and patted him. He licked my +hand. Something made me speak to him. I said: "If I was to tell +you to tear Mr. Philip Dunboyne to pieces, would you do it?" The +great good-natured brute held out his paw to shake hands. Well! +well! I was not an object of disgust to the dog. + +But the coachman was startled, when he saw me again. He said +something, I did not know what it was; and he produced a +pocket-flask, containing some spirits, I suppose. Perhaps he +thought I was going to faint. He little knew me. I told him to +drive back to the place at which I had hired the cab, and earn +his money. He earned it. + +On getting home, I found Mrs. Tenbruggen walking up and down the +dining-room, deep in thought. She was startled when we first +confronted each other. "You look dreadfully ill," she said. + +I answered that I had been out for a little exercise, and had +over-fatigued myself; and then changed the subject. "Does my +father seem to improve under your treatment?" I asked. + +"Very far from it, my dear. I promised that I would try what +Massage would do for him, and I find myself compelled to give it +up." + +"Why?" + +"It excites him dreadfully." + +"In what way?" + +"He has been talking wildly of events in his past life. His brain +is in some condition which is beyond my powers of investigation. +He pointed to a cabinet in his room, and said his past life was +locked up there. I asked if I should unlock it. He shook with +fear; he said I should let out the ghost of his dead +brother-in-law. Have you any idea of what he meant?" + +The cabinet was full of old letters. I could tell her that--and +could tell her no more. I had never heard of his brother-in-law. +Another of his delusions, no doubt. "Did you ever hear him +speak," Mrs. Tenbruggen went on, "of a place called Low Lanes?" + +She waited for my reply to this last inquiry with an appearance +of anxiety that surprised me. I had never heard him speak of Low +Lanes. + +"Have you any particular interest in the place?" I asked. + +"None whatever." + +She went away to attend on a patient. I retired to my bedroom, +and opened my Diary. Again and again, I read that remarkable +story of the intended poisoning, and of the manner in which it +had ended. I sat thinking over this romance in real life till I +was interrupted by the announcement of dinner. + +Mr. Philip Dunboyne had returned. In Miss Jillgall's absence we +were alone at the table. My appetite was gone. I made a pretense +of eating, and another pretense of being glad to see my devoted +lover. I talked to him in the prettiest manner. As a hypocrite, +he thoroughly matched me; he was gallant, he was amusing. If +baseness like ours had been punishable by the law, a prison was +the right place for both of us. + +Mrs. Tenbruggen came in again after dinner, still not quite easy +about my health. "How flushed you are!" she said. "Let me feel +your pulse." I laughed, and left her with Mr. Philip Dunboyne. + +Passing my father's door, I looked in, anxious to see if he was +in the excitable state which Mrs. Tenbruggen had described. Yes; +the effect which she had produced on him--how, she knows +best--had not passed away yet: he was still talking. The +attendant told me it had gone on for hours together. On my +approaching his chair, he called out: "Which are you? Eunice or +Helena?" When I had answered him, he beckoned me to come nearer. +"I am getting stronger every minute," he said. "We will go +traveling to-morrow, and see the place where you were born." + +Where had I been born? He had never told me where. Had he +mentioned the place in Mrs. Tenbruggen's hearing? I asked the +attendant if he had been present while she was in the room. Yes; +he had remained at his post; he had also heard the allusion to +the place with the odd name. Had Mr. Gracedieu said anything more +about that place? Nothing more; the poor Minister's mind had +wandered off to other things. He was wandering now. Sometimes, he +was addressing his congregation; sometimes, he wondered what they +would give him for supper; sometimes, he talked of the flowers in +the garden. And then he looked at me, and frowned, and said I +prevented him from thinking. + +I went back to my bedroom, and opened my Diary, and read the +story again. + +Was the poison of which that resolute young wife proposed to make +use something that acted slowly, and told the doctors nothing if +they looked for it after death? + +Would it be running too great a risk to show the story to the +doctor, and try to get a little valuable information in that way? +It would be useless. He would make some feeble joke; he would +say, girls and poisons are not fit company for each other. + +But I might discover what I want to know in another way. I might +call on the doctor, after he has gone out on his afternoon round +of visits, and might tell the servant I would wait for his +master's return. Nobody would be in my way; I might get at the +medical literature in the consulting-room, and find the +information for myself. + +A knock at my door interrupted me in the midst of my plans. Mrs. +Tenbruggen again!--still in a fidgety state of feeling on the +subject of my health. "Which is it?" she said. "Pain of body, my +dear, or pain of mind? I am anxious about you." + +"My dear Elizabeth, your sympathy is thrown away on me. As I have +told you already, I am over-tired--nothing more." + +She was relieved to hear that I had no mental troubles to +complain of. "Fatigue," she remarked, "sets itself right with +rest. Did you take a very long walk?" + +"Yes." + +"Beyond the limits of the town, of course? Philip has been taking +a walk in the country, too. He doesn't say that he met you." + +These clever people sometimes overreach themselves. How she +suggested it to me, I cannot pretend to have discovered. But I +did certainly suspect that she had led Philip, while they were +together downstairs, into saying to her what he had already said +to Miss Jillgall. I was so angry that I tried to pump my +excellent friend, as she had been trying to pump me--a vulgar +expression, but vulgar writing is such a convenient way of +writing sometimes. My first attempt to entrap the Masseuse failed +completely. She coolly changed the subject. + +"Have I interrupted you in writing?" she asked, pointing to my +Diary. + +"No; I was idling over what I have written already--an +extraordinary story which I copied from a book." + +"May I look at it?" + +I pushed the open Diary across the table. If I was the ob ject of +any suspicions which she wanted to confirm, it would be curious +to see if the poisoning story helped her. "It's a piece of family +history," I said; "I think you will agree with me that it is +really interesting." + +She began to read. As she went on, not all her power of +controlling herself could prevent her from turning pale. This +change of color (in such a woman) a little alarmed me. When a +girl is devoured by deadly hatred of a man, does the feeling show +itself to other persons in her face? I must practice before the +glass and train my face into a trustworthy state of discipline. + +"Coarse melodrama!" Mrs. Tenbruggen declared. "Mere sensation. No +analysis of character. A made-up story!" + +"Well made up, surely?" I answered. + +"I don't agree with you." Her voice was not quite so steady as +usual. She asked suddenly if my clock was right--and declared +that she should be late for an appointment. On taking leave she +pressed my hand strongly--eyed me with distrustful attention and +said, very emphatically: "Take care of yourself, Helena; pray +take care of yourself." + +I am afraid I did a very foolish thing when I showed her the +poisoning story. Has it helped the wily old creature to look into +my inmost thoughts? + +Impossible! + + +To-day, Miss Jillgall returned, looking hideously healthy and +spitefully cheerful. Although she tried to conceal it, while I +was present, I could see that Philip had recovered his place in +her favor. After what he had said to her behind the hedge at the +farm, she would be relieved from all fear of my becoming his +wife, and would joyfully anticipate his marriage to Eunice. There +are thoughts in me which I don't set down in my book. I only say: +We shall see. + +This afternoon, I decided on visiting the doctor. The servant was +quite sorry for me when he answered the door. His master had just +left the house for a round of visits. I said I would wait. The +servant was afraid I should find waiting very tedious. I reminded +him that I could go away if I found it tedious. At last, the +polite old man left me. + +I went into the consulting-room, and read the backs of the +medical books ranged round the walls, and found a volume that +interested me. There was such curious information in it that I +amused myself by making extracts, using the first sheets of paper +that I could find. They had printed directions at the top, which +showed that the doctor was accustomed to write his prescriptions +on them. We had many, too many, of his prescriptions in our +house. + +The servant's doubts of my patience proved to have been well +founded. I got tired of waiting, and went home before the doctor +returned. + +From morning to night, nothing has been seen of Mrs. Tenbruggen +to-day. Nor has any apology for her neglect of us been received, +fond as she is of writing little notes. Has that story in my +Diary driven her away? Let me see what to-morrow may bring forth. + + +To-day has brought forth--nothing. Mrs. Tenbruggen still keeps +away from us. It looks as if my Diary had something to do with +the mystery of her absence. + +I am not in good spirits to-day. My nerves--if I have such +things, which is more than I know by my own experience--have been +a little shaken by a horrid dream. The medical information, which +my thirst for knowledge absorbed in the doctor's consulting-room, +turned traitor--armed itself with the grotesque horrors of +nightmare--and so thoroughly frightened me that I was on the +point of being foolish enough to destroy my notes. I thought +better of it, and my notes are safe under lock and key. + +Mr. Philip Dunboyne is trying to pave the way for his flight from +this house. He speaks of friends in London, whose interest will +help him to find the employment which is the object of his +ambition. "In a few days more," he said, "I shall ask for leave +of absence." + +Instead of looking at me, his eyes wandered to the window; his +fingers played restlessly with his watch-chain while he spoke. I +thought I would give him a chance, a last chance, of making the +atonement that he owes to me. This shows shameful weakness, on my +part. Does my own resolution startle me? Or does the wretch +appeal--to what? To my pity? It cannot be my love; I am +positively sure that I hate him. Well, I am not the first girl +who had been an unanswerable riddle to herself. + +"Is there any other motive for your departure?" I asked. + +"What other motive can there be?" he replied. I put what I had to +say to him in plainer words still. "Tell me, Philip, are you +beginning to wish that you were a free man again?" + +He still prevaricated. Was this because he is afraid of me, or +because he is not quite brute enough to insult me to my face? I +tried again for the third and last time. I almost put the words +into his mouth. + +"I fancy you have been out of temper lately," I said. "You have +not been your own kinder and better self. Is this the right +interpretation of the change that I think I see in you?" + +He answered: "I have not been very well lately." + +"And that is all?" + +"Yes--that is all." + +There was no more to be said; I turned away to leave the room. He +followed me to the door. After a momentary hesitation, he made +the attempt to kiss me. I only looked at him--he drew back from +me in silence. I left the new Judas, standing alone, while the +shades of evening began to gather over the room. + + + +Third Period _(continued)._ + +_EVENTS IN THE FAMILY, RELATED BY MISS JILLGALL._ + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. + +DANGER. + + +"IF anything of importance happens, I trust to you to write an +account of it, and to send the writing to me. I will come to you +at once, if I see reason to believe that my presence is +required." Those lines, in your last kind reply to me, rouse my +courage, dear Mr. Governor, and sharpen the vigilance which has +always been one of the strong points in my character. Every +suspicious circumstance which occurs in this house will be (so to +speak) seized on by my pen, and will find itself (so to speak +again) placed on its trial, before your unerring judgment! Let +the wicked tremble! I mention no names. + +Taking up my narrative where it came to an end when I last wrote, +I have to say a word first on the subject of my discoveries, in +regard to Philip's movements. + +The advertisement of a private inquiry office, which I read in a +newspaper, put the thing into my head. I provided myself with +money to pay the expenses by--I blush while I write it--pawning +my watch. This humiliation of my poor self has been rewarded by +success. Skilled investigation has proved that our young man has +come to his senses again, exactly as I supposed. On each occasion +when he was suspiciously absent from the house, he has been +followed to the farm. I have been staying there myself for a day +or two, in the hope of persuading Eunice to relent. The hope has +not yet been realized. But Philip's devotion, assisted by my +influence, will yet prevail. Let me not despair. + +Whether Helena knows positively that she has lost her wicked hold +on Philip I cannot say. It seems hardly possible that she could +have made the discovery just yet. The one thing of which I am +certain is, that she looks like a fiend. + +Philip has wisely taken my advice, and employed pious fraud. He +will get away from the wretch, who has tempted him once and may +tempt him again, under pretense of using the interest of his +friends in London to find a place under Government. He has not +been very well for the last day or two, and the execution of our +project is in consequence delayed. + +I have news of Mrs. Tenbruggen which will, I think, surprise you. + +She has kept away from us in a most unaccountable manner. I +called on her at the hotel, and heard she was engaged with her +lawyer. On the next day, she suddenly returned to her old habits, +and paid the customary visit. I observed a similar alteration in +her state of feeling. She is now coldly civil to Helena; and she +asks after Eunice with a maternal interest touching to see--I +said to her: "Elizabeth, you appear to have changed your opinion +of the two girls, since I saw you." She answered, with a +delightful candor which reminded me of old times: "Completely!" I +said: "A woman of your intellectual caliber, dear, doesn't change +her mind without a + good reason for it." Elizabeth cordially agreed with me. I +ventured to be a little more explicit: "You have no doubt made +some interesting discovery." Elizabeth agreed again; and I +ventured again: "I suppose I may not ask what the discovery is?" +"No, Selina, you may not ask." + +This is curious; but it is nothing to what I have got to tell you +next. Just as I was longing to take her to my bosom again as my +friend and confidante, Elizabeth has disappeared. And, alas! +alas! there is a reason for it which no sympathetic person can +dispute. + +I have just received some overwhelming news, in the form of a +neat parcel, addressed to myself. + +There has been a scandal at the hotel. That monster in human +form, Elizabeth's husband, is aware of his wife's professional +fame, has heard of the large sums of money which she earns as the +greatest living professor of massage, has been long on the +lookout for her, and has discovered her at last. He has not only +forced his way into her sitting-room at the hotel; he insists on +her living with him again; her money being the attraction, it is +needless to say. If she refuses, he threatens her with the law, +the barbarous law, which, to use his own coarse expression, will +"restore his conjugal rights." + +All this I gather from the narrative of my unhappy friend, which +forms one of the two inclosures in her parcel. She has already +made her escape. Ha! the man doesn't live who can circumvent +Elizabeth. The English Court of Law isn't built which can catch +her when she roams the free and glorious Continent. + +The vastness of this amazing woman's mind is what I must pause to +admire. In the frightful catastrophe that has befallen her, she +can still think of Philip and Euneece. She is eager to hear of +their marriage, and renounces Helena with her whole heart. "I too +was deceived by that cunning young Woman," she writes. "Beware of +her, Selina. Unless I am much mistaken, she is going to end +badly. Take care of Philip, take care of Euneece. If you want +help, apply at once to my favorite hero in real life, The +Governor." I don't presume to correct Elizabeth's language. I +should have called you The idol of the Women. + +The second inclosure contains, as I suppose, a wedding present. +It is carefully sealed--it feels no bigger than an ordinary +letter--and it contains an inscription which your +highly-cultivated intelligence may be able to explain. I copy it +as follows: + +"To be inclosed in another envelope, addressed to Mr. Dunboyne +the elder, at Percy's Private Hotel, London, and delivered by a +trustworthy messenger, on the day when Mr. Philip Dunboyne is +married to Miss Eunice Gracedieu. Placed meanwhile under the care +of Miss Selina Jillgall." + +Why is this mysterious letter to be sent to Philip's father? I +wonder whether that circumstance will puzzle you as it has +puzzled me. + +I have kept my report back, so as to send you the last news +relating to Philip's state of health. To my great regret, his +illness seems to have made a serious advance since yesterday. +When I ask if he is in pain, he says: "It isn't exactly pain; I +feel as if I was sinking. Sometimes I am giddy; and sometimes I +find myself feeling thirsty and sick." I have no opportunity of +looking after him as I could wish; for Helena insists on nursing +him, assisted by the housemaid. Maria is a very good girl in her +way, but too stupid to be of much use. If he is not better +to-morrow, I shall insist on sending for the doctor. + + +He is no better; and he wishes to have medical help. Helena +doesn't seem to understand his illness. It was not until Philip +had insisted on seeing him that she consented to send for the +doctor. + +You had some talk with this experienced physician when you were +here, and you know what a clever man he is. When I tell you that +he hesitates to say what is the matter with Philip, you will feel +as much alarmed as I do. I will wait to send this to the post +until I can write in a more definite way. + + +Two days more have passed. The doctor has put two very strange +questions to me. + +He asked, first, if there was anybody staying with us besides the +regular members of the household. I said we had no visitor. He +wanted to know, next, if Mr. Philip Dunboyne had made any enemies +since he has been living in our town. I said none that I knew +of--and I took the liberty of asking what he meant. He answered +to this, that he has a few more inquiries to make, and that he +will tell me what he means to-morrow. + + +For God's sake come here as soon as you possibly can. The whole +burden is thrown on me--and I am quite unequal to it. + +I received the doctor to-day in the drawing-room. To my +amazement, he begged leave to speak with me in the garden. When I +asked why, he answered: "I don't want to have a listener at the +door. Come out on the lawn, where we can be sure that we are +alone." + +When we were in the garden, he noticed that I was trembling. + +"Rouse your courage, Miss Jillgall," he said. "In the Minister's +helpless state there is nobody whom I can speak to but yourself." + +I ventured to remind him that he might speak to Helena as well as +to myself. + +He looked as black as thunder when I mentioned her name. All he +said was, "No!" But, oh, if you had heard his voice--and he so +gentle and sweet-tempered at other times--you would have felt, as +I did, that he had Helena in his mind! + +"Now, listen to this," he went on. "Everything that my art can do +for Mr. Philip Dunboyne, while I am at his bedside, is undone +while I am away by some other person. He is worse to-day than I +have seen him yet." + +"Oh, sir, do you think he will die?" + +"He will certainly die unless the right means are taken to save +him, and taken at once. It is my duty not to flinch from telling +you the truth. I have made a discovery since yesterday which +satisfies me that I am right. Somebody is trying to poison Mr. +Dunboyne; and somebody will succeed unless he is removed from +this house." + +I am a poor feeble creature. The doctor caught me, or I should +have dropped on the grass. It was not a fainting-fit. I only +shook and shivered so that I was too weak to stand up. Encouraged +by the doctor, I recovered sufficiently to be able to ask him +where Philip was to be taken to. He said: "To the hospital. No +poisoner can follow my patient there. Persuade him to let me take +him away, when I call again in an hour's time." + +As soon as I could hold a pen, I sent a telegram to you. Pray, +pray come by the earliest train. I also telegraphed to old Mr. +Dunboyne, at the hotel in London. + +It was impossible for me to face Helena; I own I was afraid. The +cook kindly went upstairs to see who was in Philip's room. It was +the housemaid's turn to look after him for a while. I went +instantly to his bedside. + +There was no persuading him to allow himself to be taken to the +hospital. "I am dying," he said. "If you have any pity for me, +send for Euneece. Let me see her once more, let me hear her say +that she forgives me, before I die." + +I hesitated. It was too terrible to think of Euneece in the same +house with her sister. Her life might be in danger! Philip gave +me a look, a dreadful ghastly look. "If you refuse," he said +wildly, "the grave won't hold me. I'll haunt you for the rest of +your life." + +"She shall hear that you are ill," I answered--and ran out of the +room before he could speak again. + +What I had promised to write, I did write. But, placed between +Euneece's danger and Philip's danger, my heart was all for +Euneece. Would Helena spare her, if she came to Philip's bedside? +In such terror as I never felt before in my life, I added a word +more, entreating her not to leave the farm. I promised to keep +her regularly informed on the subject of Philip's illness; and I +mentioned that I expected the Governor to return to us +immediately. "Do nothing," I wrote, "without his advice." My +letter having been completed, I sent the cook away with it, in a +chaise. She belonged to the neighborhood, and she knew the +farmhouse well. + +Nearly two hours afterward, I heard the chaise stop at the door, +and ran out, impatient to hear how my sweet girl had received my +letter. God help us all! When I opened the door, the first person +whom I saw was Euneece herself. + + +CHA PTER LIX. + +DEFENSE. + +ONE surprise followed another, after I had encountered Euneece at +the door. + +When my fondness had excused her for setting the well-meant +advice in my letter at defiance, I was conscious of expecting to +see her in tears; eager, distressingly eager, to hear what hope +there might be of Philip's recovery. I saw no tears, I heard no +inquiries. She was pale, and quiet, and silent. Not a word fell +from her when we met, not a word when she kissed me, not a word +when she led the way into the nearest room--the dining-room. It +was only when we were shut in together that she spoke. + +"Which is Philip's room?" she asked. + +Instead of wanting to know how he was, she desired to know where +he was! I pointed toward the back dining-room, which had been +made into a bedroom for Philip. He had chosen it himself, when he +first came to stay with us, because the window opened into the +garden. and he could slip out and smoke at any hour of the day or +night, when he pleased. + +"Who is with him now?" was the next strange thing this +sadly-changed girl said to me. + +"Maria is taking her turn," I answered; "she assists in nursing +Philip." + +"Where is--?" Euneece got no further than that. Her breath +quickened, her color faded away. I had seen people look as she +was looking now, when they suffered under some sudden pain. +Before I could offer to help her, she rallied, and went on: +"Where," she began again, "is the other nurse?" + +"You mean Helena?" I said. + +"I mean the Poisoner." + +When I remind you, dear Mr. Governor, that my letter had +carefully concealed from her the horrible discovery made by the +doctor, your imagination will picture my state of mind. She saw +that I was overpowered. Her sweet nature, so strangely frozen up +thus far, melted at last. "You don't know what I have heard," she +said, "you don't know what thoughts have been roused in me." She +left her chair, and sat on my knee with the familiarity of the +dear old times, and took the letter that I had written to her +from her pocket. + +"Look at it yourself," she said, "and tell me if anybody could +read it, and not see that you were concealing something. My dear, +I have driven round by the doctor's house--I have seen him--I +have persuaded him, or perhaps I ought to say surprised him, into +telling me the truth. But the kind old man is obstinate. He +wouldn't believe me when I told him I was on my way here to save +Philip's life. He said: 'My child, you will only put your own +life in jeopardy. If I had not seen that danger, I should never +have told you of the dreadful state of things at home. Go back to +the good people at the farm, and leave the saving of Philip to +me.' " + +"He was right, Euneece, entirely right." + +"No, dear, he was wrong. I begged him to come here, and judge for +himself; and I ask you to do the same." + +I was obstinate. "Go back!" I persisted. "Go back to the farm!" + +"Can I see Philip?" she asked. + +I have heard some insolent men say that women are like cats. If +they mean that we do, figuratively speaking, scratch at times, I +am afraid they are not altogether wrong. An irresistible impulse +made me say to poor Euneece: "This is a change indeed, since you +refused to receive Philip." + +"Is there no change in the circumstances?" she asked sadly. +"Isn't he ill and in danger?" + +I begged her to forgive me; I said I meant no harm. + +"I gave him up to my sister," she continued, "when I believed +that his happiness depended, not on me, but on her. I take him +back to myself, when he is at the mercy of a demon who threatens +his life. Come, Selina, let us go to Philip." + +She put her arm round me, and made me get up from my chair. I was +so easily persuaded by her, that the fear of what Helena's +jealousy and Helena's anger might do was scarcely present in my +thoughts. The door of communication was locked on the side of the +bedchamber. I went into the hall, to enter Philip's room by the +other door. She followed, waiting behind me. I heard what passed +between them when Maria went out to her. + +"Where is Miss Gracedieu?" + +"Resting upstairs, miss, in her room." + +"Look at the clock, and tell me when you expect her to come down +here." + +"I am to call her, miss, in ten minutes more." + +"Wait in the dining-room, Maria, till I come back to you. " + +She joined me. I held the door open for her to go into Philip's +room. It was not out of curiosity; the feeling that urged me was +sympathy, when I waited a moment to see their first meeting. She +bent over the poor, pallid, trembling, suffering man, and raised +him in her arms, and laid his head on her bosom. "My Philip!" She +murmured those words in a kiss. I closed the door, I had a good +cry; and, oh, how it comforted me! + +There was only a minute to spare when she came out of the room. +Maria was waiting for her. Euneece said, as quietly as ever: "Go +and call Miss Gracedieu." + +The girl looked at her, and saw--I don't know what. Maria became +alarmed. But she went up the stairs, and returned in haste to +tell us that her young mistress was coming down. + +The faint rustling of Helena's dress as she left her room reached +us in the silence. I remained at the open door of the +dining-room, and Maria approached and stood near me. We were both +frightened. Euneece stepped forward, and stood on the mat at the +foot of the stairs, waiting. Her back was toward me; I could only +see that she was as still as a statue. The rustling of the dress +came nearer. Oh, heavens! what was going to happen? My teeth +chattered in my head; I held by Maria's shoulder. Drops of +perspiration showed themselves on the girl's forehead; she stared +in vacant terror at the slim little figure, posted firm and still +on the mat. + +Helena turned the corner of the stairs, and waited a moment on +the last landing, and saw her sister. + +"You here?" she said. "What do you want?" + +There was no reply. Helena descended, until she reached the last +stair but one. There, she stopped. Her staring eyes grew large +and wild; her hand shook as she stretched it out, feeling for the +banister; she staggered as she caught at it, and held herself up. +The silence was still unbroken. Something in me, stronger than +myself, drew my steps along the hall nearer and nearer to the +stair, till I could see the face which had struck that murderous +wretch with terror. + +I looked. + +No! it was not my sweet girl; it was a horrid transformation of +her. I saw a fearful creature, with glittering eyes that +threatened some unimaginable vengeance. Her lips were drawn back; +they showed her clinched teeth. A burning red flush dyed her +face. The hair of her head rose, little by little, slowly. And, +most dreadful sight of all, she seemed, in the stillness of the +house, to be _listening to something._ If I could have moved, I +should have fled to the first place of refuge I could find. If I +could have raised my voice, I should have cried for help. I could +do neither the one nor the other. I could only look, look, look; +held by the horror of it with a hand of iron. + +Helena must have roused her courage, and resisted her terror. I +heard her speak: + +"Let me by!" + +"No." + +Slowly, steadily, in a whisper, Euneece made that reply. + +Helena tried once more--still fighting against her own terror: I +knew it by the trembling of her voice. + +"Let me by," she repeated; "I am on my way to Philip's room." + +"You will never enter Philip's room again." + +"Who will stop me?" + +"I will." + +She had spoken in the same steady whisper throughout--but now she +moved. I saw her set her foot on the first stair. I saw the +horrid glitter in her eyes flash close into Helena's face. I +heard her say: + +"Poisoner, go back to your room." + +Silent and shuddering, Helena shrank away from her--daunted by +her glittering eyes; mastered by her lifted hand pointing up the +stairs. + +Helena slowly ascended till she reached the landing. She turned +and looked down; she tried to speak. The pointing hand struck her +dumb, and drove her up the next flight of stairs. She was lost to +view. Only the small rustling sound of the dress was to be heard, +growing fainter and fainter; then an interval of stillness; then +the noise of a door opened and closed again; then no sound +more--but a change to be seen: the transformed creature was cr +ouching on her knees, still and silent, her face covered by her +hands. I was afraid to approach her; I was afraid to speak to +her. After a time, she rose. Suddenly, swiftly, with her head +turned away from me, she opened the door of Philip's room--and +was gone. + +I looked round. There was only Maria in the lonely hall. Shall I +try to tell you what my sensations were? It may sound strangely, +but it is true--I felt like a sleeper, who has half-awakened from +a dream. + + +CHAPTER LX. + +DISCOVERY. + + +A LITTLE later, on that eventful day, when I was most in need of +all that your wisdom and kindness could do to guide me, came the +telegram which announced that you were helpless under an attack +of gout. As soon as I had in some degree got over my +disappointment, I remembered having told Euneece in my letter +that I expected her kind old friend to come to us. With the +telegram in my hand I knocked softly at Philip's door. + +The voice that bade me come in was the gentle voice that I knew +so well. Philip was sleeping. There, by his bedside, with his +hand resting in her hand, was Euneece, so completely restored to +her own sweet self that I could hardly believe what I had seen, +not an hour since. She talked of you, when I showed her your +message, with affectionate interest and regret. Look back, my +admirable friend, at what I have written on the two or three +pages which precede this, and explain the astounding contrast if +you can. + +I was left alone to watch by Philip, while Euneece went away to +see her father. Soon afterward, Maria took my place; I had been +sent for to the next room to receive the doctor. + +He looked care-worn and grieved. I said I was afraid he had +brought bad news with him. + +"The worst possible news," he answered. "A terrible exposure +threatens this family, and I am powerless to prevent it," + +He then asked me to remember the day when I had been surprised by +the singular questions which he had put to me, and when he had +engaged to explain himself after he had made some inquiries. Why, +and how, he had set those inquiries on foot was what he had now +to tell. I will repeat what he said, in his own words, as nearly +as I can remember them. While he was in attendance on Philip, he +had observed symptoms which made him suspect that Digitalis had +been given to the young man, in doses often repeated. Cases of +attempted poisoning by this medicine were so rare, that he felt +bound to put his suspicions to the test by going round among the +chemists's shops--excepting of course the shop at which his own +prescriptions were made up--and asking if they had lately +dispensed any preparation of Digitalis, ordered perhaps in a +larger quantity than usual. At the second shop he visited, the +chemist laughed. "Why, doctor," he said, "have you forgotten your +own prescription?" After this, the prescription was asked for, +and produced. It was on the paper used by the doctor--paper which +had his address printed at the top, and a notice added, telling +patients who came to consult him for the second time to bring +their prescriptions with them. Then, there followed in writing: +"Tincture of Digitalis, one ounce"--with his signature at the +end, not badly imitated, but a forgery nevertheless. The chemist +noticed the effect which this discovery had produced on the +doctor, and asked if that was his signature. He could hardly, as +an honest man, have asserted that a forgery was a signature of +his own writing. So he made the true reply, and asked who had +presented the prescription. The chemist called to his assistant +to come forward. "Did you tell me that you knew, by sight, the +young lady who brought this prescription?" The assistant admitted +it. "Did you tell me she was Miss Helena Gracedieu?" "I did." +"Are you sure of not having made any mistake?" "Quite sure." The +chemist then said: "I myself supplied the Tincture of Digitalis, +and the young lady paid for it, and took it away with her. You +have had all the information that I can give you, sir; and I may +now ask, if you can throw any light on the matter." Our good +friend thought of the poor Minister, so sorely afflicted, and of +the famous name so sincerely respected in the town and in the +country round, and said he could not undertake to give an +immediate answer. The chemist was excessively angry. "You know as +well as I do," he said, "that Digitalis, given in certain doses, +is a poison, and you cannot deny that I honestly believed myself +to be dispensing your prescription. While you are hesitating to +give me an answer, my character may suffer; I may be suspected +myself." He ended in declaring he should consult his lawyer. The +doctor went home, and questioned his servant. The man remembered +the day of Miss Helena's visit in the afternoon, and the +intention that she expressed of waiting for his master's return. +He had shown her into the parlor which opened into the +consulting-room. No other visitor was in the house at that time, +or had arrived during the rest of the day. The doctor's own +experience, when he got home, led him to conclude that Helena had +gone into the consulting-room. He had entered that room, for the +purpose of writing some prescriptions, and had found the leaves +of paper that he used diminished in number. After what he had +heard, and what he had discovered (to say nothing of what he +suspected), it occurred to him to look along the shelves of his +medical library. He found a volume (treating of Poisons) with a +slip of paper left between the leaves; the poison described at +the place so marked being Digitalis, and the paper used being one +of his own prescription-papers. "If, as I fear, a legal +investigation into Helena's conduct is a possible event," the +doctor concluded, "there is the evidence that I shall be obliged +to give, when I am called as a witness." + +It is my belief that I could have felt no greater dismay, if the +long arm of the Law had laid its hold on me while he was +speaking. I asked what was to be done. + +"If she leaves the house at once," the doctor replied, "she may +escape the infamy of being charged with an attempt at murder by +poison; and, in her absence, I can answer for Philip's life. I +don't urge you to warn her, because that might be a dangerous +thing to do. It is for you to decide, as a member of the family, +whether you will run the risk." + +I tried to speak to him of Euneece, and to tell him what I had +already related to yourself. He was in no humor to listen to me. +"Keep it for a fitter time," he answered; "and think of what I +have just said to you." With that, he left me, on his way to +Philip's room. + +Mental exertion was completely beyond me. Can you understand a +poor middle-aged spinster being frightened into doing a dangerous +thing? That may seem to be nonsense. But if you ask why I took a +morsel of paper, and wrote the warning which I was afraid to +communicate by word of mouth--why I went upstairs with my knees +knocking together, and opened the door of Helena's room just wide +enough to let my hand pass through--why I threw the paper in, and +banged the door to again, and ran downstairs as I have never run +since I was a little girl--I can only say, in the way of +explanation, what I have said already: I was frightened into +doing it. + +What I have written, thus far, I shall send to you by to-night's +post. + +The doctor came back to me, after he had seen Philip, and spoken +with Euneece. He was very angry; and, I must own, not without +reason. Philip had flatly refused to let himself be removed to +the hospital; and Euneece--"a mere girl"--had declared that she +would be answerable for consequences! The doctor warned me that +he meant to withdraw from the case, and to make his declaration +before the magistrates. At my entreaties he consented to return +in the evening, and to judge by results before taking the +terrible step that he had threatened. + +While I remained at home on the watch, keeping the doors of both +rooms locked, Eunice went out to get Philip's medicine. She came +back, followed by a boy carrying a portable apparatus for +cooking. "All that Philip wants, and all that we want," she +explained, "we can provide for ourselves. Give me a morsel of +paper to write on." + +Unhooking the little pencil attac hed to her watch-chain, she +paused and looked toward the door. "Somebody listening," she +whispered. "Let them listen." She wrote a list of necessaries, in +the way of things to eat and things to drink, and asked me to go +out and get them myself. "I don't doubt the servants," she said, +speaking distinctly enough to be heard outside; "but I am afraid +of what a Poisoner's cunning and a Poisoner's desperation may do, +in a kitchen which is open to her." I went away on my +errand--discovering no listener outside, I need hardly say. On my +return, I found the door of communication with Philip's room +closed, but no longer locked. "We can now attend on him in turn," +she said, "without opening either of the doors which lead into +the hall. At night we can relieve each other, and each of us can +get sleep as we want it in the large armchair in the dining-room. +Philip must be safe under our charge, or the doctor will insist +on taking him to the hospital. When we want Maria's help, from +time to time, we can employ her under our own superintendence. +Have you anything else, Selina, to suggest?" + +There was nothing left to suggest. Young and inexperienced as she +was, how (I asked) had she contrived to think of all this? She +answered, simply "I'm sure I don't know; my thoughts came to me +while I was looking at Philip." + +Soon afterward I found an opportunity of inquiring if Helena had +left the house. She had just rung her bell; and Maria had found +her, quietly reading, in her room. Hours afterward, when I was on +the watch at night, I heard Philip's door softly tried from the +outside. Her dreadful purpose had not been given up, even yet. + +The doctor came in the evening, as he had promised, and found an +improvement in Philip's health. I mentioned what precautions we +had taken, and that they had been devised by Euneece. "Are you +going to withdraw from the case?" I asked. "I am coming back to +the case," he answered, "to-morrow morning." + +It had been a disappointment to me to receive no answer to the +telegram which I had sent to Mr. Dunboyne the elder. The next +day's post brought the explanation in a letter to Philip from his +father, directed to him at the hotel here. This showed that my +telegram, giving my address at this house, had not been received. +Mr. Dunboyne announced that he had returned to Ireland, finding +the air of London unendurable, after the sea-breezes at home. If +Philip had already married, his father would leave him to a life +of genteel poverty with Helena Gracedieu. If he had thought +better of it, his welcome was waiting for him. + +Little did Mr. Dunboyne know what changes had taken place since +he and his son had last met, and what hope might yet present +itself of brighter days for poor Euneece! I thought of writing to +him. But how would that crabbed old man receive a confidential +letter from a lady who was a stranger? + +My doubts were set at rest by Philip himself. He asked me to +write a few lines of reply to his father; declaring that his +marriage with Helena was broken off--that he had not given up all +hope of being permitted to offer the sincere expression of his +penitence to Euneece--and that he would gladly claim his welcome, +as soon as he was well enough to undertake the journey to +Ireland. When he had signed the letter, I was so pleased that I +made a smart remark. I said: "This is a treaty of peace between +father and son." + +When the doctor arrived in the morning, and found the change for +the better in his patient confirmed, he did justice to us at +last. He spoke kindly, and even gratefully, to Euneece. No more +allusions to the hospital as a place of safety escaped him. He +asked me cautiously for news of Helena. I could only tell him +that she had gone out at her customary time, and had returned at +her customary time. He did not attempt to conceal that my reply +had made him uneasy. + +"Are you still afraid that she may succeed in poisoning Philip?" +I asked. + +"I am afraid of her cunning," he said. "If she is charged with +attempting to poison young Dunboyne, she has some system of +defense, you may rely on it, for which we are not prepared. +There, in my opinion, is the true reason for her extraordinary +insensibility to her own danger." + +Two more days passed, and we were still safe under the protection +of lock and key. + +On the evening of the second day (which was a Monday) Maria came +to me in great tribulation. On inquiring what was the matter, I +received a disquieting reply: "Miss Helena is tempting me. She is +so miserable at being prevented from seeing Mr. Philip, and +helping to nurse him, that it is quite distressing to see her. At +the same time, miss, it's hard on a poor servant. She asks me to +take the key secretly out of the door, and lend it to her at +night for a few minutes only. I'm really afraid I shall be led +into doing it, if she goes on persuading me much longer." + +I commended Maria for feeling scruples which proved her to be the +best of good girls, and promised to relieve her from all fear of +future temptation. This was easily done. Euneece kept the key of +Philip's door in her pocket; and I kept the key of the +dining-room door in mine. + + +CHAPTER LXI. + +ATROCITY. + +ON the next day, a Tuesday in the week, an event took place which +Euneece and I viewed with distrust. Early in the afternoon, a +young man called with a note for Helena. It was to be given to +her immediately, and no answer was required. + +Maria had just closed the house door, and was on her way upstairs +with the letter, when she was called back by another ring at the +bell. Our visitor was the doctor. He spoke to Maria in the hall: + +"I think I see a note in your hand. Was it given to you by the +young man who has just left the house?" + +"Yes, sir. + +"If he's your sweetheart, my dear, I have nothing more to say." + +"Good gracious, doctor, how you do talk! I never saw the young +man before in my life." + +"In that case, Maria, I will ask you to let me look at the +address. Aha! Mischief!" + +The moment I heard that I threw open the dining-room door. +Curiosity is not easily satisfied. When it hears, it wants to +see; when it sees, it wants to know. Every lady will agree with +me in this observation. + +"Pray come in," I said. + +"One minute, Miss Jillgall. My girl, when you give Miss Helena +that note, try to get a sly look at her when she opens it, and +come and tell me what you have seen." He joined me in the +dining-room, and closed the door. "The other day," he went on, +"when I told you what I had discovered in the chemist's shop, I +think I mentioned a young man who was called to speak to a +question of identity--an assistant who knew Miss Helena Gracedieu +by sight." + +"Yes, yes!" + +"That young man left the note which Maria has just taken +upstairs." + +"Who wrote it, doctor, and what does it say?" + +"Questions naturally asked, Miss Jillgall--and not easily +answered. Where is Eunice? Her quick wit might help us." + +She had gone out to buy some fruit and flowers for Philip. + +The doctor accepted his disappointment resignedly. "Let us try +what we can do without her," he said. "That young man's master +has been in consultation (you may remember why) with his lawyer, +and Helena may be threatened by an investigation before the +magistrates. If this wild guess of mine turns out to have hit the +mark, the poisoner upstairs has got a warning." + +I asked if the chemist had written the note. Foolish enough of me +when I came to think of it. The chemist would scarcely act a +friendly part toward Helena, when she was answerable for the +awkward position in which he had placed himself. Perhaps the +young man who had left the warning was also the writer of the +warning. The doctor reminded me that he was all but a stranger to +Helena. "We are not usually interested," he remarked, "in a +person whom we only know by sight." + +"Remember that he is a young man," I ventured to say. This was a +strong hint, but the doctor failed to see it. He had evidently +forgotten his own youth. I made another attempt. + +"And vile as Helena is," I continued, "we cannot deny that this +disgrace to her sex is a handsome young lady." + +He saw it at last. "Woman's wit!" he cried. "You have hit it, +Miss Jillgall. The young fool is smitten with her, and has given + her a chance of making her escape." + +"Do you think she will take the chance?" + +"For all our sakes, I pray God she may! But I don't feel sure +about it." + +"Why?" + +"Recollect what you and Eunice have done. You have shown your +suspicion of her without an attempt to conceal it. If you had put +her in prison you could not have more completely defeated her +infernal design. Do you think she is a likely person to submit to +that, without an effort to be even with you?" + +Just as he said those terrifying words, Maria came back to us. He +asked at once what had kept her so long upstairs. + +The girl had evidently something to say, which had inflated her +(if I may use such an expression) with a sense of her own +importance. + +"Please to let me tell it, sir," she answered, "in my own way. +Miss Helena turned as pale as ashes when she opened the letter, +and then she took a turn in the room, and then she looked at me +with a smile--well, miss, I can only say that I felt that smile +in the small of my back. I tried to get to the door. She stopped +me. She says: 'Where's Miss Eunice?' I says: 'Gone out.' She +says: 'Is there anybody in the drawing-room?' I says: 'No, miss.' +She says: 'Tell Miss Jillgall I want to speak to her, and say I +am waiting in the drawing-room.' It's every word of it true! And, +if a poor servant may give an opinion, I don't like the look of +it." + +The doctor dismissed Maria. "Whatever it is," he said to me, "you +must go and hear it." + +I am not a courageous woman; I expressed myself as being willing +to go to her, if the doctor went with me. He said that was +impossible; she would probably refuse to speak before any +witness; and certainly before him. But he promised to look after +Philip in my absence, and to wait below if it really so happened +that I wanted him. I need only ring the bell, and he would come +to me the moment he heard it. Such kindness as this roused my +courage, I suppose. At any rate, I went upstairs. + +She was standing by the fire-place, with her elbow on the +chimney-piece, and her head, resting on her hand. I stopped just +inside the door, waiting to hear what she had to say. In this +position her side-face only was presented to me. It was a ghastly +face. The eye that I could see turned wickedly on me when I came +in--then turned away again. Otherwise, she never moved. I confess +I trembled, but I did my best to disguise it. + +She broke out suddenly with what she had to say: "I won't allow +this state of things to go on any longer. My horror of an +exposure which will disgrace the family has kept me silent, +wrongly silent, so far. Philip's life is in danger. I am +forgetting my duty to my affianced husband, if I allow myself to +be kept away from him any longer. Open those locked doors, and +relieve me from the sight of you. Open the doors, I say, or you +will both of you--you the accomplice, she the wretch who directs +you--repent it to the end of your lives." + +In my own mind, I asked myself if she had gone mad. But I only +answered: "I don't understand you." + +She said again: "You are Eunice's accomplice." + +"Accomplice in what?" I asked. + +She turned her head slowly and faced me. I shrank from looking at +her. + +"All the circumstances prove it," she went on. "I have supplanted +Eunice in Philip's affection. She was once engaged to marry him; +I am engaged to marry him now. She is resolved that he shall +never make me his wife. He will die if I delay any longer. He +will die if I don't crush her, like the reptile she is. She comes +here--and what does she do? Keeps him prisoner under her own +superintendence. Who gets his medicine? She gets it. Who cooks +his food? She cooks it. The doors are locked. I might be a +witness of what goes on; and I am kept out. The servants who +ought to wait on him are kept out. She can do what she likes with +his medicine; she can do what she likes with his food: she is +infuriated with him for deserting her, and promising to marry me. +Give him back to my care; or, dreadful as it is to denounce my +own sister, I shall claim protection from the magistrates." + +I lost all fear of her: I stepped close up to the place at which +she was standing; I cried out: "Of what, in God's name, do you +accuse your sister?" + +She answered: "I accuse her of poisoning Philip Dunboyne." + +I ran out of the room; I rushed headlong down the stairs. The +doctor heard me, and came running into the hall. I caught hold of +him like a madwoman. "Euneece!" My breath was gone; I could only +say: "Euneece!" + +He dragged me into the dining-room. There was wine on the +side-board, which he had ordered medically for Philip. He forced +me to drink some of it. It ran through me like fire; it helped me +to speak. "Now tell me," he said, "what has she done to Eunice?" + +"She brings a horrible accusation against her," I answered. + +"What is the accusation?" I told him. + +He looked me through and through. "Take care!" he said. "No +hysterics, no exaggeration. You may lead to dreadful consequences +if you are not sure of yourself. If it's really true, say it +again." I said it again--quietly this time. + +His face startled me; it was white with rage. He snatched his hat +off the hall table. + +"What are you going to do?" I asked. + +"My duty." He was out of the house before I could speak to him +again. + + + +Third Period _(concluded)._ + +_TROUBLES AND TRIUMPHS OF THE FAMILY, RELATED BY THE GOVERNOR._ + + +CHAPTER LXII. + +THE SENTENCE PRONOUNCED. + + +MARTYRS to gout know, by sad experience, that they suffer under +one of the most capricious of maladies. An attack of this disease +will shift, in the most unaccountable manner, from one part of +the body to another; or, it will release the victim when there is +every reason to fear that it is about to strengthen its hold on +him; or, having shown the fairest promise of submitting to +medical treatment, it will cruelly lay the patient prostrate +again in a state of relapse. Adverse fortune, in my case, +subjected me to this last and worst trial of endurance. Two +months passed--months of pain aggravated by anxiety--before I was +able to help Eunice and Miss Jillgall personally with my sympathy +and advice. + +During this interval, I heard regularly from the friendly and +faithful Selina. + +Terror and suspense, courageously endured day after day, seem to +have broken down her resistance, poor soul, when Eunice's good +name and Eunice's tranquillity were threatened by the most +infamous of false accusations. From that time, Miss Jillgall's +method of expressing herself betrayed a gradual deterioration. I +shall avoid presenting at a disadvantage a correspondent who has +claims on my gratitude, if I give the substance only of what she +wrote--assisted by the newspaper which she sent to me, while the +legal proceedings were in progress. + + +Honest indignation does sometimes counsel us wisely. When the +doctor left Miss Jillgall, in anger and in haste, he had +determined on taking the course from which, as a humane man and a +faithful friend, he had hitherto recoiled. It was no time, now, +to shrink from the prospect of an exposure. The one hope of +successfully encountering the vindictive wickedness of Helena lay +in the resolution to be beforehand with her, in the appeal to the +magistrates with which she had threatened Eunice and Miss +Jillgall. The doctor's sworn information stated the whole +terrible case of the poisoning, ranging from his first suspicions +and their confirmation, to Helena's atrocious attempt to accuse +her innocent sister of her own guilt. So firmly were the +magistrates convinced of the serious nature of the case thus +stated, that they did not hesitate to issue their warrant. Among +the witnesses whose attendance was immediately secured, by the +legal adviser to whom the doctor applied, were the farmer and his +wife. + +Helena was arrested while she was dressing to go out. Her +composure was not for a moment disturbed. "I was on my way," she +said coolly, "to make a statement before the justices. The sooner +they hear what I have to say the better." + +The attempt of this shameless wretch to "turn the tables" on poor +Eunice--suggested, as I afterward discovered, by the record of +family history which she had quoted in her journal--was defeated +with ease. The farmer and his wife prove d the date at which +Eunice had left her place of residence under their roof. The +doctor's evidence followed. He proved, by the production of his +professional diary, that the discovery of the attempt to poison +his patient had taken place before the day of Eunice's departure +from the farm, and that the first improvement in Mr. Philip +Dunboyne's state of health had shown itself after that young +lady's arrival to perform the duties of a nurse. To the wise +precautions which she had taken--perverted by Helena to the +purpose of a false accusation--the doctor attributed the +preservation of the young man's life. + +Having produced the worst possible impression on the minds of the +magistrates, Helena was remanded. Her legal adviser had predicted +this result; but the vindictive obstinacy of his client had set +both experience and remonstrance at defiance. + +At the renewed examination, the line of defense adopted by the +prisoner's lawyer proved to be--mistaken identity. + +It was asserted that she had never entered the chemist's shop; +also, that the assistant had wrongly identified some other lady +as Miss Helena Gracedieu; also, that there was not an atom of +evidence to connect her with the stealing of the doctor's +prescription-paper and the forgery of his writing. Other +assertions to the same purpose followed, on which it is needless +to dwell. + +The case for the prosecution was, happily, in competent hands. +With the exception of one witness, cross-examination afforded no +material help to the evidence for the defense. + +The chemist swore positively to the personal appearance of +Helena, as being the personal appearance of the lady who had +presented the prescription. His assistant, pressed on the +question of identity, broke down under +cross-examination--purposely, as it was whispered, serving the +interests of the prisoner. But the victory, so far gained by the +defense, was successfully contested by the statement of the next +witness, a respectable tradesman in the town. He had seen the +newspaper report of the first examination, and had volunteered to +present himself as a witness. A member of Mr. Gracedieu's +congregation, his pew in the chapel was so situated as to give +him a view of the minister's daughters occupying their pew. He +had seen the prisoner on every Sunday, for years past; and he +swore that he was passing the door of the chemist's shop, at the +moment when she stepped out into the street, having a bottle +covered with the customary white paper in her hand. The doctor +and his servant were the next witnesses called. They were +severely cross-examined. Some of their statements--questioned +technically with success--received unexpected and powerful +support, due to the discovery and production of the prisoner's +diary. The entries, guardedly as some of them were written, +revealed her motive for attempting to poison Philip Dunboyne; +proved that she had purposely called on the doctor when she knew +that he would be out, that she had entered the consulting-room, +and examined the medical books, had found (to use her own written +words) "a volume that interested her," and had used the +prescription-papers for the purpose of making notes. The notes +themselves were not to be found; they had doubtless been +destroyed. Enough, and more than enough, remained to make the +case for the prosecution complete. The magistrates committed +Helena Gracedieu for trial at the next assizes. + +I arrived in the town, as well as I can remember, about a week +after the trial had taken place. + +Found guilty, the prisoner had been recommended to mercy by the +jury--partly in consideration of her youth; partly as an +expression of sympathy and respect for her unhappy father. The +judge (a father himself) passed a lenient sentence. She was +condemned to imprisonment for two years. The careful matron of +the jail had provided herself with a bottle of smelling-salts, in +the fear that there might be need for it when Helena heard her +sentence pronounced. Not the slightest sign of agitation appeared +in her face or her. manner. She lied to the last; asserting her +innocence in a firm voice, and returning from the dock to the +prison without requiring assistance from anybody. + +Relating these particulars to me, in a state of ungovernable +excitement, good Miss Jillgall ended with a little confession of +her own, which operated as a relief to my overburdened mind after +what I had just heard. + +"I wouldn't own it," she said, "to anybody but a dear friend. One +thing, in the dreadful disgrace that has fallen on us, I am quite +at a loss to account for. Think of Mr. Gracedieu's daughter being +one of those criminal creatures on whom it was once your terrible +duty to turn the key! Why didn't she commit suicide?" + +"My dear lady, no thoroughly wicked creature ever yet committed +suicide. Self-destruction, when it is not an act of madness, +implies some acuteness of feeling--sensibility to remorse or to +shame, or perhaps a distorted idea of making atonement. There is +no such thing as remorse or shame, or hope of making atonement, +in Helena's nature." + +"But when she comes out of prison, what will she do?" + +"Don't alarm yourself, my good friend. She will do very well." + +"Oh, hush! hush! Poetical justice, Mr. Governor!" + +"Poetical fiddlesticks, Miss Jillgall." + + +CHAPTER LXIII. + +THE OBSTACLE REMOVED. + + +WHEN the subject of the trial was happily dismissed, my first +inquiry related to Eunice. The reply was made with an ominous +accompaniment of sighs and sad looks. Eunice had gone back to her +duties as governess at the farm. Hearing this, I asked naturally +what had become of Philip. + +Melancholy news, again, was the news that I now heard. + +Mr. Dunboyne the elder had died suddenly, at his house in +Ireland, while Philip was on his way home. When the funeral +ceremony had come to an end, the will was read. It had been made +only a few days before the testator's death; and the clause which +left all his property to his son was preceded by expressions of +paternal affection, at a time when Philip was in sore need of +consolation. After alluding to a letter, received from his son, +the old man added: "I always loved him, without caring to confess +it; I detest scenes of sentiment, kissings, embracings, tears, +and that sort of thing. But Philip has yielded to my wishes, and +has broken off a marriage which would have made him, as well as +me, wretched for life. After this, I may speak my mind from my +grave, and may tell my boy that I loved him. If the wish is +likely to be of any use, I will add (on the chance)--God bless +him." + +"Does Philip submit to separation from Eunice?" I asked. "Does he +stay in Ireland?" + +"Not he, poor fellow! He will be here to-morrow or next day. When +I last wrote," Miss Jillgall continued, "I told him I hoped to +see you again soon. If you can't help us (I mean with Eunice) +that unlucky young man will do some desperate thing. He will join +those madmen at large who disturb poor savages in Africa, or go +nowhere to find nothing in the Arctic regions. + +"Whatever I can do, Miss Jillgall, shall be gladly done. Is it +really possible that Eunice refuses to marry him, after having +saved his life?" + +"A little patience, please, Mr. Governor; let Philip tell his own +story. If I try to do it, I shall only cry--and we have had tears +enough lately, in this house." + +Further consultation being thus deferred, I went upstairs to the +Minister's room. + +He was sitting by the window, in his favorite armchair, absorbed +in knitting! The person who attended on him, a good-natured, +patient fellow, had been a sailor in his younger days, and had +taught Mr. Gracedieu how to use the needles. "You see it amuses +him," the man said, kindly. "Don't notice his mistakes, he thinks +there isn't such another in the world for knitting as himself. +You can see, sir, how he sticks to it." He was so absorbed over +his employment that I had to speak to him twice, before I could +induce him to look at me. The utter ruin of his intellect did not +appear to have exercised any disastrous influence over his bodily +health. On the contrary, he had grown fatter since I had last +seen him; his complexion had lost the pallor that I +remembered--there was color in his cheeks. + +"Don't yo u remember your old friend?" I said. He smiled, and +nodded, and repeated the words: + +"Yes, yes, my old friend." It was only too plain that he had not +the least recollection of me. "His memory is gone," the man said. +"When he puts away his knitting, at night, I have to find it for +him in the morning. But, there! he's happy--enjoys his victuals, +likes sitting out in the garden and watching the birds. There's +been a deal of trouble in the family, sir; and it has all passed +over him like a wet sponge over a slate." The old sailor was +right. If that wreck of a man had been capable of feeling and +thinking, his daughter's disgrace would have broken his heart. In +a world of sin and sorrow, is peaceable imbecility always to be +pitied? I have known men who would have answered, without +hesitation: "It is to be envied." And where (some persons might +say) was the poor Minister's reward for the act of mercy which +had saved Eunice in her infancy? Where it ought to be! A man who +worthily performs a good action finds his reward in the action +itself. + + +At breakfast, on the next day, the talk touched on those passages +in Helena's diary, which had been produced in court as evidence +against her. + +I expressed a wish to see what revelation of a depraved nature +the entries in the diary might present; and my curiosity was +gratified. At a fitter time, I may find an opportunity of +alluding to the impression produced on me by the diary. In the +meanwhile, the event of Philip's return claims notice in the +first place. + +The poor fellow was so glad to see me that he shook hands as +heartily as if we had known each other from the time when he was +a boy. + +"Do you remember how kindly you spoke to me when I called on you +in London?" he asked. "If I have repeated those words once--but +perhaps you don't remember them? You said: 'If I was as young as +you are, I should not despair.' Well! I have said that to myself +over and over again, for a hundred times at least. Eunice will +listen to you, sir, when she will listen to nobody else. This is +the first happy moment I have had for weeks past." + +I suppose I must have looked glad to hear that. Anyway, Philip +shook hands with me again. + +Miss Jillgall was present. The gentle-hearted old maid was so +touched by our meeting that she abandoned herself to the genial +impulse of the moment, and gave Philip a kiss. The outraged +claims of propriety instantly seized on her. She blushed as if +the long-lost days of her girlhood had been found again, and ran +out of the room. + +"Now, Mr. Philip," I said, "I have been waiting, at Miss +Jillgall's suggestion, to get my information from you. There is +something wrong between Eunice and yourself. What is it? And who +is to blame?" + +"Her vile sister is to blame," he answered. "That reptile was +determined to sting us. And she has done it!" he cried, starting +to his feet, and walking up and down the room, urged into action +by his own unendurable sense of wrong. "I say, she has done it, +after Eunice has saved me--done it, when Eunice was ready to be +my wife." + +"How has she done it?" + +Between grief and indignation his reply was involved in a +confusion of vehemently-spoken words, which I shall not attempt +to reproduce. Eunice had reminded him that her sister had been +publicly convicted of an infamous crime, and publicly punished +for it by imprisonment. "If I consent to marry you," she said, "I +stain you with my disgrace; that shall never be." With this +resolution, she had left him. "I have tried to convince her," +Philip said, "that she will not be associated with her sister's +disgrace when she bears my name; I have promised to take her far +away from England, among people who have never even heard of her +sister. Miss Jillgall has used her influence to help me. All in +vain! There is no hope for us but in you. I am not thinking +selfishly only of myself. She tries to conceal it--but, oh, she +is broken-hearted! Ask the farmer's wife, if you don't believe +me. Judge for yourself, sir. Go--for God's sake, go to the farm." + +I made him sit down and compose himself. + +"You may depend on my going to the farm," I answered. "I shall +write to Eunice to-day, and follow my letter to-morrow." He tried +to thank me; but I would not allow it. "Before I consent to +accept the expression of your gratitude," I said, "I must know a +little more of you than I know now. This is only the second +occasion on which we have met. Let us look back a little, Mr. +Philip Dunboyne. You were Eunice's affianced husband; and you +broke faith with her. That was a rascally action. How do you +defend it?" + +His head sank. "I am ashamed to defend it," he answered. + +I pressed him without mercy. "You own yourself," I said, "that it +was a rascally action?" + +"Use stronger language against me, even than that, sir--I deserve +it." + +"In plain words," I went on, "you can find no excuse for your +conduct?" + +"In the past time," he said, "I might have found excuses." + +"But you can't find them now?" + +"I must not even look for them now." + +"Why not?" + +"I owe it to Eunice to leave my conduct at its worst; with +nothing said--by me--to defend it." + +"What has Eunice done to have such a claim on you as that?" + +"Eunice has forgiven me." + +It was gratefully and delicately said. Ought I to have allowed +this circumstance to weigh with me? I ask, in return, had _I_ +never committed any faults? As a fellow-mortal and fellow-sinner, +had I any right to harden my heart against an expression of +penitence which I felt to be sincere in its motive? + +But I was bound to think of Eunice. I did think of her, before I +ventured to accept the position--the critical position, as I +shall presently show--of Philip's friend. + +After more than an hour of questions put without reserve, and of +answers given without prevarication, I had traveled over the +whole ground laid out by the narratives which appear in these +pages, and had arrived at my conclusion--so far as Philip +Dunboyne was concerned. + +I found him to be a man with nothing absolutely wicked in +him--but with a nature so perilously weak, in many respects, that +it might drift into wickedness unless a stronger nature was at +hand to bold it back. Married to a wife without force of +character, the probabilities would point to him as likely to +yield to examples which might make him a bad husband. Married to +a wife with a will of her own, and with true love to sustain +her--a wife who would know when to take the command and how to +take the command--a wife who, finding him tempted to commit +actions unworthy of his better self, would be far-sighted enough +to perceive that her husband's sense of honor might sometimes +lose its balance, without being on that account hopelessly +depraved--then, and, in these cases only, the probabilities would +point to Philip as a man likely to be the better and the happier +for his situation, when the bonds of wedlock had got him. + +But the serious question was not answered yet. + +Could I feel justified in placing Eunice in the position toward +Philip which I have just endeavored to describe? I dared not +allow my mind to dwell on the generosity which had so nobly +pardoned him, or on the force of character which had bravely +endured the bitterest disappointment, the cruelest humiliation. +The one consideration which I was bound to face, was the sacred +consideration of her happiness in her life to come. + +Leaving Philip, with a few words of sympathy which might help him +to bear his suspense, I went to my room to think. + +The time passed--and I could arrive at no positive conclusion. +Either way--with or without Philip--the contemplation of Eunice's +future harassed me with doubt. Even if I had conquered my own +indecision, and had made up my mind to sanction the union of the +two young people, the difficulties that now beset me would not +have been dispersed. Knowing what I alone knew, I could certainly +remove Eunice's one objection to the marriage. In other words, I +had only to relate what had happened on the day when the Chaplain +brought the Minister to the prison, and the obstacle of their +union would be removed. But, without considering Philip, it was +simply out of the question to do this, in mercy to Eunice +herself. What was Helena's disgrace, compared with the infamy +which stained the name of the poor girl's mother! The other +alternative of telling her part of the truth only was before me, +if I could persuade myself to adopt it. I failed to persuade +myself; my morbid anxiety for her welfare made me hesitate again. +Human patience could endure no more. Rashness prevailed and +prudence yielded--I left my decision to be influenced by the +coming interview with Eunice. + +The next day I drove to the farm. Philip's entreaties persuaded +me to let him be my companion, on one condition--that he waited +in the carriage while I went into the house. + +I had carefully arranged my ideas, and had decided on proceeding +with the greatest caution, before I ventured on saying the +all-important words which, once spoken, were not to be recalled. +The worst of those anxieties, under which the delicate health of +Mr. Gracedieu had broken down, was my anxiety now. Could I +reconcile it to my conscience to permit a man, innocent of all +knowledge of the truth, to marry the daughter of a condemned +murderess, without honestly telling him what he was about to do? +Did I deserve to be pitied? did I deserve to be blamed?--my mind +was still undecided when I entered the house. + +She ran to meet me as if she had been my daughter; she kissed me +as if she had been my daughter; she fondly looked up at me as if +she had been my daughter. At the sight of that sweet young face, +so sorrowful, and so patiently enduring sorrow, all my doubts and +hesitations, everything artificial about me with which I had +entered the room, vanished in an instant. + +After she had thanked me for coming to see her, I saw her tremble +a little. The uppermost interest in her heart was forcing its way +outward to expression, try as she might to keep it back. "Have +you seen Philip?" she asked. The tone in which she put that +question decided me--I was resolved to let her marry him. +Impulse! Yes, impulse, asserting itself inexcusably in a man at +the end of his life. I ought to have known better than to have +given way. Very likely. But am I the only mortal who ought to +have known better--and did not? + +When Eunice asked if I had seen Philip, I owned that he was +outside in the carriage. Before she could reproach me, I went on +with what I had to say: "My child, I know what a sacrifice you +have made; and I should honor your scruples, if you had any +reason for feeling them." + +"Any reason for feeling them?" She turned pale as she repeated +the words. + +An idea came to me. I rang for the servant, and sent her to the +carriage to tell Philip to come in. "My dear, I am not putting +you to any unfair trial," I assured her; "I am going to prove +that I love you as truly as if you were my own child." + +When they were both present, I resolved that they should not +suffer a moment of needless suspense. Standing between them, I +took Eunice's hand, and laid my other hand on Philip's shoulder, +and spoke out plainly. + +"I am here to make you both happy," I said. "I can remove the +only obstacle to your marriage, and I mean to do it. But I must +insist on one condition. Give me your promise, Philip, that you +will ask for no explanations, and that you will be satisfied with +the one true statement which is all that I can offer to you." + +He gave me his promise, without an instant's hesitation. + +"Philip grants what I ask," I said to Eunice. "Do you grant it, +too?" + +Her hand turned cold in mine; but she spoke firmly when she said: +"Yes." + +I gave her into Philip's care. It was his privilege to console +and support her. It was my duty to say the decisive words: + +"Rouse your courage, dear Eunice; you are no more affected by +Helena's disgrace than I am. You are not her sister. Her father +is not your father; her mother was not your mother. I was +present, in the time of your infancy, when Mr. Gracedieu's +fatherly kindness received you as his adopted child. This, I +declare to you both, on my word of honor, is the truth." + +How she bore it I am not able to say. My foolish old eyes were +filling with tears. I could just see plainly enough to find my +way to the door, and leave them together. + +In my reckless state of mind, I never asked myself if Time would +be my accomplice, and keep the part of the secret which I had not +revealed--or be my enemy, and betray me. The chances, either way, +were perhaps equal. The deed was done. + + +CHAPTER LXIV. + +THE TRUTH TRIUMPHANT. + + +THE marriage was deferred, at Eunice's request, as an expression +of respect to the memory of Philip's father. + +When the time of delay had passed, it was arranged that the +wedding ceremony should be held--after due publication of +Banns--at the parish church of the London suburb in which my +house was situated. Miss Jillgall was bridesmaid, and I gave away +the bride. Before we set out for the church, Eunice asked leave +to speak with me for a moment in private. + +"Don't think," she said, "that I am forgetting my promise to be +content with what you have told me about myself. I am not so +ungrateful as that. But I do want, before I consent to be +Philip's wife, to feel sure that I am not quite unworthy of him. +Is it because I am of mean birth that you told me I was Mr. +Gracedieu's adopted child--and told me no more?" + +I could honestly satisfy her, so far. "Certainly not!" I said. + +She put her arms round my neck. "Do you say that," she asked, "to +make my mind easy? or do you say it on your word of honor?" + +"On my word of honor." + +We arrived at the church. Let Miss Jillgall describe the +marriage, in her own inimitable way. + +"No wedding breakfast, when you don't want to eat it. No wedding +speeches, when nobody wants to make them, and nobody wants to +hear them. And no false sentiment, shedding tears and reddening +noses, on the happiest day in the whole year. A model marriage! I +could desire nothing better, if I had any prospect of being a +bride myself." + +They went away for their honeymoon to a quiet place by the +seaside, not very far from the town in which Eunice had passed +some of the happiest and the wretchedest days in her life. She +persisted in thinking it possible that Mr. Gracedieu might +recover the use of his faculties, at the last, and might wish to +see her on his death-bed. "His adopted daughter," she gently +reminded me, "is his only daughter now." The doctor shook his +head when I told him what Eunice had said to me--and, the sad +truth must be told, the doctor was right. + +Miss Jillgall returned, on the wedding-day, to take care of the +good man who had befriended her in her hour of need. + +Before the end of the week, I heard from her, and was +disagreeably reminded of an incident which we had both forgotten, +absorbed as we were in other and greater interests, at the time. + +Mrs. Tenbruggen had again appeared on the scene! She had written +to Miss Jillgall, from Paris, to say that she had heard of old +Mr.. Dunboyne's death, and that she wished to have the letter +returned, which she had left for delivery to Philip's father on +the day when Philip and Eunice were married. I had my own +suspicions of what that letter might contain; and I regretted +that Miss Jillgall had sent it back without first waiting to +consult me. My misgivings, thus excited, were increased by more +news of no very welcome kind. Mrs. Tenbruggen had decided on +returning to her professional pursuits in England. Massage, now +the fashion everywhere, had put money into her pocket among the +foreigners; and her husband, finding that she persisted in +keeping out of his reach, had consented to a compromise. He was +ready to submit to a judicial separation; in consideration of a +little income which his wife had consented to settle on him, +under the advice of her lawyer. + +Some days later, I received a delightful letter from Philip and +Eunice; reminding me that I had engaged to pay them a visit at +the seaside. My room was ready for me, and I was left to choose +my own day. I had just begun to write my reply, gladly accepting +the invitation, when an ominous circumstance occurred. My servant +announced "a lady"; and I found myself face to face with--Mrs. +Tenbruggen! + +She was as cheerful as ever, and as eminently agreeable as ever. + +"I have heard it all from Selina," she said. "Philip's marriage +to Eunice (I shall go and congratulate them, of course), and the +catastrophe (how dramatic!) of Helena Gracedieu. I warned. Selina +that Miss Helena would end badly. To tell the truth, she +frightened me. I don't deny that I am a mischievous woman when I +find myself affronted, quite capable of taking my revenge in my +own small spiteful way. But poison and murder--ah, the frightful +subject! let us drop it, and talk of something that doesn't make +my hair (it's really my own hair) stand on end. Has Selina told +you that I have got rid of my charming husband, on easy pecuniary +terms? Oh, you know that? Very well. I will tell you something +that you don't know. Mr. Governor, I have found you out." + +"May I venture to ask how?" + +"When I guessed which was which of those two girls," she +answered, "and guessed wrong, you deliberately encouraged the +mistake. Very clever, but you overdid it. From that moment, +though I kept it to myself, I began to fear I might be wrong. Do +you remember Low Lanes, my dear sir? A charming old church. I +have had another consultation with my lawyer. His questions led +me into mentioning how it happened that I heard of Low Lanes. +After looking again at his memorandum of the birth advertised in +the newspaper without naming the place--he proposed trying the +church register at Low Lanes. Need I tell you the result? I know, +as well as you do, that Philip has married the adopted child. He +has had a mother-in-law who was hanged, and, what is more, he has +the honor, through his late father, of being otherwise connected +with the murderess by marriage--as his aunt!" + +Bewilderment and dismay deprived me of my presence of mind. "How +did you discover that?" I was foolish enough to ask. + +"Do you remember when I brought the baby to the prison?" she +said. "The father--as I mentioned at the time--had been a dear +and valued friend of mine. No person could be better qualified to +tell me who had married his wife's sister. If that lady had been +living, I should never have been troubled with the charge of the +child. Any more questions?" + +"Only one. Is Philip to hear of this?" + +"Oh, for shame! I don't deny that Philip insulted me grossly, in +one way; and that Philip's late father insulted me grossly, in +another way. But Mamma Tenbruggen is a Christian. She returns +good for evil, and wouldn't for the world disturb the connubial +felicity of Mr. and Mrs. Philip Dunboyne." + +The moment the woman was out of my house, I sent a telegram to +Philip to say that he might expect to see me that night. I caught +the last train in the evening; and I sat down to supper with +those two harmless young creatures, knowing I must prepare the +husband for what threatened them, and weakly deferring it, when I +found myself in their presence, until the next day. Eunice was, +in some degree, answerable for this hesitation on my part. No one +could look at her husband, and fail to see that he was a +supremely happy man. But I detected signs of care in the wife's +face. + +Before breakfast the next morning I was out on the beach, trying +to decide how the inevitable disclosure might be made. Eunice +joined me. Now, when we were alone, I asked if she was really and +completely happy. Quietly and sadly she answered: "Not yet." + +I hardly knew what to say. My face must have expressed +disappointment and surprise. + +"I shall never be quite happy," she resumed, "till I know what it +is that you kept from me on that memorable day. I don't like +having a secret from my husband--though it is not _my_ secret." + +"Remember your promise," I said + +"I don't forget it," she answered. "I can only wish that my +promise would keep back the thoughts that come to me in spite of +myself." + +"What thoughts?" + +"There is something, as I fear, in the story of my parents which +you are afraid to confide to me. Why did Mr. Gracedieu allow me +to believe and leave everybody to believe, that I was his own +child?" + +"My dear, I relieved your mind of those doubts on the morning of +your marriage." + +"No. I was only thinking of myself at that time. My mother--the +doubt of _her_ is the doubt that torments me now." + +"What do you mean?" + +She put her arm in mine, and held by it with both hands. + +"The mock-mother!" she whispered. "Do you remember that dreadful +Vision, that horrid whispering temptation in the dead of night? +_Was_ it a mock-mother? Oh, pity me! I don't know who my mother +was. One horrid thought about her is a burden on my mind. If she +was a good woman, you who love me would surely have made me happy +by speaking of her?" + +Those words decided me at last. Could she suffer more than she +had suffered already, if I trusted her with the truth? I ran the +risk. There was a time of silence that filled me with terror. The +interval passed. She took my hand, and put it to her heart. "Does +it beat as if I was frightened?" she asked. + + +No! It was beating calmly. + +"Does it relieve your anxiety?" + +It told me that I had not surprised her. That unforgotten Vision +of the night had prepared her for the worst, after the time when +I had told her that she was an adopted child. "I know," I said, +"that those whispered temptations overpowered you again, when you +and Helena met on the stairs, and you forbade her to enter +Philip's room. And I know that love had conquered once more, when +you were next seen sitting by Philip's bedside. Tell me--have you +any misgivings now? Is there fear in your heart of the return of +that tempting spirit in you, in the time to come?" + +"Not while Philip lives!" + +There, where her love was--there her safety was. And she knew it! +She suddenly left me. I asked where she was going. + +"To tell Philip," was the reply. + +She was waiting for me at the door, when I followed her to the +house. + +"Is it done?" I said. + +"It is done," she answered. + +"What did he say?" + +"He said: 'My darling, if I could be fonder of you than ever, I +should be fonder of you now.' " + +I have been blamed for being too ready to confide to Philip the +precious trust of Eunice's happiness. If that reply does not +justify me, where is justification to be found? + +POSTSCRIPT. + + +LATER in the day, Mrs. Tenbruggen arrived to offer her +congratulations. She asked for a few minutes with Philip alone. +As a cat elaborates her preparations for killing a mouse, so the +human cat elaborated her preparations for killing Philip's +happiness, he remained uninjured by her teeth and her claws. +"Somebody," she said, "has told you of it already?" And Philip +answered: "Yes; my wife." + +For some months longer, Mr. Gracedieu lingered. One morning, he +said to Eunice: "I want to teach you to knit. Sit by me, and see +me do it." His hands fell softly on his lap; his head sank little +by little on her shoulder. She could just hear him whisper: "How +pleasant it is to sleep!" Never was Death's dreadful work more +gently done + +Our married pair live now on the paternal estate in Ireland; and +Miss Jillgall reigns queen of domestic affairs. I am still strong +enough to pass my autumn holidays in that pleasant house. + +At times, my memory reverts to Helena Gracedieu, and to what I +discovered when I had seen her diary. + +How little I knew of that terrible creature when I first met with +her, and fancied that she had inherited her mother's character! +It was weak indeed to compare the mean vices of Mrs. Gracedieu +with the diabolical depravity of her daughter. Here the doctrine +of hereditary transmission of moral qualities must own that it +has overlooked the fertility (for growth of good and for growth +of evil equally) which is inherent in human nature. There are +virtues that exalt us, and vices that degrade us, whose +mysterious origin is, not in our parents, but in ourselves. When +I think of Helena, I ask myself, where is the trace which reveals +that the first murder in the world was the product of inherited +crime? + +The criminal left the prison, on the expiration of her sentence, +so secretly that it was impossible to trace her. Some months +later, Miss Jillgall received an illustrated newspaper published +in the United States. She showed me one of the portraits in it. + +"Do you recognize the illustrious original?" she asked, with +indignant emphasis on the last two words. I recognized Helena. +"Now read her new title," Miss Jillgall continued. + +I read: "The Reverend Miss Gracedieu." + +The biographical notice followed. Here is an extract: "This +eminent lady, the victim of a shocking miscarriage of justice in +England, is now the distinguished leader of a new community in +the United States. We hail in her the great intellect which +asserts the superiority of woman over man. In the first French +Revolution, the attempt made by men to found a rational religion +met with only temporary success. It was reserved for the mightier +spirit of woman to lay the foundations more firmly, and to +dedicate one of the noblest edifices in this city to the Worship +of Pure Reason. Readers who wish for further information will do +well to provide themselves with the Reverend Miss Gracedieu's +Orations--the tenth edition of which is advertised in our +columns." + +"I once asked you," Miss Jillgall reminded me, "what Helena would +do when she came out of prison, and you said she would do very +well. Oh, Mr. Governor, Solomon was nothing to You!" + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins + diff --git a/old/lcain10.zip b/old/lcain10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..40c81b8 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/lcain10.zip diff --git a/old/lcain11.txt b/old/lcain11.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..25f1213 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/lcain11.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14874 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins +#22 in our series by Wilkie Collins + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. 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If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Etext by James Rusk (jrusk@cyberramp.net) +Italics are indicated by the underscore character + + + + + +The Legacy of Cain + +by Wilkie Collins + + + + +To + +MRS. HENRY POWELL BARTLEY: + +Permit me to add your name to my name, in publishing this novel. +The pen which has written my books cannot be more agreeably +employed than in acknowledging what I owe to the pen which has +skillfully and patiently helped me, by copying my manuscripts for +the printer. + +WILKIE COLLINS. + +Wimpole Street, 6th December, 1888. + +-------- + +THE LEGACY OF CAIN. + +First Period: 1858-1859. + +EVENTS IN THE PRISON, RELATED BY THE GOVERNOR. + +---- + +CHAPTER I. + +THE GOVERNOR EXPLAINS. + +At the request of a person who has claims on me that I must not +disown, I consent to look back through a long interval of years +and to describe events which took place within the walls of +an English prison during the earlier period of my appointment +as Governor. + +Viewing my task by the light which later experience casts on it, +I think I shall act wisely by exercising some control over +the freedom of my pen. + +I propose to pass over in silence the name of the town in which +is situated the prison once confided to my care. I shall observe +a similar discretion in alluding to individuals--some dead, some +living, at the present time. + +Being obliged to write of a woman who deservedly suffered +the extreme penalty of the law, I think she will be sufficiently +identified if I call her The Prisoner. Of the four persons +present on the evening before her execution three may be +distinguished one from the other by allusion to their vocations +in life. I here introduce them as The Chaplain, The Minister, +and The Doctor. The fourth was a young woman. She has no claim +on my consideration; and, when she is mentioned, her name may +appear. If these reserves excite suspicion, I declare beforehand +that they influence in no way the sense of responsibility which +commands an honest man to speak the truth. + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE MURDERESS ASKS QUESTIONS. + +The first of the events which I must now relate was the +conviction of The Prisoner for the murder of her husband. + +They had lived together in matrimony for little more than +two years. The husband, a gentleman by birth and education, +had mortally offended his relations in marrying a woman of +an inferior rank of life. He was fast declining into a state +of poverty, through his own reckless extravagance, at the time +when he met with his death at his wife's hand. + +Without attempting to excuse him, he deserved, to my mind, some +tribute of regret. It is not to be denied that he was profligate +in his habits and violent in his temper. But it is equally true +that he was affectionate in the domestic circle, and, when moved +by wisely applied remonstrance, sincerely penitent for sins +committed under temptation that overpowered him. If his wife +had killed him in a fit of jealous rage--under provocation, +be it remembered, which the witnesses proved--she might have +been convicted of manslaughter, and might have received a light +sentence. But the evidence so undeniably revealed deliberate +and merciless premeditation, that the only defense attempted +by her counsel was madness, and the only alternative left to +a righteous jury was a verdict which condemned the woman to +death. Those mischievous members of the community, whose topsy- +turvy sympathies feel for the living criminal and forget the dead +victim, attempted to save her by means of high-flown petitions +and contemptible correspondence in the newspapers. But the Judge +held firm; and the Home Secretary held firm. They were entirely +right; and the public were scandalously wrong. + +Our Chaplain endeavored to offer the consolations of religion +to the condemned wretch. She refused to accept his ministrations +in language which filled him with grief and horror. + +On the evening before the execution, the reverend gentleman laid +on my table his own written report of a conversation which had +passed between the Prisoner and himself. + +"I see some hope, sir," he said, "of inclining the heart of this +woman to religious belief, before it is too late. Will you read +my report, and say if you agree with me?" + +I read it, of course. It was called "A Memorandum," and was thus +written: + +"At his last interview with the Prisoner, the Chaplain asked +her if she had ever entered a place of public worship. She +replied that she had occasionally attended the services at +a Congregational Church in this town; attracted by the reputation +of the Minister as a preacher. 'He entirely failed to make +a Christian of me,' she said; 'but I was struck by his eloquence. +Besides, he interested me personally--he was a fine man.' + +"In the dreadful situation in which the woman was placed, such +language as this shocked the Chaplain; he appealed in vain to the +Prisoner's sense of propriety. 'You don't understand women,' she +answered. 'The greatest saint of my sex that ever lived likes to +look at a preacher as well as to hear him. If he is an agreeable +man, he has all the greater effect on her. This preacher's voice +told me he was kind-hearted; and I had only to look at his +beautiful eyes to see that he was trustworthy and true.' + +"It was useless to repeat a protest which had already failed. +Recklessly and flippantly as she had described it, an impression +had been produced on her. It occurred to the Chaplain that he +might at least make the attempt to turn this result to her own +religious advantage. He asked whether she would receive +the Minister, if the reverend gentleman came to the prison. +'That will depend,' she said, 'on whether you answer some +questions which I want to put to you first.' The Chaplain +consented; provided always that he could reply with propriety +to what she asked of him. Her first question only related to +himself. + +"She said: 'The women who watch me tell me that you are +a widower, and have a family of children. Is that true?' + +"The Chaplain answered that it was quite true. + +"She alluded next to a report, current in the town, that +the Minister had resigned the pastorate. Being personally +acquainted with him, the Chaplain was able to inform her that +his resignation had not yet been accepted. On hearing this, she +seemed to gather confidence. Her next inquiries succeeded each +other rapidly, as follows: + +"'Is my handsome preacher married?' + +"'Yes.' + +"'Has he got any children?' + +"'He has never had any children.' + +"'How long has he been married?' + +"'As well as I know, about seven or eight years. + +"'What sort of woman is his wife?' + +"'A lady universally respected.' + +"'I don't care whether she is respected or not. Is she kind?' + +"'Certainly!' + +"'Is her husband well off?' + +"'He has a sufficient income.' + +"After that reply, the Prisoner's curiosity appeared to be +satisfied. She said, 'Bring your friend the preacher to me, +if you like'--and there it ended. + +"What her object could have been in putting these questions, +it seems to be impossible to guess. Having accurately reported +all that took place, the Chaplain declares, with heartfelt +regret, that he can exert no religious influence over this +obdurate woman. He leaves it to the Governor to decide whether +the Minister of the Congregational Church may not succeed, where +the Chaplain of the Jail has failed. Herein is the one last hope +of saving the soul of the Prisoner, now under sentence of death!" + +In those serious words the Memorandum ended. Although not +personally acquainted with the Minister I had heard of him, on +all sides, as an excellent man. In the emergency that confronted +us he had, as it seemed to me, his own sacred right to enter +the prison; assuming that he was willing to accept, what I myself +felt to be, a very serious responsibility. The first necessity +was to discover whether we might hope to obtain his services. +With my full approval the Chaplain left me, to state the +circumstances to his reverend colleague. + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE CHILD APPEARS. + +During my friend's absence, my attention was claimed by a sad +incident--not unforeseen. + +It is, I suppose, generally known that near relatives are +admitted to take their leave of criminals condemned to death. +In the case of the Prisoner now waiting for execution, no person +applied to the authorities for permission to see her. I myself +inquired if she had any relations living, and if she would like +to see them. She answered: "None that I care to see, or that care +to see me--except the nearest relation of all." + +In those last words the miserable creature alluded to her only +child, a little girl (an infant, I should say), who had passed +her first year's birthday by a few months. The farewell interview +was to take place on the mother's last evening on earth; and +the child was now brought into my rooms, in charge of her nurse. + +I had seldom seen a brighter or prettier little girl. She was +just able to walk alone, and to enjoy the first delight of moving +from one place to another. Quite of her own accord she came to +me, attracted I daresay by the glitter of my watch-chain. Helping +her to climb on my knee, I showed the wonders of the watch, and +held it to her ear. At that past time, death had taken my good +wife from me; my two boys were away at Harrow School; my domestic +life was the life of a lonely man. Whether I was reminded of the +bygone days when my sons were infants on my knee, listening to +the ticking of my watch--or whether the friendless position of +the poor little creature, who had lost one parent and was soon to +lose the other by a violent death, moved me in depths of pity not +easily reached in my later experience--I am not able to say. This +only I know: my heart ached for the child while she was laughing +and listening; and something fell from me on the watch which I +don't deny might have been a tear. A few of the toys, mostly +broken now, which my two children used to play with are still +in my possession; kept, like my poor wife's favorite jewels, for +old remembrance' sake. These I took from their repository when +the attraction of my watch showed signs of failing. The child +pounced on them with her chubby hands, and screamed with +pleasure. And the hangman was waiting for her mother--and, +more horrid still, the mother deserved it! + +My duty required me to let the Prisoner know that her little +daughter had arrived. Did that heart of iron melt at last? It +might have been so, or it might not; the message sent back kept +her secret. All that it said to me was: "Let the child wait till +I send for her." + +The Minister had consented to help us. On his arrival at +the prison, I received him privately in my study. + +I had only to look at his face--pitiably pale and agitated--to +see that he was a sensitive man, not always able to control +his nerves on occasions which tried his moral courage. A kind, +I might almost say a noble face, and a voice unaffectedly +persuasive, at once prepossessed me in his favor. The few words +of welcome that I spoke were intended to compose him. They failed +to produce the impression on which I had counted. + +"My experience," he said, "has included many melancholy duties, +and has tried my composure in terrible scenes; but I have never +yet found myself in the presence of an unrepentant criminal, +sentenced to death--and that criminal a woman and a mother. +I own, sir, that I am shaken by the prospect before me." + +I suggested that he should wait a while, in the hope that time +and quiet might help him. He thanked me, and refused. + +"If I have any knowledge of myself," he said, "terrors of +anticipation lose their hold when I am face to face with +a serious call on me. The longer I remain here, the less worthy +I shall appear of the trust that has been placed in me--the trust +which, please God, I mean to deserve." + +My own observation of human nature told me that this was wisely +said. I led the way at once to the cell. + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE MINISTER SAYS YES. + +The Prisoner was seated on her bed, quietly talking with +the woman appointed to watch her. When she rose to receive us, +I saw the Minister start. The face that confronted him would, +in my opinion, have taken any man by surprise, if he had first +happened to see it within the walls of a prison. + +Visitors to the picture-galleries of Italy, growing weary of +Holy Families in endless succession, observe that the idea of +the Madonna, among the rank and file of Italian Painters, is +limited to one changeless and familiar type. I can hardly hope +to be believed when I say that the personal appearance of +the murderess recalled that type. She presented the delicate +light hair, the quiet eyes, the finely-shaped lower features +and the correctly oval form of face, repeated in hundreds on +hundreds of the conventional works of Art to which I have +ventured to allude. To those who doubt me, I can only declare +that what I have here written is undisguised and absolute truth. +Let me add that daily observation of all classes of criminals, +extending over many years, has considerably diminished my faith +in physiognomy as a safe guide to the discovery of character. +Nervous trepidation looks like guilt. Guilt, firmly sustained by +insensibility, looks like innocence. One of the vilest wretches +ever placed under my charge won the sympathies (while he was +waiting for his trial) of every person who saw him, including +even the persons employed in the prison. Only the other day, +ladies and gentlemen coming to visit me passed a body of men at +work on the road. Judges of physiognomy among them were horrified +at the criminal atrocity betrayed in every face that they +noticed. They condoled with me on the near neighborhood of so +many convicts to my official place of residence. I looked out of +the window and saw a group of honest laborers (whose only crime +was poverty) employed by the parish! + +Having instructed the female warder to leave the room--but +to take care that she waited within call--I looked again at +the Minister. + +Confronted by the serious responsibility that he had undertaken, +he justified what he had said to me. Still pale, still +distressed, he was now nevertheless master of himself. I turned +to the door to leave him alone with the Prisoner. She called me +back. + +"Before this gentleman tries to convert me," she said, "I want +you to wait here and be a witness." + +Finding that we were both willing to comply with this request, +she addressed herself directly to the Minister. "Suppose I +promise to listen to your exhortations," she began, "what do +you promise to do for me in return?" + +The voice in which she spoke to him was steady and clear; +a marked contrast to the tremulous earnestness with which he +answered her. + +"I promise to urge you to repentance and the confession of +your crime. I promise to implore the divine blessing on me in +the effort to save your poor guilty soul." + +She looked at him, and listened to him, as if he was speaking to +her in an unknown tongue, and went on with what she had to say as +quietly as ever. + +"When I am hanged to-morrow, suppose I die without confessing, +without repenting--are you one of those who believe I shall be +doomed to eternal punishment in another life?" + +"I believe in the mercy of God." + +"Answer my question, if you please. Is an impenitent sinner +eternally punished? Do you believe that?" + +"My Bible leaves me no other alternative." + +She paused for a while, evidently considering with special +attention what she was about to say next. + +"As a religious man," she resumed, "would you be willing to make +some sacrifice, rather than let a fellow-creature go--after +a disgraceful death--to everlasting torment?" + +"I know of no sacrifice in my power," he said, fervently, "to +which I would not rather submit than let you die in the present +dreadful state of your mind." + +The Prisoner turned to me. "Is the person who watches me waiting +outside?" + +"Yes." + +"Will you be so kind as to call her in? I have a message for +her." + +It was plain that she had been leading the way to the delivery of +that message, whatever it might be, in all that she had said up +to the present time. So far my poor powers of penetration helped +me, and no further. + +The warder appeared, and received her message. "Tell the woman +who has come here with my little girl that I want to see the +child." + +Taken completely by surprise, I signed to the attendant to wait +for further instructions. + +In a moment more I had sufficiently recovered myself to see the +impropriety of permitting any obstacle to interpose between the +Minister and his errand of mercy. I gently reminded the Prisoner +that she would have a later opportunity of seeing her child. +"Your first duty," I told her, "is to hear and to take to heart +what the clergyman has to say to you." + +For the second time I attempted to leave the cell. For the second +time this impenetrable woman called me back. + +"Take the parson away with you," she said. "I refuse to listen +to him." + +The patient Minister yielded, and appealed to me to follow his +example. I reluctantly sanctioned the delivery of the message. + +After a brief interval the child was brought to us, tired and +sleepy. For a while the nurse roused her by setting her on her +feet. She happened to notice the Minister first. Her bright eyes +rested on him, gravely wondering. He kissed her, and, after a +momentary hesitation, gave her to her mother. The horror of the +situation overpowered him: he turned his face away from us. I +understood what he felt; he almost overthrew my own self-command. + +The Prisoner spoke to the nurse in no friendly tone: "You can +go." + +The nurse turned to me, ostentatiously ignoring the words that +had been addressed to her. "Am I to go, sir, or to stay?" +I suggested that she should return to the waiting-room. She +returned at once in silence. The Prisoner looked after her as +she went out, with such an expression of hatred in her eyes that +the Minister noticed it. + +"What has that person done to offend you?" he asked. + +"She is the last person in the whole world whom I should have +chosen to take care of my child, if the power of choosing had +been mine. But I have been in prison, without a living creature +to represent me or to take my part. No more of that; my troubles +will be over in a few hours more. I want you to look at my little +girl, whose troubles are all to come. Do you call her pretty? Do +you feel interested in her?" + +The sorrow and pity in his face answered for him. + +Quietly sleeping, the poor baby rested on her mother's bosom. Was +the heart of the murderess softened by the divine influence of +maternal love? The hands that held the child trembled a little. +For the first time it seemed to cost her an effort to compose +herself, before she could speak to the Minister again. + +"When I die to-morrow," she said, "I leave my child helpless +and friendless--disgraced by her mother's shameful death. The +workhouse may take her--or a charitable asylum may take her." She +paused; a first tinge of color rose on her pale face; she broke +into an outburst of rage. "Think of _my_ daughter being brought +up by charity! She may suffer poverty, she may be treated with +contempt, she may be employed by brutal people in menial work. +I can't endure it; it maddens me. If she is not saved from that +wretched fate, I shall die despairing, I shall die cursing--" + +The Minister sternly stopped her before she could say the next +word. To my astonishment she appeared to be humbled, to be even +ashamed: she asked his pardon: "Forgive me; I won't forget myself +again. They tell me you have no children of your own. Is that a +sorrow to you and your wife?" + +Her altered tone touched him. He answered sadly and kindly: "It +is the one sorrow of our lives." + +The purpose which she had been keeping in view from the moment +when the Minister entered her cell was no mystery now. Ought I to +have interfered? Let me confess a weakness, unworthy perhaps of +my office. I was so sorry for the child--I hesitated. + +My silence encouraged the mother. She advanced to the Minister +with the sleeping infant in her arms. + +"I daresay you have sometimes thought of adopting a child?" she +said. "Perhaps you can guess now what I had in my mind, when +I asked if you would consent to a sacrifice? Will you take this +wretched innocent little creature home with you?" She lost her +self-possession once more. "A motherless creature to-morrow," +she burst out. "Think of that." + +God knows how I still shrunk from it! But there was no +alternative now; I was bound to remember my duty to the excellent +man, whose critical position at that moment was, in some degree +at least, due to my hesitation in asserting my authority. Could +I allow the Prisoner to presume on his compassionate nature, and +to hurry him into a decision which, in his calmer moments, he +might find reason to regret? I spoke to _him_. Does the man live +who--having to say what I had to say--could have spoken to +the doomed mother? + +"I am sorry to have allowed this to go on," I said. "In justice +to yourself, sir, don't answer!" + +She turned on me with a look of fury. + +"He shall answer," she cried. + +I saw, or thought I saw, signs of yielding in his face. "Take +time," I persisted--"take time to consider before you decide." + +She stepped up to me. + +"Take time?" she repeated. "Are you inhuman enough to talk of +time, in my presence?" + +She laid the sleeping child on her bed, and fell on her knees +before the Minister: "I promise to hear your exhortations--I +promise to do all a woman can to believe and repent. Oh, I know +myself! My heart, once hardened, is a heart that no human +creature can touch. The one way to my better nature--if I have +a better nature--is through that poor babe. Save her from +the workhouse! Don't let them make a pauper of her!" She sank +prostrate at his feet, and beat her hands in frenzy on the floor. +"You want to save my guilty soul," she reminded him furiously. +"There's but one way of doing it. Save my child!" + +He raised her. Her fierce tearless eyes questioned his face +in a mute expectation dreadful to see. Suddenly, a foretaste +of death--the death that was so near now!--struck her with +a shivering fit: her head dropped on the Minister's shoulder. +Other men might have shrunk from the contact of it. That true +Christian let it rest. + +Under the maddening sting of suspense, her sinking energies +rallied for an instant. In a whisper, she was just able to put +the supreme question to him. + +"Yes? or No?" + +He answered: "Yes." + +A faint breath of relief, just audible in the silence, told me +that she had heard him. It was her last effort. He laid her, +insensible, on the bed, by the side of her sleeping child. +"Look at them," was all he said to me; "how could I refuse?" + + +CHAPTER V. + +MISS CHANCE ASSERTS HERSELF. + +The services of our medical officer were required, in order to +hasten the recovery of the Prisoner's senses. + +When the Doctor and I left the cell together, she was composed, +and ready (in the performance of her promise) to listen to +the exhortations of the Minister. The sleeping child was left +undisturbed, by the mother's desire. If the Minister felt tempted +to regret what he had done, there was the artless influence +which would check him! As we stepped into the corridor, I gave +the female warder her instructions to remain on the watch, and +to return to her post when she saw the Minister come out. + +In the meantime, my companion had walked on a little way. + +Possessed of ability and experience within the limits of +his profession, he was in other respects a man with a crotchety +mind; bold to the verge of recklessness in the expression of +his opinion; and possessed of a command of language that carried +everything before it. Let me add that he was just and merciful +in his intercourse with others, and I shall have summed him up +fairly enough. When I joined him he seemed to be absorbed in +reflection. + +"Thinking of the Prisoner?" I said. + +"Thinking of what is going on, at this moment, in the condemned +cell," he answered, "and wondering if any good will come of it." + +I was not without hope of a good result, and I said so. + +The Doctor disagreed with me. "I don't believe in that woman's +penitence," he remarked; "and I look upon the parson as a poor +weak creature. What is to become of the child?" + +There was no reason for concealing from one of my colleagues +the benevolent decision, on the part of the good Minister, +of which I had been a witness. The Doctor listened to me with +the first appearance of downright astonishment that I had ever +observed in his face. When I had done, he made an extraordinary +reply: + +"Governor, I retract what I said of the parson just now. He +is one of the boldest men that ever stepped into a pulpit." + +Was the doctor in earnest? Strongly in earnest; there could be +no doubt of it. Before I could ask him what he meant, he was +called away to a patient on the other side of the prison. When +we parted at the door of my room, I made it a request that my +medical friend would return to me and explain what he had just +said. + +"Considering that you are the governor of a prison," he replied, +"you are a singularly rash man. If I come back, how do you know +I shall not bore you?" + +"My rashness runs the risk of that," I rejoined. + +"Tell me something, before I allow you to run your risk," +he said. "Are you one of those people who think that the tempers +of children are formed by the accidental influences which happen +to be about them? Or do you agree with me that the tempers of +children are inherited from their parents?" + +The Doctor (as I concluded) was still strongly impressed by +the Minister's resolution to adopt a child whose wicked mother +had committed the most atrocious of all crimes. Was some serious +foreboding in secret possession of his mind? My curiosity to hear +him was now increased tenfold. I replied without hesitation: + +"I agree with you." + +He looked at me with his sense of humor twinkling in his eyes. +"Do you know I rather expected that answer?" he said, slyly. +"All right. I'll come back." + +Left by myself, I took up the day's newspaper. + +My attention wandered; my thoughts were in the cell with +the Minister and the Prisoner. How would it end? Sometimes, I was +inclined to doubt with the Doctor. Sometimes, I took refuge in +my own more hopeful view. These idle reflections were agreeably +interrupted by the appearance of my friend, the Chaplain. + +"You are always welcome," I said; "and doubly welcome just now. +I am feeling a little worried and anxious." + +"And you are naturally," the Chaplain added, "not at all disposed +to receive a stranger?" + +"Is the stranger a friend of yours?" I asked. + +"Oh, no! Having occasion, just now, to go into the waiting-room, +I found a young woman there, who asked me if she could see you. +She thinks you have forgotten her, and she is tired of waiting. I +merely undertook, of course, to mention what she had said to me." + +The nurse having been in this way recalled to my memory, I felt +some little interest in seeing her, after what had passed in +the cell. In plainer words, I was desirous of judging for myself +whether she deserved the hostile feeling which the Prisoner had +shown toward her. I thanked the Chaplain before he left me, and +gave the servant the necessary instructions. When she entered +the room, I looked at the woman attentively for the first time. + +Youth and a fine complexion, a well-made figure and a natural +grace of movement--these were her personal attractions, so far +as I could see. Her defects were, to my mind, equally noticeable. +Under a heavy forehead, her piercing eyes looked out at persons +and things with an expression which was not to my taste. +Her large mouth--another defect, in my opinion--would have +been recommended to mercy, in the estimation of many men, by +her magnificent teeth; white, well-shaped, cruelly regular. +Believers in physiognomy might perhaps have seen the betrayal +of an obstinate nature in the lengthy firmness of her chin. +While I am trying to describe her, let me not forget her dress. +A woman's dress is the mirror in which we may see the reflection +of a woman's nature. Bearing in mind the melancholy and +impressive circumstances under which she had brought the child +to the prison, the gayety of color in her gown and her bonnet +implied either a total want of feeling, or a total want of tact. +As to her position in life, let me confess that I felt, after +a closer examination, at a loss to determine it. She was +certainly not a lady. The Prisoner had spoken of her as if +she was a domestic servant who had forfeited her right to +consideration and respect. And she had entered the prison, as +a nurse might have entered it, in charge of a child. I did what +we all do when we are not clever enough to find the answer to +a riddle--I gave it up. + +"What can I do for you?" I asked. + +"Perhaps you can tell me," she answered, "how much longer I am +to be kept waiting in this prison." + +"The decision," I reminded her, "doesn't depend on me." + +"Then who does it depend on?" + +The Minister had undoubtedly acquired the sole right of deciding. +It was for him to say whether this woman should, or should not, +remain in attendance on the child whom he had adopted. In the +meanwhile, the feeling of distrust which was gaining on my mind +warned me to remember the value of reserve in holding intercourse +with a stranger. + +She seemed to be irritated by my silence. "If the decision +doesn't rest with you," she asked, "why did you tell me to stay +in the waiting-room?" + +"You brought the little girl into the prison," I said; "was it +not natural to suppose that your mistress might want you--" + +"Stop, sir!" + +I had evidently given offense; I stopped directly. + +"No person on the face of the earth," she declared, loftily, "has +ever had the right to call herself my mistress. Of my own free +will, sir, I took charge of the child." + +"Because you are fond of her?" I suggested. + +"I hate her." + +It was unwise on my part--I protested. "Hate a baby little more +than a year old!" I said. + +"_Her_ baby!" + +She said it with the air of a woman who had produced an +unanswerable reason. "I am accountable to nobody," she went on. +"If I consented to trouble myself with the child, it was in +remembrance of my friendship--notice, if you please, that I say +friendship--with the unhappy father." + +Putting together what I had just heard, and what I had seen in +the cell, I drew the right conclusion at last. The woman, whose +position in life had been thus far an impenetrable mystery to me, +now stood revealed as one, among other objects of the Prisoner's +jealousy, during her disastrous married life. A serious doubt +occurred to me as to the authority under which the husband's +mistress might be acting, after the husband's death. I instantly +put it to the test. + +"Do I understand you to assert any claim to the child?" I asked. + +"Claim?" she repeated. "I know no more of the child than you do. +I heard for the first time that such a creature was in existence, +when her murdered father sent for me in his dying moments. +At his entreaty I promised to take care of her, while her vile +mother was out of the house and in the hands of the law. +My promise has been performed. If I am expected (having brought +her to the prison) to take her away again, understand this: I am +under no obligation (even if I could afford it) to burden myself +with that child; I shall hand her over to the workhouse +authorities." + +I forgot myself once more--I lost my temper. + +"Leave the room," I said. "Your unworthy hands will not touch +the poor baby again. She is provided for." + +"I don't believe you!" the wretch burst out. "Who has taken +the child?" + +A quiet voice answered: "_I_ have taken her." + +We both looked round and saw the Minister standing in the open +doorway, with the child in his arms. The ordeal that he had gone +through in the condemned cell was visible in his face; he looked +miserably haggard and broken. I was eager to know if his merciful +interest in the Prisoner had purified her guilty soul--but at +the same time I was afraid, after what he had but too plainly +suffered, to ask him to enter into details. + +"Only one word," I said. "Are your anxieties at rest?" + +"God's mercy has helped me," he answered. "I have not spoken in +vain. She believes; she repents; she has confessed the crime." + +After handing the written and signed confession to me, he +approached the venomous creature, still lingering in the room +to hear what passed between us. Before I could stop him, he spoke +to her, under a natural impression that he was addressing +the Prisoner's servant. + +"I am afraid you will be disappointed," he said, "when I tell you +that your services will no longer be required. I have reasons for +placing the child under the care of a nurse of my own choosing." + +She listened with an evil smile. + +"I know who furnished you with your reasons," she answered. +"Apologies are quite needless, so far as I am concerned. If you +had proposed to me to look after the new member of your family +there, I should have felt it my duty to myself to have refused. +I am not a nurse--I am an independent single lady. I see by your +dress that you are a clergyman. Allow me to present myself as +a mark of respect to your cloth. I am Miss Elizabeth Chance. May +I ask the favor of your name?" + +Too weary and too preoccupied to notice the insolence of +her manner, the Minister mentioned his name. "I am anxious," +he said, "to know if the child has been baptized. Perhaps you +can enlighten me?" + +Still insolent, Miss Elizabeth Chance shook her head carelessly. +"I never heard--and, to tell you the truth, I never cared to +hear--whether she was christened or not. Call her by what name +you like, I can tell you this--you will find your adopted +daughter a heavy handful." + +The Minister turned to me. "What does she mean?" + +"I will try to tell you," Miss Chance interposed. "Being +a clergyman, you know who Deborah was? Very well. I am Deborah +now; and _I_ prophesy." She pointed to the child. "Remember what +I say, reverend sir! You will find the tigress-cub take after +its mother." + +With those parting words, she favored us with a low curtsey, +and left the room. + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE DOCTOR DOUBTS. + +The Minister looked at me in an absent manner; his attention +seemed to have been wandering. "What was it Miss Chance said?" +he asked. + +Before I could speak, a friend's voice at the door interrupted +us. The Doctor, returning to me as he had promised, answered +the Minister's question in these words: + +"I must have passed the person you mean, sir, as I was coming +in here; and I heard her say: 'You will find the tigress-cub +take after its mother.' If she had known how to put her meaning +into good English, Miss Chance--that is the name you mentioned, +I think--might have told you that the vices of the parents are +inherited by the children. And the one particular parent she had +in her mind," the Doctor continued, gently patting the child's +cheek, "was no doubt the mother of this unfortunate little +creature--who may, or may not, live to show you that she comes +of a bad stock and inherits a wicked nature." + +I was on the point of protesting against my friend's +interpretation, when the Minister stopped me. + +"Let me thank you, sir, for your explanation," he said to +the Doctor. "As soon as my mind is free, I will reflect on what +you have said. Forgive me, Mr. Governor," he went on, "if I leave +you, now that I have placed the Prisoner's confession in your +hands. It has been an effort to me to say the little I have said, +since I first entered this room. I can think of nothing but that +unhappy criminal, and the death that she must die to-morrow." + +"Does she wish you to be present?" I asked. + +"She positively forbids it. 'After what you have done for me,' +she said, 'the least I can do in return is to prevent your being +needlessly distressed.' She took leave of me; she kissed +the little girl for the last time--oh, don't ask me to tell +you about it! I shall break down if I try. Come, my darling!" +He kissed the child tenderly, and took her away with him. + +"That man is a strange compound of strength and weakness," +the Doctor remarked. "Did you notice his face, just now? Nine +men out of ten, suffering as he suffered, would have failed +to control themselves. Such resolution as his _may_ conquer +the difficulties that are in store for him yet." + +It was a trial of my temper to hear my clever colleague +justifying, in this way, the ignorant prediction of an insolent +woman. + +"There are exceptions to all rules," I insisted. "And why are +the virtues of the parents not just as likely to descend to +the children as the vices? There was a fund of good, I can tell +you, in that poor baby's father--though I don't deny that he was +a profligate man. And even the horrible mother--as you heard just +now--has virtue enough left in her to feel grateful to the man +who has taken care of her child. These are facts; you can't +dispute them." + +The Doctor took out his pipe. "Do you mind my smoking?" he asked. +"Tobacco helps me to arrange my ideas." + +I gave him the means of arranging his ideas; that is to say, +I gave him the match-box. He blew some preliminary clouds of +smoke and then he answered me: + +"For twenty years past, my friend, I have been studying +the question of hereditary transmission of qualities; and I have +found vices and diseases descending more frequently to children +than virtue and health. I don't stop to ask why: there is no end +to that sort of curiosity. What I have observed is what I tell +you; no more and no less. You will say this is a horribly +discouraging result of experience, for it tends to show that +children come into the world at a disadvantage on the day of +their birth. Of course they do. Children are born deformed; +children are born deaf, dumb, or blind; children are born with +the seeds in them of deadly diseases. Who can account for the +cruelties of creation? Why are we endowed with life--only to end +in death? And does it ever strike you, when you are cutting your +mutton at dinner, and your cat is catching its mouse, and your +spider is suffocating its fly, that we are all, big and little +together, born to one certain inheritance--the privilege of +eating each other?" + +"Very sad," I admitted. "But it will all be set right in another +world." + +"Are you quite sure of that?" the Doctor asked. + +"Quite sure, thank God! And it would be better for you if you +felt about it as I do." + +"We won't dispute, my dear Governor. I don't scoff at comforting +hopes; I don't deny the existence of occasional compensations. +But I do see, nevertheless, that Evil has got the upper hand +among us, on this curious little planet. Judging by my +observation and experience, that ill-fated baby's chance of +inheriting the virtues of her parents is not to be compared with +her chances of inheriting their vices; especially if she happens +to take after her mother. _There_ the virtue is not conspicuous, +and the vice is one enormous fact. When I think of the growth of +that poisonous hereditary taint, which may come with time--when +I think of passions let loose and temptations lying in ambush--I +see the smooth surface of the Minister's domestic life with +dangers lurking under it which make me shake in my shoes. God! +what a life I should lead, if I happened to be in his place, +some years hence. Suppose I said or did something (in the just +exercise of my parental authority) which offended my adopted +daughter. What figure would rise from the dead in my memory, when +the girl bounced out of the room in a rage? The image of her +mother would be the image I should see. I should remember what +her mother did when _she_ was provoked; I should lock my bedroom +door, in my own house, at night. I should come down to breakfast +with suspicions in my cup of tea, if I discovered that my adopted +daughter had poured it out. Oh, yes; it's quite true that I might +be doing the girl a cruel injustice all the time; but how am I to +be sure of that? I am only sure that her mother was hanged for +one of the most merciless murders committed in our time. Pass +the match-box. My pipe's out, and my confession of faith has come +to an end." + +It was useless to dispute with a man who possessed his command of +language. At the same time, there was a bright side to the poor +Minister's prospects which the Doctor had failed to see. It was +barely possible that I might succeed in putting my positive +friend in the wrong. I tried the experiment, at any rate. + +"You seem to have forgotten," I reminded him, "that the child +will have every advantage that education can offer to her, and +will be accustomed from her earliest years to restraining and +purifying influences, in a clergyman's household." + +Now that he was enjoying the fumes of tobacco, the Doctor was +as placid and sweet-tempered as a man could be. + +"Quite true," he said. + +"Do you doubt the influence of religion?" I asked sternly. + +He answered, sweetly: "Not at all" + +"Or the influence of kindness?" + +"Oh, dear, no!" + +"Or the force of example?" + +"I wouldn't deny it for the world." + +I had not expected this extraordinary docility. The Doctor had +got the upper hand of me again--a state of things that I might +have found it hard to endure, but for a call of duty which put +an end to our sitting. One of the female warders appeared with +a message from the condemned cell. The Prisoner wished to see +the Governor and the Medical Officer. + +"Is she ill?" the Doctor inquired. + +"No, sir." + +"Hysterical? or agitated, perhaps?" + +"As easy and composed, sir, as a person can be." + +We set forth together for the condemned cell. + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE MURDERESS CONSULTS THE AUTHORITIES. + +There was a considerate side to my friend's character, which +showed itself when the warder had left us. + +He was especially anxious to be careful of what he said to +a woman in the Prisoner's terrible situation; especially in +the event of her having been really subjected to the influence +of religious belief. On the Minister's own authority, I declared +that there was every reason to adopt this conclusion; and in +support of what I had said I showed him the confession. It only +contained a few lines, acknowledging that she had committed +the murder and that she deserved her sentence. "From the planning +of the crime to the commission of the crime, I was in my right +senses throughout. I knew what I was doing." With that remarkable +disavowal of the defense set up by her advocate, the confession +ended. + +My colleague read the paper, and handed it back to me without +making any remark. I asked if he suspected the Prisoner of +feigning conversion to please the Minister. + +"She shall not discover it," he answered, gravely, "if I do." + +It would not be true to say that the Doctor's obstinacy had +shaken my belief in the good result of the Minister's +interference. I may, however, acknowledge that I felt some +misgivings, which were not dispelled when I found myself in +the presence of the Prisoner. + +I had expected to see her employed in reading the Bible. The good +book was closed and was not even placed within her reach. +The occupation to which she was devoting herself astonished and +repelled me. + +Some carelessness on the part of the attendant had left on +the table the writing materials that had been needed for her +confession. She was using them now--when death on the scaffold +was literally within a few hours of her--to sketch a portrait of +the female warder, who was on the watch! The Doctor and I looked +at each other; and now the sincerity of her repentance was +something that I began to question, too. + +She laid down the pen, and proceeded quietly to explain herself. + +"Even the little time that is left to me proves to be a weary +time to get through," she said. "I am making a last use of the +talent for drawing and catching a likeness, which has been one +of my gifts since I was a girl. You look as if you didn't approve +of such employment as this for a woman who is going to be hanged. +Well, sir, I have no doubt you are right." She paused, and tore +up the portrait. "If I have misbehaved myself," she resumed, +"I make amends. To find you in an indulgent frame of mind is of +importance to me just now. I have a favor to ask of you. May +the warder leave the cell for a few minutes?" + +Giving the woman permission to withdraw for a while, I waited +with some anxiety to hear what the Prisoner wanted of me. + +"I have something to say to you," she proceeded, "on the subject +of executions. The face of a person who is going to be hanged +is hidden, as I have been told, by a white cap drawn over it. +Is that true?" + +How another man might have felt, in my place, I cannot, of +course, say. To my mind, such a question--on _her_ lips--was +too shocking to be answered in words. I bowed. + +"And the body is buried," she went on, "in the prison?" + +I could remain silent no longer. "Is there no human feeling left +in you?" I burst out. "What do these horrid questions mean?" + +"Don't be angry with me, sir; you shall hear directly. I want +to know first if I am to be buried in the prison?" + +I replied as before, by a bow. + +"Now," she said, "I may tell you what I mean. In the autumn +of last year I was taken to see some waxworks. Portraits of +criminals were among them. There was one portrait--" She +hesitated; her infernal self-possession failed her at last. The +color left her face; she was no longer able to look at me firmly. +"There was one portrait," she resumed, "that had been taken after +the execution. The face was so hideous; it was swollen to such +a size in its frightful deformity--oh, sir, don't let me be seen +in that state, even by the strangers who bury me! Use your +influence--forbid them to take the cap off my face when I am +dead--order them to bury me in it, and I swear to you I'll meet +death tomorrow as coolly as the boldest man that ever mounted the +scaffold!" Before I could stop her, she seized me by the hand, +and wrung it with a furious power that left the mark of her grasp +on me, in a bruise, for days afterward. "Will you do it?" she +cried. "You're an honorable man; you will keep your word. Give me +your promise!" + +I gave her my promise. + +The relief to her tortured spirit expressed itself horribly in +a burst of frantic laughter. "I can't help it," she gasped; "I'm +so happy." + +My enemies said of me, when I got my appointment, that I was too +excitable a man to be governor of a prison. Perhaps they were not +altogether wrong. Anyhow, the quick-witted Doctor saw some change +in me, which I was not aware of myself. He took my arm and led me +out of the cell. "Leave her to me," he whispered. "The fine edge +of my nerves was worn off long ago in the hospital." + +When we met again, I asked what had passed between the Prisoner +and himself. + +"I gave her time to recover," he told me; "and, except that she +looked a little paler than usual, there was no trace left of +the frenzy that you remember. 'I ought to apologize for troubling +you,' she said; 'but it is perhaps natural that I should think, +now and then, of what is to happen to me to-morrow morning. As +a medical man, you will be able to enlighten me. Is death by +hanging a painful death?' She had put it so politely that I felt +bound to answer her. 'If the neck happens to be broken,' I said, +'hanging is a sudden death; fright and pain (if there is any +pain) are both over in an instant. As to the other form of death +which is also possible (I mean death by suffocation), I must own +as an honest man that I know no more about it than you do.' After +considering a little, she made a sensible remark, and followed it +by an embarrassing request. 'A great deal,' she said, 'must +depend on the executioner. I am not afraid of death, Doctor. +Why should I be? My anxiety about my little girl is set at rest; +I have nothing left to live for. But I don't like pain. Would you +mind telling the executioner to be careful? Or would it be better +if I spoke to him myself?' I said I thought it would come with +a better grace from herself. She understood me directly; and we +dropped the subject. Are you surprised at her coolness, after +your experience of her?" + +I confessed that I was surprised. + +"Think a little," the Doctor said. "The one sensitive place in +that woman's nature is the place occupied by her self-esteem." + +I objected to this that she had shown fondness for her child. + +My friend disposed of the objection with his customary readiness. + +"The maternal instinct," he said. "A cat is fond of her kittens; +a cow is fond of her calf. No, sir, the one cause of that +outbreak of passion which so shocked you--a genuine outbreak, +beyond all doubt--is to be found in the vanity of a fine feminine +creature, overpowered by a horror of looking hideous, even after +her death. Do you know I rather like that woman?" + +"Is it possible that you are in earnest?" I asked. + +"I know as well as you do," he answered, that this is neither a +time nor a place for jesting. The fact is, the Prisoner carries +out an idea of mine. It is my positive conviction that the worst +murders--I mean murders deliberately planned--are committed by +persons absolutely deficient in that part of the moral +organization which _feels_. The night before they are hanged they +sleep. On their last morning they eat a breakfast. Incapable of +realizing the horror of murder, they are incapable of realizing +the horror of death. Do you remember the last murderer who was +hanged here--a gentleman's coachman who killed his wife? He had +but two anxieties while he was waiting for execution. One was to +get his allowance of beer doubled, and the other was to be hanged +in his coachman's livery. No! no! these wretches are all alike; +they are human creatures born with the temperaments of tigers. +Take my word for it, we need feel no anxiety about to-morrow. +The Prisoner will face the crowd round the scaffold with +composure; and the people will say, 'She died game.' " + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE MINISTER SAYS GOOD-BY. + +The Capital Punishment of the Prisoner is in no respect connected +with my purpose in writing the present narrative. Neither do +I desire to darken these pages by describing in detail an act +of righteous retribution which must present, by the nature of it, +a scene of horror. For these reasons I ask to be excused, if +I limit what I must needs say of the execution within the compass +of a few words--and pass on. + +The one self-possessed person among us was the miserable woman +who suffered the penalty of death. + +Not very discreetly, as I think, the Chaplain asked her if she +had truly repented. She answered: "I have confessed the crime, +sir. What more do you want?" To my mind--still hesitating between +the view that believes with the Minister, and the view that +doubts with the Doctor--this reply leaves a way open to hope of +her salvation. Her last words to me, as she mounted the steps of +the scaffold, were: "Remember your promise." It was easy for me +to be true to my word. At that bygone time, no difficulties were +placed in my way by such precautions as are now observed in +the conduct of executions within the walls of the prison. From +the time of her death to the time of her burial, no living +creature saw her face. She rests, veiled in her prison grave. + +Let me now turn to living interests, and to scenes removed from +the thunder-clouds of crime. + +. . . . . . . + +On the next day I received a visit from the Minister. + +His first words entreated me not to allude to the terrible event +of the previous day. "I cannot escape thinking of it," he said, +"but I may avoid speaking of it." This seemed to me to be the +misplaced confidence of a weak man in the refuge of silence. By +way of changing the subject, I spoke of the child. There would be +serious difficulties to contend with (as I ventured to suggest), +if he remained in the town, and allowed his new responsibilities +to become the subject of public talk. + +His reply to this agreeably surprised me. There were no +difficulties to be feared. + +The state of his wife's health had obliged him (acting under +medical advice) to try the influence of her native air. An +interval of some months might elapse before the good effect of +the change had sufficiently declared itself; and a return to the +peculiar climate of the town might bring on a relapse. There had +consequently been no alternative to but resign his charge. Only +on that day the resignation had been accepted--with expressions +of regret sincerely reciprocated by himself. He proposed to leave +the town immediately; and one of the objects of his visit was to +bid me good-by. + +"The next place I live in," he said, "will be more than a hundred +miles away. At that distance I may hope to keep events concealed +which must be known only to ourselves. So far as I can see, there +are no risks of discovery lurking in this place. My servants +(only two in number) have both been born here, and have both told +my wife that they have no wish to go away. As to the person who +introduced herself to me by the name of Miss Chance, she was +traced to the railway station yesterday afternoon, and took +her ticket for London." + +I congratulated the Minister on the good fortune which had +befriended him, so far. + +"You will understand how carefully I have provided against being +deceived," he continued, "when I tell you what my plans are. The +persons among whom my future lot is cast--and the child herself, +of course--must never suspect that the new member of my family +is other than my own daughter. This is deceit, I admit; but it is +deceit that injures no one. I hope you see the necessity for it, +as I do." + +There could be no doubt of the necessity. + +If the child was described as adopted, there would be curiosity +about the circumstances, and inquiries relating to the parents. +Prevaricating replies lead to suspicion, and suspicion to +discovery. But for the wise course which the Minister had decided +on taking, the poor child's life might have been darkened by +the horror of the mother's crime, and the infamy of the mother's +death. + +Having quieted my friend's needless scruples by this perfectly +sincere expression of opinion, I ventured to approach the central +figure in his domestic circle, by means of a question relating +to his wife. How had that lady received the unfortunate little +creature, for whose appearance on the home-scene she must have +been entirely unprepared? + +The Minister's manner showed some embarrassment; he prefaced what +he had to tell me with praises of his wife, equally creditable no +doubt to both of them. The beauty of the child, the pretty ways +of the child, he said, fascinated the admirable woman at first +sight. It was not to be denied that she had felt, and had +expressed, misgivings, on being informed of the circumstances +under which the Minister's act of mercy had been performed. +But her mind was too well balanced to incline to this state of +feeling, when her husband had addressed her in defense of his +conduct. She then understood that the true merit of a good action +consisted in patiently facing the sacrifices involved. Her +interest in the new daughter being, in this way, ennobled by +a sense of Christian duty, there had been no further difference +of opinion between the married pair. + +I listened to this plausible explanation with interest, but, at +the same time, with doubts of the lasting nature of the lady's +submission to circumstances; suggested, perhaps, by the +constraint in the Minister's manner. It was well for both of us +when we changed the subject. He reminded me of the discouraging +view which the Doctor had taken of the prospect before him. + +"I will not attempt to decide whether your friend is right or +wrong," he said. "Trusting, as I do, in the mercy of God, I look +hopefully to a future time when all that is brightest and best +in the nature of my adopted child will be developed under my +fostering care. If evil tendencies show themselves, my reliance +will be confidently placed on pious example, on religious +instruction, and, above all, on intercession by prayer. Repeat +to your friend," he concluded, "what you have just heard me say. +Let him ask himself if he could confront the uncertain future +with my cheerful submission and my steadfast hope." + +He intrusted me with that message, and gave me his hand. So we +parted. + +I agreed with him, I admired him; but my faith seemed to want +sustaining power, as compared with his faith. On his own showing +(as it appeared to me), there would be two forces in a state of +conflict in the child's nature as she grew up--inherited evil +against inculcated good. Try as I might, I failed to feel +the Minister's comforting conviction as to which of the two +would win. + + +CHAPTER IX. + +THE GOVERNOR RECEIVES A VISIT. + +A few days after the good man had left us, I met with a serious +accident, caused by a false step on the stone stairs of +the prison. + +The long illness which followed this misfortune, and my removal +afterward (in the interests of my recovery) to a milder climate +than the climate of England, obliged me to confide the duties of +governor of the prison to a representative. I was absent from +my post for rather more than a year. During this interval no news +reached me from my reverend friend. + +Having returned to the duties of my office, I thought of writing +to the Minister. While the proposed letter was still in +contemplation, I was informed that a lady wished to see me. She +sent in her card. My visitor proved to be the Minister's wife. + +I observed her with no ordinary attention when she entered +the room. + +Her dress was simple; her scanty light hair, so far as I could +see it under her bonnet, was dressed with taste. The paleness of +her lips, and the faded color in her face, suggested that she was +certainly not in good health. Two peculiarities struck me in +her personal appearance. I never remembered having seen any other +person with such a singularly narrow and slanting forehead as +this lady presented; and I was impressed, not at all agreeably, +by the flashing shifting expression in her eyes. On the other +hand, let me own that I was powerfully attracted and interested +by the beauty of her voice. Its fine variety of compass, and its +musical resonance of tone, fell with such enchantment on the ear, +that I should have liked to put a book of poetry into her hand, +and to have heard her read it in summer-time, accompanied by +the music of a rocky stream. + +The object of her visit--so far as she explained it at +the outset--appeared to be to offer her congratulations on +my recovery, and to tell me that her husband had assumed +the charge of a church in a large town not far from +her birthplace. + +Even those commonplace words were made interesting by +her delicious voice. But however sensitive to sweet sounds +a man may be, there are limits to his capacity for deceiving +himself--especially when he happens to be enlightened by +experience of humanity within the walls of a prison. I had, +it may be remembered, already doubted the lady's good temper, +judging from her husband's over-wrought description of her +virtues. Her eyes looked at me furtively; and her manner, +gracefully self-possessed as it was, suggested that she had +something of a delicate, or disagreeable, nature to say to me, +and that she was at a loss how to approach the subject so as to +produce the right impression on my mind at the outset. There was +a momentary silence between us. For the sake of saying something, +I asked how she and the Minister liked their new place of +residence. + +"Our new place of residence," she answered, "has been made +interesting by a very unexpected event--an event (how shall +I describe it?) which has increased our happiness and enlarged +our family circle." + +There she stopped: expecting me, as I fancied, to guess what she +meant. A woman, and that woman a mother, might have fulfilled +her anticipations. A man, and that man not listening attentively, +was simply puzzled. + +"Pray excuse my stupidity," I said; "I don't quite understand +you." + +The lady's temper looked at me out of the lady's shifting eyes, +and hid itself again in a moment. She set herself right +in my estimation by taking the whole blame of our little +misunderstanding on her own innocent shoulders. + +"I ought to have spoken more plainly," she said. "Let me try +what I can do now. After many years of disappointment in +my married life, it has pleased Providence to bestow on me +the happiness--the inexpressible happiness--of being a mother. +My baby is a sweet little girl; and my one regret is that +I cannot nurse her myself." + +My languid interest in the Minister's wife was not stimulated +by the announcement of this domestic event. + +I felt no wish to see the "sweet little girl"; I was not even +reminded of another example of long-deferred maternity, which +had occurred within the limits of my own family circle. All my +sympathies attached themselves to the sad little figure of the +adopted child. I remembered the poor baby on my knee, enchanted +by the ticking of my watch--I thought of her, peacefully and +prettily asleep under the horrid shelter of the condemned +cell--and it is hardly too much to say that my heart was +heavy, when I compared her prospects with the prospects of +her baby-rival. Kind as he was, conscientious as he was, could +the Minister be expected to admit to an equal share in his love +the child endeared to him as a father, and the child who merely +reminded him of an act of mercy? As for his wife, it seemed +the merest waste of time to put her state of feeling (placed +between the two children) to the test of inquiry. I tried +the useless experiment, nevertheless. + +"It is pleasant to think," I began, "that your other daughter--" + +She interrupted me, with the utmost gentleness: "Do you mean +the child that my husband was foolish enough to adopt?" + +"Say rather fortunate enough to adopt," I persisted. "As your own +little girl grows up, she will want a playfellow. And she will +find a playfellow in that other child, whom the good Minister has +taken for his own." + +"No, my dear sir--not if I can prevent it." + +The contrast between the cruelty of her intention, and the +musical beauty of the voice which politely expressed it in those +words, really startled me. I was at a loss how to answer her, +at the very time when I ought to have been most ready to speak. + +"You must surely understand," she went on, "that we don't want +another person's child, now we have a little darling of our own?" + +"Does your husband agree with you in that view?" I asked. + +"Oh dear, no! He said what you said just now, and (oddly enough) +almost in the same words. But I don't at all despair of +persuading him to change his mind--and you can help me." + +She made that audacious assertion with such an appearance of +feeling perfectly sure of me, that my politeness gave way under +the strain laid on it. "What do you mean?" I asked sharply. + +Not in the least impressed by my change of manner, she took from +the pocket of her dress a printed paper. "You will find what +I mean there," she replied--and put the paper into my hand. + +It was an appeal to the charitable public, occasioned by the +enlargement of an orphan-asylum, with which I had been connected +for many years. What she meant was plain enough now. I said +nothing: I only looked at her. + +Pleased to find that I was clever enough to guess what she meant, +on this occasion, the Minister's wife informed me that the +circumstances were all in our favor. She still persisted in +taking me into partnership--the circumstances were in _our_ +favor. + +"In two years more," she explained, "the child of that detestable +creature who was hanged--do you know, I cannot even look at +the little wretch without thinking of the gallows?--will be old +enough (with your interest to help us) to be received into the +asylum. What a relief it will be to get rid of that child! And +how hard I shall work at canvassing for subscribers' votes! Your +name will be a tower of strength when I use it as a reference. +Pardon me--you are not looking so pleasantly as usual. Do you see +some obstacles in our way?" + +"I see two obstacles." + +"What can they possibly be?" + +For the second time, my politeness gave way under the strain +laid on it. "You know perfectly well," I said, "what one of +the obstacles is." + +"Am I to understand that you contemplate any serious resistance +on the part of my husband?" + +"Certainly!" + +She was unaffectedly amused by my simplicity. + +"Are you a single man?" she asked. + +"I am a widower." + +"Then your experience ought to tell you that I know every weak +point in the Minister's character. I can tell him, on your +authority, that the hateful child will be placed in competent and +kindly hands--and I have my own sweet baby to plead for me. With +these advantages in my favor, do you actually suppose I can fail +to make _my_ way of thinking _his_ way of thinking? You must have +forgotten your own married life! Suppose we go on to the second +of your two obstacles. I hope it will be better worth considering +than the first." + +"The second obstacle will not disappoint you," I answered; +"I am the obstacle, this time." + +"You refuse to help me?" + +"Positively." + +"Perhaps reflection may alter your resolution?" + +"Reflection will do nothing of the kind." + +"You are rude, sir!" + +"In speaking to you, madam, I have no alternative but to speak +plainly." + +She rose. Her shifting eyes, for once, looked at me steadily. + +"What sort of enemy have I made of you?" she asked. "A passive +enemy who is content with refusing to help me? Or an active enemy +who will write to my husband?" + +"It depends entirely," I told her, "on what your husband does. +If he questions me about you, I shall tell him the truth." + +"And if not?" + +"In that case, I shall hope to forget that you ever favored me +with a visit." + +In making this reply I was guiltless of any malicious intention. +What evil interpretation she placed on my words it is impossible +for me to say; I can only declare that some intolerable sense of +injury hurried her into an outbreak of rage. Her voice, strained +for the first time, lost its tuneful beauty of tone. + +"Come and see us in two years' time," she burst out--"and +discover the orphan of the gallows in our house if you can! +If your Asylum won't take her, some other Charity will. Ha, Mr. +Governor, I deserve my disappointment! I ought to have remembered +that you are only a jailer after all. And what is a jailer? +Proverbially a brute. Do you hear that? A brute!" + +Her strength suddenly failed her. She dropped back into the chair +from which she had risen, with a faint cry of pain. A ghastly +pallor stole over her face. There was wine on the sideboard; +I filled a glass. She refused to take it. At that time in +the day, the Doctor's duties required his attendance in +the prison. I instantly sent for him. After a moment's look at +her, he took the wine out of my hand, and held the glass to +her lips. + +"Drink it," he said. She still refused. "Drink it," he +reiterated, "or you will die." + +That frightened her; she drank the wine. The Doctor waited for a +while with his fingers on her pulse. "She will do now," he said. + +"Can I go?" she asked. + +"Go wherever you please, madam--so long as you don't go upstairs +in a hurry." + +She smiled: "I understand you, sir--and thank you for your +advice." + +I asked the Doctor, when we were alone, what made him tell her +not to go upstairs in a hurry. + +"What I felt," he answered, "when I had my fingers on her pulse. +You heard her say that she understood me." + +"Yes; but I don't know what she meant." + +"She meant, probably, that her own doctor had warned her as +I did." + +"Something seriously wrong with her health?" + +"Yes." + +"What is it?" + +"Heart." + + +CHAPTER X. + +MISS CHANCE REAPPEARS. + +A week had passed, since the Minister's wife had left me, +when I received a letter from the Minister himself. + +After surprising me, as he innocently supposed, by announcing +the birth of his child, he mentioned some circumstances connected +with that event, which I now heard for the first time. + +"Within an easy journey of the populous scene of my present +labors," he wrote, "there is a secluded country village called +Low Lanes. The rector of the place is my wife's brother. Before +the birth of our infant, he had asked his sister to stay for +a while at his house; and the doctor thought she might safely +be allowed to accept the invitation. Through some error in +the customary calculations, as I suppose, the child was born +unexpectedly at the rectory; and the ceremony of baptism was +performed at the church, under circumstances which I am not able +to relate within the limits of a letter: Let me only say that +I allude to this incident without any sectarian bitterness of +feeling--for I am no enemy to the Church of England. You have no +idea what treasures of virtue and treasures of beauty maternity +has revealed in my wife's sweet nature. Other mothers, in her +proud position, might find their love cooling toward the poor +child whom we have adopted. But my household is irradiated by the +presence of an angel, who gives an equal share in her affections +to the two little ones alike." + +In this semi-hysterical style of writing, the poor man +unconsciously told me how cunningly and how cruelly his wife +was deceiving him. + +I longed to exhibit that wicked woman in her true character--but +what could I do? She must have been so favored by circumstances +as to be able to account for her absence from home, without +exciting the slightest suspicion of the journey which she had +really taken, if I declared in my reply to the Minister's letter +that I had received her in my rooms, and if I repeated the +conversation that had taken place, what would the result be? She +would find an easy refuge in positive denial of the truth--and, +in that case, which of us would her infatuated husband believe? + +The one part of the letter which I read with some satisfaction +was the end of it. + +I was here informed that the Minister's plans for concealing +the parentage of his adopted daughter had proved to be entirely +successful. The members of the new domestic household believed +the two children to be infant-sisters. Neither was there any +danger of the adopted child being identified (as the oldest child +of the two) by consultation of the registers. + +Before he left our town, the Minister had seen for himself that +no baptismal name had been added, after the birth of the daughter +of the murderess had been registered, and that no entry of +baptism existed in the registers kept in places of worship. +He drew the inference--in all probability a true inference, +considering the characters of the parents--that the child had +never been baptized; and he performed the ceremony privately, +abstaining, for obvious reasons, from adding her Christian name +to the imperfect register of her birth. "I am not aware," +he wrote, "whether I have, or have not, committed an offense +against the Law. In any case, I may hope to have made atonement +by obedience to the Gospel." + +Six weeks passed, and I heard from my reverend friend once more. + +His second letter presented a marked contrast to the first. It +was written in sorrow and anxiety, to inform me of an alarming +change for the worse in his wife's health. I showed the letter +to my medical colleague. After reading it he predicted the event +that might be expected, in two words:--Sudden death. + +On the next occasion when I heard from the Minister, the Doctor's +grim reply proved to be a prophecy fulfilled. + +When we address expressions of condolence to bereaved friends, +the principles of popular hypocrisy sanction indiscriminate lying +as a duty which we owe to the dead--no matter what their lives +may have been--because they are dead. Within my own little +sphere, I have always been silent, when I could not offer to +afflicted persons expressions of sympathy which I honestly felt. +To have condoled with the Minister on the loss that he had +sustained by the death of a woman, self-betrayed to me as +shamelessly deceitful, and pitilessly determined to reach her own +cruel ends, would have been to degrade myself by telling +a deliberate lie. I expressed in my answer all that an honest man +naturally feels, when he is writing to a friend in distress; +carefully abstaining from any allusion to the memory of his wife, +or to the place which her death had left vacant in his household. +My letter, I am sorry to say, disappointed and offended him. He +wrote to me no more, until years had passed, and time had exerted +its influence in producing a more indulgent frame of mind. These +letters of a later date have been preserved, and will probably be +used, at the right time, for purposes of explanation with which +I may be connected in the future. + +. . . . . . . + +The correspondent whom I had now lost was succeeded by +a gentleman entirely unknown to me. + +Those reasons which induced me to conceal the names of persons, +while I was relating events in the prison, do not apply to +correspondence with a stranger writing from another place. I may, +therefore, mention that Mr. Dunboyne, of Fairmount, on the west +coast of Ireland, was the writer of the letter now addressed to +me. He proved, to my surprise, to be one of the relations whom +the Prisoner under sentence of death had not cared to see, when +I offered her the opportunity of saying farewell. Mr. Dunboyne +was a brother-in-law of the murderess. He had married her sister. + +His wife, he informed me, had died in childbirth, leaving him +but one consolation--a boy, who already recalled all that was +brightest and best in his lost mother. The father was naturally +anxious that the son should never become acquainted with +the disgrace that had befallen the family. + +The letter then proceeded in these terms: + +"I heard yesterday, for the first time, by means of an old +newspaper-cutting sent to me by a friend, that the miserable +woman who suffered the ignominy of public execution has left +an infant child. Can you tell me what has become of the orphan? +If this little girl is, as I fear, not well provided for, I only +do what my wife would have done if she had lived, by offering to +make the child's welfare my especial care. I am willing to place +her in an establishment well known to me, in which she will be +kindly treated, well educated, and fitted to earn her own living +honorably in later life. + +"If you feel some surprise at finding that my good intentions +toward this ill-fated niece of mine do not go to the length of +receiving her as a member of my own family, I beg to submit some +considerations which may perhaps weigh with you as they have +weighed with me. + +"In the first place, there is at least a possibility--however +carefully I might try to conceal it--that the child's parentage +would sooner or later be discovered. In the second place (and +assuming that the parentage had been successfully concealed), +if this girl and my boy grew up together, there is another +possibility to be reckoned with: they might become attached +to each other. Does the father live who would allow his son +ignorantly to marry the daughter of a convicted murderess? I +should have no alternative but to part them cruelly by revealing +the truth." The letter ended with some complimentary expressions +addressed to myself. And the question was: how ought I to answer +it? + +My correspondent had strongly impressed me in his favor; I could +not doubt that he was an honorable man. But the interest of +the Minister in keeping his own benevolent action secure from +the risk of discovery--increased as that interest was by +the filial relations of the two children toward him, now publicly +established--had, as I could not doubt, the paramount claim +on me. The absolutely safe course to take was to admit no one, +friend or stranger, to our confidence. I replied, expressing +sincere admiration of Mr. Dunboyne's motives, and merely +informing him that the child was already provided for. + +After that, I heard no more of the Irish gentleman. + +It is perhaps hardly necessary to add that I kept the Minister in +ignorance of my correspondence with Mr. Dunboyne. I was too well +acquainted with my friend's sensitive and self-tormenting nature +to let him know that a relative of the murderess was living, and +was aware that she had left a child. + +A last event remains to be related, before I close these pages. + +During the year of which I am now writing, our Chaplain added +one more to the many examples that I have seen of his generous +readiness to serve his friends. He had arranged to devote his +annual leave of absence to a tour among the English Lakes, when +he received a letter from a clergyman resident in London, whom he +had known from the time when they had been school-fellows. This +old friend wrote under circumstances of the severest domestic +distress, which made it absolutely necessary that he should +leave London for a while. Having failed to find a representative +who could relieve him of his clerical duties, he applied to +the Chaplain to recommend a clergyman who might be in a position +to help him. My excellent colleague gave up his holiday-plans +without hesitation, and went to London himself. + +On his return, I asked if he had seen anything of some +acquaintances of his and of mine, who were then visitors to +the metropolis. He smiled significantly when he answered me. + +"I have a card to deliver from an acquaintance whom you have not +mentioned," he said; "and I rather think it will astonish you." + +It simply puzzled me. When he gave me the card, this is what +I found printed on it: + +"MRS. TENBRUGGEN (OF SOUTH BEVELAND)." + +"Well?" said the Chaplain. + +"Well," I answered; "I never even heard of Mrs. Tenbruggen, +of South Beveland. Who is she?" + +"I married the lady to a foreign gentleman, only last week, at +my friend's church," the Chaplain replied. "Perhaps you may +remember her maiden name?" + +He mentioned the name of the dangerous creature who had first +presented herself to me, in charge of the Prisoner's +child--otherwise Miss Elizabeth Chance. The reappearance of this +woman on the scene--although she was only represented by her +card--caused me a feeling of vague uneasiness, so contemptibly +superstitious in its nature that I now remember it with shame. +I asked a stupid question: + +"How did it happen?" + +"In the ordinary course of such things," my friend said. "They +were married by license, in their parish church. The bridegroom +was a fine tall man, with a bold eye and a dashing manner. The +bride and I recognized each other directly. When Miss Chance had +become Mrs. Tenbruggen, she took me aside, and gave me her card. +'Ask the Governor to accept it,' she said, 'in remembrance of +the time when he took me for a nursemaid. Tell him I am married +to a Dutch gentleman of high family. If he ever comes to Holland, +we shall be glad to see him in our residence at South Beveland.' +There is her message to you, repeated word for word." + +"I am glad she is going to live out of England." + +"Why? Surely you have no reason to fear her?" + +"None whatever." + +"You are thinking, perhaps, of somebody else?" + +I was thinking of the Minister; but it seemed to be safest not +to say so. + +------- + +My pen is laid aside, and my many pages of writing have been +sent to their destination. What I undertook to do, is now done. +To take a metaphor from the stage--the curtain falls here on +the Governor and the Prison. + + + +Second Period: 1875. + +THE GIRLS AND THE JOURNALS. + + +CHAPTER XI. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + +We both said good-night, and went up to our room with a new +object in view. By our father's advice we had resolved on keeping +diaries, for the first time in our lives, and had pledged +ourselves to begin before we went to bed. + +Slowly and silently and lazily, my sister sauntered to her end of +the room and seated herself at her writing-table. On the desk lay +a nicely bound book, full of blank pages. The word "Journal" was +printed on it in gold letters, and there was fitted to the covers +a bright brass lock and key. A second journal, exactly similar in +every respect to the first, was placed on the writing-table at my +end of the room. I opened my book. The sight of the blank leaves +irritated me; they were so smooth, so spotless, so entirely ready +to do _their_ duty. I took too deep a dip of ink, and began the +first entry in my diary by making a blot. This was discouraging. +I got up, and looked out of window. + +"Helena!" + +My sister's voice could hardly have addressed me in a more weary +tone, if her pen had been at work all night, relating domestic +events. "Well!" I said. "What is it?" + +"Have you done already?" she asked. + +I showed her the blot. My sister Eunice (the strangest as well as +the dearest of girls) always blurts out what she has in her mind +at the time. She fixed her eyes gravely on my spoiled page, and +said: "That comforts me." I crossed the room, and looked at +her book. She had not even summoned energy enough to make a blot. +"What will papa think of us," she said, "if we don't begin +to-night?" + +"Why not begin," I suggested, "by writing down what he said, +when he gave us our journals? Those wise words of advice will be +in their proper place on the first page of the new books." + +Not at all a demonstrative girl naturally; not ready with her +tears, not liberal with her caresses, not fluent in her talk, +Eunice was affected by my proposal in a manner wonderful to see. +She suddenly developed into an excitable person--I declare she +kissed me. "Oh," she burst out, "how clever you are! The very +thing to write about; I'll do it directly." + +She really did it directly; without once stopping to consider, +without once waiting to ask my advice. Line after line, I heard +her noisy pen hurrying to the bottom of a first page, and getting +three-parts of the way toward the end of a second page, before +she closed her diary. I reminded her that she had not turned the +key, in the lock which was intended to keep her writing private. + +"It's not worth while," she answered. "Anybody who cares to do it +may read what I write. Good-night." + +The singular change which I had noticed in her began to +disappear, when she set about her preparations for bed. I noticed +the old easy indolent movements again, and that regular and +deliberate method of brushing her hair, which I can never +contemplate without feeling a stupefying influence that has +helped me to many a delicious night's sleep. She said her prayers +in her favorite corner of the room, and laid her head on the +pillow with the luxurious little sigh which announces that she +is falling asleep. This reappearance of her usual habits was +really a relief to me. Eunice in a state of excitement is Eunice +exhibiting an unnatural spectacle. + +The next thing I did was to take the liberty which she had +already sanctioned--I mean the liberty of reading what she had +written. Here it is, copied exactly: + +"I am not half so fond of anybody as I am of papa. He is always +kind, he is always right. I love him, I love him, I love him. + +"But this is not how I meant to begin. I must tell how he talked +to us; I wish he was here to tell it himself. + +"He said to me: 'You are getting lazier than ever, Eunice.' +He said to Helena: 'You are feeling the influence of Eunice's +example.' He said to both of us: 'You are too ready, my dear +children, to sit with your hands on your laps, looking at nothing +and thinking of nothing; I want to try a new way of employing +your leisure time.' + +"He opened a parcel on the table. He made each of us a present +of a beautiful book, called 'Journal.' He said: 'When you have +nothing to do, my dears, in the evening, employ yourselves in +keeping a diary of the events of the day. It will be a useful +record in many ways, and a good moral discipline for young +girls.' Helena said: 'Oh, thank you!' I said the same, but not +so cheerfully. + +"The truth is, I feel out of spirits now if I think of papa; I am +not easy in my mind about him. When he is very much interested, +there is a quivering in his face which I don't remember in past +times. He seems to have got older and thinner, all on a sudden. +He shouts (which he never used to do) when he threatens sinners +at sermon-time. Being in dreadful earnest about our souls, he is +of course obliged to speak of the devil; but he never used to hit +the harmless pulpit cushion with his fist as he does now. Nobody +seems to have seen these things but me; and now I have noticed +them what ought I to do? I don't know; I am certain of nothing, +except what I have put in at the top of page one: I love him, +I love him, I love him." + +. . . . . . . + +There this very curious entry ended. It was easy enough to +discover the influence which had made my slow-minded sister +so ready with her memory and her pen--so ready, in short, to +do anything and everything, provided her heart was in it, and +her father was in it. + +But Eunice is wrong, let me tell her, in what she says of myself. + +I, too, have seen the sad change in my father; but I happen to +know that he dislikes having it spoken of at home, and I have +kept my painful discoveries to myself. Unhappily, the best +medical advice is beyond our reach. The one really competent +doctor in this place is known to be an infidel. But for that +shocking obstacle I might have persuaded my father to see him. +As for the other two doctors whom he has consulted, at different +times, one talked about suppressed gout, and the other told him +to take a year's holiday and enjoy himself on the Continent. + +The clock has just struck twelve. I have been writing and copying +till my eyes are heavy, and I want to follow Eunice's example and +sleep as soundly as she does. We have made a strange beginning +of this journalizing experiment. I wonder how long it will go on, +and what will come of it. + + +SECOND DAY. + +I begin to be afraid that I am as stupid--no; that is not a nice +word to use--let me say as simple as dear Eunice. A diary means +a record of the events of the day; and not one of the events of +yesterday appears in my sister's journal or in mine. Well, it +is easy to set that mistake right. Our lives are so dull (but +I would not say so in my father's hearing for the world) that +the record of one day will be much the same as the record of +another. +After family prayers and breakfast I suffer my customary +persecution at the hands of the cook. That is to say, I am +obliged, being the housekeeper, to order what we have to eat. +Oh, how I hate inventing dinners! and how I admire the enviable +slowness of mind and laziness of body which have saved Eunice +from undertaking the worries of housekeeping in her turn! She +can go and work in her garden, while I am racking my invention +to discover variety in dishes without overstepping the limits +of economy. I suppose I may confess it privately to myself--how +sorry I am not to have been born a man! + +My next employment leads me to my father's study, to write under +his dictation. I don't complain of this; it flatters my pride to +feel that I am helping so great a man. At the same time, I do +notice that here again Eunice's little defects have relieved her +of another responsibility. She can neither keep dictated words +in her memory, nor has she ever been able to learn how to put +in her stops. + +After the dictation, I have an hour's time left for practicing +music. My sister comes in from the garden, with her pencil and +paint-box, and practices drawing. Then we go out for a walk--a +delightful walk, if my father goes too. He has something always +new to tell us, suggested by what we pass on the way. Then, +dinner-time comes--not always a pleasant part of the day to me. +Sometimes I hear paternal complaints (always gentle complaints) +of my housekeeping; sometimes my sister (I won't say the greedy +sister) tells me I have not given her enough to eat. Poor father! +Dear Eunice! + +Dinner having reached its end, we stroll in the garden when the +weather is fine. When it rains, we make flannel petticoats for +poor old women. What a horrid thing old age is to look at! To be +ugly, to be helpless, to be miserably unfit for all the pleasures +of life--I hope I shall not live to be an old woman. What would +my father say if he saw this? For his sake, to say nothing of +my own feelings, I shall do well if I make it a custom to use +the lock of my journal. + +Our next occupation is to join the Scripture class for girls, +and to help the teacher. This is a good discipline for Eunice's +temper, and--oh, I don't deny it!--for my temper, too. I may long +to box the ears of the whole class, but it is my duty to keep +a smiling face and to be a model of patience. From the Scripture +class we sometimes go to my father's lecture. At other times, +we may amuse ourselves as well as we can till the tea is ready. +After tea, we read books which instruct us, poetry and novels +being forbidden. When we are tired of the books we talk. When +supper is over, we have prayers again, and we go to bed. There +is our day. Oh, dear me! there is our day. + +. . . . . . . + +And how has Eunice succeeded in her second attempt at keeping +a diary? Here is what she has written. It has one merit that +nobody can deny--it is soon read: + +"I hope papa will excuse me; I have nothing to write about +to-day." + +Over and over again I have tried to point out to my sister +the absurdity of calling her father by the infantile nickname +of papa. I have reminded her that she is (in years, at least) no +longer a child. "Why don't you call him father, as I do?" I asked +only the other day. + +She made an absurd reply: "I used to call him papa when I was +a little girl." + +"That," I reminded her, "doesn't justify you in calling him papa +now." + +And she actually answered: "Yes it does." What a strange state +of mind! And what a charming girl, in spite of her mind! + + +THIRD DAY. + +The morning post has brought with it a promise of some little +variety in our lives--or, to speak more correctly, in the life +of my sister. + +Our new and nice friends, the Staveleys, have written to invite +Eunice to pay them a visit at their house in London. I don't +complain at being left at home. It would be unfilial, indeed, +if we both of us forsook our father; and last year it was +my turn to receive the first invitation, and to enjoy the change +of scene. The Staveleys are excellent people--strictly pious +members of the Methodist Connection--and exceedingly kind to +my sister and me. But it was just as well for my moral welfare +that I ended my visit to our friends when I did. With my fondness +for music, I felt the temptation of the Evil One trying me, when +I saw placards in the street announcing that the Italian Opera +was open. I had no wish to be a witness of the shameful and +sinful dancing which goes on (I am told) at the opera; but +I did feel my principles shaken when I thought of the wonderful +singers and the entrancing music. And this, when I knew what +an atmosphere of wickedness people breathe who enter a theater! +I reflect with horror on what _might_ have happened if I had +remained a little longer in London. + +Helping Eunice to pack up, I put her journal into the box. + +"You will find something to write about now," I told her. "While +I record everything that happens at home, you will keep your +diary of all that you do in London, and when you come back we +will show each other what we have written." My sister is a dear +creature. "I don't feel sure of being able to do it," she +answered; "but I promise to try." Good Eunice! + + +CHAPTER XII. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + +The air of London feels very heavy. There is a nasty smell of +smoke in London. There are too many people in London. They seem +to be mostly people in a hurry. The head of a country girl, when +she goes into the streets, turns giddy--I suppose through not +being used to the noise. + +I do hope that it is London that has put me out of temper. +Otherwise, it must be I myself who am ill-tempered. I have not +yet been one whole day in the Staveleys' house, and they have +offended me already. I don't want Helena to hear of this from +other people, and then to ask me why I concealed it from her. +We are to read each other's journals when we are both at home +again. Let her see what I have to say for myself here. + +There are seven Staveleys in all: Mr. and Mrs. (two); three young +Masters (five); two young Misses (seven). An eldest miss and +the second young Master are the only ones at home at the present +time. + +Mr., Mrs., and Miss kissed me when I arrived. Young Master only +shook hands. He looked as if he would have liked to kiss me too. +Why shouldn't he? It wouldn't have mattered. I don't myself like +kissing. What is the use of it? Where is the pleasure of it? + +Mrs. was so glad to see me; she took hold of me by both hands. +She said: "My dear child, you are improving. You were wretchedly +thin when I saw you last. Now you are almost as well-developed +as your sister. I think you are prettier than your sister." Mr. +didn't agree to that. He and his wife began to dispute about me +before my face. I do call that an aggravating thing to endure. + +Mr. said: "She hasn't got her sister's pretty gray eyes." + +Mrs. said; "She has got pretty brown eyes, which are just as +good." + +Mr. said: "You can't compare her complexion with Helena's." + +Mrs. said: "I like Eunice's pale complexion. So delicate." + +Young Miss struck in: "I admire Helena's hair--light brown." + +Young Master took his turn: "I prefer Eunice's hair--dark brown." + +Mr. opened his great big mouth, and asked a question: "Which +of you two sisters is the oldest? I forget." + +Mrs. answered for me: "Helena is the oldest; she told us so when +she was here last." + +I really could _not_ stand that. "You must be mistaken," I burst +out. + +"Certainly not, my dear." + +"Then Helena was mistaken." I was unwilling to say of my sister +that she had been deceiving them, though it did seem only too +likely. + +Mr. and Mrs. looked at each other. Mrs. said: "You seem to be +very positive, Eunice. Surely, Helena ought to know." + +I said: "Helena knows a good deal; but she doesn't know which +of us is the oldest of the two." + +Mr. put in another question: "Do _you_ know?" + +"No more than Helena does." + +Mrs. said: "Don't you keep birthdays?" + +I said: "Yes; we keep both our birthdays on the same day." + +"On what day?" + +"The first day of the New Year." + +Mr. tried again: "You can't possibly be twins?" + +"I don't know." + +"Perhaps Helena knows?" + +"Not she!" + +Mrs. took the next question out of her husband's mouth: "Come, +come, my dear! you must know how old you are." + +"Yes; I do know that. I'm eighteen." + +"And how old is Helena?" + +"Helena's eighteen." + +Mrs. turned round to Mr.: "Do you hear that?" + +Mr. said: "I shall write to her father, and ask what it means." + +I said: "Papa will only tell you what he told us--years ago." + +"What did your father say?" + +"He said he had added our two ages together, and he meant to +divide the product between us. It's so long since, I don't +remember what the product was then. But I'll tell you what the +product is now. Our two ages come to thirty-six. Half thirty-six +is eighteen. I get one half, and Helena gets the other. When we +ask what it means, and when friends ask what it means, papa has +got the same answer for everybody, 'I have my reasons.' That's +all he says--and that's all I say." + +I had no intention of making Mr. angry, but he did get angry. +He left off speaking to me by my Christian name; he called me by +my surname. He said: "Let me tell you, Miss Gracedieu, it is not +becoming in a young lady to mystify her elders." + +I had heard that it was respectful in a young lady to call an old +gentleman, Sir, and to say, If you please. I took care to be +respectful now. "If you please, sir, write to papa. You will find +that I have spoken the truth." + +A woman opened the door, and said to Mrs. Staveley: "Dinner, +ma'am." That stopped this nasty exhibition of our tempers. We had +a very good dinner. + +. . . . . . . + +The next day I wrote to Helena, asking her what she had really +said to the Staveleys about her age and mine, and telling her +what I had said. I found it too great a trial of my patience to +wait till she could see what I had written about the dispute in +my journal. The days, since then, have passed, and I have been +too lazy and stupid to keep my diary. + +To-day it is different. My head is like a dark room with the +light let into it. I remember things; I think I can go on again. + +We have religious exercises in this house, morning and evening, +just as we do at home. (Not to be compared with papa's religious +exercises.) Two days ago his answer came to Mr. Staveley's +letter. He did just what I had expected--said I had spoken truly, +and disappointed the family by asking to be excused if he +refrained from entering into explanations. Mr. said: "Very odd;" +and Mrs. agreed with him. Young Miss is not quite as friendly now +as she was at first. And young Master was impudent enough to ask +me if "I had got religion." To conclude the list of my worries, +I received an angry answer from Helena. "Nobody but a simpleton," +she wrote, "would have contradicted me as you did. Who but you +could have failed to see that papa's strange objection to let +it be known which of us is the elder makes us ridiculous before +other people? My presence of mind prevented that. You ought to +have been grateful, and held your tongue." Perhaps Helena is +right--but I don't feel it so. + +On Sunday we went to chapel twice. We also had a sermon read +at home, and a cold dinner. In the evening, a hot dispute on +religion between Mr. Staveley and his son. I don't blame them. +After being pious all day long on Sunday, I have myself felt +my piety give way toward evening. + +There is something pleasant in prospect for to-morrow. All London +is going just now to the exhibition of pictures. We are going +with all London. + +. . . . . . . + +I don't know what is the matter with me tonight. I have +positively been to bed, without going to sleep! After tossing and +twisting and trying all sorts of positions, I am so angry with +myself that I have got up again. Rather than do nothing, I have +opened my ink-bottle, and I mean to go on with my journal. + +Now I think of it, it seems likely that the exhibition of works +of art may have upset me. + +I found a dreadfully large number of pictures, matched by +a dreadfully large number of people to look at them. It is not +possible for me to write about what I saw: there was too much +of it. Besides, the show disappointed me. I would rather write +about a disagreement (oh, dear, another dispute!) I had with +Mrs. Staveley. The cause of it was a famous artist; not himself, +but his works. He exhibited four pictures--what they call figure +subjects. Mrs. Staveley had a pencil. At every one of the great +man's four pictures, she made a big mark of admiration on her +catalogue. At the fourth one, she spoke to me: "Perfectly +beautiful, Eunice, isn't it?" + +I said I didn't know. She said: "You strange girl, what do you +mean by that?" + +It would have been rude not to have given the best answer I could +find. I said: "I never saw the flesh of any person's face like +the flesh in the faces which that man paints. He reminds me of +wax-work. Why does he paint the same waxy flesh in all four of +his pictures? I don't see the same colored flesh in all the faces +about us." Mrs. Staveley held up her hand, by way of stopping me. +She said: "Don't speak so loud, Eunice; you are only exposing +your own ignorance." + +A voice behind us joined in. The voice said: "Excuse me, Mrs. +Staveley, if I expose _my_ ignorance. I entirely agree with +the young lady." + +I felt grateful to the person who took my part, just when I was +at a loss what to say for myself, and I looked round. The person +was a young gentleman. + +He wore a beautiful blue frock-coat, buttoned up. I like a +frock-coat to be buttoned up. He had light-colored trousers and +gray gloves and a pretty cane. I like light-colored trousers and +gray gloves and a pretty cane. What color his eyes were is more +than I can say; I only know they made me hot when they looked +at me. Not that I mind being made hot; it is surely better than +being made cold. He and Mrs. Staveley shook hands. + +They seemed to be old friends. I wished I had been an old +friend--not for any bad reason, I hope. I only wanted to shake +hands, too. What Mrs. Staveley said to him escaped me, somehow. +I think the picture escaped me also; I don't remember noticing +anything except the young gentleman, especially when he took off +his hat to me. He looked at me twice before he went away. I got +hot again. I said to Mrs. Staveley: "Who is he?" + +She laughed at me. I said again: "Who is he?" She said: "He is +young Mr. Dunboyne." I said: "Does he live in London?" She +laughed again. I said again: "Does he live in London?" She said: +"He is here for a holiday; he lives with his father at Fairmount, +in Ireland." + +Young Mr. Dunboyne--here for a holiday--lives with his father +at Fairmount, in Ireland. I have said that to myself fifty times +over. And here it is, saying itself for the fifty-first time in +my Journal. I must indeed be a simpleton, as Helena says. I had +better go to bed again. + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + +Not long before I left home, I heard one of our two servants +telling the other about a person who had been "bewitched." Are +you bewitched when you don't understand your own self? That has +been my curious case, since I returned from the picture show. +This morning I took my drawing materials out of my box, and tried +to make a portrait of young Mr. Dunboyne from recollection. I +succeeded pretty well with his frock-coat and cane; but, try as +I might, his face was beyond me. I have never drawn anything so +badly since I was a little girl; I almost felt ready to cry. What +a fool I am! + +This morning I received a letter from papa--it was in reply +to a letter that I had written to him--so kind, so beautifully +expressed, so like himself, that I felt inclined to send him a +confession of the strange state of feeling that has come over me, +and to ask him to comfort and advise me. On second thoughts, +I was afraid to do it. Afraid of papa! I am further away from +understanding myself than ever. + +Mr. Dunboyne paid us a visit in the afternoon. Fortunately, +before we went out. + +I thought I would have a good look at him; so as to know his face +better than I had known it yet. Another disappointment was +in store for me. Without intending it, I am sure, he did what +no other young man has ever done--he made me feel confused. +Instead of looking at him, I sat with my head down, and listened +to his talk. His voice--this is high praise--reminded me +of papa's voice. It seemed to persuade me as papa persuades +his congregation. I felt quite at ease again. When he went away, +we shook hands. He gave my hand a little squeeze. I gave him back +the squeeze--without knowing why. When he was gone, I wished +I had not done it--without knowing why, either. + +I heard his Christian name for the first time to-day. Mrs. +Staveley said to me: "We are going to have a dinner-party. Shall +I ask Philip Dunboyne?" I said to Mrs. Staveley: "Oh, do!" + +She is an old woman; her eyes are dim. At times, she can look +mischievous. She looked at me mischievously now. I wished I had +not been so eager to have Mr. Dunboyne asked to dinner. + +A fear has come to me that I may have degraded myself. My spirits +are depressed. This, as papa tells us in his sermons, is a +miserable world. I am sorry I accepted the Staveleys' invitation. +I am sorry I went to see the pictures. When that young man comes +to dinner, I shall say I have got a headache, and shall stop +upstairs by myself. I don't think I like his Christian name. +I hate London. I hate everybody. + +What I wrote up above, yesterday, is nonsense. I think his +Christian name is perfect. I like London. I love everybody. + +He came to dinner to-day. I sat next to him. How beautiful a +dress-coat is, and a white cravat! We talked. He wanted to know +what my Christian name was. I was so pleased when I found he was +one of the few people who like it. His hair curls naturally. +In color, it is something between my hair and Helena's. He wears +his beard. How manly! It curls naturally, like his hair; it +smells deliciously of some perfume which is new to me. He has +white hands; his nails look as if he polished them; I should like +to polish my nails if I knew how. Whatever I said, he agreed with +me; I felt satisfied with my own conversation, for the first time +in my life. Helena won't find me a simpleton when I go home. What +exquisite things dinner-parties are! + + +My sister told me (when we said good-by) to be particular in +writing down my true opinion of the Staveleys. Helena wishes +to compare what she thinks of them with what I think of them. + +My opinion of Mr. Staveley is--I don't like him. My opinion of +Miss Staveley is--I can't endure her. As for Master Staveley, +my clever sister will understand that _he_ is beneath notice. +But, oh, what a wonderful woman Mrs. Staveley is! We went out +together, after luncheon today, for a walk in Kensington Gardens. +Never have I heard any conversation to compare with Mrs. +Staveley's. Helena shall enjoy it here, at second hand. I am +quite changed in two things. First: I think more of myself than I +ever did before. Second: writing is no longer a difficulty to me. +I could fill a hundred journals, without once stopping to think. + +Mrs. Staveley began nicely; "I suppose, Eunice, you have often +been told that you have a good figure, and that you walk well?" + +I said: "Helena thinks my figure is better than my face. But do +I really walk well? Nobody ever told me that." + +She answered: "Philip Dunboyne thinks so. He said to me, 'I +resist the temptation because I might be wanting in respect if +I gave way to it. But I should like to follow her when she goes +out--merely for the pleasure of seeing her walk.' " + +I stood stockstill. I said nothing. When you are as proud as +a peacock (which never happened to me before), I find you can't +move and can't talk. You can only enjoy yourself. + +Kind Mrs. Staveley had more things to tell me. She said: "I am +interested in Philip. I lived near Fairmount in the time before +I was married; and in those days he was a child. I want him to +marry a charming girl, and be happy." + +What made me think directly of Miss Staveley? What made me mad +to know if she was the charming girl? I was bold enough to ask +the question. Mrs. Staveley turned to me with that mischievous +look which I have noticed already. I felt as if I had been +running at the top of my speed, and had not got my breath +again, yet. + +But this good motherly friend set me at my ease. She explained +herself: "Philip is not much liked, poor fellow, in our house. +My husband considers him to be weak and vain and fickle. And +my daughter agrees with her father. There are times when she is +barely civil to Philip. He is too good-natured to complain, but +_I_ see it. Tell me, my dear, do you like Philip?" + +"Of course I do!" Out it came in those words, before I could +stop it. Was there something unbecoming to a young lady in saying +what I had just said? Mrs. Staveley seemed to be more amused +than angry with me. She took my arm kindly, and led me along +with her. "My dear, you are as clear as crystal, and as true +as steel. You are a favorite of mine already." + +What a delightful woman! as I said just now. I asked if she +really liked me as well as she liked my sister. + +She said: "Better." + +I didn't expect that, and didn't want it. Helena is my superior. +She is prettier than I am, cleverer than I am, better worth +liking than I am. Mrs. Staveley shifted the talk back to Philip. +I ought to have said Mr. Philip. No, I won't; I shall call him +Philip. If I had a heart of stone, I should feel interested in +him, after what Mrs. Staveley has told me. + +Such a sad story, in some respects. Mother dead; no brothers or +sisters. Only the father left; he lives a dismal life on a lonely +stormy coast. Not a severe old gentleman, for all that. His +reasons for taking to retirement are reasons (so Mrs. Staveley +says) which nobody knows. He buries himself among his books, in +an immense library; and he appears to like it. His son has not +been brought up. like other young men, at school and college. +He is a great scholar, educated at home by his father. To hear +this account of his learning depressed me. It seemed to put such +a distance between us. I asked Mrs. Staveley if he thought me +ignorant. As long as I live I shall remember the reply: "He +thinks you charming." + +Any other girl would have been satisfied with this. I am the +miserable creature who is always making mistakes. My stupid +curiosity spoiled the charm of Mrs. Staveley's conversation. +And yet it seemed to be a harmless question; I only said I should +like to know what profession Philip belonged to. + +Mrs. Staveley answered: "No profession." + +I foolishly put a wrong meaning on this. I said: "Is he idle?" + +Mrs. Staveley laughed. "My dear, he is an only son--and his +father is a rich man." + +That stopped me--at last. + +We have enough to live on in comfort at home--no more. Papa has +told us himself that he is not (and can never hope to be) a rich +man. This is not the worst of it. Last year, he refused to marry +a young couple, both belonging to our congregation. This was +very unlike his usual kind self. Helena and I asked him for +his reasons. They were reasons that did not take long to give. +The young gentleman's father was a rich man. He had forbidden +his son to marry a sweet girl--because she had no fortune. + +I have no fortune. And Philip's father is a rich man. + +The best thing I can do is to wipe my pen, and shut up +my Journal, and go home by the next train. + +. . . . . . . + +I have a great mind to burn my Journal. It tells me that I had +better not think of Philip any more. + +On second thoughts, I won't destroy my Journal; I will only put +it away. If I live to be an old woman, it may amuse me to open +my book again, and see how foolish the poor wretch was when she +was young. + +What is this aching pain in my heart? + +I don't remember it at any other time in my life. Is it trouble? +How can I tell?--I have had so little trouble. It must be many +years since I was wretched enough to cry. I don't even understand +why I am crying now. My last sorrow, so far as I can remember, +was the toothache. Other girls' mothers comfort them when they +are wretched. If my mother had lived--it's useless to think about +that. We lost her, while I and my sister were too young to +understand our misfortune. + +I wish I had never seen Philip. + +This seems an ungrateful wish. Seeing him at the picture-show was +a new enjoyment. Sitting next to him at dinner was a happiness +that I don't recollect feeling, even when Papa has been most +sweet and kind to me. I ought to be ashamed of myself to confess +this. Shall I write to my sister? But how should she know what is +the matter with me, when I don't know it myself? Besides, Helena +is angry; she wrote unkindly to me when she answered my last +letter. + +There is a dreadful loneliness in this great house at night. +I had better say my prayers, and try to sleep. If it doesn't +make me feel happier, it will prevent me spoiling my Journal +by dropping tears on it. + +. . . . . . . + +What an evening of evenings this has been! Last night it was +crying that kept me awake. To-night I can't sleep for joy. + +Philip called on us again to-day. He brought with him tickets +for the performance of an Oratorio. Sacred music is not forbidden +music among our people. Mrs. Staveley and Miss Staveley went to +the concert with us. Philip and I sat next to each other. + +My sister is a musician--I am nothing. That sounds bitter; but +I don't mean it so. All I mean is, that I like simple little +songs, which I can sing to myself by remembering the tune. There, +my musical enjoyment ends. When voices and instruments burst out +together by hundreds, I feel bewildered. I also get attacked +by fidgets. This last misfortune is sure to overtake me when +choruses are being performed. The unfortunate people employed +are made to keep singing the same words, over and over and over +again, till I find it a perfect misery to listen to them. The +choruses were unendurable in the performance to-night. This is +one of them: "Here we are all alone in the wilderness--alone in +the wilderness--in the wilderness alone, alone, alone--here we +are in the wilderness--alone in the wilderness--all all alone +in the wilderness," and soon, till I felt inclined to call for +the learned person who writes Oratorios, and beg him to give +the poor music a more generous allowance of words. + +Whenever I looked at Philip, I found him looking at me. Perhaps +he saw from the first that the music was wearying music to my +ignorant ears. With his usual delicacy he said nothing for some +time. But when he caught me yawning (though I did my best to hide +it, for it looked like being ungrateful for the tickets), then he +could restrain himself no longer. He whispered in my ear: + +"You are getting tired of this. And so am I." + +"I am trying to like it," I whispered back. + +"Don't try," he answered. "Let's talk." + +He meant, of course, talk in whispers. We were a good deal +annoyed--especially when the characters were all alone in the +wilderness--by bursts of singing and playing which interrupted us +at the most interesting moments. Philip persevered with a manly +firmness. What could I do but follow his example--at a distance? + +He said: "Is it really true that your visit to Mrs. Staveley is +coming to an end?" + +I answered: "It comes to an end the day after to-morrow." + +"Are you sorry to be leaving your friends in London?" + +What I might have said if he had made that inquiry a day earlier, +when I was the most miserable creature living, I would rather not +try to guess. Being quite happy as things were, I could honestly +tell him I was sorry. + +"You can't possibly be as sorry as I am, Eunice. May I call you +by your pretty name?" + +"Yes, if you please." + +"Eunice!" + +"Yes." + +"You will leave a blank in my life when you go away--" + +There another chorus stopped him, just as I was eager for more. +It was such a delightfully new sensation to hear a young +gentleman telling me that I had left a blank in his life. +The next change in the Oratorio brought up a young lady, singing +alone. Some people behind us grumbled at the smallness of her +voice. We thought her voice perfect. It seemed to lend itself +so nicely to our whispers. + +He said: "Will you help me to think of you while you are away? +I want to imagine what your life is at home. Do you live in +a town or in the country?" + +I told him the name of our town. When we give a person +information, I have always heard that we ought to make it +complete. So I mentioned our address in the town. But I was +troubled by a doubt. Perhaps he preferred the country. Being +anxious about this, I said: "Would you rather have heard that +I live in the country?" + +"Live where you may, Eunice, the place will be a favorite place +of mine. Besides, your town is famous. It has a public attraction +which brings visitors to it." + +I made another of those mistakes which no sensible girl, in +my position, would have committed. I asked if he alluded to +our new market-place. + +He set me right in the sweetest manner: "I alluded to a building +hundreds of years older than your market-place--your beautiful +cathedral." + +Fancy my not having thought of the cathedral! This is what comes +of being a Congregationalist. If I had belonged to the Church of +England, I should have forgotten the market-place, and remembered +the cathedral. Not that I want to belong to the Church of +England. Papa's chapel is good enough for me. + +The song sung by the lady with the small voice was so pretty +that the audience encored it. Didn't Philip and I help them! With +the sweetest smiles the lady sang it all over again. The people +behind us left the concert. + +He said: "Do you know, I take the greatest interest in +cathedrals. I propose to enjoy the privilege and pleasure of +seeing _your_ cathedral early next week." + +I had only to look at him to see that I was the cathedral. It was +no surprise to hear next that he thought of "paying his respects +to Mr. Gracedieu." He begged me to tell him what sort of +reception he might hope to meet with when he called at our house. +I got so excited in doing justice to papa that I quite forgot +to whisper when the next question came. Philip wanted to know if +Mr. Gracedieu disliked strangers. When I answered, "Oh dear, no!" +I said it out loud, so that the people heard me. Cruel, cruel +people! They all turned round and stared. One hideous old woman +actually said, "Silence!" Miss Staveley looked disgusted. Even +kind Mrs. Staveley lifted her eyebrows in astonishment. + +Philip, dear Philip, protected and composed me. + +He held my hand devotedly till the end of the performance. When +he put us into the carriage, I was last. He whispered in my ear: +"Expect me next week." Miss Staveley might be as ill-natured as +she pleased, on the way home. It didn't matter what she said. +The Eunice of yesterday might have been mortified and offended. +The Eunice of to-day was indifferent to the sharpest things that +could be said to her. + +. . . . . . . + +All through yesterday's delightful evening, I never once thought +of Philip's father. When I woke this morning, I remembered that +old Mr. Dunboyne was a rich man. I could eat no breakfast for +thinking of the poor girl who was not allowed to marry her young +gentleman, because she had no money. + +Mrs. Staveley waited to speak to me till the rest of them had +left us together. I had expected her to notice that I looked dull +and dismal. No! her cleverness got at my secret in quite another +way. + +She said: "How do you feel after the concert? You must be hard to +please indeed if you were not satisfied with the accompaniments +last night." + +"The accompaniments of the Oratorio?" + +"No, my dear. The accompaniments of Philip." + +I suppose I ought to have laughed. In my miserable state of mind, +it was not to be done. I said: "I hope Mr. Dunboyne's father will +not hear how kind he was to me." + +Mrs. Staveley asked why. + +My bitterness overflowed at my tongue. I said: "Because papa +is a poor man." + +"And Philip's papa is a rich man," says Mrs. Staveley, putting +my own thought into words for me. "Where do you get these ideas, +Eunice? Surely, you are not allowed to read novels?" + +"Oh no!" + +"And you have certainly never seen a play?" + +"Never." + +"Clear your head, child, of the nonsense that has got into it--I +can't think how. Rich Mr. Dunboyne has taught his heir to despise +the base act of marrying for money. He knows that Philip will +meet young ladies at my house; and he has written to me on +the subject of his son's choice of a wife. 'Let Philip find good +principles, good temper, and good looks; and I promise beforehand +to find the money.' There is what he says. Are you satisfied with +Philip's father, now?" + +I jumped up in a state of ecstasy. Just as I had thrown my arms +round Mrs. Staveley's neck, the servant came in with a letter, +and handed it to me. + +Helena had written again, on this last day of my visit. Her +letter was full of instructions for buying things that she wants, +before I leave London. I read on quietly enough until I came to +the postscript. The effect of it on me may be told in two words: +I screamed. Mrs. Staveley was naturally alarmed. "Bad news?" +she asked. Being quite unable to offer an opinion, I read +the postscript out loud, and left her to judge for herself. + +This was Helena's news from home: + +"I must prepare you for a surprise, before your return. You will +find a strange lady established at home. Don't suppose there is +any prospect of her bidding us good-by, if we only wait long +enough. She is already (with father's full approval) as much a +member of the family as we are. You shall form your own unbiased +opinion of her, Eunice. For the present, I say no more." + +I asked Mrs. Staveley what she thought of my news from home. +She said: "Your father approves of the lady, my dear. I suppose +it's good news." + +But Mrs. Staveley did not look as if she believed in the good +news, for all that. + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + +To-day I went as usual to the Scripture-class for girls. It was +harder work than ever, teaching without Eunice to help me. +Indeed, I felt lonely all day without my sister. When I got home, +I rather hoped that some friend might have come to see us, and +have been asked to stay to tea. The housemaid opened the door +to me. I asked Maria if anybody had called. + +"Yes, miss; a lady, to see the master." + +"A stranger?" + +"Never saw her before, miss, in all my life." I put no more +questions. Many ladies visit my father. They call it consulting +the Minister. He advises them in their troubles, and guides them +in their religious difficulties, and so on. They come and go in +a sort of secrecy. So far as I know, they are mostly old maids, +and they waste the Minister's time. + +When my father came in to tea, I began to feel some curiosity +about the lady who had called on him. Visitors of that sort, +in general, never appear to dwell on his mind after they have +gone away; he sees too many of them, and is too well accustomed +to what they have to say. On this particular evening, however, +I perceived appearances that set me thinking; he looked worried +and anxious. + +"Has anything happened, father, to vex you?" I said. + +"Yes." + +"Is the lady concerned in it?" + +"What lady, my dear?" + +"The lady who called on you while I was out." + +"Who told you she had called on me?" + +"I asked Maria--" + +"That will do, Helena, for the present." + +He drank his tea and went back to his study, instead of staying +a while, and talking pleasantly as usual. My respect submitted +to his want of confidence in me; but my curiosity was in a state +of revolt. I sent for Maria, and proceeded to make my own +discoveries, with this result: + +No other person had called at the house. Nothing had happened, +except the visit of the mysterious lady. "She looked between +young and old. And, oh dear me, she was certainly not pretty. +Not dressed nicely, to my mind; but they do say dress is a matter +of taste." + +Try as I might, I could get no more than that out of our stupid +young housemaid. + +Later in the evening, the cook had occasion to consult me about +supper. This was a person possessing the advantages of age and +experience. I asked if she had seen the lady. The cook's reply +promised something new: "I can't say I saw the lady; but I heard +her." + +"Do you mean that you heard her speaking?" + +"No, miss--crying." + +"Where was she crying?" + +"In the master's study." + +"How did you come to hear her?" + +"Am I to understand, miss, that you suspect me of listening?" + +Is a lie told by a look as bad as a lie told by words? I looked +shocked at the bare idea of suspecting a respectable person of +listening. The cook's sense of honor was satisfied; she readily +explained herself: "I was passing the door, miss, on my way +upstairs." + +Here my discoveries came to an end. It was certainly possible +that an afflicted member of my father's congregation might have +called on him to be comforted. But he sees plenty of afflicted +ladies, without looking worried and anxious after they leave him. +Still suspecting something out of the ordinary course of events, +I waited hopefully for our next meeting at supper-time. Nothing +came of it. My father left me by myself again, when the meal was +over. He is always courteous to his daughters; and he made an +apology: "Excuse me, Helena, I want to think." + +. . . . . . . + +I went to bed in a vile humor, and slept badly; wondering, in +the long wakeful hours, what new rebuff I should meet with on +the next day. + +At breakfast this morning I was agreeably surprised. No signs +of anxiety showed themselves in my father's face. Instead of +retiring to his study when we rose from the table, he proposed +taking a turn in the garden: "You are looking pale, Helena, and +you will be the better for a little fresh air. Besides, I have +something to say to you." + +Excitement, I am sure, is good for young women. I saw in his +face, I heard in his last words, that the mystery of the lady +was at last to be revealed. The sensation of languor and fatigue +which follows a disturbed night left me directly. + +My father gave me his arm, and we walked slowly up and down the +lawn. + +"When that lady called on me yesterday," he began, "you wanted +to know who she was, and you were surprised and disappointed when +I refused to gratify your curiosity. My silence was not a selfish +silence, Helena. I was thinking of you and your sister; and I was +at a loss how to act for the best. You shall hear why my children +were in my mind, presently. I must tell you first that I have +arrived at a decision; I hope and believe on reasonable grounds. +Ask me any questions you please; my silence will be no longer +an obstacle in your way." + +This was so very encouraging that I said at once: "I should like +to know who the lady is." + +"The lady is related to me," he answered. "We are cousins." + +Here was a disclosure that I had not anticipated. In the little +that I have seen of the world, I have observed that cousins +--when they happen to be brought together under interesting +circumstances--can remember their relationship, and forget +their relationship, just as it suits them. "Is your cousin +a married lady?" I ventured to inquire. + +"No." + +Short as it was, that reply might perhaps mean more than appeared +on the surface. The cook had heard the lady crying. What sort of +tender agitation was answerable for those tears? Was it possible, +barely possible, that Eunice and I might go to bed, one night, +a widower's daughters, and wake up the next day to discover +a stepmother? + +"Have I or my sister ever seen the lady?" I asked. + +"Never. She has been living abroad; and I have not seen her +myself since we were both young people." + +My excellent innocent father! Not the faintest idea of what I had +been thinking of was in his mind. Little did he suspect how +welcome was the relief that he had afforded to his daughter's +wicked doubts of him. But he had not said a word yet about +his cousin's personal appearance. There might be remains of good +looks which the housemaid was too stupid to discover. + +"After the long interval that has passed since you met," I said, +"I suppose she has become an old woman?" + +"No, my dear. Let us say, a middle-aged woman." + +"Perhaps she is still an attractive person?" + +He smiled. "I am afraid, Helena, that would never have been +a very accurate description of her." + +I now knew all that I wanted to know about this alarming person, +excepting one last morsel of information which my father had +strangely forgotten. + +"We have been talking about the lady for some time," I said; +"and you have not yet told me her name." + +Father looked a little embarrassed "It's not a very pretty name," +he answered. "My cousin, my unfortunate cousin, is--Miss +Jillgall." + +I burst out with such a loud "Oh!" that he laughed. I caught +the infection, and laughed louder still. Bless Miss Jillgall! +The interview promised to become an easy one for both of us, +thanks to her name. I was in good spirits, and I made no attempt +to restrain them. "The next time Miss Jillgall honors you with +a visit," I said, "you must give me an opportunity of being +presented to her." + +He made a strange reply: "You may find your opportunity, Helena, +sooner than you anticipate." + +Did this mean that she was going to call again in a day or two? +I am afraid I spoke flippantly. I said: "Oh, father, another lady +fascinated by the popular preacher?" + +The garden chairs were near us. He signed to me gravely to be +seated by his side, and said to himself: "This is my fault." + +"What is your fault?" I asked. + +"I have left you in ignorance, my dear, of my cousin's sad story. +It is soon told; and, if it checks your merriment, it will make +amends by deserving your sympathy. I was indebted to her father, +when I was a boy, for acts of kindness which I can never forget. +He was twice married. The death of his first wife left him with +one child--once my playfellow; now the lady whose visit has +excited your curiosity. His second wife was a Belgian. She +persuaded him to sell his business in London, and to invest +the money in a partnership with a brother of hers, established +as a sugar-refiner at Antwerp. The little daughter accompanied +her father to Belgium. Are you attending to me, Helena?" + +I was waiting for the interesting part of the story, and was +wondering when he would get to it. + +"As time went on," he resumed, "the new partner found that +the value of the business at Antwerp had been greatly overrated. +After a long struggle with adverse circumstances, he decided on +withdrawing from the partnership before the whole of his capital +was lost in a failing commercial speculation. The end of it was +that he retired, with his daughter, to a small town in East +Flanders; the wreck of his property having left him with an +income of no more than two hundred pounds a year." + +I showed my father that I was attending to him now, by inquiring +what had become of the Belgian wife. Those nervous quiverings, +which Eunice has mentioned in her diary, began to appear in +his face. + +"It is too shameful a story," he said, "to be told to a young +girl. The marriage was dissolved by law; and the wife was +the person to blame. I am sure, Helena, you don't wish to hear +any more of _this_ part of the story." + +I did wish. But I saw that he expected me to say No--so I said +it. + +"The father and daughter," he went on, "never so much as thought +of returning to their own country. They were too poor to live +comfortably in England. In Belgium their income was sufficient +for their wants. On the father's death, the daughter remained +in the town. She had friends there, and friends nowhere else; +and she might have lived abroad to the end of her days, but for +a calamity to which we are all liable. A long and serious illness +completely prostrated her. Skilled medical attendance, costing +large sums of money for the doctors' traveling expenses, was +imperatively required. Experienced nurses, summoned from a +distant hospital, were in attendance night and day. Luxuries, far +beyond the reach of her little income, were absolutely required +to support her wasted strength at the time of her tedious +recovery. In one word, her resources were sadly diminished, when +the poor creature had paid her debts, and had regained her hold +on life. At that time, she unhappily met with the man who has +ruined her." + +It was getting interesting at last. "Ruined her?" I repeated. +"Do you mean that he robbed her?" + +"That, Helena, is exactly what I mean--and many and many a +helpless woman has been robbed in the same way. The man of whom +I am now speaking was a lawyer in large practice. He bore an +excellent character, and was highly respected for his exemplary +life. My cousin (not at all a discreet person, I am bound to +admit) was induced to consult him on her pecuniary affairs. +He expressed the most generous sympathy--offered to employ +her little capital in his business--and pledged himself to pay +her double the interest for her money, which she had been in +the habit of receiving from the sound investment chosen by +her father." + +"And of course he got the money, and never paid the interest?" +Eager to hear the end, I interrupted the story in those +inconsiderate words. My father's answer quietly reproved me. + +"He paid the interest regularly as long as he lived." + +"And what happened when he died?" + +"He died a bankrupt; the secret profligacy of his life was +at last exposed. Nothing, actually nothing, was left for his +creditors. The unfortunate creature, whose ugly name has amused +you, must get help somewhere, or must go to the workhouse." + +If I had been in a state of mind to attend to trifles, this would +have explained the reason why the cook had heard Miss Jillgall +crying. But the prospect before me--the unendurable prospect +of having a strange woman in the house--had showed itself too +plainly to be mistaken. I could think of nothing else. With +infinite difficulty I assumed a momentary appearance of +composure, and suggested that Miss Jillgall's foreign friends +might have done something to help her. + +My father defended her foreign friends. "My dear, they were poor +people, and did all they could afford to do. But for their +kindness, my cousin might not have been able to return to +England." + +"And to cast herself on your mercy," I added, "in the character +of a helpless woman." + +"No, Helena! Not to cast herself on my mercy--but to find my +house open to her, as her father's house was open to me in the +bygone time. I am her only surviving relative; and, while I live, +she shall not be a helpless woman." + +I began to wish that I had not spoken out so plainly. My father's +sweet temper--I do so sincerely wish I had inherited it!--made +the kindest allowances for me. + +"I understand the momentary bitterness of feeling that has +escaped you," he said; "I may almost say that I expected it. My +only hesitation in this matter has been caused by my sense of +what I owe to my children. It was putting your endurance, and +your sister's endurance, to a trial to expect you to receive a +stranger (and that stranger not a young girl like yourselves) as +one of the household, living with you in the closest intimacy of +family life. The consideration which has decided me does justice, +I hope, to you and Eunice, as well as to myself. I think that +some allowance is due from my daughters to the father who has +always made loving allowance for _them_. Am I wrong in believing +that my good children have not forgotten this, and have only +waited for the occasion to feel the pleasure of rewarding me?" + +It was beautifully put. There was but one thing to be done--I +kissed him. And there was but one thing to be said. I asked at +what time we might expect to receive Miss Jillgall. + +"She is staying, Helena, at a small hotel in the town. I have +already sent to say that we are waiting to see her. Perhaps you +will look at the spare bedroom?" + +"It shall be got ready, father, directly." + +I ran into the house; I rushed upstairs into the room that is +Eunice's and mine; I locked the door, and then I gave way to my +rage, before it stifled me. I stamped on the floor, I clinched my +fists, I cast myself on the bed, I reviled that hateful woman by +every hard word that I could throw at her. Oh, the luxury of it! +the luxury of it! + +Cold water and my hairbrush soon made me fit to be seen again. + +As for the spare room, it looked a great deal too comfortable for +an incubus from foreign parts. The one improvement that I could +have made, if a friend of mine had been expected, was suggested +by the window-curtains. I was looking at a torn place in one of +them, and determined to leave it unrepaired, when I felt an arm +slipped round my waist from behind. A voice, so close that it +tickled my neck, said: "Dear girl, what friends we shall be!" +I turned round, and confronted Miss Jillgall. + + +CHAPTER XV. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + +If I am not a good girl, where is a good girl to be found? This +is in Eunice's style. It sometimes amuses me to mimic my simple +sister. + +I have just torn three pages out of my diary, in deference +to the expression of my father's wishes. He took the first +opportunity which his cousin permitted him to enjoy of speaking +to me privately; and his object was to caution me against hastily +relying on first impressions of anybody--especially of Miss +Jillgall. "Wait for a day or two," he said; "and then form +your estimate of the new member of our household." + +The stormy state of my temper had passed away, and had left +my atmosphere calm again. I could feel that I had received good +advice; but unluckily it reached me too late. + +I had formed my estimate of Miss Jillgall, and had put it in +writing for my own satisfaction, at least an hour before my +father found himself at liberty to speak to me. I don't agree +with him in distrusting first impressions; and I had proposed to +put my opinion to the test, by referring to what I had written +about his cousin at a later time. However, after what he had +said to me, I felt bound in filial duty to take the pages out +of my book, and to let two days pass before I presumed to enjoy +the luxury of hating Miss Jillgall. + +On one thing I am determined: Eunice shall not form a hasty +opinion, either. She shall undergo the same severe discipline of +self-restraint to which her sister is obliged to submit. Let us +be just, as somebody says, before we are generous. No more for +to-day. + +. . . . . . . + +I open my diary again--after the prescribed interval has elapsed. +The first impression produced on me by the new member of our +household remains entirely unchanged. + +Have I already made the remark that, when one removes a page from +a book, it does not necessarily follow that one destroys the page +afterward? or did I leave this to be inferred? In either case, +my course of proceeding was the same. I ordered some paste to be +made. Then I unlocked a drawer, and found my poor ill-used +leaves, and put them back in my Journal. An act of justice is +surely not the less praiseworthy because it is an act of justice +done to one's self. + +My father has often told me that he revises his writings on +religious subjects. I may harmlessly imitate that good example, +by revising my restored entry. It is now a sufficiently +remarkable performance to be distinguished by a title. Let +me call it: + +Impressions of Miss Jillgall. + +My first impression was a strong one--it was produced by +the state of this lady's breath. In other words, I was obliged +to let her kiss me. It is a duty to be considerate toward human +infirmity. I will only say that I thought I should have fainted. + +My second impression draws a portrait, and produces a striking +likeness. + +Figure, little and lean--hair of a dirty drab color which we see +in string--small light gray eyes, sly and restless, and deeply +sunk in the head--prominent cheekbones, and a florid complexion-- +an inquisitive nose, turning up at the end--a large mouth and +a servile smile--raw-looking hands, decorated with black +mittens--a misfitting white jacket and a limp skirt--manners +familiar--temper cleverly hidden--voice too irritating to be +mentioned. Whose portrait is this? It is the portrait of Miss +Jillgall, taken in words. + +Her true character is not easy to discover; I suspect that it +will only show itself little by little. That she is a born +meddler in other people's affairs, I think I can see already. +I also found out that she trusted to flattery as the easiest +means of making herself agreeable. She tried her first experiment +on myself. + +"You charming girl," she began, "your bright face encourages me +to ask a favor. Pray make me useful! The one aspiration of my +life is to be useful. Unless you employ me in that way, I have no +right to intrude myself into your family circle. Yes, yes, I know +that your father has opened his house and his heart to me. But +I dare not found any claim--your name is Helena, isn't it? Dear +Helena, I dare not found any claim on what I owe to your father's +kindness." + +"Why not?" I inquired. + +"Because your father is not a man--" + +I was rude enough to interrupt her: "What is he, then?" + +"An angel," Miss Jillgall answered, solemnly. "A destitute +earthly creature like me must not look up as high as your father. +I might be dazzled." + +This was rather more than I could endure patiently. "Let us try," +I suggested, "if we can't understand each other, at starting." + +Miss Jillgall's little eyes twinkled in their bony caverns. +"The very thing I was going to propose!" she burst out. + +"Very well," I went on; "then, let me tell you plainly that +flattery is not relished in this house." + +"Flattery?" She put her hand to her head as she repeated the +word, and looked quite bewildered. "Dear Helena, I have lived all +my life in East Flanders, and my own language is occasionally +strange to me. Can you tell me what flattery is in Flemish?" + +"I don't understand Flemish." + +"How very provoking! You don't understand Flemish, and I don't +understand Flattery. I should so like to know what it means. +Ah, I see books in this lovely room. Is there a dictionary among +them?" She darted to the bookcase, and discovered a dictionary. +"Now I shall understand Flattery," she remarked--"and then we +shall understand each other. Oh, let me find it for myself!" She +ran her raw red finger along the alphabetical headings at the top +of each page. "'FAD.' That won't do. 'FIE.' Further on still. +'FLE.' Too far the other way. 'FLA.' Here we are! 'Flattery: +False praise. Commendation bestowed for the purpose of gaining +favor and influence.' Oh, Helena, how cruel of you!" She dropped +the book, and sank into a chair--the picture, if such a thing can +be, of a broken-hearted old maid. + +I should most assuredly have taken the opportunity of leaving her +to her own devices, if I had been free to act as I pleased. But +my interests as a daughter forbade me to make an enemy of my +father's cousin, on the first day when she had entered the house. +I made an apology, very neatly expressed. + +She jumped up--let me do her justice; Miss Jillgall is as nimble +as a monkey--and (Faugh!) she kissed me for the second time. +If I had been a man, I am afraid I should have called for that +deadly poison (we are all temperance people in this house) known +by the name of Brandy. + +"If you will make me love you," Miss Jillgall explained, "you +must expect to be kissed. Dear girl, let us go back to my poor +little petition. Oh, do make me useful! There are so many things +I can do: you will find me a treasure in the house. I write +a good hand; I understand polishing furniture; I can dress hair +(look at my own hair); I play and sing a little when people want +to be amused; I can mix a salad and knit stockings--who is this?" +The cook came in, at the moment, to consult me; I introduced her. +"And, oh," cried Miss Jillgall, in ecstasy, "I can cook! Do, +please, let me see the kitchen." + +The cook's face turned red. She had come to me to make a +confession; and she had not (as she afterward said) bargained for +the presence of a stranger. For the first time in her life she +took the liberty of whispering to me: "I must ask you, miss, to +let me send up the cauliflower plain boiled; I don't understand +the directions in the book for doing it in the foreign way." + +Miss Jillgall's ears--perhaps because they are so large--possess +a quickness of hearing quite unparalleled in my experience. Not +one word of the cook's whispered confession had escaped her. + +"Here," she declared, "is an opportunity of making myself useful! +What is the cook's name? Hannah? Take me downstairs, Hannah, and +I'll show you how to do the cauliflower in the foreign way. She +seems to hesitate. Is it possible that she doesn't believe me? +Listen, Hannah, and judge for yourself if I am deceiving you. +Have you boiled the cauliflower? Very well; this is what you must +do next. Take four ounces of grated cheese, two ounces of best +butter, the yolks of four eggs, a little bit of glaze, +lemon-juice, nutmeg--dear, dear, how black she looks. What have +I said to offend her?" + +The cook passed over the lady who had presumed to instruct her, +as if no such person had been present, and addressed herself +to me: "If I am to be interfered with in my own kitchen, miss, +I will ask you to suit yourself at a month's notice." + +Miss Jillgall wrung her hands in despair. + +"I meant so kindly," she said; "and I seem to have made mischief. +With the best intentions, Helena, I have set you and your servant +at variance. I really didn't know you had such a temper, Hannah," +she declared, following the cook to the door. "I'm sure there's +nothing I am not ready to do to make it up with you. Perhaps you +have not got the cheese downstairs? I'm ready to go out and buy +it for you. I could show you how to keep eggs sweet and fresh +for weeks together. Your gown doesn't fit very well; I shall +be glad to improve it, if you will leave it out for me after +you have gone to bed. There!" cried Miss Jillgall, as the cook +majestically left the room, without even looking at her, "I have +done my best to make it up, and you see how my advances are +received. What more could I have done? I really ask you, dear, +as a friend, what more _could_ I have done?" + +I had it on the tip of my tongue to say: "The cook doesn't ask +you to buy cheese for her, or to teach her how to keep eggs, +or to improve the fit of her gown; all she wants is to have her +kitchen to herself." But here again it was necessary to remember +that this odious person was my father's guest. + +"Pray don't distress yourself," I began; "I am sure you are not +to blame, Miss Jillgall--" + +"Oh, don't!" + +"Don't--what?" + +"Don't call me Miss Jillgall. I call you Helena. Call me Selina." + +I had really not supposed it possible that she could be more +unendurable than ever. When she mentioned her Christian name, +she succeeded nevertheless in producing that result. In the whole +list of women's names, is there any one to be found so absolutely +sickening as "Selina"? I forced myself to pronounce it; I made +another neatly-expressed apology; I said English servants were +so very peculiar. Selina was more than satisfied; she was quite +delighted. + +"Is that it, indeed? An explanation was all I wanted. How good of +you! And now tell me--is there no chance, in the house or out of +the house, of my making myself useful? Oh, what's that? Do I see +a chance? I do! I do!" + +Miss Jillgall's eyes are more than mortal. At one time, they are +microscopes. At another time, they are telescopes. She discovered +(right across the room) the torn place in the window-curtain. In +an instant, she snatched a dirty little leather case out of her +pocket, threaded her needle and began darning the curtain. She +sang over her work. "My heart is light, my will is free--" I can +repeat no more of it. When I heard her singing voice, I became +reckless of consequences, and ran out of the room with my hands +over my ears. + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + +When I reached the foot of the stairs, my father called me +into his study. + +I found him at his writing-table, with such a heap of torn-up +paper in his waste-basket that it overflowed on to the floor. He +explained to me that he had been destroying a large accumulation +of old letters, and had ended (when his employment began to grow +wearisome) in examining his correspondence rather carelessly. The +result was that he had torn up a letter, and a copy of the reply, +which ought to have been set aside as worthy of preservation. +After collecting the fragments, he had heaped them on the table. +If I could contrive to put them together again on fair sheets of +paper, and fasten them in their right places with gum, I should +be doing him a service, at a time when he was too busy to set +his mistake right for himself. + +Here was the best excuse that I could desire for keeping out of +Miss Jillgall's way. I cheerfully set to work on the restoration +of the letters, while my father went on with his writing. + +Having put the fragments together--excepting a few gaps caused +by morsels that had been lost--I was unwilling to fasten them +down with gum, until I could feel sure of not having made any +mistakes; especially in regard to some of the lost words which +I had been obliged to restore by guess-work. So I copied the +letters, and submitted them, in the first place, to my father's +approval. + +He praised me in the prettiest manner for the care that I had +taken. But, when he began, after some hesitation, to read my +copy, I noticed a change. The smile left his face, and the +nervous quiverings showed themselves again. + +"Quite right, my child," he said, in low sad tones. + +On returning to my side of the table, I expected to see him +resume his writing. He crossed the room to the window and stood +(with his back to me) looking out. + +When I had first discovered the sense of the letters, they failed +to interest me. A tiresome woman, presuming on the kindness +of a good-natured man to beg a favor which she had no right +to ask, and receiving a refusal which she had richly deserved, +was no remarkable event in my experience as my father's +secretary and copyist. But the change in his face, while he read +the correspondence, altered my opinion of the letters. There was +more in them evidently than I had discovered. I kept my manuscript +copy--here it is: + + +From Miss Elizabeth Chance to the Rev. Abel Gracedieu. + +(Date of year, 1859. Date of month, missing.) + + +"DEAR SIR--You have, I hope, not quite forgotten the interesting +conversation that we had last year in the Governor's rooms. I am +afraid I spoke a little flippantly at the time; but I am sure +you will believe me when I say that this was out of no want +of respect to yourself. My pecuniary position being far from +prosperous, I am endeavoring to obtain the vacant situation of +housekeeper in a public institution the prospectus of which I +inclose. You will see it is a rule of the place that a candidate +must be a single woman (which I am), and must be recommended +by a clergyman. You are the only reverend gentleman whom it is +my good fortune to know, and the thing is of course a mere +formality. Pray excuse this application, and oblige me by acting +as my reference. + +"Sincerely yours, + +"ELIZABETH CHANCE." + + +"P. S.--Please address: Miss E. Chance, Poste Restante, St. +Martin's-le-Grand, London." + + +"From the Rev. Abel Gracedieu to Miss Chance. + +(Copy.) + + +"MADAM--The brief conversation to which your letter alludes, took +place at an accidental meeting between us. I then saw you for +the first time, and I have not seen you since. It is impossible +for me to assert the claim of a perfect stranger, like yourself, +to fill a situation of trust. I must beg to decline acting as +your reference. + +"Your obedient servant, + +"ABEL GRACEDIEU." + +. . . . . . . + +My father was still at the window. + +In that idle position he could hardly complain of me for +interrupting him, if I ventured to talk about the letters which +I had put together. If my curiosity displeased him, he had only +to say so, and there would be an end to any allusions of mine +to the subject. My first idea was to join him at the window. +On reflection, and still perceiving that he kept his back turned +on me, I thought it might be more prudent to remain at the table. + +"This Miss Chance seems to be an impudent person?" I said. + +"Yes." + +"Was she a young woman, when you met with her?" + +"Yes." + +"What sort of a woman to look at? Ugly?" + +"No." + +Here were three answers which Eunice herself would have been +quick enough to interpret as three warnings to say no more. +I felt a little hurt by his keeping his back turned on me. At +the same time, and naturally, I think, I found my interest in +Miss Chance (I don't say my friendly interest) considerably +increased by my father's unusually rude behavior. I was also +animated by an irresistible desire to make him turn round and +look at me. + +"Miss Chance's letter was written many years ago," I resumed. +"I wonder what has become of her since she wrote to you." + +"I know nothing about her." + +"Not even whether she is alive or dead?" + +"Not even that. What do these questions mean, Helena?" + +"Nothing, father." + +I declare he looked as if he suspected me! + +"Why don't you speak out?" he said. "Have I ever taught you +to conceal your thoughts? Have I ever been a hard father, who +discouraged you when you wished to confide in him? What are you +thinking about? Do _you_ know anything of this woman?" + +"Oh, father, what a question! I never even heard of her till +I put the torn letters together. I begin to wish you had not +asked me to do it." + +"So do I. It never struck me that you would feel such +extraordinary--I had almost said, such vulgar--curiosity about +a worthless letter." + +This roused my temper. When a young lady is told that she is +vulgar, if she has any self-conceit--I mean self-respect--she +feels insulted. I said something sharp in my turn. It was in +the way of argument. I do not know how it may be with other young +persons, I never reason so well myself as when I am angry. + +"You call it a worthless letter," I said, "and yet you think it +worth preserving." + +"Have you nothing more to say to me than that?" he asked. + +"Nothing more," I answered. + +He changed again. After having looked unaccountably angry, he now +looked unaccountably relieved. + +"I will soon satisfy you," he said, "that I have a good reason +for preserving a worthless letter. Miss Chance, my dear, is not +a woman to be trusted. If she saw her advantage in making a bad +use of my reply, I am afraid she would not hesitate to do it. +Even if she is no longer living, I don't know into what vile +hands my letter may not have fallen, or how it might be falsified +for some wicked purpose. Do you see now how a correspondence may +become accidentally important, though it is of no value in +itself?" + +I could say "Yes" to this with a safe conscience. + +But there were some perplexities still left in my mind. It seemed +strange that Miss Chance should (apparently) have submitted to +the severity of my father's reply. "I should have thought," +I said to him, "that she would have sent you another impudent +letter--or perhaps have insisted on seeing you, and using her +tongue instead of her pen." + +"She could do neither the one nor the other, Helena. Miss Chance +will never find out my address again; I have taken good care of +that." + +He spoke in a loud voice, with a flushed face--as if it was quite +a triumph to have prevented this woman from discovering his +address. What reason could he have for being so anxious to keep +her away from him? Could I venture to conclude that there was +a mystery in the life of a man so blameless, so truly pious? +It shocked one even to think of it. + +There was a silence between us, to which the housemaid offered +a welcome interruption. Dinner was ready. + +He kissed me before we left the room. "One word more, Helena," +he said, "and I have done. Let there be no more talk between us +about Elizabeth Chance." + + +CHAPTER XVIL + +HELENA'S DIARY. + +Miss Jillgall joined us at the dinner-table, in a state of +excitement, carrying a book in her hand. + +I am inclined, on reflection, to suspect that she is quite clever +enough to have discovered that I hate her--and that many of +the aggravating things she says and does are assumed, out of +retaliation, for the purpose of making me angry. That ugly face +is a double face, or I am much mistaken. + +To return to the dinner-table, Miss Jillgall addressed herself, +with an air of playful penitence, to my father. + +"Dear cousin, I hope I have not done wrong. Helena left me all by +myself. When I had finished darning the curtain, I really didn't +know what to do. So I opened all the bedroom doors upstairs and +looked into the rooms. In the big room with two beds--oh, I am +so ashamed--I found this book. Please look at the first page." + +My father looked at the title-page: "Doctor Watts's Hymns. Well, +Selina, what is there to be ashamed of in this?" + +"Oh, no! no! It's the wrong page. Do look at the other page--the +one that comes first before that one." + +My patient father turned to the blank page. + +"Ah," he said quietly, "my other daughter's name is written in +it--the daughter whom you have not seen. Well?" + +Miss Jillgall clasped her hands distractedly. "It's my ignorance +I'm so ashamed of. Dear cousin, forgive me, enlighten me. I don't +know how to pronounce your other daughter's name. Do you call her +Euneece?" + +The dinner was getting cold. I was provoked into saying: "No, we +don't." + +She had evidently not forgiven me for leaving her by herself. +"Pardon me, Helena, when I want information I don't apply to you: +I sit, as it were, at the feet of your learned father. Dear +cousin, is it--" + +Even my father declined to wait for his dinner any longer. +"Pronounce it as you like, Selina. Here we say Euni'ce--with the +accent on the 'i' and with the final 'e' sounded: Eu-ni'-see. Let +me give you some soup." + +Miss Jillgall groaned. "Oh, how difficult it seems to be! Quite +beyond my poor brains! I shall ask the dear girl's leave to call +her Euneece. What very strong soup! Isn't it rather a waste of +meat? Give me a little more, please." + +I discovered another of Miss Jillgall's peculiarities. Her +appetite was enormous, and her ways were greedy. You heard her +eat her soup. She devoured the food on her plate with her eyes +before she put it into her mouth; and she criticised our English +cookery in the most impudent manner, under pretense of asking +humbly how it was done. There was, however, some temporary +compensation for this. We had less of her talk while she was +eating her dinner. + +With the removal of the cloth, she recovered the use of her +tongue; and she hit on the one subject of all others which proves +to be the sorest trial to my father's patience. + +"And now, dear cousin, let us talk of your other daughter, +our absent Euneece. I do so long to see her. When is she +coming back?" + +"In a few days more." + +"How glad I am! And do tell me--which is she? Your oldest girl +or your youngest?" + +"Neither the one nor the other, Selina." + +"Oh, my head! my head! This is even worse than the accent on +the 'i' and the final 'e.' Stop! I am cleverer than I thought +I was. You mean that the girls are twins. Are they both so +exactly like each other that I shan't know which is which? +What fun!" + +When the subject of our ages was unluckily started at Mrs. +Staveley's, I had slipped out of the difficulty easily by +assuming the character of the eldest sister--an example of ready +tact which my dear stupid Eunice doesn't understand. In my +father's presence, it is needless to say that I kept silence, +and left it to him. I was sorry to be obliged to do this. Owing +to his sad state of health, he is easily irritated--especially +by inquisitive strangers. + +"I must leave you," he answered, without taking the slightest +notice of what Miss Jillgall had said to him. "My work is waiting +for me." + +She stopped him on his way to the door. "Oh, tell me--can't +I help you?" + +"Thank you; no." + +"Well--but tell me one thing. Am I right about the twins?" + +"You are wrong." + +Miss Jillgall's demonstrative hands flew up into the air again, +and expressed the climax of astonishment by quivering over her +head. "This is positively maddening," she declared. "What does +it mean?" + +"Take my advice, cousin. Don't attempt to find out what it +means." + +He left the room. Miss Jillgall appealed to me. I imitated my +father's wise brevity of expression: "Sorry to disappoint you, +Selina; I know no more about it than you do. Come upstairs." + +Every step of the way up to the drawing-room was marked by +a protest or an inquiry. Did I expect her to believe that I +couldn't say which of us was the elder of the two? that I didn't +really know what my father's motive was for this extraordinary +mystification? that my sister and I had submitted to be robbed, +as it were, of our own ages, and had not insisted on discovering +which of us had come into the world first? that our friends had +not put an end to this sort of thing by comparing us personally, +and discovering which was the elder sister by investigation of +our faces? To all this I replied: First, that I did certainly +expect her to believe whatever I might say: Secondly, that what +she was pleased to call the "mystification" had begun when we +were both children; that habit had made it familiar to us in +the course of years; and above all, that we were too fond of our +good father to ask for explanations which we knew by experience +would distress him: Thirdly, that friends did try to discover, +by personal examination, which was the elder sister, and differed +perpetually in their conclusions; also that we had amused +ourselves by trying the same experiment before our +looking-glasses, and that Eunice thought Helena was the oldest, +and Helena thought Eunice was the oldest: Fourthly (and finally), +that the Reverend Mr. Gracedieu's cousin had better drop +the subject, unless she was bent on making her presence in +the house unendurable to the Reverend Mr. Gracedieu himself. + +I write it with a sense of humiliation; Miss Jillgall listened +attentively to all I had to say--and then took me completely by +surprise. This inquisitive, meddlesome, restless, impudent woman +suddenly transformed herself into a perfect model of amiability +and decorum. She actually said she agreed with me, and was much +obliged for my good advice! + +A stupid young woman, in my place, would have discovered that +this was not natural, and that Miss Jillgall was presenting +herself to me in disguise, to reach some secret end of her own. +I am not a stupid young woman; I ought to have had at my service +penetration enough to see through and through Cousin Selina. +Well! Cousin Selina was an impenetrable mystery to me. + +The one thing to be done was to watch her. I was at least sly +enough to take up a book, and pretend to be reading it. How +contemptible! + +She looked round the room, and discovered our pretty +writing-table; a present to my father from his congregation. +After a little consideration, she sat down to write a letter. + +"When does the post go out?" she asked. + +I mentioned the hour; and she began her letter. Before she could +have written more than the first two or three lines, she turned +round on her seat, and began talking to me. + +"Do you like writing letters, my dear?" + +"Yes--but then I have not many letters to write." + +"Only a few friends, Helena, but those few worthy to be loved? +My own case exactly. Has your father told you of my troubles? Ah, +I am glad of that. It spares me the sad necessity of confessing +what I have suffered. Oh, how good my friends, my new friends, +were to me in that dull little Belgian town! One of them was +generosity personified--ah, she had suffered, too! A vile husband +who had deceived and deserted her. Oh, the men! When she heard +of the loss of my little fortune, that noble creature got up +a subscription for me, and went round herself to collect. Think +of what I owe to her! Ought I to let another day pass without +writing to my benefactress? Am I not bound in gratitude to make +her happy in the knowledge of _my_ happiness--I mean the refuge +opened to me in this hospitable house?" + +She twisted herself back again to the writing-table, and went on +with her letter. + +I have not attempted to conceal my stupidity. Let me now record +a partial recovery of my intelligence. + +It was not to be denied that Miss Jillgall had discovered a good +reason for writing to her friend; but I was at a loss to +understand why she should have been so anxious to mention the +reason. Was it possible--after the talk which had passed between +us--that she had something mischievous to say in her letter, +relating to my father or to me? Was she afraid I might suspect +this? And had she been so communicative for the purpose of +leading my suspicions astray? These were vague guesses; but, try +as I might, I could arrive at no clearer view of what was passing +in Miss Jillgall's mind. What would I not have given to be able +to look over her shoulder, without discovery! + +She finished her letter, and put the address, and closed the +envelope. Then she turned round toward me again. + +"Have you got a foreign postage stamp, dear?" + +If I could look at nothing else, I was resolved to look at her +envelope. It was only necessary to go to the study, and to apply +to my father. I returned with the foreign stamp, and I stuck it +on the envelope with my own hand. + +There was nothing to interest _me_ in the address, as I ought +to have foreseen, if I had not been too much excited for +the exercise of a little common sense. Miss Jillgall's wonderful +friend was only remarkable by her ugly foreign name--MRS. +TENBRUGGEN. + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + +Here I am, writing my history of myself, once more, by my own +bedside. Some unexpected events have happened while I have been +away. One of them is the absence of my sister. + +Helena has left home on a visit to a northern town by the +seaside. She is staying in the house of a minister (one of papa's +friends), and is occupying a position of dignity in which I +should certainly lose my head. The minister and his wife and +daughters propose to set up a Girls' Scripture Class, on the plan +devised by papa; and they are at a loss, poor helpless people, to +know how to begin. Helena has volunteered to set the thing going. +And there she is now, advising everybody, governing everybody, +encouraging everybody--issuing directions, finding fault, +rewarding merit--oh, dear, let me put it all in one word, +and say: thoroughly enjoying herself. + +Another event has happened, relating to papa. It so distressed me +that I even forgot to think of Philip--for a little while. + +Traveling by railway (I suppose because I am not used to it) +gives me the headache. When I got to our station here, I thought +it would do me more good to walk home than to ride in the noisy +omnibus. Half-way between the railway and the town, I met one +of the doctors. He is a member of our congregation; and he it was +who recommended papa, some time since, to give up his work as +a minister and take a long holiday in foreign parts. + +"I am glad to have met with you," the doctor said. "Your sister, +I find, is away on a visit; and I want to speak to one of you +about your father." + +It seemed that he had been observing papa, in chapel, from what +he called his own medical point of view. He did not conceal from +me that he had drawn conclusions which made him feel uneasy. "It +may be anxiety," he said, "or it may be overwork. In either case, +your father is in a state of nervous derangement, which is likely +to lead to serious results--unless he takes the advice that +I gave him when he last consulted me. There must be no more +hesitation about it. Be careful not to irritate him--but remember +that he must rest. You and your sister have some influence over +him; he won't listen to me." + +Poor dear papa! I did see a change in him for the worse--though +I had only been away for so short a time. + +When I put my arms round his neck, and kissed him, he turned +pale, and then flushed up suddenly: the tears came into his eyes. +Oh, it was hard to follow the doctor's advice, and not to cry, +too; but I succeeded in controlling myself. I sat on his knee, +and made him tell me all that I have written here about Helena. +This led to our talking next of the new lady, who is to live with +us as a member of the family. I began to feel less uneasy at the +prospect of being introduced to this stranger, when I heard that +she was papa's cousin. And when he mentioned her name, and saw +how it amused me, his poor worn face brightened into a smile. "Go +and find her," he said, "and introduce yourself. I want to hear, +Eunice, if you and my cousin are likely to get on well together." + +The servants told me that Miss Jillgall was in the garden. + +I searched here, there, and everywhere, and failed to find her. +The place was so quiet, it looked so deliciously pure and bright, +after smoky dreary London, that I sat down at the further end of +the garden and let my mind take me back to Philip. What was he +doing at that moment, while I was thinking of him? Perhaps he was +in the company of other young ladies, who drew all his thoughts +away to themselves? Or perhaps he was writing to his father in +Ireland, and saying something kindly and prettily about me? Or +perhaps he was looking forward, as anxiously as I do, to our +meeting next week. + +I have had my plans, and I have changed my plans. + +On the railway journey, I thought I would tell papa at once +of the new happiness which seems to have put a new life into me. +It would have been delightful to make my confession to that first +and best and dearest of friends; but my meeting with the doctor +spoiled it all. After what he had said to me, I discovered a +risk. If I ventured to tell papa that my heart was set on a young +gentleman who was a stranger to him, could I be sure that he +would receive my confession favorably? There was a chance that +it might irritate him--and the fault would then be mine of doing +what I had been warned to avoid. It might be safer in every way +to wait till Philip paid his visit, and he and papa had been +introduced to each other and charmed with each other. Could +Helena herself have arrived at a wiser conclusion? I declare +I felt proud of my own discretion. + +In this enjoyable frame of mind I was disturbed by a woman's +voice. The tone was a tone of distress, and the words reached +my ears from the end of the garden: "Please, miss, let me in." + +A shrubbery marks the limit of our little bit of pleasure-ground. +On the other side of it there is a cottage standing on the edge +of the common. The most good-natured woman in the world lives +here. She is our laundress--married to a stupid young fellow +named Molly, and blessed with a plump baby as sweet-tempered +at herself. Thinking it likely that the piteous voice which had +disturbed me might be the voice of Mrs. Molly, I was astonished +to hear her appealing to anybody (perhaps to me?) to "let her +in." So I passed through the shrubbery, wondering whether +the gate had been locked during my absence in London. No; +it was as easy to open as ever. + +The cottage door was not closed. + +I saw our amiable laundress in the passage, on her knees, trying +to open an inner door which seemed to be locked. She had her eye +at the keyhole; and, once again, she called out: "Please, miss, +let me in." I waited to see if the door would be opened--nothing +happened. I waited again, to hear if some person inside would +answer--nobody spoke. But somebody, or something, made a sound +of splashing water on the other side of the door. + +I showed myself, and asked what was the matter. + +Mrs. Molly looked at me helplessly. She said: "Miss Eunice, +it's the baby." + +"What has the baby done?" I inquired. + +Mrs. Molly got on her feet, and whispered in my ear: "You know +he's a fine child?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, miss, he's bewitched a lady." + +"What lady?" + +"Miss Jillgall." + +The very person I had been trying to find! I asked where she was. + +The laundress pointed dolefully to the locked door: "In there." + +"And where is your baby?" + +The poor woman still pointed to the door: "I'm beginning to +doubt, miss, whether it is my baby." + +"Nonsense, Mrs. Molly. If it isn't yours, whose baby can it be?" + +"Miss Jillgall's." + +Her puzzled face made this singular reply more funny still. +The splashing of water on the other side of the door began +again. "What is Miss Jillgall doing now?" I said. + +"Washing the baby, miss. A week ago, she came in here, one +morning; very pleasant and kind, I must own. She found me putting +on the baby's things. She says: 'What a cherub!' which I took +as a compliment. She says: 'I shall call again to-morrow.' She +called again so early that she found the baby in his crib. 'You +be a good soul,' she says, 'and go about your work, and leave +the child to me.' I says: 'Yes, miss, but please to wait till +I've made him fit to be seen.' She says: 'That's just what I mean +to do myself.' I stared; and I think any other person would have +done the same in my place. 'If there's one thing more than +another I enjoy,' she says, 'it's making myself useful. Mrs. +Molly, I've taken a fancy to your boy-baby,' she says, 'and +I mean to make myself useful to _him_.' If you will believe me, +Miss Jillgall has only let me have one opportunity of putting my +own child tidy. She was late this morning, and I got my chance, +and had the boy on my lap, drying him--when in she burst like +a blast of wind, and snatched the baby away from me. 'This is +your nasty temper,' she says; 'I declare I'm ashamed of you!' And +there she is, with the door locked against me, washing the child +all over again herself. Twice I've knocked, and asked her to let +me in, and can't even get an answer. They do say there's luck in +odd numbers; suppose I try again?" Mrs. Molly knocked, and the +proverb proved to be true; she got an answer from Miss Jillgall +at last: "If you don't be quiet and go away, you shan't have the +baby back at all." Who could help it?--I burst out laughing. Miss +Jillgall (as I supposed from the tone of her voice) took severe +notice of this act of impropriety. "Who's that laughing?" she +called out; "give yourself a name." I gave my name. The door was +instantly thrown open with a bang. Papa's cousin appeared, in +a disheveled state, with splashes of soap and water all over her. +She held the child in one arm, and she threw the other arm round +my neck. "Dearest Euneece, I have been longing to see you. How do +you like Our baby?" + +To the curious story of my introduction to Miss Jillgall, I ought +perhaps to add that I have got to be friends with her already. +I am the friend of anybody who amuses me. What will Helena say +when she reads this? + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + +When people are interested in some event that is coming, do they +find the dull days, passed in waiting for it, days which they are +not able to remember when they look back? This is my unfortunate +case. Night after night, I have gone to bed without so much +as opening my Journal. There was nothing worth writing about, +nothing that I could recollect, until the postman came to-day. +I ran downstairs, when I heard his ring at the bell, and stopped +Maria on her way to the study. There, among papa's usual handful +of letters, was a letter for me. + +"DEAR MISS EUNICE: + +. . . . . . . + +"Yours ever truly." + +I quote the passages in Philip's letter which most deeply +interested me--I am his dear miss; and he is mine ever truly. +The other part of the letter told me that he had been detained +in London, and he lamented it. At the end was a delightful +announcement that he was coming to me by the afternoon train. +I ran upstairs to see how I looked in the glass. + +My first feeling was regret. For the thousandth time, I was +obliged to acknowledge that I was not as pretty as Helena. But +this passed off. A cheering reflection occurred to me. Philip +would not have found, in my sister's face, what seems to have +interested him in my face. Besides, there is my figure. + +The pity of it is that I am so ignorant about some things. If +I had been allowed to read novels, I might (judging by what papa +said against them in one of his sermons) have felt sure of my own +attractions; I might even have understood what Philip really +thought of me. However, my mind was quite unexpectedly set at +ease on the subject of my figure. The manner in which it happened +was so amusing--at least, so amusing to me--that I cannot resist +mentioning it. + +My sister and I are forbidden to read newspapers, as well as +novels. But the teachers at the Girls' Scripture Class are too +old to be treated in this way. When the morning lessons were +over, one of them was reading the newspaper to the other, in +the empty schoolroom; I being in the passage outside, putting on +my cloak. + +It was a report of "an application made to the magistrates by +the lady of his worship the Mayor." Hearing this, I stopped to +listen. The lady of his worship (what a funny way of describing +a man's wife!) is reported to be a little too fond of notoriety, +and to like hearing the sound of her own voice on public +occasions. But this is only my writing; I had better get back +to the report. "In her address to the magistrates, the Mayoress +stated that she had seen a disgusting photograph in the shop +window of a stationer, lately established in the town. She +desired to bring this person within reach of the law, and to have +all his copies of the shameless photograph destroyed. The usher +of the court was thereupon sent to purchase the photograph."--On +second thoughts, I prefer going back to my own writing again; +it is so uninteresting to copy other people's writing. Two +of the magistrates were doing justice. They looked at the +photograph--and what did it represent? The famous statue called +the Venus de' Medici! One of the magistrates took this discovery +indignantly. He was shocked at the gross ignorance which could +call the classic ideal of beauty and grace a disgusting work. +The other one made polite allowances. He thought the lady was +much to be pitied; she was evidently the innocent victim of +a neglected education. Mrs. Mayor left the court in a rage, +telling the justices she knew where to get law. "I shall expose +Venus," she said, "to the Lord Chancellor." + +When the Scripture Class had broken up for the day, duty ought +to have taken me home. Curiosity led me astray--I mean, led me +to the stationer's window. + +There I found our two teachers, absorbed in the photograph; +having got to the shop first by a short cut. They seemed to think +I had taken a liberty whom I joined them. "We are here," they +were careful to explain, "to get a lesson in the ideal of beauty +and grace." There was quite a little crowd of townsfolk collected +before the window. Some of them giggled; and some of them +wondered whether it was taken from the life. For my own part, +gratitude to Venus obliges me to own that she effected a great +improvement in the state of my mind. She encouraged me. If that +stumpy little creature--with no waist, and oh, such uncertain +legs!--represented the ideal of beauty and grace, I had reason +indeed to be satisfied with my own figure, and to think it quite +possible that my sweetheart's favorable opinion of me was not +ill-bestowed. + +I was at the bedroom window when the time approached for Philip's +arrival. + +Quite at the far end of the road, I discovered him. He was on +foot; he walked like a king. Not that I ever saw a king, but I +have my ideal. Ah, what a smile he gave me, when I made him look +up by waving my handkerchief out of the window! "Ask for papa," +I whispered as he ascended the house-steps. + +The next thing to do was to wait, as patiently as I could, to be +sent for downstairs. Maria came to me in a state of excitement. +"Oh, miss, what a handsome young gentleman, and how beautifully +dressed! Is he--?" Instead of finishing what she had to say, she +looked at me with a sly smile. I looked at her with a sly smile. +We were certainly a couple of fools. But, dear me, how happy +sometimes a fool can be! + +My enjoyment of that delightful time was checked when I went into +the drawing-room. + +I had expected to see papa's face made beautiful by his winning +smile. He was not only serious; he actually seemed to be ill +at ease when he looked at me. At the same time, I saw nothing +to make me conclude that Philip had produced an unfavorable +impression. The truth is, we were all three on our best behavior, +and we showed it. Philip had brought with him a letter from Mrs. +Staveley, introducing him to papa. We spoke of the Staveleys, +of the weather, of the Cathedral--and then there seemed to be +nothing more left to talk about. + +In the silence that followed--what a dreadful thing silence +is!--papa was sent for to see somebody who had called on +business. He made his excuses in the sweetest manner, but still +seriously. When he and Philip had shaken hands, would he leave us +together? No; he waited. Poor Philip had no choice but to take +leave of me. Papa then went out by the door that led into his +study, and I was left alone. + +Can any words say how wretched I felt? + +I had hoped so much from that first meeting--and where were my +hopes now? A profane wish that I had never been born was finding +its way into my mind, when the door of the room was opened +softly, from the side of the passage. Maria, dear Maria, the best +friend I have, peeped in. She whispered: "Go into the garden, +miss, and you will find somebody there who is dying to see you. +Mind you let him out by the shrubbery gate." I squeezed her hand; +I asked if she had tried the shrubbery gate with a sweetheart of +her own. "Hundreds of times, miss." + +Was it wrong for me to go to Philip, in the garden? Oh, there is +no end to objections! Perhaps I did it _because_ it was wrong. +Perhaps I had been kept on my best behavior too long for human +endurance. + +How sadly disappointed he looked! And how rashly he had placed +himself just where he could be seen from the back windows! I took +his arm and led him to the end of the garden. There we were out +of the reach of inquisitive eyes; and there we sat down together, +under the big mulberry tree. + +"Oh, Eunice, your father doesn't like me!" + +Those were his first words. In justice to papa (and a little for +my own sake too) I told him he was quite wrong. I said: "Trust +my father's goodness, trust his kindness, as I do." + +He made no reply. His silence was sufficiently expressive; +he looked at me fondly. + +I may be wrong, but fond looks surely require an acknowledgment +of some kind? Is a young woman guilty of boldness who only +follows her impulses? I slipped my hand into his hand. Philip +seemed to like it. We returned to our conversation. + +He began: "Tell me, dear, is Mr. Gracedieu always as serious +as he is to-day?" + +"Oh no!" + +"When he takes exercise, does he ride? or does he walk?" + +"Papa always walks." + +"By himself?" + +"Sometimes by himself. Sometimes with me. Do you want to meet him +when he goes out?" + +"Yes." + +"When he is out with me?" + +"No. When he is out by himself." + +Was it possible to tell me more plainly that I was not wanted? +I did my best to express indignation by snatching my hand away +from him. He was completely taken by surprise. + +"Eunice! don't you understand me?" + +I was as stupid and as disagreeable as I could possibly be: +"No; I don't!" + +"Then let me help you," he said, with a patience which I had not +deserved. + +Up to that moment I had been leaning against the back of a garden +chair. Something else now got between me and my chair. It stole +round my waist--it held me gently--it strengthened its hold--it +improved my temper--it made me fit to understand him. All done by +what? Only an arm! + +Philip went on: + +"I want to ask your father to do me the greatest of all +favors--and there is no time to lose. Every day, I expect to get +a letter which may recall me to Ireland." + +My heart sank at this horrid prospect; and in some mysterious way +my head must have felt it too. I mean that I found my head +resting on his shoulder. He went on: + +"How am I to get my opportunity of speaking to Mr. Gracedieu? +I mustn't call on him again as soon as to-morrow or next day. But +I might meet him, out walking alone, if you will tell me how to +do it. A note to my hotel is all I want. Don't tremble, my sweet. +If you are not present at the time, do you see any objection to +my owning to your father that I love you?" + +I felt his delicate consideration for me--I did indeed feel it +gratefully. If he only spoke first, how well I should get on +with papa afterward! The prospect before me was exquisitely +encouraging. I agreed with Philip in everything; and I waited +(how eagerly was only known to myself) to hear what he would say +to me next. He prophesied next: + +"When I have told your father that I love you, he will expect me +to tell him something else. Can you guess what it is?" + +If I had not been confused, perhaps I might have found the answer +to this. As it was, I left him to reply to himself. He did it, +in words which I shall remember as long as I live. + +"Dearest Eunice, when your father has heard my confession, he +will suspect that there is another confession to follow it--he +will want to know if you love me. My angel, will my hopes be your +hopes too, when I answer him?" + +What there was in this to make my heart beat so violently that +I felt as if I was being stifled, is more than I can tell. He +leaned so close to me, so tenderly, so delightfully close, that +our faces nearly touched. He whispered: "Say you love me, in +a kiss!" + +His lips touched my lips, pressed them, dwelt on them--oh, how +can I tell of it! Some new enchantment of feeling ran deliciously +through and through me. I forgot my own self; I only knew of one +person in the world. He was master of my lips; he was master of +my heart. When he whispered, "kiss me," I kissed. What a moment +it was! A faintness stole over me; I felt as if I was going to +die some exquisite death; I laid myself back away from him--I was +not able to speak. There was no need for it; my thoughts and +his thoughts were one--he knew that I was quite overcome; he +saw that he must leave me to recover myself alone. I pointed to +the shrubbery gate. We took one long last look at each other for +that day; the trees hid him; I was left by myself. + + +CHAPTER XX. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + +How long a time passed before my composure came back to me, I +cannot remember now. It seemed as if I was waiting through some +interval of my life that was a mystery to myself. I was content +to wait, and feel the light evening air in the garden wafting +happiness over me. And all this had come from a kiss! I can call +the time to mind when I used to wonder why people made such a +fuss about kissing. + +I had been indebted to Maria for my first taste of Paradise. I +was recalled by Maria to the world that I had been accustomed to +live in; the world that was beginning to fade away in my memory +already. She had been sent to the garden in search of me; and +she had a word of advice to offer, after noticing my face when +I stepped out of the shadow of the tree: "Try to look more like +yourself, miss, before you let them see you at the tea-table." + + +Papa and Miss Jillgall were sitting together talking, when I +opened the door. They left off when they saw me; and I supposed, +quite correctly as it turned out, that I had been one of the +subjects in their course of conversation. My poor father seemed +to be sadly anxious and out of sorts. Miss Jillgall, if I had +been in the humor to enjoy it, would have been more amusing than +ever. One of her funny little eyes persisted in winking at me; +and her heavy foot had something to say to my foot, under the +table, which meant a great deal perhaps, but which only succeeded +in hurting me. + +My father left us; and Miss Jillgall explained herself. + +"I know, dearest Euneece, that we have only been acquainted for +a day or two and that I ought not perhaps to have expected you +to confide in me so soon. Can I trust you not to betray me if +I set an example of confidence? Ah, I see I can trust you! And, +my dear, I do so enjoy telling secrets to a friend. Hush! Your +father, your excellent father, has been talking to me about young +Mr. Dunboyne." + +She provokingly stopped there. I entreated her to go on. She +invited me to sit on her knee. "I want to whisper," she said. It +was too ridiculous--but I did it. Miss Jillgall's whisper told me +serious news. + +"The minister has some reason, Euneece, for disapproving of Mr. +Dunboyne; but, mind this, I don't think he has a bad opinion of +the young man himself. He is going to return Mr. Dunboyne's call. +Oh, I do so hate formality; I really can't go on talking of _Mr._ +Dunboyne. Tell me his Christian name. Ah, what a noble name! How +I long to be useful to him! Tomorrow, my dear, after the one +o'clock dinner, your papa will call on Philip, at his hotel. +I hope he won't be out, just at the wrong time." + +I resolved to prevent that unlucky accident by writing to Philip. +If Miss Jillgall would have allowed it, I should have begun my +letter at once. But she had more to say; and she was stronger +than I was, and still kept me on her knee. + +"It all looks bright enough so far, doesn't it, dear sister? +Will you let me be your second sister? I do so love you, Euneece. +Thank you! thank you! But the gloomy side of the picture is to +come next! The minister--no! now I am your sister I must call him +papa; it makes me feel so young again! Well, then, papa has asked +me to be your companion whenever you go out. 'Euneece is too +young and too attractive to be walking about this great town +(in Helena's absence) by herself.' That was how he put it. Slyly +enough, if one may say so of so good a man. And he used your +sister (didn't he?) as a kind of excuse. I wish your sister was +as nice as you are. However, the point is, why am I to be your +companion? Because, dear child, you and your young gentleman +are not to make appointments and to meet each other alone. Oh, +yes--that's it! Your father is quite willing to return Philip's +call; he proposes (as a matter of civility to Mrs. Staveley) to +ask Philip to dinner; but, mark my words, he doesn't mean to let +Philip have you for his wife." + +I jumped off her lap; it was horrible to hear her. "Oh," I said, +"_can_ you be right about it?" Miss Jillgall jumped up too. She +has foreign ways of shrugging her shoulders and making signs with +her hands. On this occasion she laid both hands on the upper part +of her dress, just below her throat, and mysteriously shook her +head. + +"When my views are directed by my affections," she assured me, +"I never see wrong. My bosom is my strong point." + +She has no bosom, poor soul--but I understood what she meant. It +failed to have any soothing effect on my feelings. I felt grieved +and angry and puzzled, all in one. Miss Jillgall stood looking +at me, with her hands still on the place where her bosom was +supposed to be. She made my temper hotter than ever. + +"I mean to marry Philip," I said. + +"Certainly, my dear Euneece. But please don't be so fierce about +it." + +"If my father does really object to my marriage," I went on, +"it must be because he dislikes Philip. There can be no other +reason." + +"Oh, yes, dear--there can." + +"What is the reason, then?" + +"That, my sweet girl, is one of the things that we have got to +find out." + +. . . . . . . + +The post of this morning brought a letter from my sister. We were +to expect her return by the next day's train. This was good news. +Philip and I might stand in need of clever Helena's help, and we +might be sure of getting it now. + +In writing to Philip, I had asked him to let me hear how papa and +he had got on at the hotel. + +I won't say how often I consulted my watch, or how often I looked +out of the window for a man with a letter in his hand. It will be +better to get on at once to the discouraging end of it, when +the report of the interview reached me at last. Twice Philip had +attempted to ask for my hand in marriage--and twice my father +had "deliberately, obstinately" (Philip's own words) changed the +subject. Even this was not all. As if he was determined to show +that Miss Jillgall was perfectly right, and I perfectly wrong, +papa (civil to Philip as long as he did not talk of Me) had asked +him to dine with us, and Philip had accepted the invitation! + +What were we to think of it? What were we to do? + +I wrote back to my dear love (so cruelly used) to tell him that +Helena was expected to return on the next day, and that her +opinion would be of the greatest value to both of us. In a +postscript I mentioned the hour at which we were going to the +station to meet my sister. When I say "we," I mean Miss Jillgall +as well as myself. + +. . . . . . . + +We found him waiting for us at the railway. I am afraid he +resented papa's incomprehensible resolution not to give him +a hearing. He was silent and sullen. I could not conceal that +to see this state of feeling distressed me. He showed how truly +he deserved to be loved--he begged my pardon, and he became +his own sweet self again directly. I am more determined to marry +him than ever. + +When the train entered the station, all the carriages were full. +I went one way, thinking I had seen Helena. Miss Jillgall went +the other way, under the same impression. Philip was a little way +behind me. + +Not seeing my sister, I had just turned back, when a young man +jumped out of a carriage, opposite Philip, and recognized and +shook hands with him. I was just near enough to hear the stranger +say, "Look at the girl in our carriage." Philip looked. "What +a charming creature!" he said, and then checked himself for fear +the young lady should hear him. She had just handed her traveling +bag and wraps to a porter, and was getting out. Philip politely +offered his hand to help her. She looked my way. The charming +creature of my sweetheart's admiration was, to my infinite +amusement, Helena herself. + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + +The day of my return marks an occasion which I am not likely +to forget. Hours have passed since I came home--and my agitation +still forbids the thought of repose. + +As I sit at my desk I see Eunice in bed, sleeping peacefully, +except when she is murmuring enjoyment in some happy dream. To +what end has my sister been advancing blindfold, and (who knows?) +dragging me with her, since that disastrous visit to our friends +in London? Strange that there should be a leaven of superstition +in _my_ nature! Strange that I should feel fear of something--I +hardly know what! + +I have met somewhere (perhaps in my historical reading) with the +expression: "A chain of events." Was I at the beginning of that +chain, when I entered the railway carriage on my journey home? + +Among the other passengers there was a young gentleman, +accompanied by a lady who proved to be his sister. They were both +well-bred people. The brother evidently admired me, and did his +best to make himself agreeable. Time passed quickly in pleasant +talk, and my vanity was flattered--and that was all. + +My fellow-travelers were going on to London. When the train +reached our station the young lady sent her brother to buy some +fruit, which she saw in the window of the refreshment-room. The +first man whom he encountered on the platform was one of his +friends; to whom he said something which I failed to hear. When +I handed my traveling bag and my wraps to the porter, and showed +myself at the carriage door, I heard the friend say: "What a +charming creature!" Having nothing to conceal in a journal which +I protect by a lock, I may own that the stranger's personal +appearance struck me, and that what I felt this time was not +flattered vanity, but gratified pride. He was young, he was +remarkably handsome, he was a distinguished-looking man. + +All this happened in one moment. In the moment that followed, I +found myself in Eunice's arms. That odious person, Miss Jillgall, +insisted on embracing me next. And then I was conscious of +an indescribable feeling of surprise. Eunice presented the +distinguished-looking gentleman to me as a friend of hers--Mr. +Philip Dunboyne. + +"I had the honor of meeting your sister," he said, "in London, at +Mr. Staveley's house." He went on to speak easily and gracefully +of the journey I had taken, and of his friend who had been my +fellow-traveler; and he attended us to the railway omnibus before +he took his leave. I observed that Eunice had something to say to +him confidentially, before they parted. This was another example +of my sister's childish character; she is instantly familiar with +new acquaintances, if she happens to like them. I anticipated +some amusement from hearing how she had contrived to establish +confidential relations with a highly-cultivated man like Mr. +Dunboyne. But, while Miss Jillgall was with us, it was just as +well to keep within the limits of commonplace conversation. + +Before we got out of the omnibus I had, however, observed one +undesirable result of my absence from home. Eunice and Miss +Jillgall--the latter having, no doubt, finely flattered the +former--appeared to have taken a strong liking to each other. + +Two curious circumstances also caught my attention. I saw a +change to, what I call self-assertion, in my sister's manner; +something seemed to have raised her in her own estimation. Then, +again, Miss Jillgall was not like her customary self. She had +delightful moments of silence; and when Eunice asked how I liked +Mr. Dunboyne, she listened to my reply with an appearance of +interest in her ugly face which was quite a new revelation in +my experience of my father's cousin. + +These little discoveries (after what I had already observed at +the railway-station) ought perhaps to have prepared me for what +was to come, when my sister and I were alone in our room. But +Eunice, whether she meant to do it or not, baffled my customary +penetration. She looked as if she had plenty of news to tell +me--with some obstacle in the way of doing it, which appeared to +amuse instead of annoying her. If there is one thing more than +another that I hate, it is being puzzled. I asked at once if +anything remarkable had happened during Eunice's visit to London. + +She smiled mischievously. "I have got a delicious surprise for +you, my dear; and I do so enjoy prolonging it. Tell me, Helena, +what did you propose we should both do when we found ourselves +at home again?" + +My memory was at fault. Eunice's good spirits became absolutely +boisterous. She called out: "Catch!" and tossed her journal into +my hands, across the whole length of the room. "We were to read +each other's diaries," she said. "There is mine to begin with." + +Innocent of any suspicion of the true state of affairs, I began +the reading of Eunice's journal. + +If I had not seen the familiar handwriting, nothing would have +induced me to believe that a girl brought up in a pious +household, the well-beloved daughter of a distinguished +Congregational Minister, could have written that shameless record +of passions unknown to young ladies in respectable English life. +What to say, what to do, when I had closed the book, was more +than I felt myself equal to decide. My wretched sister spared me +the anxiety which I might otherwise have felt. It was she who +first opened her lips, after the silence that had fallen on us +while I was reading. These were literally the words that she +said: + +"My darling, why don't you congratulate me?" + +No argument could have persuaded me, as this persuaded me, that +all sisterly remonstrance on my part would be completely thrown +away. + +"My dear Eunice," I said, "let me beg you to excuse me. I am +waiting--" + +There she interrupted me--and, oh, in what an impudent manner! +She took my chin between her finger and thumb, and lifted my +downcast face, and looked at me with an appearance of eager +expectation which I was quite at a loss to understand. + +"You have been away from home, too," she said. "Do I see in this +serious face some astonishing news waiting to overpower me? Have +_you_ found a sweetheart? Are _you_ engaged to be married?" + +I only put her hand away from me, and advised her to return to +her chair. This perfectly harmless proceeding seemed absolutely +to frighten her. + +"Oh, my dear," she burst out, "surely you are not jealous of me?" + +There was but one possible reply to this: I laughed at it. Is +Eunice's head turned? She kissed me! + +"Now you laugh," she said, "I begin to understand you again; +I ought to have known that you are superior to jealousy. But, +do tell me, would it be so very wonderful if other girls found +something to envy in my good luck? Just think of it! Such a +handsome man, such an agreeable man, such a clever man, such +a rich man--and, not the least of his merits, by-the-by, a man +who admires You. Come! if you won't congratulate me, congratulate +yourself on having such a brother-in-law in prospect!" + +Her head _was_ turned. I drew the poor soul's attention +compassionately to what I had said a moment since. + +"Pardon me, dear, for reminding you that I have not yet refused +to offer my congratulations. I only told you I was waiting." + +"For what?" + +"Waiting, of course, to hear what my father thinks of your +wonderful good luck." + +This explanation, offered with the kindest intentions, produced +another change in my very variable sister. I had extinguished her +good spirits as I might have extinguished a light. She sat down +by me, and sighed in the saddest manner. The heart must be hard +indeed which can resist the distress of a person who is dear to +us. I put my arm round her; she was becoming once more the Eunice +whom I so dearly loved. + +"My poor child," I said. "don't distress yourself by speaking +of it; I understand. Your father objects to your marrying Mr. +Dunboyne." + +She shook her head. "I can't exactly say, Helena, that papa does +that. He only behaves very strangely." + +"Am I indiscreet, dear, if I ask in what way father's behavior +has surprised you?" + +She was quite willing to enlighten me. It was a simple little +story which, to my mind, sufficiently explained the strange +behavior that had puzzled my unfortunate sister. + +There could indeed be no doubt that my father considered Eunice +far too childish in character, as yet, to undertake the duties of +matrimony. But, with his customary delicacy, and dread of causing +distress to others, he had deferred the disagreeable duty of +communicating his opinion to Mr. Dunboyne. The adverse decision +must, however, be sooner or later announced; and he had arranged +to inflict disappointment, as tenderly as might be, at his own +table. + +Considerately leaving Eunice in the enjoyment of any vain hopes +which she may have founded on the event of the dinner-party, I +passed the evening until supper-time came in the study with my +father. + +Our talk was mainly devoted to the worthy people with whom I had +been staying, and whose new schools I had helped to found. Not +a word was said relating to my sister, or to Mr. Dunboyne. Poor +father looked so sadly weary and ill that I ventured, after what +the doctor had said to Eunice, to hint at the value of rest and +change of scene to an overworked man. Oh, dear me, he frowned, +and waved the subject away from him impatiently, with a wan, pale +hand. + +After supper, I made an unpleasant discovery. Not having +completely finished the unpacking of my boxes, I left Miss +Jillgall and Eunice in the drawing-room, and went upstairs. +In half an hour I returned, and found the room empty. What had +become of them? It was a fine moonlight night; I stepped into the +back drawing-room, and looked out of the window. There they were, +walking arm-in-arm with their heads close together, deep in talk. +With my knowledge of Miss Jillgall, I call this a bad sign. + +An odd thought has just come to me. I wonder what might have +happened, if I had been visiting at Mrs. Staveley's, instead +of Eunice, and if Mr. Dunboyne had seen me first. + +Absurd! if I was not too tired to do anything more, those last +lines should be scratched out. + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + +I said so to Miss Jillgall, and I say it again here. Nothing will +induce me to think ill of Helena. + +My sister is a good deal tired, and a little out of temper after +the railway journey. This is exactly what happened to me when +I went to London. I attribute her refusal to let me read her +journal, after she had read mine, entirely to the disagreeable +consequences of traveling by railway. Miss Jillgall accounted +for it otherwise, in her own funny manner: "My sweet child, your +sister's diary is full of abuse of poor me." I humored the joke: +"Dearest Selina, keep a diary of your own, and fill it with abuse +of my sister." This seemed to be a droll saying at the time. But +it doesn't look particularly amusing, now it is written down. We +had ginger wine at supper, to celebrate Helena's return. Although +I only drank one glass, I daresay it may have got into my head. + +However that may be, when the lovely moonlight tempted us into +the garden, there was an end to our jokes. We had something to +talk about which still dwells disagreeably on my mind. + +Miss Jillgall began it. + +"If I trust you, dearest Euneece, with my own precious secrets, +shall I never, never, never live to repent it?" + +I told my good little friend that she might depend on me, +provided her secrets did no harm to any person whom I loved. + +She clasped her hands and looked up at the moon--I can only +suppose that her sentiments overpowered her. She said, very +prettily, that her heart and my heart beat together in heavenly +harmony. It is needless to add that this satisfied me. + +Miss Jillgall's generous confidence in my discretion was, I am +afraid, not rewarded as it ought to have been. I found her +tiresome at first. + +She spoke of an excellent friend (a lady), who had helped her, +at the time when she lost her little fortune, by raising a +subscription privately to pay the expenses of her return to +England. Her friend's name--not very attractive to English +ears--was Mrs. Tenbruggen; they had first become acquainted under +interesting circumstances. Miss Jillgall happened to mention that +my father was her only living relative; and it turned out that +Mrs. Tenbruggen was familiar with his name, and reverenced his +fame as a preacher. When he had generously received his poor +helpless cousin under his own roof, Miss Jillgall's gratitude and +sense of duty impelled her to write and tell Mrs. Tenbruggen how +happy she was as a member of our family. + +Let me confess that I began to listen more attentively when the +narrative reached this point. + +"I drew a little picture of our domestic circle here," Miss +Jillgall said, describing her letter; "and I mentioned the +mystery in which Mr. Gracedieu conceals the ages of you two dear +girls. Mrs. Tenbruggen--shall we shorten her ugly name and call +her Mrs. T.? Very well--Mrs. T. is a remarkably clever woman, and +I looked for interesting results, if she would give her opinion +of the mysterious circumstance mentioned in my letter." + +By this time, I was all eagerness to hear more. + +"Has she written to you?" I asked. + +Miss Jillgall looked at me affectionately, and took the reply out +of her pocket. + +"Listen, Euneece; and you shall hear her own words. Thus she +writes: + +"'Your letter, dear Selina, especially interests me by what it +says about the _two_ Miss Gracedieus. '--Look, dear; she +underlines the word Two. Why, I can't explain. Can you? Ah, I +thought not. Well, let us get back to the letter. My accomplished +friend continues in these terms: + +"'I can understand the surprise which you have felt at the +strange course taken by their father, as a means of concealing +the difference which there must be in the ages of these young +ladies. Many years since, I happened to discover a romantic +incident in the life of your popular preacher, which he has his +reasons, as I suspect, for keeping strictly to himself. If I may +venture on a bold guess, I should say that any person who could +discover which was the oldest of the two daughters, would be +also likely to discover the true nature of the romance in Mr. +Gracedieu's life.'--Isn't that very remarkable, Euneece? You +don't seem to see it--you funny child! Pray pay particular +attention to what comes next. These are the closing sentences +in my friend's letter: + +"'If you find anything new to tell me which relates to this +interesting subject, direct your letter as before--provided you +write within a week from the present time. Afterward, my letters +will be received by the English physician whose card I inclose. +You will be pleased to hear that my professional interests call +me to London at the earliest moment that I can spare.'--There. +dear child, the letter comes to an end. I daresay you wonder what +Mrs. T. means, when she alludes to her professional interests?" + +No: I was not wondering about anything. It hurt me to hear of a +strange woman exercising her ingenuity in guessing at mysteries +in papa's life. + +But Miss Jillgall was too eagerly bent on setting forth the +merits of her friend to notice this. I now heard that Mrs. T.'s +marriage had turned out badly, and that she had been reduced to +earn her own bread. Her manner of doing this was something quite +new to me. She went about, from one place to another, curing +people of all sorts of painful maladies, by a way she had +of rubbing them with her hands. In Belgium she was called a +"Masseuse." When I asked what this meant in English, I was told, +"Medical Rubber," and that the fame of Mrs. T.'s wonderful cures +had reached some of the medical newspapers published in London. + +After listening (I must say for myself) very patiently, I was +bold enough to own that my interest in what I had just heard was +not quite so plain to me as I could have wished it to be. + +Miss Jillgall looked shocked at my stupidity. She reminded me +that there was a mystery in Mrs. Tenbruggen's letter and a +mystery in papa's strange conduct toward Philip. "Put two and two +together, darling," she said; "and, one of these days, they may +make four." + +If this meant anything, it meant that the reason which made papa +keep Helena's age and my age unknown to everybody but himself, +was also the reason why he seemed to be so strangely unwilling to +let me be Philip's wife. I really could not endure to take such a +view of it as that, and begged Miss Jillgall to drop the subject. +She was as kind as ever. + +"With all my heart, dear. But don't deceive yourself--the subject +will turn up again when we least expect it." + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + +Only two days now, before we give our little dinner-party, and +Philip finds his opportunity of speaking to papa. Oh, how I wish +that day had come and gone! + +I try not to take gloomy views of things; but I am not quite so +happy as I had expected to be when my dear was in the same town +with me. If papa had encouraged him to call again, we might have +had some precious time to ourselves. As it is, we can only meet +in the different show-places in the town--with Helena on one +side, and Miss Jillgall on the other, to take care of us. +I do call it cruel not to let two young people love each other, +without setting third persons to watch them. If I was Queen +of England, I would have pretty private bowers made for lovers, +in the summer, and nice warm little rooms to hold two, in +the winter. Why not? What harm could come of it, I should like +to know? + +The cathedral is the place of meeting which we find most +convenient, under the circumstances. There are delightful nooks +and corners about this celebrated building in which lovers can +lag behind. If we had been in papa's chapel I should have +hesitated to turn it to such a profane use as this; the cathedral +doesn't so much matter. + +Shall I own that I felt my inferiority to Helena a little keenly? +She could tell Philip so many things that I should have liked to +tell him first. My clever sister taught him how to pronounce the +name of the bishop who began building the cathedral; she led him +over the crypt, and told him how old it was. He was interested +in the crypt; he talked to Helena (not to me) of his ambition +to write a work on cathedral architecture in England; he made a +rough little sketch in his book of our famous tomb of some king. +Helena knew the late royal personage's name, and Philip showed +his sketch to her before he showed it to me. How can I blame him, +when I stood there the picture of stupidity, trying to recollect +something that I might tell him, if it was only the Dean's name? +Helena might have whispered it to me, I think. She remembered it, +not I--and mentioned it to Philip, of course. I kept close by him +all the time, and now and then he gave me a look which raised my +spirits. He might have given me something better than that--I +mean a kiss--when we had left the cathedral, and were by +ourselves for a moment in a corner of the Dean's garden. But he +missed the opportunity. Perhaps he was afraid of the Dean himself +coming that way, and happening to see us. However, I am far from +thinking the worse of Philip. I gave his arm a little +squeeze--and that was better than nothing. + +. . . . . . . + +He and I took a walk along the bank of the river to-day; my +sister and Miss Jillgall looking after us as usual. + +On our way through the town, Helena stopped to give an order at a +shop. She asked us to wait for her. That best of good creatures, +Miss Jillgall, whispered in my ear: "Go on by yourselves, and +leave me to wait for her." Philip interpreted this act of +kindness in a manner which would have vexed me, if I had not +understood that it was one of his jokes. He said to me: "Miss +Jillgall sees a chance of annoying your sister, and enjoys the +prospect." + +Well, away we went together; it was just what I wanted; it gave +me an opportunity of saying something to Philip, between +ourselves. + +I could now beg of him, in his interests and mine, to make the +best of himself when he came to dinner. Clever people, I told +him, were people whom papa liked and admired. I said: "Let him +see, dear, how clever _you_ are, and how many things you +know--and you can't imagine what a high place you will have in +his opinion. I hope you don't think I am taking too much on +myself in telling you how to behave." + +He relieved that doubt in a manner which I despair of describing. +His eyes rested on me with such a look of exquisite sweetness and +love that I was obliged to hold by his arm, I trembled so with +the pleasure of feeling it. + +"I do sincerely believe," he said, "that you are the most +innocent girl, the sweetest, truest girl that ever lived. I wish +I was a better man, Eunice; I wish I was good enough to be worthy +of you!" + +To hear him speak of himself in that way jarred on me. If such +words had fallen from any other man's lips, I should have been +afraid that he had done something, or thought something, of which +he had reason to feel ashamed. With Philip this was impossible. + +He was eager to walk on rapidly, and to turn a corner in the +path, before we could be seen. "I want to be alone with you," +he said. + +I looked back. We were too late; Helena and Miss Jillgall had +nearly overtaken us. My sister was on the point of speaking to +Philip, when she seemed to change her mind, and only looked at +him. Instead of looking at her in return, he kept his eyes cast +down and drew figures on the pathway with his stick. I think +Helena was out of temper; she suddenly turned my way. "Why didn't +you wait for me?" she asked. + +Philip took her up sharply. "If Eunice likes seeing the river +better than waiting in the street," he said, "isn't she free to +do as she pleases?" + +Helena said nothing more; Philip walked on slowly by himself. +Not knowing what to make of it, I turned to Miss Jillgall. + +"Surely Philip can't have quarreled with Helena?" I said. + +Miss Jillgall answered in an odd off-hand manner: "Not he! He is +a great deal more likely to have quarreled with himself." + +"Why?" + +"Suppose you ask him why?" + +It was not to be thought of; it would have looked like prying +into his thoughts. "Selina!" I said, "there is something odd +about you to-day. What is the matter? I don't understand you." + +"My poor dear, you will find yourself understanding me before +long." I thought I saw something like pity in her face when she +said that. + +"My poor dear?" I repeated. "What makes you speak to me in that +way?" + +"I don't know--I'm tired; I'm an old fool-- I'll go back to the +house." + +Without another word, she left me. I turned to look for Philip, +and saw that my sister had joined him while I had been speaking +to Miss Jillgall. It pleased me to find that they were talking in +a friendly way when I joined them. A quarrel between Helena and +my husband that is to be--no, my husband that _shall_ be--would +have been too distressing, too unnatural I might almost call it. + +Philip looked along the backward path, and asked what had become +of Miss Jillgall. "Have you any objection to follow her example?" +he said to me, when I told him that Selina had returned to the +town. "I don't care for the banks of this river." + +Helena, who used to like the river at other times, was as ready +as Philip to leave it now. I fancy they had both been kindly +waiting to change our walk, till I came to them, and they could +study my wishes too. Of course I was ready to go where they +pleased. I asked Philip if there was anything he would like to +see, when we got into the streets again. + +Clever Helena suggested what seemed to be a strange amusement to +offer to Philip. "Let's take him to the Girls' School," she said. + +It appeared to be a matter of perfect indifference to him; +he was, what they call, ironical. "Oh, yes, of course. Deeply +interesting! deeply interesting!" He suddenly broke into the +wildest good spirits, and tucked my hand under his arm with a +gayety which it was impossible to resist. "What a boy you are!" +Helena said, enjoying his delightful hilarity as I did. + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + +On entering the schoolroom we lost our gayety, all in a moment. +Something unpleasant had evidently happened. + +Two of the eldest girls were sitting together in a corner, +separated from the rest, and looking most wickedly sulky. The +teachers were at the other end of the room, appearing to be ill +at ease. And there, standing in the midst of them, with his face +flushed and his eyes angry--there was papa, sadly unlike his +gentle self in the days of his health and happiness. On former +occasions, when the exercise of his authority was required in the +school, his forbearing temper always set things right. When I saw +him now, I thought of what the doctor had said of his health, +on my way home from the station. + +Papa advanced to us the moment we showed ourselves at the door. + +He shook hands--cordially shook hands--with Philip. It was +delightful to see him, delightful to hear him say: "Pray don't +suppose, Mr. Dunboyne, that you are intruding; remain with us by +all means if you like." Then he spoke to Helena and to me, still +excited, still not like himself: "You couldn't have come here, +my dears, at a time when your presence was more urgently needed." +He turned to the teachers. "Tell my daughters what has happened; +tell them why they see me here--shocked and distressed, I don't +deny it." + +We now heard that the two girls in disgrace had broken the rules, +and in such a manner as to deserve severe punishment. + +One of them had been discovered hiding a novel in her desk. The +other had misbehaved herself more seriously still--she had gone +to the theater. Instead of expressing any regret, they had +actually dared to complain of having to learn papa's improved +catechism. They had even accused him of treating them with +severity, because they were poor girls brought up on charity. +"If we had been young ladies," they were audacious enough to say, +"more indulgence would have been shown to us; we should have been +allowed to read stories and to see plays." + +All this time I had been asking myself what papa meant, when +he told us we could not have come to the schoolroom at a better +time. His meaning now appeared. When he spoke to the offending +girls, he pointed to Helena and to me. + +"Here are my daughters," he said. "You will not deny that they +are young ladies. Now listen. They shall tell you themselves +whether my rules make any difference between them and you. +Helena! Eunice! do I allow you to read novels? do I allow you +to go to the play?" + +We said, "No"--and hoped it was over. But he had not done yet. +He turned to Helena. + +"Answer some of the questions," he went on, "from my Manual of +Christian Obligation, which the girls call my catechism." He +asked one of the questions: "If you are told to do unto others as +you would they should do unto you, and if you find a difficulty +in obeying that Divine Precept, what does your duty require?" + +It is my belief that Helena has the materials in her for making +another Joan of Arc. She rose, and answered without the slightest +sign of timidity: "My duty requires me to go to the minister, +and to seek for advice and encouragement." + +"And if these fail?" + +"Then I am to remember that my pastor is my friend. He claims +no priestly authority or priestly infallibility. He is my +fellow-Christian who loves me. He will tell me how he has himself +failed; how he has struggled against himself; and what a blessed +reward has followed his victory--a purified heart, a peaceful +mind." + +Then papa released my sister, after she had only repeated two out +of all the answers in Christian Obligation, which we first began +to learn when we were children. He then addressed himself again +to the girls. + +"Is what you have just heard a part of my catechism? Has my +daughter been excused from repeating it because she is a young +lady? Where is the difference between the religious education +which is given to my own child, and that given to you?" + +The wretched girls still sat silent and obstinate, with their +heads down. I tremble again as I write of what happened next. +Papa fixed his eyes on me. He said, out loud: "Eunice!"--and +waited for me to rise and answer, as my sister had done. + +It was entirely beyond my power to get on my feet. + +Philip had (innocently, I am sure) discouraged me; I saw +displeasure, I saw contempt in his face. There was a dead silence +in the room. Everybody looked at me. My heart beat furiously, +my hands turned cold, the questions and answers in Christian +Obligation all left my memory together. I looked imploringly +at papa. + +For the first time in his life, he was hard on me. His eyes were +as angry as ever; they showed me no mercy. Oh, what had come +to me? what evil spirit possessed me? I felt resentment; horrid, +undutiful resentment, at being treated in this cruel way. My +fists clinched themselves in my lap, my face felt as hot as fire. +Instead of asking my father to excuse me, I said: "I can't do +it." He was astounded, as well he might be. I went on from bad +to worse. I said: "I won't do it." + +He stooped over me; he whispered: "I am going to ask you +something; I insist on your answering, Yes or No." He raised +his voice, and drew himself back so that they could all see me. + +"Have you been taught like your sister?" he asked. "Has the +catechism that has been her religious lesson, for all her life, +been your religious lesson, for all your life, too?" + +I said: "Yes"--and I was in such a rage that I said it out loud. +If Philip had handed me his cane, and had advised me to give +the young hussies who were answerable for this dreadful state +of things a good beating, I believe I should have done it. +Papa turned his back on me and offered the girls a last chance: +"Do you feel sorry for what you have done? Do you ask to be +forgiven?" + +Neither the one nor the other answered him. He called across the +room to the teachers: "Those two pupils are expelled the school." + +Both the women looked horrified. The elder of the two approached +him, and tried to plead for a milder sentence. He answered in one +stern word: "Silence!"--and left the schoolroom, without even +a passing bow to Philip. And this, after he had cordially shaken +hands with my poor dear, not half an hour before. + +I ought to have made affectionate allowance for his nervous +miseries; I ought to have run after him, and begged his pardon. +There must be something wrong, I am afraid, in girls loving +anybody but their fathers. When Helena led the way out by another +door, I ran after Philip; and I asked _him_ to forgive me. + +I don't know what I said; it was all confusion. The fear of +having forfeited his fondness must, I suppose, have shaken my +mind. I remember entreating Helena to say a kind word for me. +She was so clever, she had behaved so well, she had deserved +that Philip should listen to her. "Oh," I cried out to him +desperately, "what must you think of me?" + +"I will tell you what I think of you," he said. "It is your +father who is in fault, Eunice--not you. Nothing could have been +in worse taste than his management of that trumpery affair in +the schoolroom; it was a complete mistake from beginning to end. +Make your mind easy; I don't blame You." + +"Are you, really and truly, as fond of me as ever?" + +"Yes, to be sure!" + +Helena seemed to be hardly as much interested in this happy +ending of my anxieties as I might have anticipated. She walked on +by herself. Perhaps she was thinking of poor papa's strange +outbreak of excitement, and grieving over it. + +We had only a little way to walk, before we passed the door of +Philip's hotel. He had not yet received the expected letter from +his father--the cruel letter which might recall him to Ireland. +It was then the hour of delivery by our second post; he went +to look at the letter-rack in the hall. Helena saw that I was +anxious. She was as kind again as ever; she consented to wait +with me for Philip, at the door. + +He came out to us with an open letter in his hand. + +"From my father, at last," he said--and gave me the letter +to read. It only contained these few lines: + +"Do not be alarmed, my dear boy, at the change for the worse in +my handwriting. I am suffering for my devotion to the studious +habits of a lifetime: my right hand is attacked by the malady +called Writer's Cramp. The doctor here can do nothing. He tells +me of some foreign woman, mentioned in his newspaper, who cures +nervous derangements of all kinds by hand-rubbing, and who is +coming to London. When you next hear from me, I may be in London +too."--There the letter ended. + +Of course I knew who the foreign woman, mentioned in the +newspaper, was. + +But what does Miss Jillgall's friend matter to me? The one +important thing is, that Philip has not been called back to +Ireland. Here is a fortunate circumstance, which perhaps means +more good luck. I may be Mrs. Philip Dunboyne before the year +is out. + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + +They all notice at home that I am looking worn and haggard. That +hideous old maid, Miss Jillgall, had her malicious welcome ready +for me when we met at breakfast this morning: "Dear Helena, what +has become of your beauty? One would think you had left it in +your room!" Poor deluded Eunice showed her sisterly sympathy: +"Don't joke about it, Selina: can't you see that Helena is ill?" + +I _have_ been ill; ill of my own wickedness. + +But the recovery to my tranquillity will bring with it the +recovery of my good looks. My fatal passion for Philip promises +to be the utter destruction of everything that is good in me. +Well! what is good in me may not be worth keeping. There is a +fate in these things. If I am destined to rob Eunice of the one +dear object of her love and hope--how can I resist? The one kind +thing I can do is to keep her in ignorance of what is coming, +by acts of affectionate deceit. + +Besides, if she suffers, I suffer too. In the length and breadth +of England, I doubt if there is a much more wicked young woman to +be found than myself. Is it nothing to feel that, and to endure +it as I do? + +Upon my word, there is no excuse for me! + +Is this sheer impudence? No; it is the bent of my nature. I have +a tendency to self-examination, accompanied by one merit--I don't +spare myself. + +There are excuses for Eunice. She lives in a fools' paradise; +and she sees in her lover a radiant creature, shining in the halo +thrown over him by her own self-delusion, Nothing of this sort +is to be said for me. I see Philip as he is. My penetration looks +into the lowest depths of his character--when I am not in his +company. There seems to be a foundation of good, somewhere in +his nature. He despises and hates himself (he has confessed it +to me), when Eunice is with him--still believing in her false +sweetheart. But how long do these better influences last? I have +only to show myself, in my sister's absence, and Philip is mine +body and soul. His vanity and his weakness take possession of him +the moment he sees my face. He is one of those men--even in +my little experience I have met with them--who are born to be +led by women. If Eunice had possessed my strength of character, +he would have been true to her for life. + +Ought I not, in justice to myself, to have lifted my heart high +above the reach of such a creature as this? Certainly I ought! I +know it, I feel it. And yet, there is some fascination in having +him which I am absolutely unable to resist. + +What, I ask myself, has fed the new flame which is burning in me? +Did it begin with gratified pride? I might well feel proud when +I found myself admired by a man of his beauty, set off by such +manners and such accomplishments as his. Or, has the growth of +this masterful feeling been encouraged by the envy and jealousy +stirred in me, when I found Eunice (my inferior in every respect) +distinguished by the devotion of a handsome lover, and having a +brilliant marriage in view--while I was left neglected, with no +prospect of changing my title from Miss to Mrs.? Vain inquiries! +My wicked heart seems to have secrets of its own, and to keep +them a mystery to me. + +What has become of my excellent education? I don't care to +inquire; I have got beyond the reach of good books and religious +examples. Among my other blamable actions there may now be +reckoned disobedience to my father. I have been reading novels +in secret. + +At first I tried some of the famous English works, published +at a price within the reach of small purses. Very well written, +no doubt--but with one unpardonable drawback, so far as I am +concerned. Our celebrated native authors address themselves +to good people, or to penitent people who want to be made good; +not to wicked readers like me. + +Arriving at this conclusion, I tried another experiment. In +a small bookseller's shop I discovered some cheap translations +of French novels. Here, I found what I wanted--sympathy with sin. +Here, there was opened to me a new world inhabited entirely by +unrepentant people; the magnificent women diabolically beautiful; +the satanic men dead to every sense of virtue, and alive--perhaps +rather dirtily alive--to the splendid fascinations of crime. +I know now that Love is above everything but itself. Love is +the one law that we are bound to obey. How deep! how consoling! +how admirably true! The novelists of England have reason indeed +to hide their heads before the novelists of France. All that I +have felt, and have written here, is inspired by these wonderful +authors. + + +I have relieved my mind, and may now return to the business of +my diary--the record of domestic events. + +An overwhelming disappointment has fallen on Eunice. Our +dinner-party has been put off. + +The state of father's health is answerable for this change in +our arrangements. That wretched scene at the school, complicated +by my sister's undutiful behavior at the time, so seriously +excited him that he passed a sleepless night, and kept his +bedroom throughout the day. Eunice's total want of discretion +added, no doubt, to his sufferings: she rudely intruded on him +to express her regret and to ask his pardon. Having carried +her point, she was at leisure to come to me, and to ask (how +amazingly simple of her!) what she and Philip were to do next. + +"We had arranged it all so nicely," the poor wretch began. +"Philip was to have been so clever and agreeable at dinner, +and was to have chosen his time so very discreetly, that papa +would have been ready to listen to anything he said. Oh, we +should have succeeded; I haven't a doubt of it! Our only hope, +Helena, is in you. What are we to do now?" + +"Wait," I answered. + +"Wait?" she repeated, hotly. "Is my heart to be broken? and, what +is more cruel still, is Philip to be disappointed? I expected +something more sensible, my dear, from you. What possible reason +can there be for waiting?" + +The reason--if I could only have mentioned it--was beyond +dispute. I wanted time to quiet Philip's uneasy conscience, +and to harden his weak mind against outbursts of violence, on +Eunice's part, which would certainly exhibit themselves when she +found that she had lost her lover, and lost him to me. In the +meanwhile, I had to produce my reason for advising her to wait. +It was easily done. I reminded her of the irritable condition +of our father's nerves, and gave it as my opinion that he would +certainly say No, if she was unwise enough to excite him on +the subject of Philip, in his present frame of mind. + +These unanswerable considerations seemed to produce the right +effect on her. "I suppose you know best," was all she said. +And then she left me. + +I let her go without feeling any distrust of this act of +submission on her part; it was such a common experience, +in my life, to find my sister guiding herself by my advice. +But experience is not always to be trusted. Events soon showed +that I had failed to estimate Eunice's resources of obstinacy +and cunning at their true value. + +Half an hour later I heard the street door closed, and looked +out of the window. Miss Jillgall was leaving the house; no one +was with her. My dislike of this person led me astray once more. +I ought to have suspected her of being bent on some mischievous +errand, and to have devised some means of putting my suspicions +to the test. I did nothing of the kind. In the moment when I +turned my head away from the window, Miss Jillgall was a person +forgotten--and I was a person who had made a serious mistake. + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + +The event of to-day began with the delivery of a message +summoning me to my father's study. He had decided--too hastily, +as I feared--that he was sufficiently recovered to resume his +usual employments. I was writing to his dictation, when we were +interrupted. Maria announced a visit from Mr. Dunboyne. + +Hitherto Philip had been content to send one of the servants +of the hotel to make inquiry after Mr. Gracedieu's health. +Why had he now called personally? Noticing that father seemed +to be annoyed, I tried to make an opportunity of receiving +Philip myself. "Let me see him," I suggested; "I can easily say +you are engaged." + +Very unwillingly, as it was easy to see, my father declined to +allow this. "Mr. Dunboyne's visit pays me a compliment," he said; +"and I must receive him." I made a show of leaving the room, and +was called back to my chair. "This is not a private interview, +Helena; stay where you are." + +Philip came in--handsomer than ever, beautifully dressed--and +paid his respects to my father with his customary grace. He was +too well-bred to allow any visible signs of embarrassment to +escape him. But when he shook hands with me, I felt a little +trembling in his fingers, through the delicate gloves which +fitted him like a second skin. Was it the true object of +his visit to try the experiment designed by Eunice and himself, +and deferred by the postponement of our dinner-party? Impossible +surely that my sister could have practiced on his weakness, +and persuaded him to return to his first love! I waited, +in breathless interest, for his next words. They were not worth +listening to. Oh, the poor commonplace creature! + +"I am glad, Mr. Gracedieu, to see that you are well enough to be +in your study again," he said. The writing materials on the table +attracted his attention. "Am I one of the idle people," he asked, +with his charming smile, "who are always interrupting useful +employment?" + +He spoke to my father, and he was answered by my father. Not once +had he addressed a word to me--no, not even when we shook hands. +I was angry enough to force him into taking some notice of me, +and to make an attempt to confuse him at the same time. + +"Have you seen my sister?" I asked. + +"No." + +It was the shortest reply that he could choose. Having flung it +at me, he still persisted in looking at my father and speaking to +my father: "Do you think of trying change of air, Mr. Gracedieu, +when you feel strong enough to travel?" + +"My duties keep me here," father answered; "and I cannot honestly +say that I enjoy traveling. I dislike manners and customs that +are strange to me; I don't find that hotels reward me for giving +up the comforts of my own house. How do you find the hotel here?" + +"I submit to the hotel, sir. They are sad savages in the kitchen; +they put mushroom ketchup into their soup, and mustard and +cayenne pepper into their salads. I am half-starved at +dinner-time, but I don't complain." + +Every word he said was an offense to me. With or without reason, +I attacked him again. + +"I have heard you acknowledge that the landlord and landlady are +very obliging people," I said. "Why don't you ask them to let you +make your own soup and mix your own salad?" + +I wondered whether I should succeed in attracting his notice, +after this. Even in these private pages, my self-esteem finds it +hard to confess what happened. I succeeded in reminding Philip +that he had his reasons for requesting me to leave the room. + +"Will you excuse me, Miss Helena," he said, "if I ask leave +to speak to Mr. Gracedieu in private?" + +The right thing for me to do was, let me hope, the thing that +I did. I rose, and waited to see if my father would interfere. +He looked at Philip with suspicion in his face, as well as +surprise. "May I ask," he said, coldly, "what is the object +of the interview?" + +"Certainly," Philip answered, "when we are alone." This cool +reply placed my father between two alternatives; he must either +give way, or be guilty of an act of rudeness to a guest in his +own house. The choice reserved for me was narrower still--I had +to decide between being told to go, or going of my own accord. +Of course, I left them together. + +The door which communicated with the next room was pulled to, +but not closed. On the other side of it, I found Eunice. + +"Listening!" I said, in a whisper. + +"Yes," she whispered back. "You listen, too!" + +I was so indignant with Philip, and so seriously interested +in what was going on in the study, that I yielded to temptation. +We both degraded ourselves. We both listened. + +Eunice's base lover spoke first. Judging by the change in +his voice, he must have seen something in my father's face +that daunted him. Eunice heard it, too. "He's getting nervous," +she whispered; "he'll forget to say the right thing at the right +time." + +"Mr. Gracedieu," Philip began, "I wish to speak to you--" + +Father interrupted him: "We are alone now, Mr. Dunboyne. I want +to know why you consult me in private?" + +"I am anxious to consult you, sir, on a subject--" + +"On what subject? Any religious difficulty?" + +"No." + +"Anything I can do for you in the town?" + +"Not at all. If you will only allow me--" + +"I am still waiting, sir, to know what it is about." + +Philip's voice suddenly became an angry voice. "Once for all, +Mr. Gracedieu," he said, "will you let me speak? It's about +your daughter--" + +"No more of it, Mr. Dunboyne!" (My father was now as loud as +Philip.) "I don't desire to hold a private conversation with you +on the subject of my daughter." + +"If you have any personal objection to me, sir, be so good as +to state it plainly." + +"You have no right to ask me to do that." + +"You refuse to do it?" + +"Positively." + +"You are not very civil, Mr. Gracedieu." + +"If I speak without ceremony, Mr. Dunboyne, you have yourself +to thank for it." + +Philip replied to this in a tone of savage irony. "You are a +minister of religion, and you are an old man. Two privileges--and +you presume on them both. Good-morning." + +I drew back into a corner, just in time to escape discovery +in the character of a listener. Eunice never moved. When Philip +dashed into the room, banging the door after him, she threw +herself impulsively on his breast: "Oh, Philip! Philip! what +have you done? Why didn't you keep your temper?" + +"Did you hear what your father said to me?" he asked. + +"Yes, dear; but you ought to have controlled yourself--you ought, +indeed, for my sake." + +Her arms were still round him. It struck me that he felt her +influence. "If you wish me to recover myself," he said, gently, +"you had better let me go." + +"Oh, how cruel, Philip, to leave me when I am so wretched! Why +do you want to go?" + +"You told me just now what I ought to do," he answered, still +restraining himself. "If I am to get the better of my temper, +I must be left alone." + +"I never said anything about your temper, darling." + +"Didn't you tell me to control myself?" + +"Oh, yes! Go back to Papa, and beg him to forgive you." + +"I'll see him damned first!" + +If ever a stupid girl deserved such an answer as this, the girl +was my sister. I had hitherto (with some difficulty) refrained +from interfering. But when Eunice tried to follow Philip out +of the house, I could hesitate no longer; I held her back. +"You fool," I said; "haven't you made mischief enough already?" + +"What am I to do?" she burst out, helplessly. + +"Do what I told you to do yesterday--wait." + +Before she could reply, or I could say anything more, the door +that led to the landing was opened softly and slyly, and Miss +Jillgall peeped in. Eunice instantly left me, and ran to the +meddling old maid. They whispered to each other. Miss Jillgall's +skinny arm encircled my sister's waist; they disappeared +together. + +I was only too glad to get rid of them both, and to take the +opportunity of writing to Philip. I insisted on an explanation +of his conduct while I was in the study--to be given within +an hour's time, at a place which I appointed. "You are not to +attempt to justify yourself in writing," I added in conclusion. +"Let your reply merely inform me if you can keep the appointment. +The rest, when we meet." + +Maria took the letter to the hotel, with instructions to wait. + +Philip's reply reached me without delay. It pledged him to +justify himself as I had desired, and to keep the appointment. +My own belief is that the event of to-day will decide his future +and mine. + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + +Indeed, I am a most unfortunate creature; everything turns out +badly with me. My good, true friend, my dear Selina, has become +the object of a hateful doubt in my secret mind. I am afraid she +is keeping something from me. + +Talking with her about my troubles, I heard for the first time +that she had written again to Mrs. Tenbruggen. The object of +her letter was to tell her friend of my engagement to young Mr. +Dunboyne. I asked her why she had done this. The answer informed +me that there was no knowing, in the present state of my affairs, +how soon I might not want the help of a clever woman. I ought, +I suppose, to have been satisfied with this. But there seemed +to be something not fully explained yet. + +Then again, after telling Selina what I heard in the study, and +how roughly Philip had spoken to me afterward, I asked her what +she thought of it. She made an incomprehensible reply: "My sweet +child, I mustn't think of it--I am too fond of you." + +It was impossible to make her explain what this meant. She began +to talk of Philip; assuring me (which was quite needless) that +she had done her best to fortify and encourage him, before he +called on papa. When I asked her to help me in another way--that +is to say, when I wanted to find out where Philip was at that +moment--she had no advice to give me. I told her that I should +not enjoy a moment's ease of mind until I and my dear one were +reconciled. She only shook her head and declared that she was +sorry for me. When I hit on the idea of ringing for Maria, this +little woman, so bright, and quick and eager to help me at other +times, said "I leave it to you, dear," and turned to the piano +(close to which I was sitting), and played softly and badly +stupid little tunes. + +"Maria, did you open the door for Mr. Dunboyne when he went away +just now?" + +"No, miss." + +Nothing but ill-luck for me! If I had been left to my own +devices, I should now have let the housemaid go. But Selina +contrived to give me a hint, on a strange plan of her own. +Still at the piano, she began to confuse talking to herself +with playing to herself. The notes went _tinkle, tinkle_--and +the tongue mixed up words with the notes in this way: "Perhaps +they have been talking in the kitchen about Philip?" + +The suggestion was not lost on me. I said to Maria--who was +standing at the other end of the room, near the door--"Did you +happen to hear which way Mr. Dunboyne went when he left us?" + +"I know where he was, miss, half an hour ago." + +"Where was he?" + +"At the hotel." + +Selina went on with her hints in the same way as before. "How +does she know--ah, how does she know?" was the vocal part of +the performance this time. My clever inquiries followed the vocal +part as before: + +"How do you know that Mr. Dunboyne was at the hotel?" + +"I was sent there with a letter for him, and waited for +the answer." + +There was no suggestion required this time. The one possible +question was: "Who sent you?" + +Maria replied, after first reserving a condition: "You won't +tell upon me, miss?" + +I promised not to tell. Selina suddenly left off playing. + +"Well," I repeated, "who sent you?" + +"Miss Helena." + +Selina looked round at me. Her little eyes seemed to have +suddenly become big, they stared me so strangely in the face. +I don't know whether she was in a state of fright or of wonder. +As for myself, I simply lost the use of my tongue. Maria, having +no more questions to answer, discreetly left us together. + +Why should Helena write to Philip at all--and especially without +mentioning it to me? Here was a riddle which was more than I +could guess. I asked Selina to help me. She might at least have +tried, I thought; but she looked uneasy, and made excuses. + +I said: "Suppose I go to Helena, and ask her why she wrote +to Philip?" And Selina said: "Suppose you do, dear." + +I rang for Maria once more: "Do you know where my sister is?" + +"Just gone out, miss." + +There was no help for it but to wait till she came back, and +to get through the time in the interval as I best might. But for +one circumstance, I might not have known what to do. The truth +is, there was a feeling of shame in me when I remembered having +listened at the study door. Curious notions come into one's +head--one doesn't know how or why. It struck me that I might make +a kind of atonement for having been mean enough to listen, if +I went to papa, and offered to keep him company in his solitude. +If we fell into pleasant talk, I had a sly idea of my own--I +meant to put in a good word for poor Philip. + +When I confided my design to Selina, she shut up the piano and +ran across the room to me. But somehow she was not like her old +self again, yet. + +"You good little soul, you are always right. Look at me again, +Euneece. Are you beginning to doubt me? Oh, my darling, don't do +that! It isn't using me fairly. I can't bear it--I can't bear +it!" + +I took her hand; I was on the point of speaking to her with +the kindness she deserved from me. On a sudden she snatched +her hand away and ran back to the piano. When she was seated on +the music-stool, her face was hidden from me. At that moment she +broke into a strange cry--it began like a laugh, and it ended +like a sob. + +"Go away to papa! Don't mind me--I'm a creature of impulse--ha! +ha! ha! a little hysterical--the state of the weather--I get rid +of these weaknesses, my dear, by singing to myself. I have +a favorite song: 'My heart is light, my will is free.'--Go away! +oh, for God's sake, go away!" + +I had heard of hysterics, of course; knowing nothing about them, +however, by my own experience. What could have happened to +agitate her in this extraordinary manner? + +Had Helena's letter anything to do with it? Was my sister +indignant with Philip for swearing in my presence; and had she +written him an angry letter, in her zeal on my behalf? But Selina +could not possibly have seen the letter--and Helena (who is often +hard on me when I do stupid things) showed little indulgence for +me, when I was so unfortunate as to irritate Philip. I gave up +the hopeless attempt to get at the truth by guessing, and went +away to forget my troubles, if I could, in my father's society. + +After knocking twice at the door of the study, and receiving no +reply, I ventured to look in. + +The sofa in this room stood opposite the door. Papa was resting +on it, but not in comfort. There were twitching movements in his +feet, and he shifted his arms this way and that as if no restful +posture could he found for them. But what frightened me was this. +His eyes, staring straight at the door by which I had gone in, +had an inquiring expression, as if he actually did not know me! +I stood midway between the door and the sofa, doubtful about +going nearer to him. + +He said: "Who is it?" This to me--to his own daughter. He said: +"What do you want?" + +I really could _not_ bear it. I went up to him. I said: "Papa, +have you forgotten Eunice?" + +My name seemed (if one may say such a thing) to bring him to +himself again. He sat upon the sofa--and laughed as he answered +me. + +"My dear child, what delusion has got into that pretty little +head of yours? Fancy her thinking that I had forgotten my own +daughter! I was lost in thought, Eunice. For the moment, I was +what they call an absent man. Did I ever tell you the story of +the absent man? He went to call upon some acquaintance of his; +and when the servant said, 'What name, sir?' He couldn't answer. +He was obliged to confess that he had forgotten his own name. +The servant said, 'That's very strange.' The absent man at once +recovered himself. 'That's it!' he said: 'my name is Strange.' +Droll, isn't it? If I had been calling on a friend to-day, +I daresay _I_ might have forgotten my name, too. Much to think +of, Eunice--too much to think of." + +Leaving the sofa with a sigh. as if he was tired of it, he began +walking up and down. He seemed to be still in good spirits. +"Well, my dear," he said, "what can I do for you?" + +"I came here, papa to see if there was anything I could do for +You." + +He looked at some sheets of paper, strung together, and laid on +the table. They were covered with writing (from his dictation) +in my sister's hand. "I ought to get on with my work," he said. +"Where is Helena?" + +I told him that she had gone out, and begged leave to try what +I could do to supply her place. + +The request seemed to please him; but he wanted time to think. +I waited; noticing that his face grew gradually worried and +anxious. There came a vacant look into his eyes which it grieved +me to see; he appeared to have quite lost himself again. "Read +the last page," he said, pointing to the manuscript on the table; +"I don't remember where I left off." + +I turned to the last page. As well as I could tell, it related to +some publication, which he was recommending to religious persons +of our way of thinking. + +Before I had read half-way through it, he began to dictate, +speaking so rapidly that my pen was not always able to follow +him. My handwriting is as bad as bad can be when I am hurried. To +make matters worse still, I was confused. What he was now saying +seemed to have nothing to do with what I had been reading. + +Let me try if I can call to mind the substance of it. + +He began in the most strangely sudden way by asking: "Why should +there be any fear of discovery, when every possible care had +been taken to prevent it? The danger from unexpected events was +far more disquieting. A man might find himself bound in honor +to disclose what it had been the chief anxiety of his life +to conceal. For example, could he let an innocent person be +the victim of deliberate suppression of the truth--no matter +how justifiable that suppression might appear to be? On the other +hand, dreadful consequences might follow an honorable confession. +There might be a cruel sacrifice of tender affection; there might +be a shocking betrayal of innocent hope and trust." + +I remember those last words, just as he dictated them, because +he suddenly stopped there; looking, poor dear, distressed and +confused. He put his hand to his head, and went back to the sofa. + +"I'm tired," he said. "Wait for me while I rest." + +In a few minutes he fell asleep. It was a deep repose that +came to him now; and, though I don't think it lasted much longer +than half an hour, it produced a wonderful change in him for +the better when he woke. He spoke quietly and kindly; and when +he returned to me at the table and looked at the page on which +I had been writing, he smiled. + +"Oh, my dear, what bad writing! I declare I can't read what I +myself told you to write. No! no! don't be downhearted about it. +You are not used to writing from dictation; and I daresay I have +been too quick for you." He kissed me and encouraged me. "You +know how fond I am of my little girl," he said; "I am afraid +I like my Eunice just the least in the world more than I like +my Helena. Ah, you are beginning to look a little happier now!" + +He had filled me with such confidence and such pleasure that +I could not help thinking of my sweetheart. Oh dear, when shall +I learn to be distrustful of my own feelings? The temptation to +say a good word for Philip quite mastered any little discretion +that I possessed. + +I said to papa: "If you knew how to make me happier than I have +ever been in all my life before, would you do it?" + +"Of course I would." + +"Then send for Philip, dear, and be a little kinder to him, +this time." + +His pale face turned red with anger; he pushed me away from him. + +"That man again!" he burst out. "Am I never to hear the last of +him? Go away, Eunice. You are of no use here." He took up my +unfortunate page of writing and ridiculed it with a bitter laugh. +"What is this fit for?" He crumpled it up in his hand and tossed +it into the fire. + +I ran out of the room in such a state of mortification that +I hardly knew what I was about. If some hard-hearted person had +come to me with a cup of poison, and had said: "Eunice, you are +not fit to live any longer; take this," I do believe I should +have taken it. If I thought of anything, I thought of going back +to Selina. My ill luck still pursued me; she had disappeared. +I looked about in a helpless way, completely at a loss what to do +next--so stupefied, I may even say, that it was some time before +I noticed a little three-cornered note on the table by which +I was standing. The note was addressed to me: + + +"EVER-DEAREST EUNEECE--I have tried to make myself useful +to you, and have failed. But how can I see the sad sight of +your wretchedness, and not feel the impulse to try again? I have +gone to the hotel to find Philip, and to bring him back to you +a penitent and faithful man. Wait for me, and hope for great +things. A. hundred thousand kisses to my sweet Euneece. + +"S. J." + + +Wait for her, after reading that note! How could she expect it? +I had only to follow her, and to find Philip. In another minute, +I was on my way to the hotel. + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + +Looking at the last entry in my Journal, I see myself +anticipating that the event of to-day will decide Philip's future +and mine. This has proved prophetic. All further concealment +is now at an end. + +Forced to it by fate, or helped to it by chance, Eunice has made +the discovery of her lover's infidelity. "In all human +probability" (as my father says in his sermons), we two sisters +are enemies for life. + + +I am not suspected, as Eunice is, of making appointments with +a sweetheart. So I am free to go out alone, and to go where +I please. Philip and I were punctual to our appointment this +afternoon. + +Our place of meeting was in a secluded corner of the town park. +We found a rustic seat in our retirement, set up (one would +suppose) as a concession to the taste of visitors who are fond +of solitude. The view in front of us was bounded by the park wall +and railings, and our seat was prettily approached on one side +by a plantation of young trees. No entrance gate was near; no +carriage road crossed the grass. A more safe and more solitary +nook for conversation, between two persons desiring to be alone, +it would be hard to find in most public parks. Lovers are said +to know it well, and to be especially fon d of it toward evening. +We were there in broad daylight, and we had the seat to +ourselves. + +My memory of what passed between us is, in some degree, disturbed +by the formidable interruption which brought our talk to an end. + +But among other things, I remember that I showed him no mercy +at the outset. At one time I was indignant; at another I was +scornful. I declared, in regard to my object in meeting him, that +I had changed my mind, And had decided to shorten a disagreeable +interview by waiving my right to an explanation, and bidding him +farewell. Eunice, as I pointed out, had the first claim to him; +Eunice was much more likely to suit him, as a companion for life, +than I was. "In short," I said, in conclusion, "my inclination +for once takes sides with my duty, and leaves my sister in +undisturbed possession of young Mr. Dunboyne." With this +satirical explanation, I rose to say good-by. + +I had merely intended to irritate him. He showed a superiority +to anger for which I was not prepared. + +"Be so kind as to sit down again," he said quietly. + +He took my letter from his pocket, and pointed to that part of it +which alluded to his conduct, when we had met in my father's +study. + +"You have offered me the opportunity of saying a word in my own +defense," he went on. "I prize that privilege far too highly to +consent to your withdrawing it, merely because you have changed +your mind. Let me at least tell you what my errand was, when +I called on your father. Loving you, and you only, I had forced +myself to make a last effort to be true to your sister. Remember +that, Helena, and then say--is it wonderful if I was beside +myself, when I found You in the study?" + +"When you tell me you were beside yourself," I said, "do you +mean, ashamed of yourself?" + +That touched him. "I mean nothing of the kind," he burst out. +"After the hell on earth in which I have been living between +you two sisters, a man hasn't virtue enough left in him to be +ashamed. He's half mad--that's what he is. Look at my position! I +had made up my mind never to see you again; I had made up my mind +(if I married Eunice) to rid myself of my own miserable life when +I could endure it no longer. In that state of feeling, when my +sense of duty depended on my speaking with Mr. Gracedieu alone, +whose was the first face I saw when I entered the room? If I had +dared to look at you, or to speak to you, what do you think would +have become of my resolution to sacrifice myself?" + +"What has become of it now?" I asked. + +"Tell me first if I am forgiven," he said--"and you shall know." + +"Do you deserve to be forgiven?" + +It has been discovered by wiser heads than mine that weak people +are always in extremes. So far, I had seen Philip in the vain +and violent extreme. He now shifted suddenly to the sad and +submissive extreme. When I asked him if he deserved to be +forgiven, he made the humblest of all replies--he sighed and +said nothing. + +"If I did my duty to my sister," I reminded him, "I should refuse +to forgive you, and send you back to Eunice." + +"Your father's language and your father's conduct," he answered, +"have released me from that entanglement. I can never go back +to Eunice. If you refuse to forgive me, neither you nor she will +see anything more of Philip Dunboyne; I promise you that. Are you +satisfied now?" + +After holding out against him resolutely, I felt myself beginning +to yield. When a man has once taken their fancy, what helplessly +weak creatures women are! I saw through his vacillating +weakness--and yet I trusted him, with both eyes open. My looking- +glass is opposite to me while I write. It shows me a contemptible +Helena. I lied, and said I was satisfied--to please _him_. + +"Am I forgiven?" he asked. + +It is absurd to put it on record. Of course, I forgave him. +What a good Christian I am, after all! + +He took my willing hand. "My lovely darling," he said, "our +marriage rests with you. Whether your father approves of it +or not, say the word; claim me, and I am yours for life." + +I must have been infatuated by his voice and his look; my heart +must have been burning under the pressure of his hand on mine. +Was it my modesty or my self-control that deserted me? I let him +take me in his arms. Again, and again, and again I kissed him. We +were deaf to what we ought to have heard; we were blind to what +we ought to have seen. Before we were conscious of a movement +among the trees, we were discovered. My sister flew at me like a +wild animal. Her furious hands fastened themselves on my throat. +Philip started to his feet. When he touched her, in the act of +forcing her back from me, Eunice's raging strength became utter +weakness in an instant. Her arms fell helpless at her sides--her +head drooped--she looked at him in silence which was dreadful, +at such a moment as that. He shrank from the unendurable reproach +in those tearless eyes. Meanly, he turned away from her. Meanly, +I followed him. Looking back for an instant, I saw her step +forward; perhaps to stop him, perhaps to speak to him. The effort +was too much for her strength; she staggered back against +the trunk of a tree. Like strangers, walking separate one from +the other, we left her to her companion--the hideous traitress +who was my enemy and her friend. + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +HELENA'S DIARY. + +On reaching the street which led to Philip's hotel, we spoke +to each other for the first time. + +"What are we to do?" I said. + +"Leave this place," he answered. + +"Together?" I asked. + +"Yes." + +To leave us (for a while), after what had happened, might be +the wisest thing which a man, in Philip's critical position, +could do. But if I went with him--unprovided as I was with any +friend of my own sex, whose character and presence might sanction +the step I had taken--I should be lost beyond redemption. +Is any man that ever lived worth that sacrifice? I thought of +my father's house closed to me, and of our friends ashamed of me. +I have owned, in some earlier part of my Journal, that I am not +very patient under domestic cares. But the possibility of Eunice +being appointed housekeeper, with my power, in my place, was +more than I could calmly contemplate. "No," I said to Philip. +"Your absence, at such a time as this, may help us both; but, +come what may of it, I must remain at home." + +He yielded, without an attempt to make me alter my mind. There +was a sullen submission in his manner which it was not pleasant +to see. Was he despairing already of himself and of me? Had +Eunice aroused the watchful demons of shame and remorse? + +"Perhaps you are right," he said, gloomily. "Good-by." + +My anxiety put the all-important question to him without +hesitation. + +"Is it good-by forever, Philip?" + +His reply instantly relieved me: "God forbid!" + +But I wanted more: "You still love me?" I persisted. + +"More dearly than ever!" + +"And yet you leave me!" + +He turned pale. "I leave you because I am afraid." + +"Afraid of what?" + +"Afraid to face Eunice again." + +The only possible way out of our difficulty that I could see, now +occurred to me. "Suppose my sister can be prevailed on to give +you up?" I suggested. "Would you come back to us in that case?" + +"Certainly!" + +"And you would ask my father to consent to our marriage?" + +"On the day of my return, if you like." + +"Suppose obstacles get in our way," I said--"suppose time passes +and tries your patience--will you still consider yourself engaged +to me?" + +"Engaged to you," he answered, "in spite of obstacles and +in spite of time." + +"And while you are away from me," I ventured to add, "we shall +write to each other?" + +"Go where I may," he said, "you shall always hear from me." + +I could ask no more, and he could concede no more. The impression +evidently left on him by Eunice's terrible outbreak, was far more +serious than I had anticipated. I was myself depressed and ill +at ease. No expressions of tenderness were exchanged between us. +There was something horrible in our barren farewell. We merely +clasped hands, at parting. He went his way--and I went mine. + +There are some occasions when women set an example of courage +to men. I was ready to endure whatever might happen to me, when +I got home. What a desperate wretch! some people might say, +if they could look into this diary! + +Maria opened the door; she told me that my sister had already +returned, accompanied by Miss Jillgall. There had been apparently +some difference of opinion between them, before they entered +the house. Eunice had attempted to go on to some other place; +and Miss Jillgall had remonstrated. Maria had heard her say: +"No, you would degrade yourself"--and, with that, she had led +Eunice indoors. I understood, of course, that my sister had been +prevented from following Philip to the hotel. There was probably +a serious quarrel in store for me. I went straight to the +bedroom, expecting to find Eunice there, and prepared to brave +the storm that might burst on me. There was a woman at Eunice's +end of the room, removing dresses from the wardrobe. I could only +see her back, but it was impossible to mistake _that_ figure-- +Miss Jillgall. + +She laid the dresses on Eunice's bed, without taking the +slightest notice of me. In significant silence I pointed to the +door. She went on as coolly with her occupation as if the room +had been, not mine but hers; I stepped up to her, and spoke +plainly. + +"You oblige me to remind you," I said, "that you are not in +your own room." There, I waited a little, and found that I had +produced no effect. "With every disposition," I resumed, "to make +allowance for the disagreeable peculiarities of your character, +I cannot consent to overlook an act of intrusion, committed by +a Spy. Now, do you understand me?" + +She looked round her. "I see no third person here," she said. +"May I ask if you mean me?" + +"I mean you." + +"Will you be so good, Miss Helena, as to explain yourself?" + +Moderation of language would have been thrown away on this woman. +"You followed me to the park," I said. "It was you who found me +with Mr. Dunboyne, and betrayed me to my sister. You are a Spy, +and you know it. At this very moment you daren't look me in +the face." + +Her insolence forced its way out of her at last. Let me record +it--and repay it, when the time comes. + +"Quite true," she replied. "If I ventured to look you in +the face, I am afraid I might forget myself. I have always been +brought up like a lady, and I wish to show it even in the company +of such a wretch as you are. There is not one word of truth +in what you have said of me. I went to the hotel to find Mr. +Dunboyne. Ah, you may sneer! I haven't got your good looks--and +a vile use you have made of them. My object was to recall that +base young man to his duty to my dear charming injured Euneece. +The hotel servant told me that Mr. Dunboyne had gone out. Oh, +I had the means of persuasion in my pocket! The man directed me +to the park, as he had already directed Mr. Dunboyne. It was only +when I had found the place, that I heard some one behind me. +Poor innocent Euneece had followed me to the hotel, and had got +her directions, as I had got mine. God knows how hard I tried to +persuade her to go back, and how horribly frightened I was--No! +I won't distress myself by saying a word more. It would be +too humiliating to let _you_ see an honest woman in tears. +Your sister has a spirit of her own, thank God! She won't inhabit +the same room with you; she never desires to see your false face +again. I take the poor soul's dresses and things away--and as +a religious person I wait, confidently wait, for the judgment +that will fall on you!" + +She caught up the dresses all together; some of them were in +her arms, some of them fell on her shoulders, and one of them +towered over her head. Smothered in gowns, she bounced out +of the room like a walking milliner's shop. I have to thank +the wretched old creature for a moment of genuine amusement, +at a time of devouring anxiety. The meanest insect, they say, +has its use in this world--and why not Miss Jillgall? + +In half an hour more, an unexpected event raised my spirits. +I heard from Philip. + +On his return to the hotel he had found a telegram waiting for +him. Mr. Dunboyne the elder had arrived in London; and Philip +had arranged to join his father by the next train. He sent me +the address, and begged that I would write and tell him my news +from home by the next day's post. + +Welcome, thrice welcome, to Mr. Dunboyne the elder! If Philip can +manage, under my advice, to place me favorably in the estimation +of this rich old man, his presence and authority may do for us +what we cannot do for ourselves. Here is surely an influence to +which my father must submit, no matter how unreasonable or how +angry he may be when he hears what has happened. I begin already +to feel hopeful of the future. + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + +Through the day, and through the night, I feel a misery that +never leaves me--I mean the misery of fear. + +I am trying to find out some harmless means of employing myself, +which will keep evil remembrances from me. If I don't succeed, +my fear tells me what will happen. I shall be in danger of going +mad. + +I dare not confide in any living creature. I don't know what +other persons might think of me, or how soon I might find myself +perhaps in an asylum. In this helpless condition, doubt and +fright seem to be driving me back to my Journal. I wonder whether +I shall find harmless employment here. + +I have heard of old people losing their memories. What would I +not give to be old! I remember! oh, how I remember! One day after +another I see Philip, I see Helena, as I first saw them when I +was among the trees in the park. My sweetheart's arms, that once +held me, hold my sister now. She kisses him, kisses him, kisses +him. + +Is there no way of making myself see something else? I want to +get back to remembrances that don't burn in my head and tear at +my heart. How is it to be done? + +I have tried books--no! I have tried going out to look at +the shops--no! I have tried saying my prayers--no! And now I am +making my last effort; trying my pen. My black letters fall from +it, and take their places on the white paper. Will my black +letters help me? Where can I find something consoling to write +down? Where? Where? + +Selina--poor Selina, so fond of me, so sorry for me. When I was +happy, she was happy, too. It was always amusing to hear her +talk. Oh, my memory, be good to me! Save me from Philip and +Helena. I want to remember the pleasant days when my kind little +friend and I used to gossip in the garden. + +No: the days in the garden won't come back. What else can I think +of? + +. . . . . . . + +The recollections that I try to encourage keep away from me. +The other recollections that I dread, come crowding back. Still +Philip! Still Helena! + +But Selina mixes herself up with them. Let me try again if I can +think of Selina. + +How delightfully good to me and patient with me she was, on our +dismal way home from the park! And how affectionately she excused +herself for not having warned me of it, when she first suspected +that my own sister and my worst enemy were one and the same! + +"I know I was wrong, my dear, to let my love and pity close +my lips. But remember how happy you were at the time. The thought +of making you miserable was more than I could endure--I am so +fond of you! Yes; I began to suspect them, on the day when they +first met at the station. And, I am afraid, I thought it just +likely that you might be as cunning as I was, and have noticed +them, too." + +Oh, how ignorant she must have been of my true thoughts and +feelings! How strangely people seem to misunderstand their +dearest friends! knowing, as I did, that I could never love any +man but Philip, could I be wicked enough to suppose that Philip +would love any woman but me? + +I explained to Selina how he had spoken to me, when we were +walking together on the bank of the river. Shall I ever forget +those exquisite words? "I wish I was a better man, Eunice; I wish +I was good enough to be worthy of you." I asked Selina if she +thought he was deceiving me when he said that. She comforted me +by owning that he must have been in earnest, at the time--and +then she distressed me by giving the reason why. + +"My love, you must have innocently said something to him, when +you and he were alone, which touched his conscience (when he +_had_ a conscience), and made him ashamed of himself. Ah, you +were too fond of him to see how he changed for the worse, when +your vile sister joined you, and took possession of him again. It +made my heart ache to see you so unsuspicious of them. You asked +me, my poor dear, if they had quarreled--you believed they were +tired of walking by the river, when it was you they were tired +of--and you wondered why Helena took him to see the school. +My child! she was the leading spirit at the school, and you +were nobody. Her vanity saw the chance of making him compare you +at a disadvantage with your clever sister. I declare, Euneece, +I lose my head if I only think of it! All the strong points in +my character seem to slip away from me. Would you believe it?--I +have neglected that sweet infant at the cottage; I have even +let Mrs. Molly have her baby back again. If I had the making of +the laws, Philip Dunboyne and Helena Gracedieu should be hanged +together on the same gallows. I see I shock you. Don't let us +talk of it! Oh, don't let us talk of it!" + +And here am I writing of it! What I had determined not to do, is +what I have done. Am I losing my senses already? The very names +that I was most anxious to keep out of my memory stare me in the +face in the lines that I have just written. Philip again! Helena +again! + +. . . . . . . + +Another day, and something new that must and will be remembered, +shrink from it as I may. This afternoon, I met Helena on the +stairs. + +She stopped, and eyed me with a wicked smile; she held out +her hand. "We are likely to meet often, while we are in the same +house," she said; "hadn't we better consult appearances, and +pretend to be as fond of each other as ever?" + +I took no notice of her hand; I took no notice of her shameless +proposal. She tried again: "After all, it isn't my fault if +Philip likes me better than he likes you. Don't you see that?" +I still refused to speak to her. She still persisted. "How black +you look, Eunice! Are you sorry you didn't kill me, when you had +your hands on my throat?" + +I said: "Yes." + +She laughed, and left me. I was obliged to sit down on the stair +--I trembled so. My own reply frightened me. I tried to find +out why I had said Yes. I don't remember being conscious of +meaning anything. It was as if somebody else had said Yes--not +I. Perhaps I was provoked, and the word escaped me before I could +stop it. Could I have stopped it? I don't know. + +. . . . . . . + +Another sleepless night. + +Did I pass the miserable hours in writing letters to Philip and +then tearing them up? Or did I only fancy that I wrote to him? I +have just looked at the fireplace. The torn paper in it tells me +that I did write. Why did I destroy my letters? I might have sent +one of them to Philip. After what has happened? Oh, no! no! + +Having been many days away from the Girls' Scripture Class, +it seemed to be possible that going back to the school and +the teaching might help me to escape from myself. + +Nothing succeeds with me. I found it impossible to instruct +the girls as usual; their stupidity soon reached the limit of +my patience--suffocated me with rage. One of them, a poor, fat, +feeble creature, began to cry when I scolded her. I looked with +envy at the tears rolling over her big round cheeks. If I could +only cry, I might perhaps bear my hard fate with submission. + +I walked toward home by a roundabout way; feeling as if want +of sleep was killing me by inches. + +In the High Street, I saw Helena; she was posting a letter, and +was not aware that I was near her. Leaving the post-office, she +crossed the street, and narrowly escaped being run over. Suppose +the threatened accident had really taken place--how should I have +felt, if it had ended fatally? What a fool I am to be putting +questions to myself about things that have not happened! + +The walking tired me; I went straight home. + +Before I could ring the bell, the house door opened, and the +doctor came out. He stopped to speak to me. While I had been away +(he said), something had happened at home (he neither knew nor +wished to know what) which had thrown my father into a state +of violent agitation. The doctor had administered composing +medicine. "My patient is asleep now," he told me; "but remember +what I said to you the last time we met; a longer rest than any +doctor's prescription can give him is what he wants. You are not +looking well yourself, my dear. What is the matter?" + +I told him of my wretched restless nights; and asked if I might +take some of the composing medicine which he had given to +my father. He forbade me to touch a drop of it. "What is physic +for your father, you foolish child, is not physic for a young +creature like you," he said. "Count a thousand, if you can't +sleep to-night, or turn your pillow. I wish you pleasant dreams." +He went away, amused at his own humor. + +I found Selina waiting to speak with me, on the subject of poor +papa. + +She had been startled on hearing his voice, loud in anger. In the +fear that something serious had happened, she left her room to +make inquiries, and saw Helena on the landing of the flight of +stairs beneath, leaving the study. After waiting till my sister +was out of the way, Selina ventured to present herself at the +study door, and to ask if she could be of any use. My father, +walking excitedly up and down the room, declared that both his +daughters had behaved infamously, and that he would not suffer +them to speak to him again until they had come to their senses, +on the subject of Mr. Dunboyne. He would enter into no further +explanation; and he had ordered, rather than requested, Selina to +leave him. Having obeyed, she tried next to find me, and had just +looked into the dining-room to see if I was there, when she was +frightened by the sound of a fall in the room above--that is to +say, in the study. Running upstairs again, she had found him +insensible on the floor and had sent for the doctor. + +"And mind this," Selina continued, "the person who has done the +mischief is the person whom I saw leaving the study. What your +unnatural sister said to provoke her father--" + +"That your unnatural sister will tell you herself," Helena's +voice added. She had opened the door while we were too much +absorbed in our talk to hear her. + +Selina attempted to leave the room. I caught her by the hand, +and held her back. I was afraid of what I might do if she left me +by myself. Never have I felt anything like the rage that tortured +me, when I saw Helena looking at us with the same wicked smile +on her lips that had insulted me when we met on the stairs. Have +_we_ anything to be ashamed of?" I said to Selina. "Stay where +you are." + +"You may be of some use, Miss Jillgall, if you stay," my sister +suggested. "Eunice seems to be trembling. Is she angry, or is she +ill?" + +The sting of this was in the tone of her voice. It was the +hardest thing I ever had to do in my life--but I did succeed +in controlling myself. + +"Go on with what you have to say," I answered, "and don't notice +me." + +"You are not very polite, my dear, but I can make allowances. +Oh, come! come! putting up your hands to stop your ears is too +childish. You would do better to express regret for having misled +your father. Yes! you did mislead him. Only a few days since, +you left him to suppose that you were engaged to Philip. It +became my duty, after that, to open his eyes to the truth; and +if I unhappily provoked him, it was your fault. I was strictly +careful in the language I used. I said: 'Dear father, you have +been misinformed on a very serious subject. The only marriage +engagement for which your kind sanction is requested, is _my_ +engagement. _I_ have consented to become Mrs. Philip Dunboyne.'" + +"Stop!" I said. + +"Why am I to stop?" + +"Because I have something to say. You and I are looking at each +other. Does my face tell you what is passing in my mind?" + +"Your face seems to be paler than usual," she answered--"that's +all." + +"No," I said; "that is not all. The devil that possessed me, when +I discovered you with Philip, is not cast out of me yet. Silence +the sneering devil that is in You, or we may both live to regret +it." + +Whether I did or did not frighten her, I cannot say. This only +I know--she turned away silently to the door, and went out. + +I dropped on the sofa. That horrid hungering for revenge, which +I felt for the first time when I knew how Helena had wronged me, +began to degrade and tempt me again. In the effort to get away +from this new evil self of mine, I tried to find sympathy +in Selina, and called to her to come and sit by me. She seemed +to be startled when I looked at her, but she recovered herself, +and came to me, and took my hand. + +"I wish I could comfort you!" she said, in her kind simple way. + +"Keep my hand in your hand," I told her; "I am drowning in dark +water--and I have nothing to hold by but you." + +"Oh, my darling, don't talk in that way!" + +"Good Selina! dear Selina! You shall talk to me. Say something +harmless--tell me a melancholy story--try to make me cry." + +My poor little friend looked sadly bewildered. + +"I'm more likely to cry myself," she said. "This is so +heart-breaking--I almost wish I was back in the time, before +you came home, the time when your detestable sister first showed +how she hated me. I was happy, meanly happy, in the spiteful +enjoyment of provoking her. Oh, Euneece, I shall never recover +my spirits again! All the pity in the world would not be pity +enough for _you_. So hardly treated! so young! so forlorn! +Your good father too ill to help you; your poor mother--" + +I interrupted her; she had interested me in something better +than my own wretched self. I asked directly if she had known +my mother. + +"My dear child, I never even saw her!" + +"Has my father never spoken to you about her?" + +"Only once, when I asked him how long she had been dead. He told +me you lost her while you were an infant, and he told me no more. +I was looking at her portrait in the study, only yesterday. +I think it must be a bad portrait; your mother's face disappoints +me." + +I had arrived at the same conclusion years since. But I shrank +from confessing it. + +"At any rate," Selina continued, "you are not like her. Nobody +would ever guess that you were the child of that lady, with +the long slanting forehead and the restless look in her eyes." + +What Selina had said of me and my mother's portrait, other +friends had said. There was nothing that I know of to interest me +in hearing it repeated--and yet it set me pondering on the want +of resemblance between my mother's face and mine, and wondering +(not for the first time) what sort of woman my mother was. When +my father speaks of her, no words of praise that he can utter +seem to be good enough for her. Oh, me, I wish I was a little +more like my mother! + +It began to get dark; Maria brought in the lamp. The sudden +brightness of the flame struck my aching eyes, as if it had +been a blow from a knife. I was obliged to hide my face in +my handkerchief. Compassionate Selina entreated me to go to bed. +"Rest your poor eyes, my child, and your weary head--and try at +least to get some sleep." She found me very docile; I kissed her, +and said good-night. I had my own idea. + +When all was quiet in the house, I stole out into the passage +and listened at the door of my father's room. + +I heard his regular breathing, and opened the door and went in. +The composing medicine, of which I was in search, was not on the +table by his bedside. I found it in the cupboard--perhaps placed +purposely out of his reach. They say that some physic is poison, +if you take too much of it. The label on the bottle told me what +the dose was. I dropped it into the medicine glass, and swallowed +it, and went back to my father. + +Very gently, so as not to wake him, I touched poor papa's +forehead with my lips. "I must have some of your medicine," +I whispered to him; "I want it, dear, as badly as you do." + +Then I returned to my own room--and lay down in bed, waiting +to be composed. + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +EUNICE'S DIARY. + +My restless nights are passed in Selina's room. + +Her bed remains near the window. My bed has been placed opposite, +near the door. Our night-light is hidden in a corner, so that +the faint glow of it is all that we see. What trifles these +are to write about! But they mix themselves up with what I am +determined to set down in my Journal, and then to close the book +for good and all. + +I had not disturbed my little friend's enviable repose, +either when I left our bed-chamber, or when I returned to it. +The night was quiet, and the stars were out. Nothing moved +but the throbbing at my temples. The lights and shadows +in our half-darkened room, which at other times suggest strange +resemblances to my fancy, failed to disturb me now. I was in +a darkness of my own making, having bound a handkerchief, cooled +with water, over my hot eyes. There was nothing to interfere +with the soothing influence of the dose that I had taken, if +my father's medicine would only help me. + +I began badly. The clock in the hall struck the quarter past +the hour, the half-past, the three-quarters past, the new hour. +Time was awake--and I was awake with Time. + +It was such a trial to my patience that I thought of going back +to my father's room, and taking a second dose of the medicine, no +matter what the risk might be. On attempting to get up, I became +aware of a change in me. There was a dull sensation in my limbs +which seemed to bind them down on the bed. It was the strangest +feeling. My will said, Get up--and my heavy limbs said, No. + +I lay quite still, thinking desperate thoughts, and getting +nearer and nearer to the end that I had been dreading for so many +days past. Having been as well educated as most girls, my lessons +in history had made me acquainted with assassination and murder. +Horrors which I had recoiled from reading in past happy days, now +returned to my memory; and, this time, they interested instead +of revolting me. I counted the three first ways of killing as +I happened to remember them, in my books of instruction:--a way +by stabbing; a way by poison; a way in a bed, by suffocation with +a pillow. On that dreadful night, I never once called to mind +what I find myself remembering now--the harmless past time, when +our friends used to say: "Eunice is a good girl; we are all fond +of Eunice." Shall I ever be the same lovable creature again? + +While I lay thinking, a strange thing happened. Philip, who +had haunted me for days and nights together, vanished out of +my thoughts. My memory of the love which had begun so brightly, +and had ended so miserably, became a blank. Nothing was left but +my own horrid visions of vengeance and death. + +For a while, the strokes of the clock still reached my ears. +But it was an effort to count them; I ended in letting them pass +unheeded. Soon afterward, the round of my thoughts began to +circle slowly and more slowly. The strokes of the clock died out. +The round of my thoughts stopped. + +All this time, my eyes were still covered by the handkerchief +which I had laid over them. + +The darkness began to weigh on my spirits, and to fill me +with distrust. I found myself suspecting that there was some +change--perhaps an unearthly change--passing over the room. +To remain blindfolded any longer was more than I could endure. +I lifted my hand--without being conscious of the heavy sensation +which, some time before, had laid my limbs helpless on the bed-- +I lifted my hand, and drew the handkerchief away from my eyes. + +The faint glow of the night-light was extinguished. + +But the room was not quite dark. There was a ghastly light +trembling over it; like nothing that I have ever seen by day; +like nothing that I have ever seen by night. I dimly discerned +Selina's bed, and the frame of the window, and the curtains +on either side of it--but not the starlight, and not the shadowy +tops of the trees in the garden. + +The light grew fainter and fainter; the objects in the room faded +slowly away. Darkness came. + +It may be a saying hard to believe--but, when I declare that +I was not frightened, I am telling the truth. Whether the room +was lighted by awful light, or sunk in awful dark, I was equally +interested in the expectation of what might happen next. +I listened calmly for what I might hear: I waited calmly for +what I might feel. + +A touch came first. I feel it creeping on my face--like a little +fluttering breeze. The sensation pleased me for a while. Soon it +grew colder, and colder, and colder, till it froze me. + +"Oh, no more!" I cried out. "You are killing me with an icy +death!" + +The dead-cold touches lingered a moment longer--and left me. + +The first sound came. + +It was the sound of a whisper on my pillow, close to my ear. My +strange insensibility to fear remained undisturbed. The whisper +was welcome, it kept me company in the dark room. + +It said to me: "Do you know who I am?" + +I answered: "No." + +It said: "Who have you been thinking of this evening?" + +I answered: "My mother." + +The whisper said: "I am your mother." + +"Oh, mother, command the light to come back! Show yourself +to me!" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"My face was hidden when I passed from life to death. My face +no mortal creature may see." + +"Oh, mother, touch me! Kiss me!" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"My touch is poison. My kiss is death." + +The sense of fear began to come to me now. I moved my head away +on the pillow. The whisper followed my movement. + +"Leave me," I said. "You are an Evil Spirit." + +The whisper answered: "I am your mother." + +"You come to tempt me." + +"I come to harden your heart. Daughter of mine, whose blood +is cool; daughter of mine, who tamely submits--you have loved. +Is it true?" + +"It is true." + +"The man you loved has deserted you. Is it true?" + +"It is true." + +"A woman has lured him away to herself. A woman has had no mercy +on you, or on him. Is it true?" + +"It is true." + +"If she lives, what crime toward you will she commit next?" + +"If she lives, she will marry him." + +"Will you let her live?" + +"Never." + +"Have I hardened your heart against her?" + +"Yes." + +"Will you kill her?" + +"Show me how." + +There was a sudden silence. I was still left in the darkness; +feeling nothing, hearing nothing. Even the consciousness that +I was lying on my bed deserted me. I had no idea that I was +in the bedroom; I had no knowledge of where I was. + +The ghastly light that I had seen already dawned on me once more. +I was no longer in my bed, no longer in my room, no longer in +the house. Without wonder, without even a feeling of surprise, +I looked round. The place was familiar to me. I was alone in +the Museum of our town. + +The light flowed along in front of me. I followed, from room +to room in the Museum, where the light led. + +First, through the picture-gallery, hung with the works of modern +masters; then, through the room filled with specimens of stuffed +animals. The lion and the tiger, the vulture of the Alps and +the great albatross, looked like living creatures threatening me, +in the supernatural light. I entered the third room, devoted to +the exhibition of ancient armor, and the weapons of all nations. +Here the light rose higher, and, leaving me in darkness where +I stood, showed a collection of swords, daggers, and knives +arranged on the wall in imitation of the form of a star. + +The whisper sounded again, close at my ear. It echoed my own +thought, when I called to mind the ways of killing which history +had taught me. It said: "Kill her with the knife." + +No. My heart failed me when I thought of the blood. I hid +the dreadful weapons from my view. I cried out: "Let me go! +let me go!" + +Again, I was lost in darkness. Again, I had no knowledge in me +of where I was. Again, after an interval, the light showed me +the new place in which I stood. + +I was alone in the burial-ground of our parish church. The light +led me on, among the graves, to the lonely corner in which the +great yew tree stands; and, rising higher, revealed the solemn +foliage, brightened by the fatal red fruit which hides in itself +the seeds of death. + +The whisper tempted me again. It followed again the train of +my own thought. It said: "Kill her by poison." + +No. Revenge by poison steals its way to its end. The base +deceitfulness of Helena's crime against me seemed to call for +a day of reckoning that hid itself under no disguise. I raised +my cry to be delivered from the sight of the deadly tree. +The changes which I have tried to describe followed once more +the confession of what I felt; the darkness was dispelled for +the third time. + +I was standing in Helena's room, looking at her as she lay asleep +in her bed. + +She was quite still now; but she must have been restless at some +earlier time. The bedclothes were disordered, her head had sunk +so low that the pillow rose high and vacant above her. There, +colored by a tender flush of sleep, was the face whose beauty put +my poor face to shame. There, was the sister who had committed +the worst of murders--the wretch who had killed in me all that +made life worth having. While that thought was in my mind, +I heard the whisper again. "Kill her openly," the tempter mother +said. "Kill her daringly. Faint heart, do you still want courage? +Rouse your spirit; look! see yourself in the act!" + +The temptation took a form which now tried me for the first time. + +As if a mirror had reflected the scene, I saw myself standing +by the bedside, with the pillow that was to smother the sleeper +in my hands. I heard the whispering voice telling me how to speak +the words that warned and condemned her: "Wake! you who have +taken him from me! Wake! and meet your doom." + +I saw her start up in bed. The sudden movement disordered +the nightdress over her bosom and showed the miniature portrait +of a man, hung round her neck. + +The man was Philip. The likeness was looking at me. + +So dear, so lovely--those eyes that had once been the light of +my heart, mourned for me and judged me now. They saw the guilty +thought that polluted me; they brought me to my knees, imploring +him to help me back to my better self: "One last mercy, dear, +to comfort me under the loss of you. Let the love that was once +my life, be my good angel still. Save me, Philip, even though +you forsake me--save me from myself!" + +. . . . . . . + +There was a sudden cry. + +The agony of it pierced my brain--drove away the ghastly light-- +silenced the tempting whispers. I came to myself. I saw--and not +in a dream. + +Helena _had_ started up in her bed. That cry of terror, at +the sight of me in her room at night, _had_ burst from her lips. +The miniature of Philip hung round her neck, a visible reality. +Though my head was dizzy, though my heart was sinking, I had +not lost my senses yet. All that the night lamp could show me, +I still saw; and I heard the sound, faintly, when the door +of the bed-chamber was opened. Alarmed by that piercing cry, +my father came hurrying into the room. + +Not a word passed between us three. The whispers that I had heard +were wicked; the thoughts that had been in my mind were vile. +Had they left some poison in the air of the room, which killed +the words on our lips? + +My father looked at Helena. With a trembling hand she pointed +to me. He put his arm round me and held me up. I remember +his leading me away--and I remember nothing more. + +My last words are written. I lock up this journal of misery- +never, I hope and pray, to open it again. + +----- + +Second Period (continued). + +EVENTS IN THE FAMILY, RELATED BY THE GOVERNOR. + +----- + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +THE MIDDLE-AGED LADY. + +In the year 1870 I found myself compelled to submit to +the demands of two hard task-masters. + +Advancing age and failing health reminded the Governor of +the Prison of his duty to his successor, in one unanswerable +word--Resign. + +When they have employed us and interested us, for the greater +part of our lives, we bid farewell to our duties--even to +the gloomy duties of a prison--with a sense of regret. My view +of the future presented a vacant prospect indeed, when I looked +at my idle life to come, and wondered what I should do with it. +Loose on the world--at my age!--I drifted into domestic refuge, +under the care of my two dear and good sons. After a while +(never mind how long a while) I began to grow restless under +the heavy burden of idleness. Having nothing else to complain of, +I complained of my health, and consulted a doctor. That sagacious +man hit on the right way of getting rid of me--he recommended +traveling. + +This was unexpected advice. After some hesitation, I accepted it +reluctantly. + +The instincts of age recoil from making new acquaintances, +contemplating new places, and adopting new habits. Besides, +I hate railway traveling. However, I contrived to get as far as +Italy, and stopped to rest at Florence. Here, I found pictures +by the old masters that I could really enjoy, a public park that +I could honestly admire, and an excellent friend and colleague of +former days; once chaplain to the prison, now clergyman in charge +of the English Church. We met in the gallery of the Pitti Palace; +and he recognized me immediately. I was pleased to find that +the lapse of years had made so little difference in my personal +appearance. + +The traveler who advances as far as Florence, and does not go +on to Rome, must be regardless indeed of the opinions of his +friends. Let me not attempt to conceal it--I am that insensible +traveler. Over and over again, I said to myself: "Rome must +be done"; and over and over again I put off doing it. To own +the truth, the fascinations of Florence, aided by the society +of my friend, laid so strong a hold on me that I believe I should +have ended my days in the delightful Italian city, but for +the dangerous illness of one of my sons. This misfortune hurried +me back to England, in dread, every step of the way, of finding +that I had arrived too late. The journey (thank God!) proved +to have been taken without need. My son was no longer in danger, +when I reached London in the year 1875. + +At that date I was near enough to the customary limit of human +life to feel the necessity of rest and quiet. In other words, +my days of travel had come to their end. + +Having established myself in my own country, I did not forget +to let old friends know where they might find me. Among those +to whom I wrote was another colleague of past years, who still +held his medical appointment in the prison. When I received +the doctor's reply, it inclosed a letter directed to me at +my old quarters in the Governor's rooms. Who could possibly have +sent a letter to an address which I had left five years since? +My correspondent proved to be no less a person than the +Congregational Minister--the friend whom I had estranged from +me by the tone in which I had written to him, on the long-past +occasion of his wife's death. + +It was a distressing letter to read. I beg permission to give +only the substance of it in this place. + +Entreating me, with touching expressions of humility and sorrow, +to forgive his long silence, the writer appealed to my friendly +remembrance of him. He was in sore need of counsel, under serious +difficulties; and I was the only person to whom he could apply +for help. In the disordered state of his health at that time, +he ventured to hope that I would visit him at his present place +of abode, and would let him have the happiness of seeing me +as speedily as possible. He concluded with this extraordinary +postscript: + +"When you see my daughters, say nothing to either of them which +relates, in any way, to the subject of their ages. You shall hear +why when we meet." + +The reading of this letter naturally reminded me of the claims +which my friend's noble conduct had established on my admiration +and respect, at the past time when we met in the prison. I could +not hesitate to grant his request--strangely as it was expressed, +and doubtful as the prospect appeared to be of my answering +the expectations which he had founded on the renewal of +our intercourse. Answering his letter by telegraph, I promised +to be with him on the next day. + +On arriving at the station, I found that I was the only traveler, +by a first-class carriage, who left the train. A young lady, +remarkable by her good looks and good dressing, seemed to have +noticed this trifling circumstance. She approached me with +a ready smile. "I believe I am speaking to my father's friend," +she said; "my name is Helena Gracedieu." + +Here was one of the Minister's two "daughters"; and that one of +the two--as I discovered the moment I shook hands with her--who +was my friend's own child. Miss Helena recalled to me her +mother's face, infinitely improved by youth and health, and by +a natural beauty which that cruel and deceitful woman could never +have possessed. The slanting forehead and the shifting, flashing +eyes, that I recollected in the parent, were reproduced (slightly +reproduced, I ought to say) in the child. As for the other +features, I had never seen a more beautiful nose and mouth, +or a more delicately-shaped outline, than was presented by +the lower part of the face. But Miss Helena somehow failed +to charm me. I doubt if I should have fallen in love with her, +even in the days when I was a foolish young man. + +The first question that I put, as we drove from the station +to the house, related naturally to her father. + +"He is very ill," she began; "I am afraid you must prepare +yourself to see a sad change. Nerves. The mischief first showed +itself, the doctor tells us, in derangement of his nervous +system. He has been, I regret to tell you, obstinate in refusing +to give up his preaching and pastoral work. He ought to have +tried rest at the seaside. Things have gone on from bad to worse. +Last Sunday, at the beginning of his sermon, he broke down. Very, +very sad, is it not? The doctor says that precious time has been +lost, and he must make up his mind to resign his charge. He won't +hear of it. You are his old friend. Please try to persuade him." + +Fluently spoken; the words well chosen; the melodious voice +reminding me of the late Mrs. Gracedieu's advantages in that +respect; little sighs judiciously thrown in here and there, just +at the right places; everything, let me own, that could present +a dutiful daughter as a pattern of propriety--and nothing, +let me add, that could produce an impression on my insensible +temperament. If I had not been too discreet to rush at a hasty +conclusion, I might have been inclined to say: her mother's +child, every inch of her! + +The interest which I was still able to feel in my friend's +domestic affairs centered in the daughter whom he had adopted. + +In her infancy I had seen the child, and liked her; I was the one +person living (since the death of Mrs. Gracedieu) who knew how +the Minister had concealed the sad secret of her parentage; and +I wanted to discover if the hereditary taint had begun to show +itself in the innocent offspring of the murderess. Just as +I was considering how I might harmlessly speak of Miss Helena's +"sister," Miss Helena herself introduced the subject. + +"May I ask," she resumed, "if you were disappointed when you +found nobody but me to meet you at our station?" + +Here was an opportunity of paying her a compliment, if I had been +a younger man, or if she had produced a favorable impression on +me. As it was, I hit--if I may praise myself--on an ingenious +compromise. + +"What excuse could I have," I asked, "for feeling disappointed?" + +"Well, I hear you are an official personage--I ought to say, +perhaps, a retired official personage. We might have received +you more respectfully, if _both_ my father's daughters had been +present at the station. It's not my fault that my sister was not +with me." + +The tone in which she said this strengthened my prejudice against +her. It told me that the two girls were living together on no +very friendly terms; and it suggested--justly or unjustly I could +not then decide--that Miss Helena was to blame. + +"My sister is away from home." + +"Surely, Miss Helena, that is a good reason for her not coming +to meet me?" + +"I beg your pardon--it is a bad reason. She has been sent away +for the recovery of her health--and the loss of her health is +entirely her own fault." + +What did this matter to me? I decided on dropping the subject. +My memory reverted, however, to past occasions on which the loss +of _my_ health had been entirely my own fault. There was +something in these personal recollections, which encouraged +my perverse tendency to sympathize with a young lady to whom +I had not yet been introduced. The young lady's sister appeared +to be discouraged by my silence. She said: "I hope you don't +think the worse of me for what I have just mentioned?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Perhaps you will fail to see any need of my speaking of +my sister at all? Will you kindly listen, if I try to explain +myself?" + +"With pleasure." + +She slyly set the best construction on my perfectly commonplace +reply. + +"Thank you," she said. "The fact is, my father (I can't imagine +why) wishes you to see my sister as well as me. He has written +to the farmhouse at which she is now staying, to tell her to come +home to-morrow. It is possible--if your kindness offers me +an opportunity--that I may ask to be guided by your experience, +in a little matter which interests me. My sister is rash, +and reckless, and has a terrible temper. I should be very sorry +indeed if you were induced to form an unfavorable opinion of me, +from anything you might notice if you see us together. You +understand me, I hope?" + +"I quite understand you." + +To set me against her sister, in her own private interests-- +there, as I felt sure, was the motive under which she was acting. +As hard as her mother, as selfish as her mother, and, judging +from those two bad qualities, probably as cruel as her mother. +That was how I understood Miss Helena Gracedieu, when our +carriage drew up at her father's house. + +A middle-aged lady was on the doorstep, when we arrived, just +ringing the bell. She looked round at us both; being evidently +as complete a stranger to my fair companion as she was to me. +When the servant opened the door, she said: + +"Is Miss Jillgall at home?" + +At the sound of that odd name, Miss Helena tossed her head +disdainfully. She took no sort of notice of the stranger-lady +who was at the door of her father's house. This young person's +contempt for Miss Jillgall appeared to extend to Miss Jillgall's +friends. + +In the meantime, the servant's answer was: "Not at home." + +The middle aged lady said: "Do you expect her back soon?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"I will call again, later in the day." + +"What name, if you please?" + +The lady stole another look at me, before she replied. + +"Never mind the name," she said--and walked away. + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +THE MINISTER'S MISFORTUNE. + +"Do you know that lady?" Miss Helena asked, as we entered +the house. + +"She is a perfect stranger to me," I answered. + +"Are you sure you have not forgotten her?" + +"Why do you think I have forgotten her?" + +"Because she evidently remembered you." + +The lady had no doubt looked at me twice. If this meant that +my face was familiar to her, I could only repeat what I have +already said. Never, to my knowledge, had I seen her before. + +Leading the way upstairs, Miss Helena apologized for taking me +into her father's bedroom. "He is able to sit up in an armchair," +she said; "and he might do more, as I think, if he would exert +himself. He won't exert himself. Very sad. Would you like to look +at your room, before you see my father? It is quite ready for +you. We hope"--she favored me with a fascinating smile, devoted +to winning my heart when her interests required it--"we hope you +will pay us a long visit; we look on you as one of ourselves." + +I thanked her, and said I would shake hands with my old friend +before I went to my room. We parted at the bedroom door. + +It is out of my power to describe the shock that overpowered me +when I first saw the Minister again, after the long interval +of time that had separated us. Nothing that his daughter said, +nothing that I myself anticipated, had prepared me for that +lamentable change. For the moment, I was not sufficiently +master of myself to be able to speak to him. He added to my +embarrassment by the humility of his manner, and the formal +elaboration of his apologies. + +"I feel painfully that I have taken a liberty with you," he said, +"after the long estrangement between us--for which my want of +Christian forbearance is to blame. Forgive it, sir, and forget +it. I hope to show that necessity justifies my presumption, +in subjecting you to a wearisome journey for my sake." + +Beginning to recover myself, I begged that he would make no more +excuses. My interruption seemed to confuse him. + +"I wished to say," he went on, "that you are the one man who +can understand me. There is my only reason for asking to see +you, and looking forward as I do to your advice. You remember +the night--or was it the day?--before that miserable woman was +hanged? You were the only person present when I agreed to adopt +the poor little creature, stained already (one may say) by +its mother's infamy. I think your wisdom foresaw what a terrible +responsibility I was undertaking; you tried to prevent it. Well! +well! you have been in my confidence--you only. Mind! nobody +in this house knows that one of the two girls is not really my +daughter. Pray stop me, if you find me wandering from the point. +My wish is to show that you are the only man I can open my heart +to. She--" He paused, as if in search of a lost idea, and left +the sentence uncompleted. "Yes," he went on, "I was thinking of +my adopted child. Did I ever tell you that I baptized her myself? +and by a good Scripture name too--Eunice. Ah, sir, that little +helpless baby is a grown-up girl now; of an age to inspire love, +and to feel love. I blush to acknowledge it; I have behaved with +a want of self-control, with a cowardly weakness.--No! I am, +indeed, wandering this time. I ought to have told you first that +I have been brought face to face with the possibility of Eunice's +marriage. And, to make it worse still, I can't help liking +the young man. He comes of a good family--excellent manners, +highly educated, plenty of money, a gentleman in every sense +of the word. And poor little Eunice is so fond of him! Isn't +it dreadful to be obliged to check her dearly-loved Philip? +The young gentleman's name is Philip. Do you like the name? I say +I am obliged to cheek her sweetheart in the rudest manner, when +all he wants to do is to ask me modestly for my sweet Eunice's +hand. Oh, what have I not suffered, without a word of sympathy +to comfort me, before I had courage enough to write to you! Shall +I make a dreadful confession? If my religious convictions had +not stood in my way, I believe I should have committed suicide. +Put yourself in my place. Try to see yourself shrinking from +a necessary explanation, when the happiness of a harmless girl +--so dutiful, so affectionate--depended on a word of kindness +from your lips. And that word you are afraid to speak! Don't +take offense, sir; I mean myself, not you. Why don't you say +omething?" he burst out fiercely, incapable of perceiving that +he had allowed me no opportunity of speaking to him. "Good God! +don't you understand me, after all?" + +The signs of mental confusion in his talk had so distressed me, +that I had not been composed enough to feel sure of what he +really meant, until he described himself as "shrinking from +a necessary explanation." Hearing those words, my knowledge of +the circumstances helped me; I realized what his situation really +was. + +"Compose yourself," I said, "I understand you at last." + +He had suddenly become distrustful. + +"Prove it," he muttered, with a furtive look at me. "I want +to be satisfied that you understand my position." + +"This is your position," I told him. "You are placed between +two deplorable alternatives. If you tell this young gentleman +that Miss Eunice's mother was a criminal hanged for murder, +his family--even if he himself doesn't recoil from it--will +unquestionably forbid the marriage; and your adopted daughter's +happiness will be the sacrifice." + +"True!" he said. "Frightfully true! Go on." + +"If, on the other hand, you sanction the marriage, and conceal +the truth, you commit a deliberate act of deceit; and you leave +the lives of the young couple at the mercy of a possible +discovery, which might part husband and wife--cast a slur +on their children--and break up the household." + +He shuddered while he listened to me. "Come to the end of it," +he cried. + +I had no more to say, and I was obliged to answer him to that +effect. + +"No more to say?" he replied. "You have not told me yet what +I most want to know." + +I did a rash thing; I asked what it was that he most wanted +to know. + +"Can't you see it for yourself?" he demanded indignantly. +"Suppose you were put between those two alternatives which +you mentioned just now." + +"Well?" + +"What would you do, sir, in my place? Would you own the +disgraceful truth--before the marriage--or run the risk, +and keep the horrid story to yourself?" + +Either way, my reply might lead to serious consequences. +I hesitated. + +He threatened me with his poor feeble hand. It was only the anger +of a moment; his humor changed to supplication. He reminded me +piteously of bygone days: "You used to be a kind-hearted man. Has +age hardened you? Have you no pity left for your old friend? My +poor heart is sadly in want of a word of wisdom, spoken kindly." + +Who could have resisted this? I took his hand: "Be at ease, dear +Minister. In your place I should run the risk, and keep that +horrid story to myself." + +He sank back gently in his chair. "Oh, the relief of it!" he +said. "How can I thank you as I ought for quieting my mind?" + +I seized the opportunity of quieting his mind to good purpose by +suggesting a change of subject. "Let us have done with serious +talk for the present," I proposed. "I have been an idle man for +the last five years, and I want to tell you about my travels." + +His attention began to wander, he evidently felt no interest +in my travels. "Are you sure," he asked anxiously, "that we have +said all we ought to say? No!" he cried, answering his own +question. "I believe I have forgotten something--I am certain +I have forgotten something. Perhaps I mentioned it in the letter +I wrote to you. Have you got my letter?" + +I showed it to him. He read the letter, and gave it back to me +with a heavy sigh. "Not there!" he said despairingly. "Not +there!" + +"Is the lost remembrance connected with anybody in the house?" +I asked, trying to help him. "Does it relate, by any chance, +to one of the young ladies?" + +"You wonderful man! Nothing escapes you. Yes; the thing I have +forgotten concerns one of the girls. Stop! Let me get at it by +myself. Surely it relates to Helena?" He hesitated; his face +clouded over with an expression of anxious thought. "Yes; it +relates to Helena," he repeated "but how?" His eyes filled with +tears. "I am ashamed of my weakness," he said faintly. "You don't +know how dreadful it is to forget things in this way." + +The injury that his mind had sustained now assumed an aspect +that was serious indeed. The subtle machinery, which stimulates +the memory, by means of the association of ideas, appeared to +have lost its working power in the intellect of this unhappy man. +I made the first suggestion that occurred to me, rather than add +to his distress by remaining silent. + +"If we talk of your daughter," I said, "the merest accident--a +word spoken at random by. you or me--may be all your memory wants +to rouse it." + +He agreed eagerly to this: "Yes! Yes! Let me begin. Helena met +you, I think, at the station. Of course, I remember that; it only +happened a few hours since. Well?" he went on, with a change +in his manner to parental pride, which it was pleasant to see, +"did you think my daughter a fine girl? I hope Helena didn't +disappoint you?" + +"Quite the contrary." Having made that necessary reply, I saw +my way to keeping his mind occupied by a harmless subject. +"It must, however, be owned," I went on, "that your daughter +surprised me." + +"In what way?" + +"When she mentioned her name. Who could have supposed that +you--an inveterate enemy to the Roman Catholic Church--would have +christened your daughter by the name of a Roman Catholic Saint?" + +He listened to this with a smile. Had I happily blundered on some +association which his mind was still able to pursue? + +"You happen to be wrong this time," he said pleasantly. "I never +gave my girl the name of Helena; and, what is more, I never +baptized her. You ought to know that. Years and years ago, I +wrote to tell you that my poor wife had made me a proud and happy +father. And surely I said that the child was born while she was +on a visit to her brother's rectory. Do you remember the name of +the place? I told you it was a remote little village, called-- +Suppose we put _your_ memory to a test? Can you remember the +name?" he asked, with a momentary appearance of triumph showing +itself, poor fellow, in his face. + +After the time that had elapsed, the name had slipped my memory. +When I confessed this, he exulted over me, with an unalloyed +pleasure which it was cheering to see. + +"_Your_ memory is failing you now," he said. "The name is Long +Lanes. And what do you think my wife did--this is so +characteristic of her!--when I presented myself at her bedside. +Instead of speaking of our own baby, she reminded me of the name +that I had given to our adopted daughter when I baptized the +child. 'You chose the ugliest name that a girl can have,' she +said. I begged her to remember that 'Eunice' was a name in +Scripture. She persisted in spite of me. (What firmness of +character!) 'I detest the name of Eunice!' she said; 'and now +that I have a girl of my own, it's my turn to choose the name; +I claim it as my right.' She was beginning to get excited; +I allowed her to have her own way, of course. 'Only let me know,' +I said, 'what the name is to be when you have thought of it.' +My dear sir, she had the name ready, without thinking about it: +'My baby shall be called by the name that is sweetest in my ears, +the name of my dear lost mother.' We had--what shall I call it?-- +a slight difference of opinion when I heard that the name was to +be Helena. I really could _not_ reconcile it to my conscience to +baptize a child of mine by the name of a Popish saint. My wife's +brother set things right between us. A worthy good man; he died +not very long ago--I forget the date. Not to detain you any +longer, the rector of Long Lanes baptized our daughter. That +is how she comes by her un-English name; and so it happens that +her birth is registered in a village which her father has never +inhabited. I hope, sir, you think a little better of my memory +now?" + +I was afraid to tell him what I really did think. + +He was not fifty years old yet; and he had just exhibited one +of the sad symptoms which mark the broken memory of old age. +Lead him back to the events of many years ago, and (as he had +just proved to me) he could remember well and relate coherently. +But let him attempt to recall circumstances which had only +taken place a short time since, and forgetfulness and confusion +presented the lamentable result, just as I have related it. + +The effort that he had made, the agitation that he had undergone +in talking to me, had confirmed my fears that he would overtask +his wasted strength. He lay back in his chair. "Let us go on with +our conversation," he murmured. "We haven't recovered what I had +forgotten, yet." His eyes closed, and opened again languidly. +"There was something I wanted to recall--" he resumed, "and you +were helping me." His weak voice died away; his weary eyes closed +again. After waiting until there could be no doubt that he was +resting peacefully in sleep, I left the room. + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +THE LIVELY OLD MAID. + +A perfect stranger to the interior of the house (seeing that +my experience began and ended with the Minister's bedchamber), +I descended the stairs, in the character of a guest in search +of domestic information. + +On my way down, I heard the door of a room on the ground floor +opened, and a woman' s voice below, speaking in a hurry: "My +dear, I have not a moment to spare; my patients are waiting for +me." This was followed by a confidential communication, judging +by the tone. "Mind! not a word about me to that old gentleman!" +Her patients were waiting for her--had I discovered a female +doctor? And there was some old gentleman whom she was not willing +to trust--surely I was not that much-injured man? + +Reaching the hall just as the lady said her last words, I caught +a glimpse of her face, and discovered the middle-aged stranger +who had called on "Miss Jillgall," and had promised to repeat her +visit. A second lady was at the door, with her back to me, taking +leave of her friend. Having said good-by, she turned round--and +we confronted each other. + +I found her to be a little person, wiry and active; past the +prime of life, and ugly enough to encourage prejudice, in persons +who take a superficial view of their fellow-creatures. Looking +impartially at the little sunken eyes which rested on me with +a comical expression of embarrassment, I saw signs that said: +There is some good here, under a disagreeable surface, if you can +only find it. + +She saluted me with a carefully-performed curtsey, and threw open +the door of a room on the ground floor. + +"Pray walk in, sir, and permit me to introduce myself. I am +Mr. Gracedieu's cousin--Miss Jillgall. Proud indeed to make +the acquaintance of a gentleman distinguished in the service +of his country--or perhaps I ought to say, in the service of +the Law. The Governor offers hospitality to prisoners. And who +introduces prisoners to board and lodging with the Governor? +--the Law. Beautiful weather for the time of year, is it not? +May I ask--have you seen your room?" + +The embarrassment which I had already noticed had extended by +this time to her voice and her manner. She was evidently trying +to talk herself into a state of confidence. It seemed but too +probable that I was indeed the person mentioned by her prudent +friend at the door. + +Having acknowledged that I had not seen my room yet, my +politeness attempted to add that there was no hurry. The wiry +little lady was of the contrary opinion; she jumped out of +her chair as if she had been shot out of it. "Pray let me make +myself useful. The dream of my life is to make myself useful +to others; and to such a man as you--I consider myself honored. +Besides, I do enjoy running up and down stairs. This way, dear +sir; this way to your room." + +She skipped up the stairs, and stopped on the first landing. +"Do you know, I am a timid person, though I may not look like it. +Sometimes, curiosity gets the better of me--and then I grow bold. +Did you notice a lady who was taking leave of me just now at +the house door?" + +I replied that I had seen the lady for a moment, but not for +the first time. "Just as I arrived here from the station," +I said, "I found her paying a visit when you were not at home." + +"Yes--and do tell me one thing more." My readiness in answering +seemed to have inspired Miss Jillgall with confidence. I heard +no more confessions of overpowering curiosity. "Am I right," +she proceeded, "in supposing that Miss Helena accompanied you + on your way here from the station?" + +"Quite right." + +"Did she say anything particular, when she saw the lady asking +for me at the door?" + +"Miss Helena thought," I said, "that the lady recognized me as +a person whom she had seen before." + +"And what did you think yourself?" + +"I thought Miss Helena was wrong." + +"Very extraordinary!" With that remark, Miss Jillgall dropped +the subject. The meaning of her reiterated inquiries was now, +as it seemed to me, clear enough. She was eager to discover +how I could have inspired the distrust of me, expressed in +the caution addressed to her by her friend. + +When we reached the upper floor, she paused before the Minister's +room. + +"I believe many years have passed," she said, "since you last saw +Mr. Gracedieu. I am afraid you have found him a sadly changed +man? You won't be angry with me, I hope, for asking more +questions? I owe Mr. Gracedieu a debt of gratitude which no +devotion, on my part, can ever repay. You don't know what a favor +I shall consider it, if you will tell me what you think of him. +Did it seem to you that he was not quite himself? I don't mean +in his looks, poor dear--I mean in his mind." + +There was true sorrow and sympathy in her face. I believe +I should hardly have thought her ugly, if we had first met at +that moment. Thus far, she had only amused me. I began really +to like Miss Jillgall now. + +"I must not conceal from you," I replied, "that the state of Mr. +Gracedieu's mind surprised and distressed me. But I ought also +to tell you that I saw him perhaps at his worst. The subject +on which he wished to speak with me would have agitated any man, +in his state of health. He consulted me about his daughter's +marriage." + +Miss Jillgall suddenly turned pale. + +"His daughter's marriage?" she repeated. "Oh, you frighten me!" + +"Why should I frighten you?" + +She seemed to find some difficulty in expressing herself. +"I hardly know how to put it, sir. You will excuse me (won't +you?) if I say what I feel. You have influence--not the sort +of influence that finds places for people who don't deserve them, +and gets mentioned in the newspapers--I only mean influence +over Mr. Gracedieu. That's what frightens me. How do I know--? +Oh, dear, I'm asking another question! Allow me, for once, +to be plain and positive. I'm afraid, sir, you have encouraged +the Minister to consent to Helena's marriage." + +"Pardon me," I answered, "you mean Eunice's marriage." + +"No, sir! Helena." + +"No, madam! Eunice." + +"What does he mean?" said Miss Jillgall to herself. + +I heard her. "This is what I mean," I asserted, in my most +positive manner. "The only subject on which the Minister +has consulted me is Miss Eunice's marriage." + +My tone left her no alternative but to believe me. She looked not +only bewildered, but alarmed. "Oh, poor man, has he lost himself +in such a dreadful way as that?" she said to herself. "I daren't +believe it!" She turned to me. "You have been talking with him +for some time. Please try to remember. While Mr. Gracedieu was +speaking of Euneece, did he say nothing of Helena's infamous +conduct to her sister?" + +Not the slightest hint of any such thing, I assured her, had +reached my ears. + +"Then," she cried, "I can tell you what he has forgotten! We +kept as much of that miserable story to ourselves as we could, +in mercy to him. Besides, he was always fondest of Euneece; she +would live in his memory when he had forgotten the other--the +wretch, the traitress, the plotter, the fiend!" Miss Jillgall's +good manners slipped, as it were, from under her; she clinched +her fists as a final means of expressing her sentiments. +"The wretched English language isn't half strong enough for me," +she declared with a look of fury. + +I took a liberty. "May I ask what Miss Helena has done?" I said. + +"_May_ you ask? Oh, Heavens! you must ask, you shall ask. Mr. +Governor, if your eyes are not opened to Helena's true character, +I can tell you what she will do; she will deceive you into taking +her part. Do you think she went to the station out of regard for +the great man? Pooh! she went with an eye to her own interests; +and she means to make the great man useful. Thank God, I can stop +that!" + +She checked herself there, and looked suspiciously at the door +of Mr. Gracedieu's room. + +"In the interest of our conversation," she whispered, "we have +not given a thought to the place we have been talking in. Do you +think the Minister has heard us?" + +"Not if he is asleep--as I left him," + +Miss Jillgall shook her head ominously. "The safe way is this +way," she said. "Come with me." + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +THE FUTURE LOOKS GLOOMY. + +My ever-helpful guide led me to my room--well out of Mr. +Gracedieu's hearing, if he happened to be awake--at the other +end of the passage. Having opened the door, she paused on +the threshold. The decrees of that merciless English despot, +Propriety, claimed her for their own. "Oh, dear!" she said +to herself, "ought I to go in?" + +My interest as a man (and, what is more, an old man) in +the coming disclosure was too serious to be trifled with in +this way. I took her arm, and led her into my room as if I was +at a dinner-party, leading her to the table. Is it the good or +the evil fortune of mortals that the comic side of life, and +the serious side of life, are perpetually in collision with each +other? We burst out laughing, at a moment of grave importance to +us both. Perfectly inappropriate, and perfectly natural. But we +were neither of us philosophers, and we were ashamed of our own +merriment the moment it had ceased. + +"When you hear what I have to tell you," Miss Jillgall began, +"I hope you will think as I do. What has slipped Mr. Gracedieu's +memory, it may be safer to say--for he is sometimes irritable, +poor dear--where he won't know anything about it." + +With that she told the lamentable story of the desertion of +Eunice. + +In silence I listened, from first to last. How could I trust +myself to speak, as I must have spoken, in the presence of +a woman? The cruel injury inflicted on the poor girl, who +had interested and touched me in the first innocent year of +her life--who had grown to womanhood to be the victim of two +wretches, both trusted by her, both bound to her by the sacred +debt of love--so fired my temper that I longed to be within reach +of the man, with a horsewhip in my hand. Seeing in my face, as +I suppose, what was passing in my mind, Miss Jillgall expressed +sympathy and admiration in her own quaint way: "Ah, I like to see +you so angry! It's grand to know that a man who has governed +prisoners has got such a pitying heart. Let me tell you one +thing, sir. You will be more angry than ever, when you see my +sweet girl to-morrow. And mind this--it is Helena's devouring +vanity, Helena's wicked jealousy of her sister's good fortune, +that has done the mischief. Don't be too hard on Philip? I do +believe, if the truth was told, he is ashamed of himself." + +I felt inclined to be harder on Philip than ever. "Where is he?" +I asked. + +Miss Jillgall started. "Oh, Mr. Governor, don't show the severe +side of yourself, after the pretty compliment I have just paid +to you! What a masterful voice! and what eyes, dear sir; what +terrifying eyes! I feel as if I was one of your prisoners, and +had misbehaved myself." + +I repeated my question with improvement, I hope, in my looks and +tones: "Don't think me obstinate, my dear lady. I only want to +know if he is in this town." + +Miss Jillgall seemed to take a curious pleasure in disappointing +me; she had not forgotten my unfortunate abruptness of look and +manner. "You won't find him here," she said. + +"Perhaps he has left England?" + +"If you must know, sir, he is in London--with Mr. Dunboyne." + +The name startled me. + +In a moment more it recalled to my memory a remarkable letter, +addressed to me many years ago, which will be found in +my introductory narrative. The writer--an Irish gentleman, +named Dunboyne confided to me that his marriage had associated +him with the murderess, who had then been recently executed, as +brother-in-law to that infamous woman. This circumstance he had +naturally kept a secret from every one, including his son, then +a boy. I alone was made an exception to the general rule, because +I alone could tell him what had become of the poor little girl, +who in spite of the disgraceful end of her mother was still +his niece. If the child had not been provided for, he felt it +his duty to take charge of her education, and to watch over +her prospects in the future. Such had been his object in writing +to me; and such was the substance of his letter. I had merely +informed him, in reply, that his kind intentions had been +anticipated, and that the child's prosperous future was assured. + +Miss Jillgall's keen observation noticed the impression that had +been produced upon me. "Mr. Dunboyne's name seems to surprise +you." she said. + +"This is the first time I have heard you mention it," I answered. + +She looked as if she could hardly believe me. "Surely you must +have heard the name," she said, "when I told you about poor +Euneece?" + +"No." + +"Well, then, Mr. Gracedieu must have mentioned it?" + +"No." + +This second reply in the negative irritated her. + +"At any rate," she said, sharply, "you appeared to know Mr. +Dunboyne's name, just now." + +"Certainly!" + +"And yet," she persisted, "the name seemed to come upon you as +a surprise. I don't understand it. If I have mentioned Philip's +name once, I have mentioned it a dozen times." + +We were completely at cross-purposes. She had taken something +for granted which was an unfathomable mystery to me. + +"Well," I objected, "if you did mention his name a dozen +times--excuse me for asking the question---what then?" + +"Good heavens!" cried Miss Jillgall, "do you mean to say you +never guessed that Philip was Mr. Dunboyne's son?" + +I was petrified. + +His son! Dunboyne's son! How could I have guessed it? + +At a later time only, the good little creature who had so +innocently deceived me, remembered that the mischief might have +been wrought by the force of habit. While he had still a claim +on their regard the family had always spoken of Eunice's unworthy +lover by his Christian name; and what had been familiar in their +mouths felt the influence of custom, before time enough had +elapsed to make them think as readily of the enemy as they had +hitherto thought of the friend. + +But I was ignorant of this: and the disclosure by which I found +myself suddenly confronted was more than I could support. For +the moment, speech was beyond me. + +His son! Dunboyne's son! + +What a position that young man had occupied, unsuspected by +his father, unknown to himself! kept in ignorance of the family +disgrace, he had been a guest in the house of the man who had +consoled his infamous aunt on the eve of her execution--who had +saved his unhappy cousin from poverty, from sorrow, from shame. +And but one human being knew this. And that human being was +myself! + +Observing my agitation, Miss Jillgall placed her own construction +on it. + +"Do you know anything bad of Philip?" she asked eagerly. "If it's +something that will prevent Helena from marrying him, tell me +what it is, I beg and pray." + +I knew no more of "Philip" (whom she still called by his +Christian name!) than she had told me herself: there was no help +for it but to disappoint her. At the same time I was unable +to conceal that I was ill at ease, and that it might be well +to leave me by myself. After a look round the bedchamber to see +that nothing was wanting to my comfort, she made her quaint +curtsey, and left me with her own inimitable form of farewell. + +"Oh, indeed, I have been here too long! And I'm afraid I have +been guilty, once or twice, of vulgar familiarity. You will +excuse me, I hope. This has been an exciting interview--I think +I am going to cry." + +She ran out of the room; and carried away with her some of +my kindliest feelings, short as the time of our acquaintance +had been. What a wife and what a mother was lost there--and all +for want of a pretty face! + +Left alone, my thoughts inevitably reverted to Dunboyne the +elder, and to all that had happened in Mr. Gracedieu's family +since the Irish gentleman had written to me in bygone years. + +The terrible choice of responsibilities which had preyed on +the Minister's mind had been foreseen by Mr. Dunboyne, when he +first thought of adopting his infant niece, and had warned him +to dread what might happen in the future, if he brought her up +as a member of the family with his own boy, and if the two young +people became at a later period attached to each other. How had +the wise foresight, which offered such a contrast to the poor +Minister's impulsive act of mercy, met with its reward? Fate +or Providence (call it which we may) had brought Dunboyne's son +and the daughter of the murderess together; had inspired those +two strangers with love; and had emboldened them to plight +their troth by a marriage engagement. Was the man's betrayal +of the trust placed in him by the faithful girl to be esteemed +a fortunate circumstance by the two persons who knew the true +story of her parentage, the Minister and myself? Could we rejoice +in an act of infidelity which had embittered and darkened +the gentle harmless life of the victim? Or could we, on the other +hand, encourage the ruthless deceit, the hateful treachery, which +had put the wicked Helena--with no exposure to dread if _she_ +married--into her wronged sister's place? Impossible! In the one +case as in the other, impossible! + +Equally hopeless did the prospect appear, when I tried to +determine what my own individual course of action ought to be. + +In my calmer moments, the idea had occurred to my mind of going +to Dunboyne the younger, and, if he had any sense of shame left, +exerting my influence to lead him back to his betrothed wife. How +could I now do this, consistently with my duty to the young man's +father; knowing what I knew, and not forgetting that I had myself +advised Mr. Gracedieu to keep the truth concealed, when I was +equally ignorant of Philip Dunboyne's parentage and of Helena +Gracedieu's treachery? + +Even if events so ordered it that the marriage of Eunice might +yet take place--without any interference exerted to produce that +result, one way or the other, on my part--it would be just as +impossible for me to speak out now, as it had been in the +long-past years when I had so cautiously answered Mr. Dunboyne's +letter. But what would he think of me if accident led, sooner or +later, to the disclosure which I had felt bound to conceal? The +more I tried to forecast the chances of the future, the darker +and the darker was the view that faced me. + +To my sinking heart and wearied mind, good Dame Nature presented +a more acceptable prospect, when I happened to look out of +the window of my room. There I saw the trees and flowerbeds of +a garden, tempting me irresistibly under the cloudless sunshine +of a fine day. I was on my way out, to recover heart and hope, +when a knock at the door stopped me. + +Had Miss Jillgall returned? When I said "Come in," Mr. Gracedieu +opened the door, and entered the room. + +He was so weak that he staggered as he approached me. Leading him +to a chair, I noticed a wild look in his eyes, and a flush on +his haggard cheeks. Something had happened. + +"When you were with me in my room," he began, "did I not tell you +that I had forgotten something?" + +"Certainly you did." + +"Well, I have found the lost remembrance. My misfortune--I ought +to call it the punishment for my sins, is recalled to me now. +The worst curse that can fall on a father is the curse that has +come to me. I have a wicked daughter. My own child, sir! my own +child!" + +Had he been awake, while Miss Jillgall and I had been talking +outside his door? Had he heard her ask me if Mr. Gracedieu had +said nothing of Helena's infamous conduct to her sister, while +he was speaking of Eunice? The way to the lost remembrance had +perhaps been found there. In any case, after that bitter allusion +to his "wicked daughter" some result must follow. Helena +Gracedieu and a day of reckoning might be nearer to each other +already than I had ventured to hope. + +I waited anxiously for what he might say to me next. + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +THE WANDERING MIND. + +For the moment, the Minister disappointed me. + +Without speaking, without even looking up, he took out his +pocketbook, and began to write in it. Constantly interrupted +either by a trembling in the hand that held the pencil, or by +a difficulty (as I imagined) in expressing thoughts imperfectly +realized--his patience gave way; he dashed the book on the floor. + +"My mind is gone!" he burst out. "Oh, Father in Heaven, let death +deliver me from a body without a mind!" + +Who could hear him, and be guilty of the cruelty of preaching +self-control? I picked up the pocketbook, and offered to help +him. + +"Do you think you can?" he asked. + +"I can at least try." + +"Good fellow! What should I do without you? See now; here is +my difficulty. I have got so many things to say, I want to +separate them--or else they will all run into each other. Look +at the book," my poor friend said mournfully; "they have run +into each other in spite of me." + +The entries proved to be nearly incomprehensible. Here and there +I discovered some scattered words, which showed themselves more +or less distinctly in the midst of the surrounding confusion. +The first word that I could make out was "Education." Helped +by that hint, I trusted to guess-work to guide me in speaking +to him. It was necessary to be positive, or he would have lost +all faith in me. + +"Well?" he said impatiently. + +"Well," I answered, "you have something to say to me about +the education which you have given to your daughters." + +"Don't put them together!" he cried. "Dear, patient, sweet Eunice +must not be confounded with that she-devil--" + +"Hush, hush, Mr. Gracedieu! Badly as Miss Helena has behaved, +she is your own child." + +"I repudiate her, sir! Think for a moment of what she has done +--and then think of the religious education that I have given +her. Heartless! Deceitful! The most ignorant creature in the +lowest dens of this town could have done nothing more basely +cruel. And this, after years on years of patient Christian +instruction on my part! What is religion? What is education? +I read a horrible book once (I forget who was the author); +it called religion superstition, and education empty form. +I don't know; upon my word I don't know that the book may not +--Oh, my tongue! Why don't I keep a guard over my tongue? Are you +a father, too? Don't interrupt me. Put yourself in my place, +and think of it. Heartless, deceitful, and _my_ daughter. Give me +the pocketbook; I want to see which memorandum comes first." + +He had now wrought himself into a state of excitement, which +relieved his spirits of the depression that had weighed on them +up to this time. His harmless vanity, always, as I suspect, +a latent quality in his kindly nature, had already restored +his confidence. With a self-sufficient smile he consulted his own +unintelligible entries, and made his own wild discoveries. + +"Ah, yes; 'M' stands for Minister; I come first. Am I to blame? +Am I--God forgive me my many sins--am I heartless? Am I +deceitful?" + +"My good friend, not even your enemies could say that!" + +"Thank you. Who comes next?" He consulted the book again. "Her +mother, her sainted mother, comes next. People say she is like +her mother. Was my wife heartless? Was the angel of my life +deceitful?" + +("That," I thought to myself, "is exactly what your wife was--and +exactly what reappears in your wife's child.") + +"Where does her wickedness come from?" he went on. "Not from her +mother; not from me; not from a neglected education." He suddenly +stepped up to me and laid his hands on my shoulders; his voice +dropped to hoarse, moaning, awestruck tones. "Shall I tell you +what it is? A possession of the devil." + +It was so evidently desirable to prevent any continuation of +such a train of thought as this, that I could feel no hesitation +in interrupting him. + +"Will you hear what I have to say?" I asked bluntly. + +His humor changed again; he made me a low bow, and went back to +his chair. "I will hear you with pleasure," he answered politely. +"You are the most eloquent man I know, with one exception-- +myself. Of course--myself." + +"It is mere waste of time," I continued, "to regret the excellent +education which your daughter has misused." Making that reply, +I was tempted to add another word of truth. All education is +at the mercy of two powerful counter-influences: the influence +of temperament, and the influence of circumstances. But this was +philosophy. How could I expect him to submit to philosophy? +"What we know of Miss Helena," I went on, "must be enough for us. +She has plotted, and she means to succeed. Stop her." + +"Just my idea!" he declared firmly. "I refuse my consent to that +abominable marriage." + +In the popular phrase, I struck while the iron was hot. "You must +do more than that, sir," I told him. + +His vanity suddenly took the alarm--I was leading him rather too +undisguisedly. He handed his book back to me. "You will find," +he said loftily, "that I have put it all down there." + +I pretended to find it, and read an imaginary entry to this +effect: "After what she has already done, Helena is capable +of marrying in defiance of my wishes and commands. This must be +considered and provided against." So far, I had succeeded in +flattering him. But when (thinking of his paternal authority) +I alluded next to his daughter's age, his eyes rested on me with +a look of downright terror. + +"No more of that!" he said. "I won't talk of the girls' ages +even with you." + +What did he mean? It was useless to ask. I went on with the +matter in hand--still deliberately speaking to him, as I might +have spoken to a man with an intellect as clear as my own. +In my experience, this practice generally stimulates a weak +intelligence to do its best. We all know how children receive +talk that is lowered, or books that are lowered, to their +presumed level. + +"I shall take it for granted," I continued, "that Miss Helena +is still under your lawful authority. She can only arrive at her +ends by means of a runaway marriage. In that case, much depends +on the man. You told me you couldn't help liking him. This was, +of course, before you knew of the infamous manner in which he +has behaved. You must have changed your opinion now." + +He seemed to be at a loss how to reply. "I am afraid," he said, +"the young man was drawn into it by Helena." + +Here was Miss Jillgall's apology for Philip Dunboyne repeated in +other words. Despising and detesting the fellow as I did, I was +forced to admit to myself that he must be recommended by personal +attractions which it would be necessary to reckon with. I tried +to get some more information from Mr. Gracedieu. + +"The excuse you have just made for him," I resumed, "implies that +he is a weak man; easily persuaded, easily led." + +The Minister answered by nodding his head. + +"Such weakness as that," I persisted, "is a vice in itself. +It has led already, sir, to the saddest results." + +He admitted this by another nod. + +"I don't wish to shock you, Mr. Gracedieu; but I must recommend +employing the means that present themselves. You must practice +on this man's weakness, for the sake of the good that may come +of it. I hear he is in London with his father. Try the strong +influence, and write to his father. There is another reason +besides for doing this. It is quite possible that the truth +has been concealed from Mr. Dunboyne the elder. Take care that +he is informed of what has really happened. Are you looking +for pen, ink, and paper? Let me offer you the writing materials +which I use in traveling." + +I placed them before him. He took up the pen; he arranged +the paper; he was eager to begin. + +After writing a few words, he stopped--reflected--tried +again--stopped again--tore up the little that he had done--and +began a new letter, ending in the same miserable result. It was +impossible to witness his helplessness, to see how pitiably +patient he was over his own incapacity, and to let the melancholy +spectacle go on. I proposed to write the letter; authenticating +it, of course, by his signature. When he allowed me to take +the pen, he turned away his face, ashamed to let me see what +he suffered. Was this the same man, whose great nature had so +nobly asserted itself in the condemned cell? Poor mortality! + +The letter was easily written. + +I had only to inform Mr. Dunboyne of his son's conduct; +repeating, in the plainest language that I could use, what +Miss Jillgall had related to me. Arrived at the conclusion, +I contrived to make Mr. Gracedieu express himself in these strong +terms: "I protest against the marriage in justice to you, sir, as +well as to myself. We can neither of us content to be accomplices +in an act of domestic treason of the basest kind." + +In silence, the Minister read the letter, and attached his +signature to it. In silence, he rose and took my arm. I asked +if he wished to go to his room. He only replied by a sign. +I offered to sit with him, and try to cheer him. Gratefully, +he pressed my hand: gently, he put me back from the door. Crushed +by the miserable discovery of the decay of his own faculties! +What could I do? what could I say? Nothing! + + +Miss Jillgall was in the drawing-room. With the necessary +explanations, I showed her the letter. She read it with +breathless interest. "It terrifies one to think how much depends +on old Mr. Dunboyne," she said. "You know him. What sort of man +is he?" + +I could only assure her (after what I remembered of his letter +to me) that he was a man whom we could depend upon. + +Miss Jillgall possessed treasures of information to which I could +lay no claim. Mr. Dunboyne, she told me, was a scholar, and +a writer, and a rich man. His views on marriage were liberal in +the extreme. Let his son find good principles, good temper, and +good looks, in a wife, and he would promise to find the money. + +"I get these particulars," said Miss Jillgall, "from dear +Euneece. They are surely encouraging? That Helena may carry out +Mr. Dunboyne's views in her personal appearance is, I regret +to say, what I can't deny. But as to the other qualifications, +how hopeful is the prospect! Good principles, and good temper? +Ha! ha! Helena has the principles of Jezebel, and the temper of +Lady Macbeth." + +After dashing off this striking sketch of character, the fair +artist asked to look at my letter again, and observed that +the address was wanting. "I can set this right for you," she +resumed, "thanks, as before, to my sweet Euneece. And (don't +be in a hurry) I can make myself useful in another way. Oh, how +I do enjoy making myself useful! If you trust your letter to the +basket in the hall, Helena's lovely eyes--capable of the meanest +conceivable actions--are sure to take a peep at the address. +In that case, do you think your letter would get to London? +I am afraid you detect a faint infusion of spitefulness in +that question. Oh, for shame! I'll post the letter myself." + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +THE SHAMELESS SISTER. + +For some reason, which my unassisted penetration was unable +to discover, Miss Helena Gracedieu kept out of my way. + +At dinner, on the day of my arrival, and at breakfast on the next +morning, she was present of course; ready to make herself +agreeable in a modest way, and provided with the necessary supply +of cheerful small-talk. But the meal having come to an end, she +had her domestic excuse ready, and unostentatiously disappeared +like a well-bred young lady. I never met her on the stairs, never +found myself intruding on her in the drawing-room, never caught +her getting out of my way in the garden. As much at a loss for an +explanation of these mysteries as I was, Miss Jillgall's interest +in my welfare led her to caution me in a vague and general way. + +"Take my word for it, dear Mr. Governor, she has some design +on you. Will you allow an insignificant old maid to offer +a suggestion? Oh, thank you; I will venture to advise. Please +look back at your experience of the very worst female prisoner +you ever had to deal with--and be guided accordingly if Helena +catches you at a private interview." + +In less than half an hour afterward, Helena caught me. I was +writing in my room, when the maidservant came in with a message: +"Miss Helena's compliments, sir, and would you please spare her +half an hour, downstairs?" + +My first excuse was of course that I was engaged. This was +disposed of by a second message, provided beforehand, no doubt, +for an anticipated refusal: "Miss Helena wished me to say, sir, +that her time is your time." I was still obstinate; I pleaded +next that my day was filled up. A third message had evidently +been prepared, even for this emergency: "Miss Helena will regret, +sir, having the pleasure deferred, but she will leave you to make +your own appointment for to-morrow." Persistency so inveterate as +this led to a result which Mr. Gracedieu's cautious daughter had +not perhaps contemplated: it put me on my guard. There seemed to +be a chance, to say the least of it, that I might serve Eunice's +interests if I discovered what the enemy had to say. I locked up +my writing--declared myself incapable of putting Miss Helena to +needless inconvenience--and followed the maid to the lower floor +of the house. + +The room to which I was conducted proved to be empty. I looked +round me. + +If I had been told that a man lived there who was absolutely +indifferent to appearances, I should have concluded that +his views were faithfully represented by his place of abode. +The chairs and tables reminded me of a railway waiting-room. +The shabby little bookcase was the mute record of a life +indifferent to literature. The carpet was of that dreadful drab +color, still the cherished favorite of the average English mind, +in spite of every protest that can be entered against it, +on behalf of Art. The ceiling, recently whitewashed; made my eyes +ache when they looked at it. On either side of the window, +flaccid green curtains hung helplessly with nothing to loop them +up. The writing-desk and the paper-case, viewed as specimens +of woodwork, recalled the ready-made bedrooms on show in cheap +shops. The books, mostly in slate-colored bindings, were devoted +to the literature which is called religious; I only discovered +three worldly publications among them--Domestic Cookery, +Etiquette for Ladies, and Hints on the Breeding of Poultry. +An ugly little clock, ticking noisily in a black case, and two +candlesticks of base metal placed on either side of it, completed +the ornaments on the chimney-piece. Neither pictures nor prints +hid the barrenness of the walls. I saw no needlework and no +flowers. The one object in the place which showed any pretensions +to beauty was a looking-glass in an elegant gilt frame--sacred to +vanity, and worthy of the office that it filled. Such was Helena +Gracedieu's sitting-room. I really could not help thinking: How +like her! + +She came in with a face perfectly adapted to the circumstances +--pleased and smiling; amiably deferential, in consideration of +the claims of her father's guest--and, to my surprise, in some +degree suggestive of one of those incorrigible female prisoners, +to whom Miss Jillgall had referred me when she offered a word +of advice. + +"How kind of you to come so soon! Excuse my receiving you +in my housekeeping-room; we shall not be interrupted here. +Very plainly furnished, is it not? I dislike ostentation +and display. Ornaments are out of place in a room devoted to +domestic necessities. I hate domestic necessities. You notice +the looking-glass? It's a present. I should never have put +such a thing up. Perhaps my vanity excuses it." + +She pointed the last remark by a look at herself in the glass; +using it, while she despised it. Yes: there was a handsome face, +paying her its reflected compliment--but not so well matched as +it might have been by a handsome figure. Her feet were too large; +her shoulders were too high; the graceful undulations of +a well-made girl were absent when she walked; and her bosom was, +to my mind, unduly developed for her time of life. + +She sat down by me with her back to the light. Happening to be +opposite to the window, I offered her the advantage of a clear +view of my face. She waited for me, and I waited for her--and +there was an awkward pause before we spoke. She set the example. + +"Isn't it curious?" she remarked. "When two people have something +particular to say to each other, and nothing to hinder them, +they never seem to know how to say it. You are the oldest, sir. +Why don't you begin?" + +"Because I have nothing particular to say." + +"In plain words, you mean that I must begin?" + +"If you please." + +"Very well. I want to know whether I have given you (and Miss +Jillgall, of course) as much time as you want, and as many +opportunities as you could desire?" + +"Pray go on, Miss Helena." + +"Have I not said enough already?" + +"Not enough, I regret to say, to convey your meaning to me." + +She drew her chair a little further away from me. "I am sadly +disappointed," she said. "I had such a high opinion of your +perfect candor. I thought to myself: There is such a striking +expression of frankness in his face. Another illusion gone! +I hope you won't think I am offended, if I say a bold word. +I am only a young girl, to be sure; but I am not quite such +a fool as you take me for. Do you really think I don't know that +Miss Jillgall has been telling you everything that is bad about +me; putting every mistake that I have made, every fault that +I have committed, in the worst possible point of view? And you +have listened to her--quite naturally! And you are prejudiced, +strongly prejudiced, against me--what else could you be, under +the circumstances? I don't complain; I have purposely kept out +of your way, and out of Miss Jillgall's way; in short, I have +afforded you every facility, as the prospectuses say. I only want +to know if my turn has come at last. Once more, have I given you +time enough, and opportunities enough?" + +"A great deal more than enough." + +"Do you mean that you have made up your mind about me without +stopping to think?" + +"That is exactly what I mean. An act of treachery, Miss Helena, +_is_ an act of treachery; no honest person need hesitate to +condemn it. I am sorry you sent for me." + +I got up to go. With an ironical gesture of remonstrance, +she signed to me to sit down again. + +"Must I remind you, dear sir, of our famous native virtue? Fair +play is surely due to a young person who has nobody to take +her part. You talked of treachery just how. I deny the treachery. +Please give me a hearing." + +I returned to my chair. + +"Or would you prefer waiting," she went out, "till my sister +comes here later in the day, and continues what Miss Jillgall has +begun, with the great advantage of being young and nice-looking?" + +When the female mind gets into this state, no wise man answers +the female questions. + +"Am I to take silence as meaning Go on?" Miss Helena inquired. + +I begged her to interpret my silence in the sense most agreeable +to herself. + +This naturally encouraged her. She made a proposal: + +"Do you mind changing places, sir?" + +"Just as you like, Miss Helena." + +We changed chairs; the light now fell full on her face. Had +she deliberately challenged me to look into her secret mind +if I could? Anything like the stark insensibility of that young +girl to every refinement of feeling, to every becoming doubt +of herself, to every customary timidity of her age and sex +in the presence of a man who had not disguised his unfavorable +opinion of her, I never met with in all my experience of +the world and of women. + +"I wish to be quite mistress of myself," she explained; "your +face, for some reason which I really don't know, irritates me. +The fact is, I have great pride in keeping my temper. Please make +allowances. Now about Miss Jillgall. I suppose she told you how +my sister first met with Philip Dunboyne?" + +"Yes." + +"She also mentioned, perhaps, that he was a highly-cultivated +man?" + +"She did." + +"Now we shall get on. When Philip came to our town here, and saw +me for the first time--Do you object to my speaking familiarly +of him, by his Christian name?" + +"In the case of any one else in your position, Miss Helena, +I should venture to call it bad taste." + +I was provoked into saying that. It failed entirely as +a well-meant effort in the way of implied reproof. Miss Helena +smiled. + +"You grant me a liberty which you would not concede to another +girl." That was how she viewed it. "We are getting on better +already. To return to what I was saying. When Philip first saw +me--I have it from himself, mind--he felt that I should have been +his choice, if he had met with me before he met with my sister. +Do you blame him?" + +"If you will take my advice," I said, "you will not inquire +too closely into my opinion of Mr. Philip Dunboyne." + +"Perhaps you don't wish me to say anymore?" she suggested. + +"On the contrary, pray go on, if you like." + +After that concession, she was amiability itself. "Oh, yes," she +assured me, "that's easily done." And she went on accordingly: +"Philip having informed me of the state of his affections, +I naturally followed his example. In fact, we exchanged +confessions. Our marriage engagement followed as a matter +of course. Do you blame me?" + +"I will wait till you have done." + +"I have no more to say." + +She made that amazing reply with such perfect composure, that +I began to fear there must have been some misunderstanding +between us. "Is that really all you have to say for yourself?" +I persisted. + +Her patience with me was most exemplary. She lowered herself +to my level. Not trusting to words only on this occasion, she +(so to say) beat her meaning into my head by gesticulating on +her fingers, as if she was educating a child. + +"Philip and I," she began, "are the victims of an accident, +which kept us apart when we ought to have met together--we are +not responsible for an accident." She impressed this on me +by touching her forefinger. "Philip and I fell in love with each +other at first sight--we are not responsible for the feelings +implanted in our natures by an all-wise Providence." She assisted +me in understanding this by touching her middle finger. "Philip +and I owe a duty to each other, and accept a responsibility under +those circumstances--the responsibility of getting married." +A touch on her third finger, and an indulgent bow, announced +that the lesson was ended. "I am not a clever man like you," +she modestly acknowledged, "but I ask you to help us, when you +next see my father, with some confidence. You know exactly what +to say to him, by this time. Nothing has been forgotten." + +"Pardon me," I said, "a person has been forgotten." + +"Indeed? What person?" + +"Your sister." + +A little perplexed at first, Miss Helena reflected, and recovered +herself. + +"Ah, yes," she said; "I was afraid I might be obliged to trouble +you for an explanation--I see it now. You are shocked (very +properly) when feelings of enmity exist between near relations; +and you wish to be assured that I bear no malice toward Eunice. +She is violent, she is sulky, she is stupid, she is selfish; +and she cruelly refuses to live in the same house with me. Make +your mind easy, sir, I forgive my sister." + +Let me not attempt to disguise it--Miss Helena Gracedieu +confounded me. + +Ordinary audacity is one of those forms of insolence which +mature experience dismisses with contempt. This girl's audacity +struck down all resistance, for one shocking reason: it was +unquestionably sincere. Strong conviction of her own virtue +stared at me in her proud and daring eyes. At that time, I was +not aware of what I have learned since. The horrid hardening of +her moral sense had been accomplished by herself. In her diary, +there has been found the confession of a secret course of +reading--with supplementary reflections flowing from it, which +need only to be described as worthy of their source. + +A person capable of repentance and reform would, in her place, +have seen that she had disgusted me. Not a suspicion of this +occurred to Miss Helena. "I see you are embarrassed," she +remarked, "and I am at no loss to account for it. You are too +polite to acknowledge that I have not made a friend of you yet. +Oh, I mean to do it!" + +"No," I said, "I think not." + +"We shall see," she replied. "Sooner or later, you will find +yourself saying a kind word to my father for Philip and me." +She rose, and took a turn in the room--and stopped, eying me +attentively. "Are you thinking of Eunice?" she asked. + +"Yes." + +"She has your sympathy, I suppose?" + +"My heart-felt sympathy." + +"I needn't ask how I stand in your estimation, after that. Pray +express yourself freely. Your looks confess it--you view me with +a feeling of aversion." + +"I view you with a feeling of horror." + +The exasperating influences of her language, her looks, and +her tones would, as I venture to think, have got to the end of +another man's self-control before this. Anyway, she had at last +irritated me into speaking as strongly as I felt. What I said +had been so plainly (perhaps so rudely) expressed, that +misinterpretation of it seemed to be impossible. She mistook me, +nevertheless. The most merciless disclosure of the dreary side +of human destiny is surely to be found in the failure of words, +spoken or written, so to answer their purpose that we can trust +them, in our attempts to communicate with each other. Even when +he seems to be connected, by the nearest and dearest relations, +with his fellow-mortals, what a solitary creature, tried by the +test of sympathy, the human being really is in the teeming world +that he inhabits! Affording one more example of the impotence of +human language to speak for itself, my misinterpreted words had +found their way to the one sensitive place in Helena Gracedieu's +impenetrable nature. She betrayed it in the quivering and +flushing of her hard face, and in the appeal to the looking-glass +which escaped her eyes the next moment. My hasty reply had roused +the idea of a covert insult addressed to her handsome face. +In other words, I had wounded her vanity. Driven by resentment, +out came the secret distrust of me which had been lurking in +that cold heart, from the moment when we first met. + +"I inspire you with horror, and Eunice inspires you with +compassion," she said. "That, Mr. Governor, is not natural." + +"May I ask why?" + +"You know why." + +"No." + +"You will have it?" + +"I want an explanation, Miss Helena, if that is what you mean." + +"Take your explanation, then! You are not the stranger you are +said to be to my sister and to me. Your interest in Eunice is +a personal interest of some kind. I don't pretend to guess what +it is. As for myself, it is plain that somebody else has been +setting you against me, before Miss Jillgall got possession of +your private ear." + +In alluding to Eunice, she had blundered, strangely enough, +on something like the truth. But when she spoke of herself, +the headlong malignity of her suspicions--making every allowance +for the anger that had hurried her into them--seemed to call for +some little protest against a false assertion. I told her that +she was completely mistaken. + +"I am completely right," she answered; "I saw it." + +"Saw what?" + +"Saw you pretending to be a stranger to me." + +"When did I do that?" + +"You did it when we met at the station." + +The reply was too ridiculous for the preservation of any +control over my own sense of humor. It was wrong; but it was +inevitable--I laughed. She looked at me with a fury, revealing +a concentration of evil passion in her which I had not seen yet. +I asked her pardon; I begged her to think a little before +she persisted in taking a view of my conduct unworthy of her, +and unjust to myself. + +"Unjust to You!" she burst out. "Who are You? A man who has +driven your trade has spies always at his command--yes! and knows +how to use them. You were primed with private information--you +had, for all I know, a stolen photograph of me in your pocket-- +before ever you came to our town. Do you still deny it? Oh, sir, +why degrade yourself by telling a lie?" + +No such outrage as this had ever been inflicted on me, at any +time in my life. My forbearance must, I suppose, have been more +severely tried than I was aware of myself. With or without excuse +for me, I was weak enough to let a girl's spiteful tongue sting +me, and, worse still, to let her see that I felt it. + +"You shall have no second opportunity, Miss Gracedieu, of +insulting me." With that foolish reply, I opened the door +violently and went out. + +She ran after me, triumphing in having roused the temper of +a man old enough to have been her grandfather, and caught me by +the arm. "Your own conduct has exposed you." (That was literally +how she expressed herself.) "I saw it in your eyes when we met +at the station. You, the stranger--you who allowed poor ignorant +me to introduce myself--you knew me all the time, knew me +by sight!" + +I shook her hand off with an inconsiderable roughness, +humiliating to remember. "It's false!" I cried. "I knew you +by your likeness to your mother." + +The moment the words had passed my lips, I came to my senses +again; I remembered what fatal words they might prove to be, +if they reached the Minister's ears. + +Heard only by his daughter, my reply seemed to cool the heat +of her anger in an instant. + +"So you knew my mother?" she said. "My father never told us that, +when he spoke of your being such a very old friend of his. +Strange, to say the least of it." + +I was wise enough--now when wisdom had come too late--not to +attempt to explain myself, and not to give her an opportunity +of saying more. "We are neither of us in a state of mind," +I answered, "to allow this interview to continue. I must try +to recover my composure; and I leave you to do the same." + +In the solitude of my room, I was able to look my position fairly +in the face. + +Mr. Gracedieu's wife had come to me, in the long-past time, +without her husband's knowledge. Tempted to a cruel resolve +by the maternal triumph of having an infant of her own, she had +resolved to rid herself of the poor little rival in her husband's +fatherly affection, by consigning the adopted child to the +keeping of a charitable asylum. She had dared to ask me to help +her. I had kept the secret of her shameful visit--I can honestly +say, for the Minister's sake. And now, long after time had doomed +those events to oblivion, they were revived--and revived by me. +Thanks to my folly, Mr. Gracedieu's daughter knew what I had +concealed from Mr. Gracedieu himself. + +What course did respect for my friend, and respect for myself, +counsel me to take? + +I could only see before me a choice of two evils. To wait for +events--with the too certain prospect of a vindictive betrayal +of my indiscretion by Helena Gracedieu. Or to take the initiative +into my own hands, and risk consequences which I might regret +to the end of my life, by making my confession to the Minister. + +Before I had decided, somebody knocked at the door. It was +the maid-servant again. Was it possible she had been sent +by Helena? + +"Another message?" + +"Yes, sir. My master wishes to see you." + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +THE GIRLS' AGES. + +Had the Minister's desire to see me been inspired by his +daughter's betrayal of what I had unfortunately said to her? +Although he would certainly not consent to receive her +personally, she would be at liberty to adopt a written method +of communication with him, and the letter might be addressed in +such a manner as to pique his curiosity. If Helena's vindictive +purpose had been already accomplished--and if Mr. Gracedieu left +me no alternative but to present his unworthy wife in her true +character--I can honestly say that I dreaded the consequences, +not as they might affect myself, but as they might affect +my unhappy friend in his enfeebled state of body and mind. + +When I entered his room, he was still in bed. + +The bed-curtains were so drawn, on the side nearest to +the window, as to keep the light from falling too brightly on +his weak eyes. In the shadow thus thrown on him, it was not +possible to see his face plainly enough, from the open side of +the bed, to arrive at any definite conclusion as to what might +be passing in his mind. After having been awake for some hours +during the earlier part of the night, he had enjoyed a long +and undisturbed sleep. "I feel stronger this morning," he said, +"and I wish to speak to you while my mind is clear." + +If the quiet tone of his voice was not an assumed tone, he was +surely ignorant of all that had passed between his daughter and +myself. + +"Eunice will be here soon," he proceeded, "and I ought to explain +why I have sent for her to come and meet you. I have reasons, +serious reasons, mind, for wishing you to compare her personal +appearance with Helena's personal appearance, and then to tell me +which of the two, on a fair comparison, looks the eldest. Pray +bear in mind that I attach the greatest importance to the +conclusion at which you may arrive." + +He spoke more clearly and collectedly than I had heard him speak +yet. + +Here and there I detected hesitations and repetitions, which +I have purposely passed over. The substance of what he said to me +is all that I shall present in this place. Careful as I have been +to keep my record of events within strict limits, I have written +at a length which I was far indeed from contemplating when +I accepted Mr. Gracedieu's invitation. + +Having promised to comply with the strange request which he had +addressed to me, I ventured to remind him of past occasions +on which he had pointedly abstained, when the subject presented +itself, from speaking of the girls' ages. "You have left it to +my discretion," I added, "to decide a question in which you are +seriously interested, relating to your daughters. Have I no +excuse for regretting that I have not been admitted to your +confidence a little more freely?" + +"You have every excuse," he answered. "But you trouble me all +the same. There was something else that I had to say to you--and +your curiosity gets in the way." + +He said this with a sullen emphasis. In my position, the worst +of evils was suspense. I told him that my curiosity could wait; +and I begged that he would relieve his mind of what was pressing +on it at the moment. + +"Let me think a little," he said. + +I waited anxiously for the decision at which he might arrive. +Nothing came of it to justify my misgivings. "Leave what I have +in my mind to ripen in my mind," he said. "The mystery about +the girls' ages seems to irritate you. If I put my good friend's +temper to any further trial, he will be of no use to me. Never +mind if my head swims; I'm used to that. Now listen!" + +Strange as the preface was, the explanation that followed was +stranger yet. I offer a shortened and simplified version, giving +accurately the substance of what I heard. + +The Minister entered without reserve on the mysterious subject of +the ages. Eunice, he informed me, was nearly two years older than +Helena. If she outwardly showed her superiority of age, any +person acquainted with the circumstances under which the adopted +infant had been received into Mr. Gracedieu's childless +household, need only compare the so-called sisters in after-life, +and would thereupon identify the eldest-looking young lady of the +two as the offspring of the woman who had been hanged for murder. +With such a misfortune as this presenting itself as a possible +prospect, the Minister was bound to prevent the girls from +ignorantly betraying each other by allusions to their ages and +their birthdays. After much thought, he had devised a desperate +means of meeting the difficulty--already made known, as I am +told, for the information of strangers who may read the pages +that have gone before mine. My friend's plan of proceeding had, +by the nature of it, exposed him to injurious comment, to +embarrassing questions, and to doubts and misconceptions, all +patiently endured in consideration of the security that had been +attained. Proud of his explanation, Mr. Gracedieu's vanity called +upon me to acknowledge that my curiosity had been satisfied, and +my doubts completely set at rest. + +No: my obstinate common sense was not reduced to submission, even +yet. Looking back over a lapse of seventeen years, I asked what +had happened, in that long interval, to justify the anxieties +which still appeared to trouble my friend. + +This time, my harmless curiosity could be gratified by a reply +expressed in three words--nothing had happened. + +Then what, in Heaven's name, was the Minister afraid of? + +His voice dropped to a whisper. He said: "I am afraid of the +women." + +Who were the women? + +Two of them actually proved to be the servants employed in Mr. +Gracedieu's house, at the bygone time when be had brought the +child home with him from the prison! To point out the absurdity +of the reasons that he gave for fearing what female curiosity +might yet attempt, if circumstances happened to encourage it, +would have been a mere waste of words. Dismissing the subject, I +next ascertained that the Minister's doubts extended even to the +two female warders, who had been appointed to watch the murderess +in turn, during her last days in prison. I easily relieved his +mind in this case. One of the warders was dead. The other had +married a farmer in Australia. Had we exhausted the list of +suspected persons yet? No: there was one more left; and the +Minister declared that he had first met with her in my official +residence, at the time when I was Governor of the prison. + +"She presented herself to me by name," he said; "and she spoke +rudely. A Miss--" He paused to consult his memory, and this time +(thanks perhaps to his night's rest) his memory answered the +appeal. "I have got it!" he cried--"Miss Chance." + +My friend had interested me in his imaginary perils at last. It +was just possible that he might have a formidable person to deal +with now. + +During my residence at Florence, the Chaplain and I had taken +many a retrospective look (as old men will) at past events in +our lives. My former colleague spoke of the time when he had +performed clerical duty for his friend, the rector of a parish +church in London. Neither he nor I had heard again of the "Miss +Chance" of our disagreeable prison experience, whom he had +married to the dashing Dutch gentleman, Mr. Tenbruggen. We could +only wonder what had become of that mysterious married pair. + +Mr. Gracedieu being undoubtedly ignorant of the woman's marriage, +it was not easy to say what the consequence might be, in his +excitable state, if I informed him of it. He would, in all +probability, conclude that I knew more of the woman than he did. +I decided on keeping my own counsel, for the present at least. + +Passing at once, therefore, to the one consideration of any +importance, I endeavored to find out whether Mr. Gracedieu and +Mrs. Tenbruggen had met, or had communicated with each other +in any way, during the long period of separation that had taken +place between the Minister and myself. If he had been so unlucky +as to offend her, she was beyond all doubt an enemy to be +dreaded. Apart, however, from a misfortune of this kind, she +would rank, in my opinion, with the other harmless objects of +Mr. Gracedieu's distrust. + +In making my inquiries, I found that I had an obstacle to contend +with. + +While he felt the renovating influence of the repose that he +enjoyed, the Minister had been able to think and to express +himself with less difficulty than usual. But the reserves of +strength, on which the useful exercise of his memory depended, +began to fail him as the interview proceeded. He distinctly +recollected that "something unpleasant had passed between that +audacious woman and himself." But at what date--and whether by +word of mouth or by correspondence--was more than his memory +could now recall. He believed be was not mistaken in telling me +that he "had been in two minds about her." At one time, he was +satisfied that he had taken wise measures for his own security, +if she attempted to annoy him. But there was another and a later +time, when doubts and fears had laid hold of him again. If +I wanted to know how this had happened, he fancied it was through +a dream; and if I asked what the dream was, he could only beg and +pray that I would spare his poor head. + +Unwilling even yet to submit unconditionally to defeat, it +occurred to me to try a last experiment on my friend, without +calling for any mental effort on his own part. The "Miss Chance" +of former days might, by a bare possibility, have written to him. +I asked accordingly if he was in the habit of keeping his +letters, and if he would allow me (when he had rested a little) +to lay them open before him, so that he could look at the +signatures. "You might find the lost recollection in that way," +I suggested, "at the bottom of one of your letters." + +He was in that state of weariness, poor fellow, in which a man +will do anything for the sake of peace. Pointing to a cabinet in +his room, he gave me a key taken from a little basket on his bed. +"Look for yourself," he said. After some hesitation--for I +naturally recoiled from examining another man's correspondence--I +decided on opening the cabinet, at any rate. + +The letters--a large collection--were, to my relief, all neatly +folded, and indorsed with the names of the writers. I could run +harmlessly through bundle after bundle in search of the one name +that I wanted, and still respect the privacy of the letters. +My perseverance deserved a reward--and failed to get it. The name +I wanted steadily eluded my search. Arriving at the upper shelf +of the cabinet, I found it so high that I could barely reach it +with my hand. Instead of getting more letters to look over, +I pulled down two newspapers. + +One of them was an old copy of the _Times_, dating back as far as +the 13th December, 1858. It was carefully folded, longwise, with +the title-page uppermost. On the first column, at the left-hand +side of the sheet, appeared the customary announcements +of Births. A mark with a blue pencil, against one of the +advertisements, attracted my attention. I read these lines: + +"On the 10th inst., the wife of the Rev. Abel Gracedieu, of +a daughter." + +The second newspaper bore a later date, and contained nothing +that interested me. I naturally assumed that the advertisement +in the _Times_ had been inserted at the desire of Mrs. Gracedieu; +and, after all that I had heard, there was little difficulty in +attributing the curious omission of the place in which the child +had been born to the caution of her husband. If Mrs. Tenbruggen +(then Miss Chance) had happened to see the advertisement in the +great London newspaper, Mr. Gracedieu might yet have good reason +to congratulate himself on his prudent method of providing +against mischievous curiosity. + +I turned toward the bed and looked at him. His eyes were closed. +Was he sleeping? Or was he trying to remember what he had desired +to say to me, when the demands which I made on his memory had +obliged him to wait for a later opportunity? + +Either way, there was something that quickened my sympathies, in +the spectacle of his helpless repose. It suggested to me personal +reasons for his anxieties, which he had not mentioned, and which +I had not thought of, up to this time. If the discovery that he +dreaded took place, his household would be broken up, and his +position as pastor would suffer in the estimation of the flock. +His own daughter would refuse to live under the same roof with +the daughter of an infamous woman. Popular opinion, among his +congregation, judging a man who had passed off the child of +other parents as his own, would find that man guilty of an act +of deliberate deceit. + +Still oppressed by reflections which pointed to the future +in this discouraging way, I was startled by a voice outside +the door--a sweet, sad voice--saying, "May I come in?" + +The Minister's eyes opened instantly: he raised himself in +his bed. + +"Eunice, at last!" he cried. "Let her in." + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +THE ADOPTED CHILD + +I opened the door. + +Eunice passed me with the suddenness almost of a flash of light. +When I turned toward the bed, her arms were round her father's +neck. "Oh, poor papa, how ill you look!" Commonplace expressions +of fondness, and no more; but the tone gave them a charm that +subdued me. Never had I felt so indulgent toward Mr. Gracedieu's +unreasonable fears as when I saw him in the embrace of his +adopted daughter. She had already reminded me of the bygone day +when a bright little child had sat on my knee and listened to +the ticking of my watch. + +The Minister gently lifted her head from his breast. "My +darling," he said, "you don't see my old friend. Love him, +and look up to him, Eunice. He will be your friend, too, when +I am gone." + +She came to me and offered her cheek to be kissed. It was sadly +pale, poor soul--and I could guess why. But her heart was now +full of her father. "Do you think he is seriously ill?" she +whispered. What I ought to have said I don't know. Her eyes, +the sweetest, truest, loveliest eyes I ever saw in a human face, +were pleading with me. Let my enemies make the worst of it, if +they like--I did certainly lie. And if I deserved my punishment, +I got it; the poor child believed me! "Now I am happier," she +said, gratefully. "Only to hear your voice seems to encourage me. +On our way here, Selina did nothing but talk of you. She told me +I shouldn't have time to feel afraid of the great man; he would +make me fond of him directly. I said, 'Are you fond of him?' She +said, 'Madly in love with him, my dear.' My little friend really +thinks you like her, and is very proud of it. There are some +people who call her ugly. I hope you don't agree with them?" + +I believe I should have lied again, if Mr. Gracedieu had not +called me to the bedside + +"How does she strike you?" he whispered, eagerly. "Is it too soon +to ask if she shows her age in her face?" + +"Neither in her face nor her figure," I answered: "it astonishes +me that you can ever have doubted it. No stranger, judging by +personal appearance, could fail to make the mistake of thinking +Helena the oldest of the two." + +He looked fondly at Eunice. "Her figure seems to bear out what +you say," he went on. "Almost childish, isn't it?" + +I could not agree to that. Slim, supple, simply graceful in every +movement, Eunice's figure, in the charm of first youth, only +waited its perfect development. Most men, looking at her as she +stood at the other end of the room with her back toward us, would +have guessed her age to be sixteen. + +Finding that I failed to agree with him, Mr. Gracedieu's +misgivings returned. "You speak very confidently," he said, +"considering that you have not seen the girls together. Think +what a dreadful blow it would be to me if you made a mistake." + +I declared, with perfect sincerity, that there was no fear +of a mistake. The bare idea of making the proposed comparison +was hateful to me. If Helena and I had happened to meet at that +moment, I should have turned away from her by instinct--she would +have disturbed my impressions of Eunice. + +The Minister signed to me to move a little nearer to him. "I must +say it," he whispered, "and I am afraid of her hearing me. +Is there anything in her face that reminds you of her miserable +mother?" + +I had hardly patience to answer the question: it was simply +preposterous. Her hair was by many shades darker than her +mother's hair; her eyes were of a different color. There was +an exquisite tenderness and sincerity in their expression--made +additionally beautiful, to my mind, by a gentle, uncomplaining +sadness. It was impossible even to think of the eyes of the +murderess when I looked at her child. Eunice's lower features, +again, had none of her mother's regularity of proportion. Her +smile, simple and sweet, and soon passing away, was certainly not +an inherited smile on the maternal side. Whether she resembled +her father, I was unable to conjecture--having never seen him. +The one thing certain was, that not the faintest trace, +in feature or expression, of Eunice's mother was to be seen +in Eunice herself. Of the two girls, Helena--judging by something +in the color of her hair, and by something in the shade of her +complexion--might possibly have suggested, in those particulars +only, a purely accidental resemblance to my terrible prisoner +of past times. + +The revival of Mr. Gracedieu's spirits indicated a temporary +change only, and was already beginning to pass away. The eyes +which had looked lovingly at Eunice began to look languidly now: +his head sank on the pillow with a sigh of weak content. +"My pleasure has been almost too much for me," he said. "Leave me +for a while to rest, and get used to it." + +Eunice kissed his forehead--and we left the room. + + +CHAPTER XL. + +THE BRUISED HEART. + +When we stepped out on the landing, I observed that my companion +paused. She looked at the two flights of stairs below us before +she descended them. It occurred to me that there must be somebody +in the house whom she was anxious to avoid. + +Arrived at the lower hall, she paused again, and proposed in +a whisper that we should go into the garden. As we advanced +along the backward division of the hall, I saw her eyes turn +distrustfully toward the door of the room in which Helena had +received me. At last, my slow perceptions felt with her and +understood her. Eunice's sensitive nature recoiled from a chance +meeting with the wretch who had laid waste all that had once been +happy and hopeful in that harmless young life. + +"Will you come with me to the part of the garden that I am +fondest of?" she asked. + +I offered her my arm. She led me in silence to a rustic seat, +placed under the shade of a mulberry tree. I saw a change in +her face as we sat down--a tender and beautiful change. At that +moment the girl's heart was far away from me. There was some +association with this corner of the garden, on which I felt that +I must not intrude. + +"I was once very happy here," she said. "When the time of the +heartache came soon after, I was afraid to look at the old tree +and the bench under it. But that is all over now. I like to +remember the hours that were once dear to me, and to see +the place that recalls them. Do you know who I am thinking of? +Don't be afraid of distressing me. I never cry now." + +"My dear child, I have heard your sad story--but I can't trust +myself to speak of it." + +"Because you are so sorry for me?" + +"No words can say how sorry I am!" + +"But you are not angry with Philip?" + +"Not angry! My poor dear, I am afraid to tell you how angry I am +with him." + +"Oh, no! You mustn't say that. If you wish to be kind to me--and +I am sure you do wish it--don't think bitterly of Philip." + +When I remember that the first feeling she roused in me was +nothing worthier of a professing Christian than astonishment, +I drop in my own estimation to the level of a savage. "Do you +really mean," I was base enough to ask, "that you have forgiven +him?" + +She said, gently: "How could I help forgiving him?" + +The man who could have been blessed with such love as this, +and who could have cast it away from him, can have been nothing +but an idiot. On that ground--though I dared not confess it +to Eunice--I forgave him, too. + +"Do I surprise you?" she asked simply. "Perhaps love will bear +any humiliation. Or perhaps I am only a poor weak creature. You +don't know what a comfort it was to me to keep the few letters +that I received from Philip. When I heard that he had gone away, +I gave his letters the kiss that bade him good-by. That was +the time, I think, when my poor bruised heart got used to +the pain; I began to feel that there was one consolation still +left for me--I might end in forgiving him. Why do I tell you all +this? I think you must have bewitched me. Is this really +the first time I have seen you?" + +She put her little trembling hand into mine; I lifted it to +my lips, and kissed it. Sorely was I tempted to own that I had +pitied and loved her in her infancy. It was almost on my lips to +say: "I remember you an easily-pleased little creature, amusing +yourself with the broken toys which were once the playthings +of my own children." I believe I should have said it, if I could +have trusted myself to speak composedly to her. This was not +to be done. Old as I was, versed as I was in the hard knowledge +of how to keep the mask on in the hour of need, this was not +to be done. + +Still trying to understand that I was little better than +a stranger to her, and still bent on finding the secret of +the sympathy that united us, Eunice put a strange question to me. + +"When you were young yourself," she said, "did you know what it +was to love, and to be loved--and then to lose it all?" + +It is not given to many men to marry the woman who has been +the object of their first love. My early life had been darkened +by a sad story; never confided to any living creature; banished +resolutely from my own thoughts. For forty years past, that part +of my buried self had lain quiet in its grave--and the chance +touch of an innocent hand had raised the dead, and set us face +to face again! Did I know what it was to love, and to be loved, +and then to lose it all? "Too well, my child; too well!" + +That was all I could say to her. In the last days of my life, I +shrank from speaking of it. When I had first felt that calamity, +and had felt it most keenly, I might have given an answer +worthier of me, and worthier of her. + +She dropped my hand, and sat by me in silence, thinking. Had +I--without meaning it, God knows!--had I disappointed her? + +"Did you expect me to tell my own sad story," I said, "as frankly +and as trustfully as you have told yours?" + +"Oh, don't think that! I know what an effort it was to you +to answer me at all. Yes, indeed! I wonder whether I may ask +something. The sorrow you have just told me of is not the only +one--is it? You have had other troubles?" + +"Many of them." + +"There are times," she went on, "when one can't help thinking of +one's own miserable self. I try to be cheerful, but those times +come now and then." + +She stopped, and looked at me with a pale fear confessing itself +in her face. + +"You know who Selina is?" she resumed. "My friend! The only +friend I had, till you came here." + +I guessed that she was speaking of the quaint, kindly little +woman, whose ugly surname had been hitherto the only name known +to me. + +"Selina has, I daresay, told you that I have been ill," she +continued, "and that I am staying in the country for the benefit +of my health." + +It was plain that she had something to say to me, far more +important than this, and that she was dwelling on trifles to gain +time and courage. Hoping to help her, I dwelt on trifles, too; +asking commonplace questions about the part of the country in +which she was staying. She answered absently--then, little by +little, impatiently. The one poor proof of kindness that I could +offer, now, was to say no more. + +"Do you know what a strange creature I am?" she broke out. "Shall +I make you angry with me? or shall I make you laugh at me? What +I have shrunk from confessing to Selina--what I dare not confess +to my father--I must, and will, confess to You." + +There was a look of horror in her face that alarmed me. I drew +her to me so that she could rest her head on my shoulder. My own +agitation threatened to get the better of me. For the first time +since I had seen this sweet girl, I found myself thinking of the +blood that ran in her veins, and of the nature of the mother who +had borne her. + +"Did you notice how I behaved upstairs?" she said. "I mean when +we left my father, and came out on the landing." + +It was easily recollected; I begged her to go on. + +"Before I went downstairs," she proceeded, "you saw me look +and listen. Did you think I was afraid of meeting some person? +and did you guess who it was I wanted to avoid?" + +"I guessed that--and I understood you." + +"No! You are not wicked enough to understand me. Will you do me +a favor? I want you to look at me." + +It was said seriously. She lifted her head for a moment, so that +I could examine her face. + +"Do you see anything," she asked, "which makes you fear that I am +not in my right mind?" + +"Good God! how can you ask such a horrible question? + +She laid her head back on my shoulder with a sad little sigh of +resignation. "I ought to have known better," she said; "there is +no such easy way out of it as that. Tell me--is there one kind of +wickedness more deceitful than another? Can it be hid in a person +for years together, and show itself when a time of suffering--no; +I mean when a sense of injury comes? Did you ever see that, when +you were master in the prison?" + +I had seen it--and, after a moment's doubt, I said I had seen it. + +"Did you pity those poor wretches?" + +"Certainly! They deserved pity." + +"I am one of them!" she said. "Pity _me_. If Helena looks at +me--if Helena speaks to me--if I only see Helena by accident--do +you know what she does? She tempts me! Tempts me to do dreadful +things! Tempts me--" The poor child threw her arms round my neck, +and whispered the next fatal words in my ear. + +The mother! Prepared as I was for the accursed discovery, +the horror of it shook me. + +She left me, and started to her feet. The inherited energy showed +itself in furious protest against the inherited evil. "What does +it mean?" she cried. "I'll submit to anything. I'll bear my hard +lot patiently, if you will only tell me what it means. Where does +this horrid transformation of me out of myself come from? Look at +my good father. In all this world there is no man so perfect as +he is. And oh, how he has taught me! there isn't a single good +thing that I have not learned from him since I was a little +child. Did you ever hear him speak of my mother? You must have +heard him. My mother was an angel. I could never be worthy of +her at my best--but I have tried! I have tried! The wickedest +girl in the world doesn't have worse thoughts than the thoughts +that have come to me. Since when? Since Helena--oh, how can +I call her by her name as if I still loved her? Since my sister +--can she be my sister, I ask myself sometimes! Since my enemy-- +there's the word for her--since my enemy took Philip away +from me. What does it mean? I have asked in my prayers--and have +got no answer. I ask you. What does it mean? You must tell me! +You shall tell me! What does it mean?" + +Why did I not try to calm her? I had vainly tried to calm her--I +who knew who her mother was, and what her mother had been. + +At last, she had forced the sense of my duty on me. The simplest +way of calming her was to put her back in the place by my side +that she had left. It was useless to reason with her, it was +impossible to answer her. I had my own idea of the one way +in which I might charm Eunice back to her sweeter self. + +"Let us talk of Philip," I said. + +The fierce flush on her face softened, the swelling trouble of +her bosom began to subside, as that dearly-loved name passed my +lips! But there was some influence left in her which resisted me. + +"No," she said; "we had better not talk of him." + +"Why not?" + +"I have lost all my courage. If you speak of Philip, you will +make me cry." + +I drew her nearer to me. If she had been my own child, I don't +think I could have felt for her more truly than I felt at that +moment. I only looked at her; I only said: + +"Cry!" + +The love that was in her heart rose, and poured its tenderness +into her eyes. I had longed to see the tears that would comfort +her. The tears came. + +There was silence between us for a while. It was possible for me +to think. + +In the absence of physical resemblance between parent and child, +is an unfavorable influence exercised on the tendency to moral +resemblance? Assuming the possibility of such a result as this, +Eunice (entirely unlike her mother) must, as I concluded, +have been possessed of qualities formed to resist, as well as +of qualities doomed to undergo, the infection of evil. +While, therefore, I resigned myself to recognize the existence +of the hereditary maternal taint, I firmly believed in +the counterbalancing influences for good which had been part +of the girl's birthright. They had been derived, perhaps, +from the better qualities in her father's nature; they had been +certainly developed by the tender care, the religious vigilance, +which had guarded the adopted child so lovingly in the Minister's +household; and they had served their purpose until time brought +with it the change, for which the tranquil domestic influences +were not prepared. With the great, the vital transformation, +which marks the ripening of the girl into the woman's maturity +of thought and passion, a new power for Good, strong enough +to resist the latent power for Evil, sprang into being, and +sheltered Eunice under the supremacy of Love. Love ill-fated +and ill-bestowed--but love that no profanation could stain, that +no hereditary evil could conquer--the True Love that had been, +and was, and would be, the guardian angel of Eunice's life. + +If I am asked whether I have ventured to found this opinion on +what I have observed in one instance only, I reply that I have +had other opportunities of investigation, and that my conclusions +are derived from experience which refers to more instances than +one. + +No man in his senses can doubt that physical qualities are +transmitted from parents to children. But inheritance of moral +qualities is less easy to trace. Here, the exploring mind finds +its progress beset by obstacles. That those obstacles have been +sometimes overcome I do not deny. Moral resemblances have been +traced between parents and children. While, however, I admit +this, I doubt the conclusion which sees, in inheritance of moral +qualities, a positive influence exercised on moral destiny. There +are inherent emotional forces in humanity to which the inherited +influences must submit; they are essentially influences under +control--influences which can be encountered and forced back. +That we, who inhabit this little planet, may be the doomed +creatures of fatality, from the cradle to the grave, I am not +prepared to dispute. But I absolutely refuse to believe that +it is a fatality with no higher origin than can be found in +our accidental obligation to our fathers and mothers. + + +Still absorbed in these speculations, I was disturbed by a touch +on my arm. + +I looked up. Eunice's eyes were fixed on a shrubbery, at some +little distance from us, which closed the view of the garden on +that side. I noticed that she was trembling. Nothing to alarm her +was visible that I could discover. I asked what she had seen to +startle her. She pointed to the shrubbery. + +"Look again," she said. + +This time I saw a woman's dress among the shrubs. The woman +herself appeared in a moment more. It was Helena. She carried +a small portfolio, and she approached us with a smile. + + +CHAPTER XLI. + +THE WHISPERING VOICE. + +I looked at Eunice. She had risen, startled by her first +suspicion of the person who was approaching us through +the shrubbery; but she kept her place near me, only changing +her position so as to avoid confronting Helena. Her quickened +breathing was all that told me of the effort she was making +to preserve her self-control. + +Entirely free from unbecoming signs of hurry and agitation, +Helena opened her business with me by means of an apology. + +"Pray excuse me for disturbing you. I am obliged to leave the +house on one of my tiresome domestic errands. If you will kindly +permit it, I wish to express, before I go, my very sincere regret +for what I was rude enough to say, when I last had the honor +of seeing you. May I hope to be forgiven? How-do-you-do, Eunice? +Have you enjoyed your holiday in the country?" + +Eunice neither moved nor answered. Having some doubt of what +might happen if the two girls remained together, I proposed +to Helena to leave the garden and to let me hear what she had +to say, in the house. + +"Quite needless," she replied; "I shall not detain you for more +than a minute. Please look at this." + +She offered to me the portfolio that she had been carrying, and +pointed to a morsel of paper attached to it, which contained this +inscription: + + +"Philip's Letters To Me. Private. Helena Gracedieu." + + +"I have a favor to ask," she said, "and a proof of confidence in +you to offer. Will you be so good as to look over what you find +in my portfolio? I am unwilling to give up the hopes that I had +founded on our interview, when I asked for it. The letters will, +I venture to think, plead my cause more convincingly than I was +able to plead it for myself. I wish to forget what passed +between us, to the last word. To the last word," she repeated +emphatically--with a look which sufficiently informed me that +I had not been betrayed to her father yet. "Will you indulge me?" +she asked, and offered her portfolio for the second time. + +A more impudent bargain could not well have been proposed to me. + +I was to read, and to be favorably impressed by, Mr. Philip +Dunboyne's letters; and Miss Helena was to say nothing of that +unlucky slip of the tongue, relating to her mother, which she +had discovered to be a serious act of self-betrayal--thanks to +my confusion at the time. If I had not thought of Eunice, and +of the desolate and loveless life to which the poor girl was +so patiently resigned, I should have refused to read Miss +Gracedieu's love-letters. + +But, as things were, I was influenced by the hope (innocently +encouraged by Eunice herself) that Philip Dunboyne might not +be so wholly unworthy of the sweet girl whom he had injured as +I had hitherto been too hastily disposed to believe. To act on +this view with the purpose of promoting a reconciliation was +impossible, unless I had the means of forming a correct estimate +of the man's character. It seemed to me that I had found the +means. A fair chance of putting his sincerity to a trustworthy +test, was surely offered by the letters (the confidential +letters) which I had been requested to read. To feel this +as strongly as I felt it, brought me at once to a decision. +I consented to take the portfolio--on my own conditions. + +"Understand, Miss Helena," I said, "that I make no promises. +I reserve my own opinion, and my own right of action." + +"I am not afraid of your opinions or your actions," she answered +confidently, "if you will only read the letters. In the meantime, +let me relieve my sister, there, of my presence. I hope you will +soon recover, Eunice, in the country air." + +If the object of the wretch was to exasperate her victim, she had +completely failed. Eunice remained as still as a statue. To all +appearance, she had not even heard what had been said to her. +Helena looked at me, and touched her forehead with a significant +smile. "Sad, isn't it?" she said--and bowed, and went briskly +away on her household errand. + +We were alone again. + +Still, Eunice never moved. I spoke to her, and produced no +impression. Beginning to feel alarmed, I tried the effect +of touching her. With a wild cry, she started into a state +of animation. Almost at the same moment, she weakly swayed +to and fro as if the pleasant breeze in the garden moved her +at its will, like the flowers. I held her up, and led her to +the seat. + +"There is nothing to be afraid of," I said. "She has gone." + +Eunice's eyes rested on me in vacant surprise. "How do you know?" +she asked. "I hear her; but I never see her. Do you see her?" + +"My dear child! of what person are you speaking?" + +She answered: "Of no person. I am speaking of a Voice that +whispers and tempts me, when Helena is near." + +"What voice, Eunice?" + +"The whispering Voice. It said to me, 'I am your mother;' +it called me Daughter when I first heard it. My father speaks +of my mother, the angel. That good spirit has never come to me +from the better world. It is a mock-mother who comes to me--some +spirit of evil. Listen to this. I was awake in my bed. In +the dark I heard the mock-mother whispering, close at my ear. +Shall I tell you how she answered me, when I longed for light +to see her by, when I prayed to her to show herself to me? She +said: 'My face was hidden when I passed from life to death; +my face no mortal creature may see.' I have never seen her--how +can _you_ have seen her? But I heard her again, just now. She +whispered to me when Helena was standing there--where you are +standing. She freezes the life in me. Did she freeze the life +in _you?_ Did you hear her tempting me? Don't speak of it, if +you did. Oh, not a word! not a word!" + +A man who has governed a prison may say with Macbeth, "I have +supped full with horrors." Hardened as I was--or ought to have +been--the effect of what I had just heard turned me cold. +If I had not known it to be absolutely impossible, I might have +believed that the crime and the death of the murderess were known +to Eunice, as being the crime and the death of her mother, and +that the horrid discovery had turned her brain. This was simply +impossible. What did it mean? Good God! what did it mean? + +My sense of my own helplessness was the first sense in me that +recovered. I thought of Eunice's devoted little friend. A woman's +sympathy seemed to be needed now. I rose to lead the way out of +the garden. + +"Selina will think we are lost," I said. "Let us go and find +Selina." + +"Not for the world," she cried. + +"Why not?" + +"Because I don't feel sure of myself. I might tell Selina +something which she must never know; I should be so sorry +to frighten her. Let me stop here with you." + +I resumed my place at her side. + +"Let me take your hand." + +I gave her my hand. What composing influence this simple act may, +or may not, have exercised, it is impossible to say. She was +quiet, she was silent. After an interval, I heard her breathe +a long-drawn sigh of relief. + +"I am afraid I have surprised you," she said. "Helena brings +the dreadful time back to me--" She stopped and shuddered. + +"Don't speak of Helena, my dear." + +"But I am afraid you will think--because I have said strange +things--that I have been talking at random," she insisted. +"The doctor will say that, if you meet with him. He believes I am +deluded by a dream. I tried to think so myself. It was of no use; +I am quite sure he is wrong." + +I privately determined to watch for the doctor's arrival, and +to consult with him. Eunice went on: + +"I have the story of a terrible night to tell you; but I haven't +the courage to tell it now. Why shouldn't you come back with me +to the place that I am staying at? A pleasant farm-house, and +such kind people. You might read the account of that night in +my journal. I shall not regret the misery of having written it, +if it helps you to find out how this hateful second self of mine +has come to me. Hush! I want to ask you something. Do you think +Helena is in the house?" + +"No--she has gone out." + +"Did she say that herself? Are you sure?" + +"Quite sure." + +She decided on going back to the farm, while Helena was out +of the way. We left the garden together. For the first time, +my companion noticed the portfolio. I happened to be carrying it +in the hand that was nearest to her, as she walked by my side. + +"Where did you get that?" she asked. + +It was needless to reply in words. My hesitation spoke for me. + +"Carry it in your other hand," she said--"the hand that's +furthest away from me. I don't want to see it! Do you mind +waiting a moment while I find Selina? You will go to the farm +with us, won't you?" + +I had to look over the letters, in Eunice's own interests; +and I begged her to let me defer my visit to the farm until +the next day. She consented, after making me promise to keep +my appointment. It was of some importance to her, she told me, +that I should make acquaintance with the farmer and his wife and +children, and tell her how I liked them. Her plans for the future +depended on what those good people might be willing to do. When +she had recovered her health, it was impossible for her to go +home again while Helena remained in the house. She had resolved +to earn her own living, if she could get employment as +a governess. The farmer's children liked her; she had already +helped their mother in teaching them; and there was reason +to hope that their father would see his way to employing her +permanently. His house offered the great advantage of being near +enough to the town to enable her to hear news of the Minister's +progress toward recovery, and to see him herself when safe +opportunities offered, from time to time. As for her salary, +what did she care about money? Anything would be acceptable, +if the good man would only realize her hopes for the future. + +It was disheartening to hear that hope, at her age, began and +ended within such narrow limits as these. No prudent man would +have tried to persuade her, as I now did, that the idea of +reconciliation offered the better hope of the two. + +"Suppose I see Mr. Philip Dunboyne when I go back to London," +I began, "what shall I say to him?" + +"Say I have forgiven him." + +"And suppose," I went on, "that the blame really rests, where you +all believe it to rest, with Helena. If that young man returns +to you, truly ashamed of himself, truly penitent, will you--?" + +She resolutely interrupted me: "No!" + +"Oh, Eunice, you surely mean Yes?" + +"I mean No!" + +"Why?" + +"Don't ask me! Good-by till to-morrow." + + +CHAPTER XLII. + +THE QUAINT PHILOSOPHER. + +No person came to my room, and nothing happened to interrupt me +while I was reading Mr. Philip Dunboyne's letters. + +One of them, let me say at once, produced a very disagreeable +impression on me. I have unexpectedly discovered Mrs. Tenbruggen +--in a postscript. She is making a living as a Medical Rubber +(or Masseuse), and is in professional attendance on Mr. Dunboyne +the elder. More of this, a little further on. + +Having gone through the whole collection of young Dunboyne's +letters, I set myself to review the differing conclusions which +the correspondence had produced on my mind. + +I call the papers submitted to me a correspondence, because +the greater part of Philip's letters exhibit notes in pencil, +evidently added by Helena. These express, for the most part, +the interpretation which she had placed on passages that +perplexed or displeased her; and they have, as Philip's +rejoinders show, been employed as materials when she wrote +her replies. + +On reflection, I find myself troubled by complexities and +contradictions in the view presented of this young man's +character. To decide positively whether I can justify to myself +and to my regard for Eunice, an attempt to reunite the lovers, +requires more time for consideration than I can reasonably expect +that Helena's patience will allow. Having a quiet hour or two +still before me, I have determined to make extracts from the +letters for my own use; with the intention of referring to them +while I am still in doubt which way my decision ought to incline. +I shall present them here, to speak for themselves. Is there any +objection to this? None that I can see. + +In the first place, those extracts have a value of their own. +They add necessary information to the present history of events. + +In the second place, I am under no obligation to Mr. Gracedieu's +daughter which forbids me to make use of her portfolio. I told +her that I only consented to receive it, under reserve of my own +right of action--and her assent to that stipulation was expressed +in the clearest terms. + + +EXTRACTS FROM MR. PHILIP DUNBOYNE'S LETTERS. + +First Extract. + +You blame me, dear Helena, for not having paid proper attention +to the questions put to me in your last letter. I have only been +waiting to make up my mind, before I replied. + +First question: Do I think it advisable that you should write +to my father? No, my dear; I beg you will defer writing, until +you hear from me again. + +Second question: Considering that he is still a stranger to you, +is there any harm in your asking me what sort of man my father +is? No harm, my sweet one; but, as you will presently see, I am +afraid you have addressed yourself to the wrong person. + +My father is kind, in his own odd way--and learned, and rich-- +a more high-minded and honorable man (as I have every reason +to believe) doesn't live. But if you ask me which he prefers, +his books or his son, I hope I do him no injustice when I answer, +his books. His reading and his writing are obstacles between us +which I have never been able to overcome. This is the more to be +regretted because he is charming, on the few occasions when +I find him disengaged. If you wish I knew more about my father, +we are in complete agreement as usual--I wish, too. + +But there is a dear friend of yours and mine, who is just +the person we want to help us. Need I say that I allude to +Mrs. Staveley? + +I called on her yesterday, not long after she had paid a visit +to my father. Luck had favored her. She arrived just at the time +when hunger had obliged him to shut up his books, and ring for +something to eat. Mrs. Staveley secured a favorable reception +with her customary tact and delicacy. He had a fowl for his +dinner. She knows his weakness of old; she volunteered to carve +it for him. + +If I can only repeat what this clever woman told me of their +talk, you will have a portrait of Mr. Dunboyne the elder--not +perhaps a highly-finished picture, but, as I hope and believe, +a good likeness. + +Mrs. Staveley began by complaining to him of the conduct of +his son. I had promised to write to her, and I had never kept +my word. She had reasons for being especially interested in +my plans and prospects, just then; knowing me to be attached +(please take notice that I am quoting her own language) to +a charming friend of hers, whom I had first met at her house. +To aggravate the disappointment that I had inflicted, the young +lady had neglected her, too. No letters, no information. Perhaps +my father would kindly enlighten her? Was the affair going on? +or was it broken off? + +My father held out his plate and asked for the other wing of +the fowl. "It isn't a bad one for London," he said; "won't you +have some yourself?" + +"I don't seem to have interested you," Mrs. Staveley remarked. + +"What did you expect me to be interested in?" my father +inquired. "I was absorbed in the fowl. Favor me by returning +to the subject." + +Mrs. Staveley admits that she answered this rather sharply: +"The subject, sir, was your son's admiration for a charming girl: +one of the daughters of Mr. Gracedieu, the famous preacher." + +My father is too well-bred to speak to a lady while his attention +is absorbed by a fowl. He finished the second wing, and then +he asked if "Philip was engaged to be married." + +"I am not quite sure," Mrs. Staveley confessed. + +"Then, my dear friend, we will wait till we _are_ sure." + +"But, Mr. Dunboyne, there is really no need to wait. I suppose +your son comes here, now and then, to see you?" + +"My son is most attentive. In course of time he will contrive +to hit on the right hour for his visit. At present, poor fellow, +he interrupts me every day." + +"Suppose he hits upon the right time to-morrow?" + +"Yes?" + +"You might ask him if he is engaged?" + +"Pardon me. I think I might wait till Philip mentions it without +asking." + +"What an extraordinary man you are!" + +"Oh, no, no--only a philosopher." + +This tried Mrs. Staveley's temper. You know what a perfectly +candid person our friend is. She owned to me that she felt +inclined to make herself disagreeable. "That's thrown away +upon me," she said: "I don't know what a philosopher is." + +Let me pause for a moment, dear Helena. I have inexcusably +forgotten to speak of my father's personal appearance. It won't +take long. I need only notice one interesting feature which, +so to speak, lifts his face out of the common. He has an eloquent +nose. Persons possessing this rare advantage are blest +with powers of expression not granted to their ordinary +fellow-creatures. My father's nose is a mine of information +to friends familiarly acquainted with it. It changes color like +a modest young lady's cheek. It works flexibly from side to side +like the rudder of a ship. On the present occasion, Mrs. Staveley +saw it shift toward the left-hand side of his face. A sigh +escaped the poor lady. Experience told her that my father was +going to hold forth. + +"You don't know what a philosopher is!" he repeated. "Be so kind +as to look at me. I am a philosopher." + +Mrs. Staveley bowed. + +"And a philosopher, my charming friend, is a man who has +discovered a system of life. Some systems assert themselves +in volumes--_my_ system asserts itself in two words: Never think +of anything until you have first asked yourself if there is +an absolute necessity for doing it, at that particular moment. +Thinking of things, when things needn't be thought of, is +offering an opportunity to Worry; and Worry is the favorite agent +of Death when the destroyer handles his work in a lingering way, +and achieves premature results. Never look back, and never look +forward, as long as you can possibly help it. Looking back leads +the way to sorrow. And looking forward ends in the cruelest +of all delusions: it encourages hope. The present time is +the precious time. Live for the passing day: the passing day +is all that we can be sure of. You suggested, just now, that +I should ask my son if he was engaged to be married. How do we +know what wear and tear of your nervous texture I succeeded +in saving when I said. 'Wait till Philip mentions it without +asking?' There is the personal application of my system. +I have explained it in my time to every woman on the list of +my acquaintance, including the female servants. Not one of them +has rewarded me by adopting my system. How do you feel about it?" + +Mrs. Staveley declined to tell me whether she had offered +a bright example of gratitude to the rest of the sex. When +I asked why, she declared that it was my turn now to tell her +what I had been doing. + +You will anticipate what followed. She objected to the mystery in +which my prospects seemed to be involved. In plain English, was +I, or was I not, engaged to marry her dear Eunice? I said, No. +What else could I say? If I had told Mrs. Staveley the truth, +when she insisted on my explaining myself, she would have gone +back to my father, and would have appealed to his sense of +justice to forbid our marriage. Finding me obstinately silent, +she has decided on writing to Eunice. So we parted. But don't +be disheartened. On my way out of the house, I met Mr. Staveley +coming in, and had a little talk with him. He and his wife and +his family are going to the seaside, next week. Mrs. Staveley +once out of our way, I can tell my father of our engagement +without any fear of consequences. If she writes to him, the +moment he sees my name mentioned, and finds violent language +associated with it, he will hand the letter to me. "Your +business, Philip: don't interrupt me." He will say that, and +go back to his books. There is my father, painted to the life! +Farewell, for the present. + +. . . . . . . + +Remarks by H. G.--Philip's grace and gayety of style might be +envied by any professional Author. He amuses me, but he rouses my +suspicion at the same time. This slippery lover of mine tells me +to defer writing to his father, and gives no reason for offering +that strange advice to the young lady who is soon to be a member +of the family. Is this merely one more instance of the weakness +of his character? Or, now that he is away from my influence, +is he beginning to regret Eunice already? + +Added by the Governor.--I too have my doubts. Is the flippant +nonsense which Philip has written inspired by the effervescent +good spirits of a happy young man? Or is it assumed for +a purpose? In this latter case, I should gladly conclude that +he was regarding his conduct to Eunice with becoming emotions +of sorrow and shame. + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + +THE MASTERFUL MASSEUSE. + +My next quotations will suffer a process of abridgment. I intend +them to present the substance of three letters, reduced as +follows: + + +Second Extract. + +Weak as he may be, Mr. Philip Dunboyne shows (in his second +letter) that he can feel resentment, and that he can express +his feelings, in replying to Miss Helena. He protests against +suspicions which he has not deserved. That he does sometimes +think of Eunice he sees no reason to deny. He is conscious of +errors and misdeeds, which--traceable as they are to Helena's +irresistible fascinations--may perhaps be considered rather his +misfortune than his fault. Be that as it may, he does indeed feel +anxious to hear good accounts of Eunice's health. If this honest +avowal excites her sister's jealousy, he will be disappointed +in Helena for the first time. + +His third letter shows that this exhibition of spirit has had +its effect. + +The imperious young lady regrets that she has hurt his feelings, +and is rewarded for the apology by receiving news of the most +gratifying kind. Faithful Philip has told his father that he +is engaged to be married to Miss Helena Gracedieu, daughter of +the celebrated Congregational preacher--and so on, and so on. Has +Mr. Dunboyne the elder expressed any objection to the young lady? +Certainly not! He knows nothing of the other engagement to +Eunice; and he merely objects, on principle, to looking forward. +"How do we know," says the philosopher, "what accidents may +happen, or what doubts and hesitations may yet turn up? I am not +to burden my mind in this matter, till I know that I must do it. +Let me hear when she is ready to go to church, and I will be +ready with the settlements. My compliments to Miss and her papa, +and let us wait a little." Dearest Helena--isn't he funny? + +The next letter has been already mentioned. + +In this there occurs the first startling reference to Mrs. +Tenbruggen, by name. She is in London, finding her way to +lucrative celebrity by twisting, turning, and pinching the flesh +of credulous persons, afflicted with nervous disorders; and she +has already paid a few medical visits to old Mr. Dunboyne. He +persists in poring over his books while Mrs. Tenbruggen operates, +sometimes on his cramped right hand, sometimes (in the fear that +his brain may have something to do with it) on the back of +his neck. One of them frowns over her rubbing, and the other +frowns over his reading. It would be delightfully ridiculous, +but for a drawback; Mr. Philip Dunboyne's first impressions +of Mrs. Tenbruggen do not incline him to look at that lady from +a humorous point of view. + +Helena's remarks follow, as usual. She has seen Mrs. Tenbruggen's +name on the address of a letter written by Miss Jillgall--which +is quite enough to condemn Mrs. Tenbruggen. As for Philip +himself, she feels not quite sure of him, even yet. No more do I. + +Third Extract. + +The letter that follows must be permitted to speak for itself: + +I have flown into a passion, dearest Helena; and I am afraid +I shall make you fly into a passion, too. Blame Mrs. Tenbruggen; +don't blame me. + +On the first occasion when I found my father under the hands +of the Medical Rubber, she took no notice of me. On the second +occasion--when she had been in daily attendance on him for +a week, at an exorbitant fee--she said in the coolest manner: +"Who is this young gentleman?" My father laid down his book, +for a moment only: "Don't interrupt me again, ma'am. The young +gentleman is my son Philip." Mrs. Tenbruggen eyed me with +an appearance of interest which I was at a loss to account for. +I hate an impudent woman. My visit came suddenly to an end. + +The next time I saw my father, he was alone. + +I asked him how he got on with Mrs. Tenbruggen. As badly as +possible, it appeared. "She takes liberties with my neck; she +interrupts me in my reading; and she does me no good. I shall +end, Philip, in applying a medical rubbing to Mrs. Tenbruggen." + +A few days later, I found the masterful "Masseuse" torturing the +poor old gentleman's muscles again. She had the audacity to say +to me: "Well, Mr. Philip, when are you going to marry Miss Eunice +Gracedieu?" My father looked up. "Eunice?" he repeated. "When my +son told me he was engaged to Miss Gracedieu, he said 'Helena'! +Philip, what does this mean?" Mrs. Tenbruggen was so obliging as +to answer for me. "Some mistake, sir; it's Eunice he is engaged +to." I confess I forgot myself. "How the devil do you know that?" +I burst out. Mrs. Tenbruggen ignored me and my language. "I am +sorry to see, sir, that your son's education has been neglected; +he seems to be grossly ignorant of the laws of politeness." +"Never mind the laws of politeness," says my father. "You appear +to be better acquainted with my son's matrimonial prospects than +he is himself. How is that?" Mrs. Tenbruggen favored him with +another ready reply: "My authority is a letter, addressed to me +by a relative of Mr. Gracedieu--my dear and intimate friend, Miss +Jillgall." My father's keen eyes traveled backward and forward +between his female surgeon and his son. "Which am I to believe?" +he inquired. "I am surprised at your asking the question," +I said. Mrs. Tenbruggen pointed to me. "Look at Mr. Philip, +sir--and you will allow him one merit. He is capable of showing +it, when he knows he has disgraced himself." Without intending +it, I am sure, my father infuriated me; he looked as if he +believed her. Out came one of the smallest and strongest words +in the English language before I could stop it: "Mrs. Tenbruggen, +you lie!" The illustrious Rubber dropped my father's hand--she +had been operating on him all the time--and showed us that +she could assert her dignity when circumstances called for +the exertion: "Either your son or I, sir, must leave the room. +Which is it to be?" She met her match in my father. Walking +quietly to the door, he opened it for Mrs. Tenbruggen with a low +bow. She stopped on her way out, and delivered her parting words: +"Messieurs Dunboyne, father and son, I keep my temper, and +merely regard you as a couple of blackguards." With that pretty +assertion of her opinion, she left us. + +When we were alone, there was but one course to take; I made my +confession. It is impossible to tell you how my father received +it--for he sat down at his library table with his back to me. +The first thing he did was to ask me to help his memory. + +"Did you say that the father of these girls was a parson?" + +"Yes--a Congregational Minister." + +"What does the Minister think of you?" + +"I don't know, sir." + +"Find out." + +That was all; not another word could I extract from him. I don't +pretend to have discovered what he really has in his mind. I only +venture on a suggestion. If there is any old friend in your town, +who has some influence over your father, leave no means untried +of getting that friend to say a kind word for us. And then ask +your father to write to mine. This is, as I see it, our only +chance. + +. . . . . . . + +There the letter ends. Helena's notes on it show that her pride +is fiercely interested in securing Philip as a husband. +Her victory over poor Eunice will, as she plainly intimates, +be only complete when she is married to young Dunboyne. For +the rest, her desperate resolution to win her way to my good +graces is sufficiently intelligible, now. + +My own impressions vary. Philip rather gains upon me; he appears +to have some capacity for feeling ashamed of himself. On +the other hand, I regard the discovery of an intimate friendship +existing between Mrs. Tenbruggen and Miss Jillgall with +the gloomiest views. Is this formidable Masseuse likely to ply +her trade in the country towns? And is it possible that she may +come to this town? God forbid! + + +Of the other letters in the collection, I need take no special +notice. I returned the whole correspondence to Helena, and waited +to hear from her. + +The one recent event in Mr. Gracedieu's family, worthy of record, +is of a melancholy nature. After paying his visit to-day, +the doctor has left word that nobody but the nurse is to go near +the Minister. This seems to indicate, but too surely, a change +for the worse. + +Helena has been away all the evening at the Girls' School. +She left a little note, informing me of her wishes: "I shall +expect to be favored with your decision to-morrow morning, +in my housekeeping room." + +At breakfast time, the report of the poor Minister was still +discouraging. I noticed that Helena was absent from the table. +Miss Jillgall suspected that the cause was bad news from Mr. +Philip Dunboyne, arriving by that morning's post. "If you will +excuse the use of strong language by a lady," she said, "Helena +looked perfectly devilish when she opened the letter. She rushed +away, and locked herself up in her own shabby room. A serious +obstacle, as I suspect, in the way of her marriage. Cheering, +isn't it?" As usual, good Selina expressed her sentiments +without reserve. + +I had to keep my appointment; and the sooner Helena Gracedieu +and I understood each other the better. + +I knocked at the door. It was loudly unlocked, and violently +thrown open. Helena's temper had risen to boiling heat; she +stammered with rage when she spoke to me. + +"I mean to come to the point at once," she said. + +"I am glad to hear it, Miss Helena." + +"May I count on your influence to help me? I want a positive +answer." + +I gave her what she wanted. I said: "Certainly not." + +She took a crumpled letter from her pocket, opened it, and +smoothed it out on the table with a blow of her open hand. + +"Look at that," she said. + +I looked. It was the letter addressed to Mr. Dunboyne the elder, +which I had written for Mr. Gracedieu--with the one object +of preventing Helena's marriage. + +"Of course, I can depend on you to tell me the truth?" +she continued. + +"Without fear or favor," I answered, "you may depend on _that_." + +"The signature to the letter, Mr. Governor, is written by +my father. But the letter itself is in a different hand. Do you, +by any chance, recognize the writing?" + +"I do." + +"Whose writing is it?" + +"Mine." + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +THE RESURRECTION OF THE PAST. + +After having identified my handwriting, I waited with some +curiosity to see whether Helena would let her anger honestly show +itself, or whether she would keep it down. She kept it down. + +"Allow me to return good for evil." (The evil was uppermost, +nevertheless, when Miss Gracedieu expressed herself in these +self-denying terms.) "You are no doubt anxious to know if +Philip's father has been won over to serve your purpose. Here is +Philip's own account of it: the last of his letters that I shall +trouble you to read." + +I looked it over. The memorandum follows which I made for +my own use: + +An eccentric philosopher is as capable as the most commonplace +human being in existence of behaving like an honorable man. +Mr. Dunboyne read the letter which bore the Minister's signature, +and handed it to his son. "Can you answer that?" was all he said. +Philip's silence confessed that he was unable to answer it--and +Philip himself, I may add, rose accordingly in my estimation. +His father pointed to the writing-desk. "I must spare my cramped +hand," the philosopher resumed, "and I must answer Mr. +Gracedieu's letter. Write, and leave a place for my signature." +He began to dictate his reply. "Sir--My son Philip has seen your +letter, and has no defense to make. In this respect he has set an +example of candor which I propose to follow. There is no excuse +for him. What I can do to show that I feel for you, and agree +with you, shall be done. At the age which this young man has +reached, the laws of England abolish the authority of his father. +If he is sufficiently infatuated to place his honor and his +happiness at the mercy of a lady, who has behaved to her sister +as your daughter has behaved to Miss Eunice, I warn the married +couple not to expect a farthing of my money, either during +my lifetime or after my death. Your faithful servant, DUNBOYNE, +SENIOR." Having performed his duty as secretary, Philip received +his dismissal: "You may send my reply to the post," his father +said; "and you may keep Mr. Gracedieu's letter. Morally speaking, +I regard that last document as a species of mirror, in which +a young gentleman like yourself may see how ugly he looks." +This, Philip declared, was his father's form of farewell. + +I handed back the letter to Helena. Not a word passed between us. +In sinister silence she opened the door and left me alone in +the room. + +That Mrs. Gracedieu and I had met in the bygone time, and--this +was the only serious part of it--had met in secret, would now +be made known to the Minister. Was I to blame for having shrunk +from distressing my good friend, by telling him that his wife +had privately consulted me on the means of removing his adopted +child from his house? And, even if I had been cruel enough to +do this, would he have believed my statement against the positive +denial with which the woman whom he loved and trusted would +have certainly met it? No! let the consequences of the coming +disclosure be what they might, I failed to see any valid reason +for regretting my conduct in the past time. + +I found Miss Jillgall waiting in the passage to see me come out. + +Before I could tell her what had happened, there was a ring +at the house-bell. The visitor proved to be Mr. Wellwood, +the doctor. I was anxious to speak to him on the subject of +Mr. Gracedieu's health. Miss Jillgall introduced me, as an +old and dear friend of the Minister, and left us together in +the dining-room. + +"What do I think of Mr. Gracedieu?" he said, repeating the first +question that I put. "Well, sir, I think badly of him." + +Entering into details, after that ominous reply, Mr. Wellwood +did not hesitate to say that his patient's nerves were completely +shattered. Disease of the brain had, as he feared, been already +set up. "As to the causes which have produced this lamentable +break-down," the doctor continued, "Mr. Gracedieu has been +in the habit of preaching extempore twice a day on Sundays, and +sometimes in the week as well--and has uniformly refused to spare +himself when he was in most urgent need of rest. If you have +ever attended his chapel, you have seen a man in a state of fiery +enthusiasm, feeling intensely every word that he utters. Think of +such exhaustion as that implies going on for years together, and +accumulating its wasting influences on a sensitively organized +constitution. Add that he is tormented by personal anxieties, +which he confesses to no one, not even to his own children and +the sum of it all is that a worse case of its kind, I am grieved +to say, has never occurred in my experience." + +Before the doctor left me to go to his patient, I asked leave +to occupy a minute more of his time. My object was, of course, +to speak about Eunice. + +The change of subject seemed to be agreeable to Mr. Wellwood. +He smiled good-humoredly. + +"You need feel no alarm about the health of that interesting +girl," he said. "When she complained to me--at her age!--of not +being able to sleep, I should have taken it more seriously if +I had been told that she too had her troubles, poor little soul. +Love-troubles, most likely--but don't forget that my professional +limits keep me in the dark! Have you heard that she took some +composing medicine, which I had prescribed for her father? +The effect (certain, in any case, to be injurious to a young +girl) was considerably aggravated by the state of her mind at +the time. A dream that frightened her, and something resembling +delirium, seems to have followed. And she made matters worse, +poor child, by writing in her diary about the visions and +supernatural appearances that had terrified her. I was afraid +of fever, on the day when they first sent for me. We escaped +that complication, and I was at liberty to try the best of all +remedies--quiet and change of air. I have no fears for +Miss Eunice." + +With that cheering reply he went up to the Minister's room. + +All that I had found perplexing in Eunice was now made clear. +I understood how her agony at the loss of her lover, and her keen +sense of the wrong that she had suffered, had been strengthened +in their disastrous influence by her experiment on the sleeping +draught intended for her father. In mind and body, both, the poor +girl was in the condition which offered its opportunity to +the lurking hereditary taint. It was terrible to think of what +might have happened, if the all-powerful counter-influence had +not been present to save her. + +Before I had been long alone the servant-maid came in, and said +the doctor wanted to see me. + +Mr. Wellwood was waiting in the passage, outside the Minister's +bedchamber. He asked if he could speak to me without +interruption, and without the fear of being overheard. I led him +at once to the room which I occupied as a guest. + +"At the very time when it is most important to keep Mr. Gracedieu +quiet," he said, "something has happened to excite--I might +almost say to infuriate him. He has left his bed, and is walking +up and down the room; and, I don't scruple to say, he is on +the verge of madness. He insists on seeing you. Being wholly +unable to control him in any other way, I have consented to +this. But I must not allow you to place yourself in what may be +a disagreeable position, without a word of warning. Judging by +his tones and his looks, he seems to have no very friendly motive +for wishing to see you." + +Knowing perfectly well what had happened, and being one of those +impatient people who can never endure suspense--I offered to go +at once to Mr. Gracedieu's room. The doctor asked leave to say +one word more. + +"Pray be careful that you neither say nor do anything to thwart +him," Mr. Wellwood resumed. "If he expresses an opinion, agree +with him. If he is insolent and overbearing, don't answer him. +In the state of his brain, the one hopeful course to take is to +let him have his own way. Pray remember that. I will be within +call, in case of your wanting me." + + +CHAPTER XLV. + +THE FATAL PORTRAIT. + +I knocked at the bedroom door. + +"Who's there?" + +Only two words--but the voice that uttered them, hoarse and +peremptory, was altered almost beyond recognition. If I had +not known whose room it was, I might have doubted whether +the Minister had really spoken to me. + +At the instant when I answered him, I was allowed to pass in. +Having admitted me, he closed the door, and placed himself +with his back against it. The customary pallor of his face had +darkened to a deep red; there was an expression of ferocious +mockery in his eyes. Helena's vengeance had hurt her unhappy +father far more severely than it seemed likely to hurt me. The +doctor had said he was on the verge of madness. To my thinking, +he had already passed the boundary line. + +He received me with a boisterous affectation of cordiality. + +"My excellent friend! My admirable, honorable, welcome guest, +you don't know how glad I am to see you. Stand a little nearer +to the light; I want to admire you." + +Remembering the doctor's advice, I obeyed him in silence. + +"Ah, you were a handsome fellow when I first knew you," he said, +"and you have some remains of it still left. Do you remember the +time when you were a favorite with the ladies? Oh, don't pretend +to be modest; don't turn your back, now you are old, on what you +were in the prime of your life. Do you own that I am right?" + +What his object might be in saying this--if, indeed, he had +an object--it was impossible to guess. The doctor's advice left +me no alternative; I hastened to own that he was right. As I made +that answer, I observed that he held something in his hand which +was half hidden up the sleeve of his dressing-gown. What +the nature of the object was I failed to discover. + +"And when I happened to speak of you somewhere," he went on, +"I forget where--a member of my congregation--I don't recollect +who it was--told me you were connected with the aristocracy. +How were you connected?" + +He surprised me; but, however he had got his information, he +had not been deceived. I told him that I was connected, through +my mother, with the family to which he had alluded. + +"The aristocracy!" he repeated. "A race of people who are rich +without earning their money, and noble because their +great-grandfathers were noble before them. They live in idleness +and luxury--profligates who gratify their passions without shame +and without remorse. Deny, if you dare, that this is a true +description of them." + +It was really pitiable. Heartily sorry for him, I pacified him +again. + +"And don't suppose I forget that you are one of them. Do you hear +me, my noble friend?" + +There was no help for it--I made another conciliatory reply. + +"So far," he resumed, "I don't complain of you. You have not +attempted to deceive me--yet. Absolute silence is what I require +next. Though you may not suspect it, my mind is in a ferment; +I must try to think." + +To some extent at least, his thoughts betrayed themselves in his +actions. He put the object that I had half seen in his hand into +the pocket of his dressing-gown, and moved to the toilet-table. +Opening one of the drawers, he took from it a folded sheet of +paper, and came back to me. + +"A minister of the Gospel," he said, "is a sacred man, and has +a horror of crime. You are safe, so far--provided you obey me. +I have a solemn and terrible duty to perform. This is not +the right place for it. Follow me downstairs." + +He led the way out. The doctor, waiting in the passage, +was not near the stairs, and so escaped notice. "What is it?" +Mr. Wellwood whispered. In the same guarded way, I said: "He +has not told me yet; I have been careful not to irritate him." +When we descended the stairs, the doctor followed us at a safe +distance. He mended his pace when the Minister opened the door +of the study, and when he saw us both pass in. Before he could +follow, the door was closed and locked in his face. Mr. Gracedieu +took out the key and threw it through the open window, into +the garden below. + +Turning back into the room, he laid the folded sheet of paper +on the table. That done, he spoke to me. + +"I distrust my own weakness," he said. "A dreadful necessity +confronts me--I might shrink from the horrid idea, and, if I +could open the door, might try to get away. Escape is impossible +now. We are prisoners together. But don't suppose that we are +alone. There is a third person present, who will judge between +you and me. Look there!" + +He pointed solemnly to the portrait of his wife. It was +a small picture, very simply framed; representing the face in +a "three-quarter" view, and part of the figure only. As a work +of art it was contemptible; but, as a likeness, it answered +its purpose. My unhappy friend stood before it, in an attitude +of dejection, covering his face with his hands. + +In the interval of silence that followed, I was reminded that +an unseen friend was keeping watch outside. + +Alarmed by having heard the key turned in the lock, and realizing +the embarrassment of the position in which I was placed, the +doctor had discovered a discreet way of communicating with me. +He slipped one of his visiting-cards under the door, with these +words written on it: "How can I help you?" + +I took the pencil from my pocketbook, and wrote on the blank side +of the card: "He has thrown the key into the garden; look for it +under the window." A glance at the Minister, before I returned my +reply, showed that his attitude was unchanged. Without being seen +or suspected, I, in my turn, slipped the card under the door. + +The slow minutes followed each other--and still nothing happened. + +My anxiety to see how the doctor's search for the key was +succeeding, tempted me to approach the window. On my way to it, +the tail of my coat threw down a little tray containing pens +and pencils, which had been left close to the edge of the table. +Slight as the noise of the fall was, it disturbed Mr. Gracedieu. +He looked round vacantly. + +"I have been comforted by prayer," he told me. "The weakness +of poor humanity has found strength in the Lord." He pointed to +the portrait once more: "My hands must not presume to touch it, +while I am still in doubt. Take it down." + +I removed the picture and placed it, by his directions, on +a chair that stood midway between us. To my surprise his tones +faltered; I saw tears rising in his eyes. "You may think you +see a picture there," he said. "You are wrong. You see my wife +herself. Stand here, and look at my wife with me." + +We stood together, with our eyes fixed on the portrait. + +Without anything said or done on my part to irritate him, he +suddenly turned to me in a state of furious rage. "Not a sign of +sorrow!" he burst out. "Not a blush of shame! Wretch, you stand +condemned by the atrocious composure that I see in your face!" + +A first discovery of the odious suspicion of which I was +the object, dawned on my mind at that moment. My capacity for +restraining myself completely failed me. I spoke to him as if he +had been an accountable being. "Once for all," I said, "tell me +what I have a right to know. You suspect me of something. What +is it?" + +Instead of directly replying, he seized my arm and led me to +the table. "Take up that paper," he said. "There is writing on +it. Read--and let Her judge between us. Your life depends on how +you answer me." + +Was there a weapon concealed in the room? or had he got it in +the pocket of his dressing-gown? I listened for the sound of the +doctor's returning footsteps in the passage outside, and heard +nothing. My life had once depended, years since, on my success +in heading the arrest of an escaped prisoner. I was not conscious, +then, of feeling my energies weakened by fear. But _that_ man was +not mad; and I was younger, in those days, by a good twenty years +or more. At my later time of life, I could show my old friend +that I was not afraid of him--but I was conscious of an effort +in doing it. + +I opened the paper. "Am I to read this to myself?" I asked. +"Or am I to read it aloud?" + +"Read it aloud!" + +In these terms, his daughter addressed him: + + +"I have been so unfortunate, dearest father, as to displease you, +and I dare not hope that you will consent to receive me. What it +is my painful duty to tell you, must be told in writing. + +"Grieved as I am to distress you, in your present state +of health, I must not hesitate to reveal what it has been +my misfortune--I may even say my misery, when I think of +my mother--to discover. + +"But let me make sure, in such a serious matter as this is, +that I am not mistaken. + +"In those happy past days, when I was still dear to my father, +you said you thought of writing to invite a dearly-valued friend +to pay a visit to this house. You had first known him, as I +understood, when my mother was still living. Many interesting +things you told me about this old friend, but you never mentioned +that he knew, or that he had even seen, my mother. I was left +to suppose that those two had remained strangers to each other +to the day of her death. + +"If there is any misinterpretation here of what you said, or +perhaps of what you meant to say, pray destroy what I have +written without turning to the next page; and forgive me for +having innocently startled you by a false alarm." + + +Mr. Gracedieu interrupted me. + +"Put it down!" he cried; "I won't wait till you have got to +the end--I shall question you now. Give me the paper; it will +help me to keep this mystery of iniquity clear in my own mind." + +I gave him the paper. + +He hesitated--and looked at the portrait once more. "Turn her +away from me," he said; "I can't face my wife." + +I placed the picture with its back to him. + +He consulted the paper, reading it with but little of the +confusion and hesitation which my experience of him had induced +me to anticipate. Had the mad excitement that possessed him +exercised an influence in clearing his mind, resembling in some +degree the influence exercised by a storm in clearing the air? +Whatever the right explanation may be, I can only report what +I saw. I could hardly have mastered what his daughter had written +more readily, if I had been reading it myself. + +"Helena tells me," he began, "that you said you knew her by her +likeness to her mother. Is that true?" + +"Quite true." + +"And you made an excuse for leaving her--see! here it is, written +down. You made an excuse, and left her when she asked for an +explanation." + +"I did." + +He consulted the paper again. + +"My daughter says--No! I won't be hurried and I won't be +interrupted--she says you were confused. Is that so?" + +"It is so. Let your questions wait for a moment. I wish to tell +you why I was confused." + +"Haven't I said I won't be interrupted? Do you think you can +shake _my_ resolution?" He referred to the paper again. "I have +lost the place. It's your fault--find it for me." + +The evidence which was intended to convict me was the evidence +which I was expected to find! I pointed it out to him. + +His natural courtesy asserted itself in spite of his anger. He +said "Thank you," and questioned me the moment after as fiercely +as ever. "Go back to the time, sir, when we met in your rooms +at the prison. Did you know my wife then?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Did you and she see each other--ha! I've got it now--did you +see each other after I had left the town? No prevarication! +You own to telling Helena that you knew her by her likeness +to her mother. You must have seen her mother. Where?" + +I made another effort to defend myself. He again refused +furiously to hear me. It was useless to persist. Whatever +the danger that threatened me might be, the sooner it showed +itself the easier I should feel. I told him that Mrs. Gracedieu +had called on me, after he and his wife had left the town. + +"Do you mean to tell me," he cried, "that she came to you?" + +"I do." + +After that answer, he no longer required the paper to help him. +He threw it from him on the floor. + +"And you received her," he said, "without inquiring whether +I knew of her visit or not? Guilty deception on your part--guilty +deception on her part. Oh, the hideous wickedness of it!" + +When his mad suspicion that I had been his wife's lover betrayed +itself in this way, I made a last attempt, in the face of +my own conviction that it was hopeless, to place my conduct and +his wife's conduct before him in the true light. + +"Mrs. Gracedieu's object was to consult me--" Before I could +say the next words, I saw him put his hand into the pocket of +his dressing-gown. + +"An innocent man," he sternly declared, "would have told me that +my wife had been to see him--you kept it a secret. An innocent +woman would have given me a reason for wishing to go to you--she +kept it a secret, when she left my house; she kept it a secret +when she came back." + +"Mr. Gracedieu, I insist on being heard! Your wife's motive--" + +He drew from his pocket the thing that he had hidden from me. +This time, there was no concealment; he let me see that he was +opening a razor. It was no time for asserting my innocence; I had +to think of preserving my life. When a man is without firearms, +what defense can avail against a razor in the hands of a madman? +A chair was at my side; it offered the one poor means of guarding +myself that I could see. I laid my hand on it, and kept my eye +on him. + +He paused, looking backward and forward between the picture +and me. + +"Which of them shall I kill first?" he said to himself. "The man +who was my trusted friend? Or the woman whom I believed to be +an angel on earth?" He stopped once more, in a state of fierce +self-concentration, debating what he should do. "The woman," +he decided. "Wretch! Fiend! Harlot! How I loved her!!!" + +With a yell of fury, he pounced on the picture--ripped the canvas +out of the frame--and cut it malignantly into fragments. As they +dropped from the razor on the floor, he stamped on them, and +ground them under his foot. "Go, wife of my bosom," he cried, +with a dreadful mockery of voice and look--"go, and burn +everlastingly in the place of torment!" His eyes glared at me. +"Your turn now," he said--and rushed at me with his weapon ready +in his hand. I hurled the chair at his right arm. The razor +dropped on the floor. I caught him by the wrist. Like a wild +animal he tried to bite me. With my free hand--if I had known +how to defend myself in any other way, I would have taken that +way--with my free hand I seized him by the throat; forced him +back; and held him against the wall. My grasp on his throat kept +him quiet. But the dread of seriously injuring him so completely +overcame me, that I forgot I was a prisoner in the room, and was +on the point of alarming the household by a cry for help. + +I was still struggling to preserve my self-control, when +the sound of footsteps broke the silence outside. I heard the key +turn in the lock, and saw the doctor at the open door. + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + +THE CUMBERSOME LADIES. + +I cannot prevail upon myself to dwell at any length on the events +that followed. + +We secured my unhappy friend, and carried him to his bed. It was +necessary to have men in attendance who could perform the duty of +watching him. The doctor sent for them, while I went downstairs +to make the best I could of the miserable news which it was +impossible entirely to conceal. + +All that I could do to spare Miss Jillgall, I did. I was obliged +to acknowledge that there had been an outbreak of violence, and +that the portrait of the Minister's wife had been destroyed by +the Minister himself. Of Helena's revenge on me I said nothing. +It had led to consequences which even her merciless malice could +not have contemplated. There were no obstacles in the way of +keeping secret the attempt on my life. But I was compelled to own +that Mr. Gracedieu had taken a dislike to me, which rendered it +necessary that my visit should be brought to an end. I hastened +to add that I should go to the hotel, and should wait there until +the next day, in the hope of hearing better news. + +Of the multitude of questions with which poor Miss Jillgall +overwhelmed me--of the wild words of sorrow and alarm that +escaped her--of the desperate manner in which she held by my arm, +and implored me not to go away, when I must see for myself that +"she was a person entirely destitute of presence of mind"--I +shall say nothing. The undeserved suffering that is inflicted on +innocent persons by the sins of others demands silent sympathy; +and, to that extent at least, I can say that I honestly felt for +my quaint and pleasant little friend. + +In the evening the doctor called on me at the hotel. The medical +treatment of his patient had succeeded in calming the maddened +brain under the influence of sleep. If the night passed quietly, +better news might be hoped for in the morning. + +On the next day I had arranged to drive to the farm, being +resolved not to disappoint Eunice. But I shrank from the prospect +of having to distress her as I had already distressed Miss +Jillgall. The only alternative left was to repeat the sad story +in writing, subject to the concealments which I had already +observed. This I did, and sent the letter by messenger, +overnight, so that Eunice might know when to expect me. + +The medical report, in the morning, justified some hope. Mr. +Gracedieu had slept well, and there had been no reappearance +of insane violence on his waking. But the doctor's opinion was +far from encouraging when we spoke of the future. He did not +anticipate the cruel necessity of placing the Minister under +restraint--unless some new provocation led to a new outbreak. +The misfortune to be feared was imbecility. + +I was just leaving the hotel to keep my appointment with Eunice, +when the waiter announced the arrival of a young lady who wished +to speak with me. Before I could ask if she had mentioned her +name, the young lady herself walked in--Helena Gracedieu. + +She explained her object in calling on me, with the exasperating +composure which was peculiarly her own. No parallel to it occurs +to me in my official experience of shameless women. + +"I don't wish to speak of what happened yesterday, so far as +I know anything about it," she began. "It is quite enough for me +that you have been obliged to leave the house and to take refuge +in this hotel. I have come to say a word about the future. Are +you honoring me with your attention?" + +I signed to her to go on. If I had answered in words, I should +have told her to leave the room. + +"At first," she resumed, "I thought of writing; but it occurred +to me that you might keep my letter, and show it to Philip, by +way of lowering me in his good opinion, as you have lowered me +in the good opinion of his father. My object in coming here is to +give you a word of warning. If you attempt to make mischief next +between Philip and myself, I shall hear of it--and you know what +to expect, when you have me for an enemy. It is not worth while +to say any more. We understand each other, I hope?" + +She was determined to have a reply--and she got it. + +"Not quite yet," I said. "I have been hitherto, as becomes +a gentleman, always mindful of a woman's claims to forbearance. +You will do well not to tempt me into forgetting that _you_ are +a woman, by prolonging your visit. Now, Miss Helena Gracedieu, +we understand each other." She made me a low curtsey, and +answered in her finest tone of irony: "I only desire to wish you +a pleasant journey home." + +I rang for the waiter. "Show this lady out," I said. + +Even this failed to have the slightest effect on her. She +sauntered to the door, as perfectly at her ease as if the room +had been hers--not mine. + +I had thought of driving to the farm. Shall I confess it? My +temper was so completely upset that active movement of some kind +offered the one means of relief in which I could find refuge. +The farm was not more than five miles distant, and I had been +a good walker all my life. After making the needful inquiries, +I set forth to visit Eunice on foot. + +My way through the town led me past the Minister's house. I had +left the door some fifty yards behind me, when I saw two ladies +approaching. They were walking, in the friendliest manner, +arm in arm. As they came nearer, I discovered Miss Jillgall. +Her companion was the middle-aged lady who had declined to give +her name, when we met accidentally at Mr. Gracedieu's door. + +Hysterically impulsive, Miss Jillgall seized both my hands, +and overwhelmed me with entreaties that I would go back with her +to the house. I listened rather absently. The middle-aged lady +happened to be nearer to me now than on either of the former +occasions on which I had seen her. There was something in the +expression of her eyes which seemed to be familiar to me. But +the effort of my memory was not helped by what I observed in +the other parts of her face. The iron-gray hair, the baggy lower +eyelids, the fat cheeks, the coarse complexion, and the double +chin, were features, and very disagreeable features, too, which +I had never seen at any former time. + +"Do pray come back with us," Miss Jillgall pleaded. "We were +just talking of you. I and my friend--" There she stopped, +evidently on the point of blurting out the name which she had +been forbidden to utter in my hearing. + +The lady smiled; her provokingly familiar eyes rested on me +with a humorous enjoyment of the scene. + +"My dear," she said to Miss Jillgall, "caution ceases to be a +virtue when it ceases to be of any use. The Governor is beginning +to remember me, and the inevitable recognition--with _his_ +quickness of perception--is likely to be a matter of minutes +now." She turned to me. "In more ways than one, sir, women are +hardly used by Nature. As they advance in years they lose more +in personal appearance than the men do. You are white-haired, and +(pray excuse me) you are too fat; and (allow me to take another +liberty) you stoop at the shoulders--but you have not entirely +lost your good looks. _I_ am no longer recognizable. Allow me to +prompt you, as they say on the stage. I am Mrs. Tenbruggen." + +As a man of the world, I ought to have been capable of concealing +my astonishment and dismay. She struck me dumb. + +Mrs. Tenbruggen in the town! The one woman whose appearance Mr. +Gracedieu had dreaded, and justly dreaded, stood before me--free, +as a friend of his kinswoman, to enter his house, at the very +time when he was a helpless man, guarded by watchers at his +bedside. My first clear idea was to get away from both the women, +and consider what was to be done next. I bowed--and begged to be +excused--and said I was in a hurry, all in a breath. + +Hearing this, the best of genial old maids was unable to restrain +her curiosity. "Where are you going?" she asked. + +Too confused to think of an excuse, I said I was going to +the farm. + +"To see my dear Euneece?" Miss Jillgall burst out. "Oh, we will +go with you!" Mrs. Tenbruggen's politeness added immediately, +"With the greatest pleasure." + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + +THE JOURNEY TO THE FARM. + +My first ungrateful impulse was to get rid of the two cumbersome +ladies who had offered to be my companions. It was needless to +call upon my invention for an excuse; the truth, as I gladly +perceived, would serve my purpose. I had only to tell them that +I had arranged to walk to the farm. + +Lean, wiry, and impetuous, Miss Jillgall received my excuse with +the sincerest approval of it, as a new idea. "Nothing could be +more agreeable to me," she declared; "I have been a wonderful +walker all my life." She turned to her friend. "We will go with +him, my dear, won't we?" + +Mrs. Tenbruggen's reception of this proposal inspired me with +hope; she asked how far it was to the farm. "Five miles!" she +repeated. "And five miles back again, unless the farmer lends +us a cart. My dear Selina, you might as well ask me to walk to +the North Pole. You have got rid of one of us, Mr. Governor," +she added, pleasantly; "and the other, if you only walk fast +enough, you will leave behind you on the road. If I believed +in luck--which I don't--I should call you a fortunate man." + +But companionable Selina would not hear of a separation. She +asked, in her most irresistible manner, if I objected to driving +instead of walking. Her heart's dearest wish, she said, was +to make her bosom friend and myself better acquainted with each +other. To conclude, she reminded me that there was a cab-stand +in the next street. + +Perhaps I might have been influenced by my distrust of Mrs. +Tenbruggen, or perhaps by my anxiety to protect Eunice. It struck +me that I might warn the defenseless girl to be on her guard with +Mrs. Tenbruggen to better purpose, if Eunice was in a position +to recognize her in any future emergency that might occur. To my +mind, this dangerous woman was doubly formidable--and for a good +reason; she was the bosom friend of that innocent and unwary +person, Miss Jillgall. + +So I amiably consented to forego my walk, yielding to the +superior attraction of Mrs. Tenbruggen's company. On that day +the sunshine was tempered by a delightful breeze. If we had been +in the biggest and worst-governed city on the civilised earth, +we should have found no public vehicle, open to the air, which +could offer accommodation to three people. Being only in +a country town, we had a light four-wheeled chaise at our +disposal, as a matter of course. + +No wise man expects to be mercifully treated, when he is shut +into a carriage with a mature single lady, inflamed by curiosity. +I was not unprepared for Miss Jillgall when she alluded, +for the second time, to the sad events which had happened in +the house on the previous day--and especially to the destruction +by Mr. Gracedieu of the portrait of his wife. + +"Why didn't he destroy something else?" she pleaded, piteously. +"It is such a disappointment to Me. I never liked that picture +myself. Of course I ought to have admired the portrait of +the wife of my benefactor. But no--that disagreeable painted face +was too much for me. I should have felt inexpressibly relieved, +if I could have shown it to Elizabeth, and heard her say that +she agreed with me." + +"Perhaps I saw it when I called on you," Mrs. Tenbruggen +suggested. "Where did the picture hang?" + +"My dear! I received you in the dining-room, and the portrait +hung in Mr. Gracedieu's study." + +What they said to each other next escaped my attention. Quite +unconsciously, Miss Jillgall had revealed to me a danger which +neither the Minister nor I had discovered, though it had +conspicuously threatened us both on the wall of the study. +The act of mad destruction which, if I had possessed the means +of safely interfering, I should certainly have endeavored +to prevent, now assumed a new and startling aspect. If Mrs. +Tenbruggen really had some motive of her own for endeavoring +to identify the adopted child, the preservation of the picture +must have led her straight to the end in view. The most casual +opportunity of comparing Helena with the portrait of Mrs. +Gracedieu would have revealed the likeness between mother and +daughter--and, that result attained, the identification of Eunice +with the infant whom the "Miss Chance" of those days had brought +to the prison must inevitably have followed. It was perhaps +natural that Mr. Gracedieu's infatuated devotion to the memory +of his wife should have blinded him to the betrayal of Helena's +parentage, which met his eyes every time he entered his study. +But that I should have been too stupid to discover what he had +failed to see, was a wound dealt to my self-esteem which I was +vain enough to feel acutely. + +Mrs. Tenbruggen's voice, cheery and humorous, broke in on +my reflections, with an odd question: + +"Mr. Governor, do you ever condescend to read novels?" + +"It's not easy to say, Mrs. Tenbruggen, how grateful I am to +the writers of novels." + +"Ah! I read novels, too. But I blush to confess--do I blush?-- +that I never thought of feeling grateful till you mentioned it. +Selina and I don't complain of your preferring your own +reflections to our company. On the contrary, you have reminded +us agreeably of the heroes of fiction, when the author describes +them as being 'absorbed in thought.' For some minutes, Mr. +Governor, you have been a hero; absorbed, as I venture to guess, +in unpleasant remembrances of the time when I was a single lady. +You have not forgotten how badly I behaved, and what shocking +things I said, in those bygone days. Am I right?" + +"You are entirely wrong." + +It is possible that I may have spoken a little too sharply. +Anyway, faithful Selina interceded for her friend. "Oh, dear +sir, don't be hard on Elizabeth! She always means well." Mrs. +Tenbruggen, as facetious as ever, made a grateful return for +a small compliment. She chucked Miss Jillgall under the chin, +with the air of an amorous old gentleman expressing his approval +of a pretty servant-girl. It was impossible to look at the two, +in their relative situations, without laughing. But Mrs. +Tenbruggen failed to cheat me into altering my opinion of her. +Innocent Miss Jillgall clapped her ugly hands, and said: "Isn't +she good company?" + +Mrs. Tenbruggen's social resources were not exhausted yet. She +suddenly shifted to the serious side of her character. + +"Perhaps I have improved a little," she said, "as I have advanced +in years. The sorrows of an unhappy married life may have had +a purifying influence on my nature. My husband and I began badly. +Mr. Tenbruggen thought I had money; and I thought Mr. Tenbruggen +had money. He was taken in by me; and I was taken in by him. When +he repeated the words of the marriage service (most impressively +read by your friend the Chaplain): 'With all my worldly goods +I thee endow'--his eloquent voice suggested one of the largest +incomes in Europe. When I promised and vowed, in my turn, +the delightful prospect of squandering my rich husband's money +made quite a new woman of me. I declare solemnly, when I said +I would love, honor, and obey Mr. T., I looked as if I really +meant it. Wherever he is now, poor dear, he is cheating somebody. +Such a handsome, gentleman-like man, Selina! And, oh, Mr. +Governor, such a blackguard!" + +Having described her husband in those terms, she got tired of +the subject. We were now favored with another view of this +many-sided woman. She appeared in her professional character. + +"Ah, what a delicious breeze is blowing, out here in the +country!" she said. "Will you excuse me if I take off my gloves? +I want to air my hands." She held up her hands to the breeze; +firm, muscular, deadly white hands. "In my professional +occupation," she explained, "I am always rubbing, tickling, +squeezing, tapping, kneading, rolling, striking the muscles of +patients. Selina, do you know the movements of your own joints? +Flexion, extension, abduction, adduction, rotation, +circumduction, pronation, supination, and the lateral movements. +Be proud of those accomplishments, my dear, but beware of +attempting to become a Masseuse. There are drawbacks in that +vocation--and I am conscious of one of them at this moment." +She lifted her hands to her nose. "Pah! my hands smell of other +people's flesh. The delicious country air will blow it away--the +luxury of purification!" Her fingers twisted and quivered, and +got crooked at one moment and straight again at another, and +showed themselves in succession singly, and flew into each other +fiercely interlaced, and then spread out again like the sticks +of a fan, until it really made me giddy to look at them. As for +Miss Jillgall, she lifted her poor little sunken eyes rapturously +to the sky, as if she called the homiest sunlight to witness that +this was the most lovable woman on the face of the earth. + +But elderly female fascination offers its allurements in vain +to the rough animal, man. Suspicion of Mrs. Tenbruggen's motives +had established itself firmly in my mind. Why had the Popular +Masseuse abandoned her brilliant career in London, and plunged +into the obscurity of a country town? An opportunity of clearing +up the doubt thus suggested seemed to have presented itself now. +"Is it indiscreet to ask," I said, "if you are here in your +professional capacity?" + +Her cunning seized its advantage and put a sly question to me. +"Do you wish to be one of my patients yourself?" + +"That is, unfortunately, impossible," I replied "I have arranged +to return to London." + +"Immediately?" + +"To-morrow at the latest." + +Artful as she was, Mrs. Tenbruggen failed to conceal a momentary +expression of relief which betrayed itself, partly in her manner, +partly in her face. She had ascertained, to her own complete +satisfaction, that my speedy departure was an event which might +be relied on. + +"But I have not yet answered you," she resumed. "To tell the +truth, I am eager to try my hands on you. Massage, as I practice +it, would lighten your weight, and restore your figure; I may +even say would lengthen your life. You will think of me, one +of these days, won't you? In the meanwhile--yes! I am here in +my professional capacity. Several interesting cases; and one very +remarkable person, brought to death's door by the doctors; a rich +man who is liberal in paying his fees. There is my quarrel with +London and Londoners. Some of their papers, medical newspapers, +of course, declare that my fees are exorbitant; and there is a +tendency among the patients--I mean the patients who are rolling +in riches--to follow the lead of the newspapers. I am no worm to +be trodden on, in that way. The London people shall wait for me, +until they miss me--and, when I do go back, they will find +the fees increased. _My_ fingers and thumbs, Mr. Governor, are +not to be insulted with impunity." + +Miss Jillgall nodded her head at me. It was an eloquent nod. +"Admire my spirited friend," was the interpretation I put on it. + +At the same time, my private sentiments suggested that Mrs. +Tenbruggen's reply was too perfectly satisfactory, viewed as +an explanation. My suspicions were by no means set at rest; and +I was resolved not to let the subject drop yet. "Speaking of Mr. +Gracedieu, and of the chances of his partial recovery," I said, +"do you think the Minister would benefit by Massage?" + +"I haven't a doubt of it, if you can get rid of the doctor." + +"You think he would be an obstacle in the way?" + +"There are some medical men who are honorable exceptions to +the general rule; and he may be one of them," Mrs. Tenbruggen +admitted. "Don't be too hopeful. As a doctor, he belongs to +the most tyrannical trades-union in existence. May I make +a personal remark?" + +"Certainly." + +"I find something in your manner--pray don't suppose that I am +angry--which looks like distrust; I mean, distrust of me." + +Miss Jillgall's ever ready kindness interfered in my defense: +"Oh, no, Elizabeth! You are not often mistaken; but indeed +you are wrong now. Look at my distinguished friend. I remember +my copy book, when I was a small creature learning to write, +in England. There were first lines that we copied, in big +letters, and one of them said, 'Distrust Is Mean.' I know a young +person, whose name begins with H, who is one mass of meanness. +But"--excellent Selina paused, and pointed to me with a gesture +of triumph--"no meanness there!" + +Mrs. Tenbruggen waited to hear what I had to say, scornfully +insensible to Miss Jillgall's well-meant interruption. + +"You are not altogether mistaken," I told her. "I can't say that +my mind is in a state of distrust, but I own that you puzzle me." + +"How, if you please?" + +"May I presume that you remember the occasion when we met at Mr. +Gracedieu's house-door? You saw that I failed to recognize you, +and you refused to give your name when the servant asked for it. +A few days afterward, I heard you (quite accidentally) forbid +Miss Jillgall to mention your name in my hearing. I am at a loss +to understand it." + +Before she could answer me, the chaise drew up at the gate of +the farmhouse. Mrs. Tenbruggen carefully promised to explain +what had puzzled me, at the first opportunity. "If it escapes +my memory," she said, "pray remind me of it." + +I determined to remind her of it. Whether I could depend on +her to tell me the truth, might be quite another thing. + + +CHAPTER XLVIII + +THE DECISION OF EUNICE. + +Eunice ran out to meet us, and opened the gate. She was instantly +folded in Miss Jillgall's arms. On her release, she came to me, +eager for news of her father's health. When I had communicated +all that I thought it right to tell her of the doctor's last +report, she noticed Mrs. Tenbruggen. The appearance of a stranger +seemed to embarrass her. I left Miss Jillgall to introduce them +to each other. + +"Darling Euneece, you remember Mrs. Tenbruggen's name, I am sure? +Elizabeth, this is my sweet girl; I mentioned her in my letters +to you." + +"I hope she will be _my_ sweet girl, when we know each other +a little better. May I kiss you, dear? You have lovely eyes; but +I am sorry to see that they don't look like happy eyes. You want +Mamma Tenbruggen to cheer you. What a charming old house!" + +She put her arm round Eunice's waist and led her to the house +door. Her enjoyment of the creepers that twined their way up the +pillars of the porch was simply perfection as a piece of acting. +When the farmer's wife presented herself, Mrs. Tenbruggen was +so irresistibly amiable, and took such flattering notice of +the children, that the harmless British matron actually blushed +with pleasure. "I'm sure, ma'am, you must have children of your +own," she said. Mrs. Tenbruggen cast her eyes on the floor, and +sighed with pathetic resignation. A sweet little family, and all +cruelly swept away by death. If the performance meant anything, +it did most assuredly mean that. + +"What wonderful self-possession!" somebody whispered in my ear. +The children in the room were healthy, well-behaved little +creatures--but the name of the innocent one among them was +Selina. + +Before dinner we were shown over the farm. + +The good woman of the house led the way, and Miss Jillgall and +I accompanied her. The children ran on in front of us. Still +keeping possession of Eunice, Mrs. Tenbruggen followed at some +distance behind. I looked back, after no very long interval, and +saw that a separation had taken place. Mrs. Tenbruggen passed me, +not looking so pleasantly as usual, joined the children, and +walked with two of them, hand in hand, a pattern of maternal +amiability. I dropped back a little, and gave Eunice an +opportunity of joining me; having purposely left her to form her +own opinion, without any adverse influence exercised on my part. + +"Is that lady a friend of yours?" she asked. "No; only +an acquaintance. What do you think of her?" + +"I thought I should like her at first; she was so kind, and +seemed to take such an interest in me. But she said such strange +things--asked if I was reckoned like my mother, and which +of us was the eldest, my sister or myself, and whether we +were my father's only two children, and if one of us was more +his favorite than the other. What I could tell her, I did tell. +But when I said I didn't know which of us was the oldest, she +gave me an impudent tap on the cheek, and said, 'I don't believe +you, child,' and left me. How can Selina be so fond of her? Don't +mention it to any one else; I hope I shall never see her again." + +"I will keep your secret, Eunice; and you must keep mine. +I entirely agree with you." + +"You agree with me in disliking her?" + +"Heartily." + +We could say no more at that time. Our friends in advance +were waiting for us. We joined them at once. + +If I had felt any doubt of the purpose which had really induced +Mrs. Tenbruggen to leave London, all further uncertainty on +my part was at an end. She had some vile interest of her own +to serve by identifying Mr. Gracedieu's adopted child--but what +the nature of that interest might be, it was impossible to guess. +The future, when I thought of it now, filled me with dismay. +A more utterly helpless position than mine it was not easy to +conceive. To warn the Minister, in his present critical state of +health, was simply impossible. My relations with Helena forbade +me even to approach her. And, as for Selina, she was little less +than a mere tool in the hands of her well-beloved friend. What, +in God's name, was I to do? + +At dinner-time we found the master of the house waiting to bid us +welcome. + +Personally speaking, he presented a remarkable contrast to the +typical British farmer. He was neither big nor burly; he spoke +English as well as I did; and there was nothing in his dress +which would have made him a fit subject for a picture of rustic +life. When he spoke, he was able to talk on subjects unconnected +with agricultural pursuits; nor did I hear him grumble about +the weather and the crops. It was pleasant to see that his wife +was proud of him, and that he was, what all fathers ought to be, +his children's best and dearest friend. Why do I dwell on these +details, relating to a man whom I was not destined to see again? +Only because I had reason to feel grateful to him. When +my spirits were depressed by anxiety, he made my mind easy +about Eunice, as long as she remained in his house. + +The social arrangements, when our meal was over, fell +of themselves into the right train. + +Miss Jillgall went upstairs, with the mother and the children, +to see the nursery and the bedrooms. Mrs. Tenbruggen discovered +a bond of union between the farmer and herself; they were +both skilled players at backgammon, and they sat down to try +conclusions at their favorite game. Without any wearisome +necessity for excuses or stratagems, Eunice took my arm and led +me to the welcome retirement of her own sitting-room. + +I could honestly congratulate her, when I heard that she was +established at the farm as a member of the family. While she was +governess to the children, she was safe from dangers that might +have threatened her, if she had been compelled by circumstances +to return to the Minister's house. + +The entry in her Journal, which she was anxious that I should +read, was placed before me next. + +I followed the poor child's account of the fearful night that she +had passed, with an interest that held me breathless to the end. +A terrible dream, which had impressed a sense of its reality +on the sleeper by reaching its climax in somnambulism--this was +the obvious explanation, no doubt; and a rational mind would not +hesitate to accept it. But a rational mind is not a universal +gift, even in a country which prides itself on the idol-worship +of Fact. Those good friends who are always better acquainted +with our faults, failings, and weaknesses than we can pretend +to be ourselves, had long since discovered that my nature was +superstitious, and my imagination likely to mislead me in the +presence of events which encouraged it. Well! I was weak enough +to recoil from the purely rational view of all that Eunice had +suffered, and heard, and seen, on the fateful night recorded in +her Journal. Good and Evil walk the ways of this unintelligible +world, on the same free conditions. If we cling, as many of us +do, to the comforting belief that departed spirits can minister +to earthly creatures for good--can be felt moving in us, in +a train of thought, and seen as visible manifestations, in +a dream--with what pretense of reason can we deny that the same +freedom of supernatural influence which is conceded to +the departed spirit, working for good, is also permitted to +the departed spirit, working for evil? If the grave cannot wholly +part mother and child, when the mother's life has been good, +does eternal annihilation separate them, when the mother's life +has been wicked? No! If the departed spirit can bring with it a +blessing, the departed spirit can bring with it a curse. I dared +not confess to Eunice that the influence of her murderess-mother +might, as I thought possible, have been supernaturally present +when she heard temptation whispering in her ear; but I dared not +deny it to myself. All that I could say to satisfy and sustain +her, I did say. And when I declared--with my whole heart +declared--that the noble passion which had elevated her whole +being, and had triumphed over the sorest trials that desertion +could inflict, would still triumph to the end, I saw hope, +in that brave and true heart, showing its bright promise for +the future in Eunice's eyes. + +She closed and locked her Journal. By common consent we sought +the relief of changing the subject. Eunice asked me if it was +really necessary that I should return to London. + +I shrank from telling her that I could be of no further use +to her father, while he regarded me with an enmity which I had +not deserved. But I saw no reason for concealing that it was +my purpose to see Philip Dunboyne. + +"You told me yesterday," I reminded her, "that I was to say +you had forgiven him. Do you still wish me to do that?" + +"Indeed I do!" + +"Have you thought of it seriously? Are you sure of not having +been hurried by a generous impulse into saying more than you +mean?" + +"I have been thinking of it," she said, "through the wakeful +hours of last night--and many things are plain to me, which +I was not sure of in the time when I was so happy. He has caused +me the bitterest sorrow of my life, but he can't undo the good +that I owe to him. He has made a better girl of me, in the time +when his love was mine. I don't forget that. Miserably as it has +ended, I don't forget that." + +Her voice trembled; the tears rose in her eyes. It was impossible +for me to conceal the distress that I felt. The noble creature +saw it. "No," she said faintly; "I am not going to cry. Don't +look so sorry for me." Her hand pressed my hand gently--_she_ +pitied _me_. When I saw how she struggled to control herself, +and did control herself, I declare to God I could have gone down +on my knees before her. + +She asked to be allowed to speak of Philip again, and for +the last time. + +"When you meet with him in London, he may perhaps ask if you +have seen Eunice." + +"My child! he is sure to ask." + +"Break it to him gently--but don't let him deceive himself. +In this world, he must never hope to see me again." + +I tried--very gently--to remonstrate. "At your age, and at +his age," I said, "surely there is hope?" + +"There is no hope." She pressed her hand on her heart. "I know +it, I feel it, here." + +"Oh, Eunice, it's hard for me to say that!" + +"I will try to make it easier for you. Say that I have forgiven +him--and say no more." + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + +THE GOVERNOR ON HIS GUARD. + +After leaving Eunice, my one desire was to be alone. I had much +to think of, and I wanted an opportunity of recovering myself. +On my way out of the house, in search of the first solitary place +that I could discover, I passed the room in which we had dined. +The door was ajar. Before I could get by it, Mrs. Tenbruggen +stepped out and stopped me. + +"Will you come in here for a moment?" she said. "The farmer +has been called away, and I want to speak to you." + +Very unwillingly--but how could I have refused without giving +offense?--I entered the room. + +"When you noticed my keeping my name from you," Mrs. Tenbruggen +began, "while Selina was with us, you placed me in an awkward +position. Our little friend is an excellent creature, but her +tongue runs away with her sometimes; I am obliged to be careful +of taking her too readily into my confidence. For instance, +I have never told her what my name was before I married. Won't +you sit down?" + +I had purposely remained standing as a hint to her not to prolong +the interview. The hint was thrown away; I took a chair. + +"Selina's letters had informed me," she resumed, "that Mr. +Gracedieu was a nervous invalid. When I came to England, I had +hoped to try what massage might do to relieve him. The cure of +their popular preacher might have advertised me through the whole +of the Congregational sect. It was essential to my success +that I should present myself as a stranger. I could trust time +and change, and my married name (certainly not known to Mr. +Gracedieu) to keep up my incognito. He would have refused to see +me if he had known that I was once Miss Chance." + +I began to be interested. + +Here was an opportunity, perhaps, of discovering what +the Minister had failed to remember when he had been speaking +of this woman, and when I had asked if he had ever offended her. +I was especially careful in making my inquiries. + +"I remember how you spoke to Mr. Gracedieu," I said, "when you +and he met, long ago, in my rooms. But surely you don't think him +capable of vindictively remembering some thoughtless words, which +escaped you sixteen or seventeen years since?" + +"I am not quite such a fool as that, Mr. Governor. What I was +thinking of was an unpleasant correspondence between the Minister +and myself. Before I was so unfortunate as to meet with Mr. +Tenbruggen, I obtained a chance of employment in a public +Institution, on condition that I included a clergyman among +my references. Knowing nobody else whom I could apply to, +I rashly wrote to Mr. Gracedieu, and received one of those cold +and cruel refusals which only the strictest religious principle +can produce. I was mortally offended at the time; and if your +friend the Minister had been within my reach--" She paused, and +finished the sentence by a significant gesture. + +"Well," I said, "he is within your reach now." + +"And out of his mind," she added. "Besides, one's sense of injury +doesn't last (except in novels and plays) through a series of +years. I don't pity him--and if an opportunity of shaking his +high position among his admiring congregation presented itself, +I daresay I might make a mischievous return for his letter +to me. In the meanwhile, we may drop the subject. I suppose +you understand, now, why I concealed my name from you, and why +I kept out of the house while you were in it." + +It was plain enough, of course. If I had known her again, +or had heard her name, I might have told the Minister that Mrs. +Tenbruggen and Miss Chance were one and the same. And if I had +seen her and talked with her in the house, my memory might have +shown itself capable of improvement. Having politely presented +the expression of my thanks, I rose to go. + +She stopped me at the door. + +"One word more," she said, "while Selina is out of the way. +I need hardly tell you that I have not trusted her with +the Minister's secret. You and I are, as I take it, the only +people now living who know the truth about these two girls. +And we keep our advantage." + +"What advantage?" I asked. + +"Don't you know?" + +"I don't indeed." + +"No more do I. Female folly, and a slip of the tongue; I am old +and ugly, but I am still a woman. About Miss Eunice. Somebody +has told the pretty little fool never to trust strangers. You +would have been amused, if you had heard that sly young person +prevaricating with me. In one respect, her appearance strikes me. +She is not like either the wretch who was hanged, or the poor +victim who was murdered. Can she be the adopted child? Or is it +the other sister, whom I have not seen yet? Oh, come! come! +Don't try to look as if you didn't know. That is really too +ridiculous." + +"You alluded just now," I answered, "to our 'advantage' in being +the only persons who know the truth about the two girls. Well, +Mrs. Tenbruggen, I keep _my_ advantage." + +"In other words," she rejoined, "you leave me to make the +discovery myself. Well, my friend, I mean to do it!" + +. . . . . . . + +In the evening, my hotel offered to me the refuge of which +I stood in need. I could think, for the first time that day, +without interruption. + +Being resolved to see Philip, I prepared myself for the interview +by consulting my extracts once more. The letter, in which Mrs. +Tenbruggen figures, inspired me with the hope of protection for +Mr. Gracedieu, attainable through no less a person than Helena +herself. + +To begin with, she would certainly share Philip's aversion to +the Masseuse, and her dislike of Miss Jillgall would, just as +possibly, extend to Miss Jillgall's friend. The hostile feeling +thus set up might be trusted to keep watch on Mrs. Tenbruggen's +proceedings, with a vigilance not attainable by the coarser +observation of a man. In the event, of an improvement in +the Minister's health, I should hear of it both from the doctor +and from Miss Jillgall, and in that case I should instantly +return to my unhappy friend and put him on his guard. + +I started for London by the early train in the morning. + +My way home from the terminus took me past the hotel at which +the elder Mr. Dunboyne was staying. I called on him. He was +reported to be engaged; that is to say, immersed in his books. +The address on one of Philip's letters had informed me that +he was staying at another hotel. Pursuing my inquiries in +this direction, I met with a severe disappointment. Mr. Philip +Dunboyne had left the hotel that morning; for what destination +neither the landlord nor the waiter could tell me. + +The next day's post brought with it the information which +I had failed to obtain. Miss Jillgall wrote, informing me in +her strongest language that Philip Dunboyne had returned to +Helena. Indignant Selina added: "Helena means to make him marry +her; and I promise you she shall fail, if I can stop it." + +In taking leave of Eunice, I had given her my address; had warned +her to be careful, if she and Mrs. Tenbruggen happened to meet +again, and had begged her to write to me, or to come to me, +if anything happened to alarm her in my absence. + +In two days more, I received a line from Eunice, written +evidently in the greatest agitation. + +"Philip has discovered me. He has been here, and has insisted +on seeing me. I have refused. The good farmer has so kindly taken +my part. I can write no more." + + +CHAPTER L. + +THE NEWS FROM THE FARM. + +When I next heard from Miss Jillgall, the introductory part +of her letter merely reminded me that Philip Dunboyne +was established in the town, and that Helena was in daily +communication with him. I shall do Selina no injustice if +my extract begins with her second page. + +"You will sympathize, I am sure" (she writes), "with the +indignation which urged me to call on Philip, and tell him the +way to the farmhouse. Think of Helena being determined to marry +him, whether he wants to or not! I am afraid this is bad grammar. +But there are occasions when even a cultivated lady fails in her +grammar, and almost envies the men their privilege of swearing +when they are in a rage. My state of mind is truly indescribable. +Grief mingles with anger, when I tell you that my sweet Euneece +has disappointed me, for the first time since I had the happiness +of knowing and admiring her. What can have been the motive of +her refusal to receive her penitent lover? Is it pride? We are +told that Satan fell through pride. Euneece satanic? Impossible! +I feel inclined to go and ask her what has hardened her heart +against a poor young man who bitterly regrets his own folly. Do +you think it was bad advice from the farmer or his wife? In that +case, I shall exert my influence, and take her away. You would do +the same, wouldn't you? + +"I am ashamed to mention the poor dear Minister in a postscript. +The truth is, I don't very well know what I am about. Mr. +Gracedieu is quiet, sleeps better than he did, eats with a keener +appetite, gives no trouble. But, alas, that glorious intellect +is in a state of eclipse! Do not suppose, because I write +figuratively, that I am not sorry for him. He understands +nothing; he remembers nothing; he has my prayers. + +"You might come to us again, if you would only be so kind. It +would make no difference now; the poor man is so sadly altered. +I must add, most reluctantly, that the doctor recommends your +staying at home. Between ourselves, he is little better than +a coward. Fancy his saying; 'No; we must not run that risk yet.' +I am barely civil to him, and no more. + +"In any other affair (excuse me for troubling you with a second +postscript), my sympathy with Euneece would have penetrated +her motives; I should have felt with her feelings. But I have +never been in love; no gentleman gave me the opportunity when +I was young. Now I am middle-aged, neglect has done its dreary +work--my heart is an extinct crater. Figurative again! I had +better put my pen away, and say farewell for the present." + +Miss Jillgall may now give place to Eunice. The same day's post +brought me both letters. + +I should be unworthy indeed of the trust which this affectionate +girl has placed in me, if I failed to receive her explanation of +her conduct toward Philip Dunboyne, as a sacred secret confided +to my fatherly regard. In those later portions of her letter, +which are not addressed to me confidentially, Eunice writes as +follows: + + +"I get news--and what heartbreaking news!--of my father, +by sending a messenger to Selina. It is more than ever impossible +that I can put myself in the way of seeing Helena again. She has +written to me about Philip, in a tone so shockingly insolent +and cruel, that I have destroyed her letter. Philip's visit to +the farm, discovered I don't know how, seems to have infuriated +her. She accuses me of doing all that she might herself have done +in my place, and threatens me--No! I am afraid of the wicked +whisperings of that second self of mine if I think of it. +They were near to tempting me when I read Helena's letter. But +I thought of what you said, after I had shown you my Journal; +and your words took my memory back to the days when I was happy +with Philip. The trial and the terror passed away. + +"Consolation has come to me from the best of good women. +Mrs. Staveley writes as lovingly as my mother might have written, +if death had spared her. I have replied with all the gratitude +that I really feel, but without taking advantage of the services +which she offers. Mrs. Staveley has it in her mind, as you +had it in your mind, to bring Philip back to me. Does she forget, +do you forget, that Helena claims him? But you both mean kindly, +and I love you both for the interest that you feel in me. + +"The farmer's wife--dear good soul!--hardly understands me so +well as her husband does. She confesses to pitying Philip. 'He +is so wretched,' she says. 'And, dear heart, how handsome, and +what nice, winning manners! I don't think I should have had your +courage, in your place. To tell the truth, I should have jumped +for joy when I saw him at the door; and I should have run down +to let him in--and perhaps been sorry for it afterward. If you +really wish to forget him, my dear, I will do all I can to help +you.' + +"These are trifling things to mention, but I am afraid you may +think I am unhappy--and I want to prevent that. + +"I have so much to be thankful for, and the children are so fond +of me. Whether I teach them as well as I might have done, if +I had been a more learned girl, may perhaps be doubtful. They do +more for their governess, I am afraid, than their governess does +for them. When they come into my room in the morning, and rouse +me with their kisses, the hour of waking, which used to be so +hard to endure after Philip left me, is now the happiest hour +of my day." + + +With that reassuring view of her life as a governess, the poor +child's letter comes to an end. + + +CHAPTER LI. + +THE TRIUMPH OF MRS. TENBRUGGEN. + +Miss Jillgall appears again, after an interval, on the field +of my extracts. My pleasant friend deserves this time a serious +reception. She informs me that Mrs. Tenbruggen has begun +the inquiries which I have the best reason to dread--for I alone +know the end which they are designed to reach. + +The arrival of this news affected me in two different ways. + +It was discouraging to find that circumstances had not justified +my reliance on Helena's enmity as a counter-influence to Mrs. +Tenbruggen. On the other hand, it was a relief to be assured +that my return to London would serve, rather than compromise, +the interests which it was my chief anxiety to defend. I had +foreseen that Mrs. Tenbruggen would wait to set her enterprise +on foot, until I was out of her way; and I had calculated on +my absence as an event which would at least put an end to +suspense by encouraging her to begin. + +The first sentences in Miss Jillgall's letter explain the nature +of her interest in the proceedings of her friend, and are, on +that account, worth reading. + +"Things are sadly changed for the worse" (Selina writes); "but +I don't forget that Philip was once engaged to Euneece, and that +Mr. Gracedieu's extraordinary conduct toward him puzzled us all. +The mode of discovery which dear Elizabeth suggested by letter, +at that time, appears to be the mode which she is following now. +When I asked why, she said: 'Philip may return to Euneece; +the Minister may recover--and will be all the more likely to +do so if he tries Massage. In that case, he will probably repeat +the conduct which surprised you; and your natural curiosity will +ask me again to find out what it means. Am I your friend, Selina, +or am I not?' This was so delightfully kind, and so irresistibly +conclusive, that I kissed her in a transport of gratitude. With +what breathless interest I have watched her progress toward +penetrating the mystery of the girls' ages, it is quite needless +to tell you." + +. . . . . . . + +Mrs. Tenbruggen's method of keeping Miss Jillgall in ignorance +of what she was really about, and Miss Jillgall's admirable +confidence in the integrity of Mrs. Tenbruggen, being now set +forth on the best authority, an exact presentation of the state +of affairs will be completed if I add a word more, relating +to the positions actually occupied toward Mrs. Tenbruggen's +enterprise, by my correspondent and myself. + +On her side, Miss Jillgall was entirely ignorant that one of +the two girls was not Mr. Gracedieu's daughter, but his adopted +child. On my side, I was entirely ignorant of Mrs. Tenbruggen's +purpose in endeavoring to identify the daughter of the murderess. +Speaking of myself, individually, let me add that I only waited +the event to protect the helpless ones--my poor demented friend, +and the orphan whom his mercy received into his heart and +his home. + +Miss Jillgall goes on with her curious story, as follows: + +. . . . . . . + +"Always desirous of making myself useful, I thought I would give +my dear Elizabeth a hint which might save time and trouble. 'Why +not begin,' I suggested, 'by asking the Governor to help you?' +That wonderful woman never forgets anything. She had already +applied to you, without success. + +"In my next attempt to be useful, I did violence to my most +cherished convictions, by presenting the wretch Helena to +the admirable Elizabeth. That the former would be cold as ice, in +her reception of any friend of mine, was nothing wonderful. Mrs. +Tenbruggen passed it over with the graceful composure of a woman +of the world. In the course of conversation with Helena, she +slipped in a question: 'Might I ask if you are older than your +sister?' The answer was, of course: 'I don't know.' And here, +for once, the most deceitful girl in existence spoke the truth. + +"When we were alone again, Elizabeth made a remark: 'If +personal appearance could decide the question,' she said, +'the disagreeable young woman is the oldest of the two. The next +thing to be done is to discover if looks are to be trusted in +this case.' + +"My friend's lawyer received confidential instructions (not shown +to me, which seems rather hard) to trace the two Miss Gracedieus' +registers of birth. Elizabeth described this proceeding (not very +intelligibly to my mind) as a means of finding out which of +the girls could be identified by name as the elder of the two. + +"The report arrived this morning. I was only informed that +the result, in one case, had entirely defeated the inquiries. In +the other case, Elizabeth had helped her agent by referring him +to a Birth, advertised in the customary columns of the _Times_ +newspaper. Even here, there was a fatal obstacle. The name of +the place in which Mr. Gracedieu's daughter had been born was not +added, as usual. + +"I still tried to be useful. Had my friend known the Minister's +wife? My friend had never even seen the Minister's wife. And, +as if by a fatality, her portrait was no longer in existence. I +could only mention that Helena was like her mother. But Elizabeth +seemed to attach very little importance to my evidence, if I may +call it by so grand a name. 'People have such strange ideas +about likenesses,' she said, 'and arrive at such contradictory +conclusions. One can only trust one's own eyes in a matter of +that kind.' + +"My friend next asked me about our domestic establishment. We +had only a cook and a housemaid. If they were old servants who +had known the girls as children, they might be made of some use. +Our luck was as steadily against us as ever. They had both been +engaged when Mr. Gracedieu assumed his new pastoral duties, after +having resided with his wife at her native place. + +"I asked Elizabeth what she proposed to do next. + +"She deferred her answer, until I had first told her whether +the visit of the doctor might be expected on that day. I could +reply to this in the negative. Elizabeth, thereupon, made +a startling request; she begged me to introduce her to Mr. +Gracedieu. + +"I said: 'Surely, you have forgotten the sad state of his mind?' +No; she knew perfectly well that he was imbecile. 'I want +to try,' she explained, 'if I can rouse him for a few minutes.' + +"'By Massage?' I inquired. + +"She burst out laughing. 'Massage, my dear, doesn't act in that +way. It is an elaborate process, pursued patiently for weeks +together. But my hands have more than one accomplishment at +their finger-ends. Oh, make your mind easy! I shall do no harm, +if I do no good. Take me, Selina, to the Minister.' + +"We went to his room. Don't blame me for giving way; I am +too fond of Elizabeth to be able to disappoint her. + +"It was a sad sight when we went in. He was quite happy, +playing like a child, at cup-and-ball. The attendant retired at +my request. I introduced Mrs. Tenbruggen. He smiled and shook +hands with her. He said: 'Are you a Christian or a Pagan? You are +very pretty. How many times can you catch the ball in the cup?' +The effort to talk to her ended there. He went on with his game, +and seemed to forget that there was anybody in the room. It made +my heart ache to remember what he was--and to see him now. + +"Elizabeth whispered: 'Leave me alone with him.' + +"I don't know why I did such a rude thing--I hesitated. + +"Elizabeth asked me if I had no confidence in her. I was ashamed +of myself; I left them together. + +"A long half-hour passed. Feeling a little uneasy, I went +upstairs again and looked into the room. He was leaning back +in his chair; his plaything was on the floor, and he was looking +vacantly at the light that came in through the window. I found +Mrs. Tenbruggen at the other end of the room, in the act of +ringing the bell. Nothing in the least out of the ordinary way +seemed to have happened. When the attendant had answered +the bell, we left the room together. Mr. Gracedieu took no notice +of us. + +"'Well,' I said, 'how has it ended?' + +"Quite calmly my noble Elizabeth answered: 'In total failure.' + +"'What did you say to him after you sent me away?' + +"'I tried, in every possible way, to get him to tell me which +of his two daughters was the oldest.' + +"'Did he refuse to answer?' + +"'He was only too ready to answer. First, he said Helena was +the oldest--then he corrected himself, and declared that Eunice +was the oldest--then he said they were twins--then he went back +to Helena and Eunice. Now one was the oldest, and now the other. +He rang the changes on those two names, I can't tell you how +often, and seemed to think it a better game than cup-and-ball.' + +"'What is to be done?' + +"'Nothing is to be done, Selina.' + +"'What!' I cried, 'you give it up?' + +"My heroic friend answered: 'I know when I am beaten, my dear-- +I give it up.' She looked at her watch; it was time to operate +on the muscles of one of her patients. Away she went, on +her glorious mission of Massage, without a murmur of regret. +What strength of mind! But, oh, dear, what a disappointment for +poor little me! On one thing I am determined. If I find myself +getting puzzled or frightened, I shall instantly write to you." + +With that expression of confidence in me, Selina's narrative came +to an end. I wish I could have believed, as she did, that +the object of her admiration had been telling her the truth. + +A few days later, Mrs. Tenbruggen honored me with a visit at my +house in the neighborhood of London. Thanks to this circumstance, +I am able to add a postscript which will complete the revelations +in Miss Jillgall's letter. + +The illustrious Masseuse, having much to conceal from +her faithful Selina, was well aware that she had only one thing +to keep hidden from me; namely, the advantage which she would +have gained if her inquiries had met with success. + +"I thought I might have got at what I wanted," she told me, +"by mesmerizing our reverend friend. He is as weak as a woman; +I threw him into hysterics, and had to give it up, and quiet him, +or he would have alarmed the house. You look as if you don't +believe in mesmerism." + +"My looks, Mrs. Tenbruggen, exactly express my opinion. Mesmerism +is a humbug!" + +"You amusing old Tory! Shall I throw you into a state of trance? +No! I'll give you a shock of another kind--a shock of surprise. +I know as much as you do about Mr. Gracedieu's daughters. What +do you think of that?" + +"I think I should like to hear you tell me, which is the adopted +child." + +"Helena, to be sure!" + +Her manner was defiant, her tone was positive; I doubted both. +Under the surface of her assumed confidence, I saw something +which told me that she was trying to read my thoughts in my face. +Many other women had tried to do that. They succeeded when I was +young. When I had reached the wrong side of fifty, my face had +learned discretion, and they failed. + +"How did you arrive at your discovery?" I asked. "I know +of nobody who could have helped you." + +"I helped myself, sir! I reasoned it out. A wonderful thing +for a woman to do, isn't it? I wonder whether you could follow +the process?" + +My reply to this was made by a bow. I was sure of my command over +my face; but perfect control of the voice is a rare power. Here +and there, a great actor or a great criminal possesses it. + +Mrs. Tenbruggen's vanity took me into her confidence. "In +the first place," she said, "Helena is plainly the wicked one +of the two. I was not prejudiced by what Selina had told me of +her: I saw it, and felt it, before I had been five minutes in +her company. If lying tongues ever provoke her as lying tongues +provoked her mother, she will follow her mother's example. +Very well. Now--in the second place--though it is very slight, +there is a certain something in her hair and her complexion which +reminds me of the murderess: there is no other resemblance, +I admit. In the third place, the girls' names point to the same +conclusion. Mr. Gracedieu is a Protestant and a Dissenter. Would +he call a child of his own by the name of a Roman Catholic saint? +No! he would prefer a name in the Bible; Eunice is _his_ child. +And Helena was once the baby whom I carried into the prison. +Do you deny that?" + +"I don't deny it." + +Only four words! But they were deceitfully spoken, and +the deceit--practiced in Eunice's interest, it is needless +to say--succeeded. Mrs. Tenbruggen's object in visiting me +was attained; I had confirmed her belief in the delusion that +Helena was the adopted child. + +She got up to take her leave. I asked if she proposed remaining +in London. No; she was returning to her country patients that +night. + +As I attended her to the house-door, she turned to me with her +mischievous smile. "I have taken some trouble in finding the clew +to the Minister's mystery," she said. "Don't you wonder why?" + +"If I did wonder," I answered, "would you tell me why?" + +She laughed at the bare idea of it. "Another lesson," she said, +"to assist a helpless man in studying the weaker sex. I have +already shown you that a woman can reason. Learn next that +a woman can keep a secret. Good-by. God bless you!" + +Of the events which followed Mrs. Tenbruggen's visit it is not +possible for me, I am thankful to say, to speak from personal +experience. Ought I to conclude with an expression of repentance +for the act of deception to which I have already pleaded guilty? +I don't know. Yes! the force of circumstances does really compel +me to say it, and say it seriously--I declare, on my word of +honor, I don't know. + + +Third period: 1876. + +_HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED._ + + +CHAPTER LII. + +HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED. + +While my father remains in his present helpless condition, +somebody must assume a position of command in this house. +There cannot be a moment's doubt that I am the person to do it. + +In my agitated state of mind, sometimes doubtful of Philip, +sometimes hopeful of him, I find Mrs. Tenbruggen simply +unendurable. A female doctor is, under any circumstances, +a creature whom I detest. She is, at her very best, a bad +imitation of a man. The Medical Rubber is worse than this; +she is a bad imitation of a mountebank. Her grinning good-humor, +adopted no doubt to please the fools who are her patients, and +her impudent enjoyment of hearing herself talk, make me regret +for the first time in my life that I am a young lady. If +I belonged to the lowest order of the population, I might take +the first stick I could find, and enjoy the luxury of giving +Mrs. Tenbruggen a good beating. + +She literally haunts the house, encouraged, of course, by +her wretched little dupe, Miss Jillgall. Only this morning, +I tried what a broad hint would do toward suggesting that +her visits had better come to an end. + +"Really, Mrs. Tenbruggen," I said, "I must request Miss Jillgall +to moderate her selfish enjoyment of your company, for your own +sake. Your time is too valuable, in a professional sense, to be +wasted on an idle woman who has no sympathy with your patients, +waiting for relief perhaps, and waiting in vain. + +She listened to this, all smiles and good-humor: "My dear, do you +know how I might answer you, if I was an ill-natured woman?" + +"I have no curiosity to hear it, Mrs. Tenbruggen." + +"I might ask you," she persisted, "to allow me to mind my own +business. But I am incapable of making an ungrateful return +for the interest which you take in my medical welfare. Let me +venture to ask if you understand the value of time." + +"Are you going to say much more, Mrs. Tenbruggen?" + +"I am going to make a sensible remark, my child. If you feel +tired, permit me--here is a chair. Father Time, dear Miss +Gracedieu, has always been a good friend of mine, because I know +how to make the best use of him. The author of the famous saying +_Tempus fugit_ (you understand Latin, of course) was, I take +leave to think, an idle man. The more I have to do, the readier +Time is to wait for me. Let me impress this on your mind by +some interesting examples. The greatest conqueror of the +century--Napoleon--had time enough for everything. The greatest +novelist of the century--Sir Walter Scott--had time enough for +everything. At my humble distance, I imitate those illustrious +men, and my patients never complain of me." + +"Have you done?" I asked. + +"Yes, dear--for the present." + +"You are a clever woman, Mrs. Tenbruggen and you know it. You +have an eloquent tongue, and you know it. But you are something +else, which you don't seem to be aware of. You are a Bore." + +She burst out laughing, with the air of a woman who thoroughly +enjoyed a good joke. I looked back when I left the room, and saw +the friend of Father Time in the easy chair opening our +newspaper. + +This is a specimen of the customary encounter of our wits. +I place it on record in my Journal, to excuse myself _to_ myself. +When she left us at last, later in the day, I sent a letter after +her to the hotel. Not having kept a copy of it, let me present +the substance, like a sermon, under three heads: I begged to be +excused for speaking plainly; I declared that there was a total +want of sympathy between us, on my side; and I proposed that she +should deprive me of future opportunities of receiving her in +this house. The reply arrived immediately in these terms: "Your +letter received, dear girl. I am not in the least angry; partly +because I am very fond of you, partly because I know that you +will ask me to come back again. P. S.: Philip sends his love." + +This last piece of insolence was unquestionably a lie. Philip +detests her. They are both staying at the same hotel. But +I happen to know that he won't even look at her, if they meet +by accident on the stairs. + +People who can enjoy the melancholy spectacle of human nature in +a state of degradation would be at a loss which exhibition to +prefer--an ugly old maid in a rage, or an ugly old maid in tears. +Miss Jillgall presented herself in both characters when she heard +what had happened. To my mind, Mrs. Tenbruggen's bosom-friend is +a creature not fit to be seen or heard when she loses her temper. +I only told her to leave the room. To my great amusement, she +shook her bony fist at me, and expressed a frantic wish: "Oh, if +I was rich enough to leave this wicked house!" I wonder whether +there is insanity (as well as poverty) in Miss Jillgall's family? + + +Last night my mind was in a harassed state. Philip was, as usual, +the cause of it. + +Perhaps I acted indiscreetly when I insisted on his leaving +London, and returning to this place. But what else could I have +done? It was not merely my interest, it was an act of downright +necessity, to withdraw him from the influence of his hateful +father--whom I now regard as the one serious obstacle to +my marriage. There is no prospect of being rid of Mr. Dunboyne +the elder by his returning to Ireland. He is trying a new remedy +for his crippled hand--electricity. I wish it was lightning, +to kill him! If I had given that wicked old man the chance, I am +firmly convinced he would not have let a day pass without doing +his best to depreciate me in his son's estimation. Besides, there +was the risk, if I had allowed Philip to remain long away from +me, of losing--no, while I keep my beauty I cannot be in such +danger as that--let me say, of permitting time and absence to +weaken my hold on him. However sullen and silent he may be, when +we meet--and I find him in that condition far too often--I can, +sooner or later, recall him to his brighter self. My eyes +preserve their charm, my talk can still amuse him, and, better +even than that, I feel the answering thrill in him, which tells +me how precious my kisses are--not too lavishly bestowed! But +the time when I am obliged to leave him to himself is the time +that I dread. How do I know that his thoughts are not wandering +away to Eunice? He denies it; he declares that he only went +to the farmhouse to express his regret for his own thoughtless +conduct, and to offer her the brotherly regard due to the sister +of his promised wife. Can I believe it? Oh, what would I not give +to be able to believe it! How can I feel sure that her refusal +to see him was not a cunning device to make him long for another +interview, and plan perhaps in private to go back and try again. +Marriage! Nothing will quiet these frightful doubts of mine, +nothing will reward me for all that I have suffered, nothing will +warm my heart with the delightful sense of triumph over Eunice, +but my marriage to Philip. And what does he say, when I urge it +on him?--yes, I have fallen as low as that, in the despair which +sometimes possesses me. He has his answer, always the same, +and always ready: "How are we to live? where is the money?" +The maddening part of it is that I cannot accuse him of raising +objections that don't exist. We are poorer than ever here, since +my father's illness--and Philip's allowance is barely enough to +suffice him as a single man. Oh, how I hate the rich! + +It was useless to think of going to bed. How could I hope to +sleep, with my head throbbing, and my thoughts in this disturbed +state? I put on my comfortable dressing-gown, and sat down to try +what reading would do to quiet my mind. + +I had borrowed the book from the Library, to which I have been +a subscriber in secret for some time past. It was an old volume, +full of what we should now call Gossip; relating strange +adventures, and scandalous incidents in family history which +had been concealed from public notice. + +One of these last romances in real life caught a strong hold +on my interest. + +It was a strange case of intended poisoning, which had never +been carried out. A young married lady of rank, whose name was +concealed under an initial letter, had suffered some unendurable +wrong (which was not mentioned) at the hands of her husband's +mother. The wife was described as a woman of strong passions, +who had determined on a terrible revenge by taking the life +of her mother-in-law. There were difficulties in the way of +her committing the crime without an accomplice to help her; +and she decided on taking her maid, an elderly woman, into +her confidence. The poison was secretly obtained by this person; +and the safest manner of administering it was under discussion +between the mistress and the maid, when the door of the room was +suddenly opened. The husband, accompanied by his brother, rushed +in, and charged his wife with plotting the murder of his mother. +The young lady (she was only twenty-three) must have been +a person of extraordinary courage and resolution. She saw at once +that her maid had betrayed her, and, with astonishing presence +of mind, she turned on the traitress, and said to her husband: +"There is the wretch who has been trying to persuade me to poison +your mother!" As it happened, the old lady's temper was violent +and overbearing; and the maid had complained of being ill-treated +by her, in the hearing of the other servants. The circumstances +made it impossible to decide which of the two was really +the guilty woman. The servant was sent away, and the husband +and wife separated soon afterward, under the excuse of +incompatibility of temper. Years passed; and the truth was only +discovered by the death-bed confession of the wife. A remarkable +story, which has made such an impression on me that I have +written it in my Journal. I am not rich enough to buy the book. + + +For the last two days, I have been confined to my room with a bad +feverish cold--caught, as I suppose, by sitting at an open window +reading my book till nearly three o'clock in the morning. I sent +a note to Philip, telling him of my illness. On the first day, +he called to inquire after me. On the second day, no visit, and +no letter. Here is the third day--and no news of him as yet. I am +better, but not fit to go out. Let me wait another hour, and, +if that exertion of patience meets with no reward, I shall send +a note to the hotel. + +No news of Philip. I have sent to the hotel. The servant has just +returned, bringing me back my note. The waiter informed her that +Mr. Dunboyne had gone away to London by the morning train. No +apology or explanation left for me. + +_Can_ he have deserted me? I am in such a frenzy of doubt and +rage that I can hardly write that horrible question. Is it +possible--oh, I feel it _is_ possible that he has gone away with +Eunice. Do I know where to find them? if I did know, what could +I do? I feel as if I could kill them both! + + +CHAPTER LIII. + +HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED. + +After the heat of my anger had cooled, I made two discoveries. +One cost me a fee to a messenger, and the other exposed me +to the insolence of a servant. I pay willingly in my purse and +my pride, when the gain is peace of mind. Through my messenger +I ascertained that Eunice had never left the farm. Through my own +inquiries, answered by the waiter with an impudent grin, I heard +that Philip had left orders to have his room kept for him. What +misery our stupid housemaid might have spared me, if she had +thought of putting that question when I sent her to the hotel! + +The rest of the day passed in vain speculations on Philip's +motive for this sudden departure. What poor weak creatures we +are! I persuaded myself to hope that anxiety for our marriage +had urged him to make an effort to touch the heart of his mean +father. Shall I see him to-morrow? And shall I have reason +to be fonder of him than ever? + + +We met again to-day as usual. He has behaved infamously. + +When I asked what had been his object in going to London, I was +told that it was "a matter of business." He made that idiotic +excuse as coolly as if he really thought I should believe it. +I submitted in silence, rather than mar his return to me by +the disaster of a quarrel. But this was an unlucky day. A harder +trial of my self-control was still to come. Without the slightest +appearance of shame, Philip informed me that he was charged +with a message from Mrs. Tenbruggen! She wanted some Irish lace, +and would I be so good as to tell her which was the best shop +at which she could buy it? + +Was he really in earnest? "You," I said, "who distrusted and +detested her--you are on friendly terms with that woman?" + +He remonstrated with me. "My dear Helena, don't speak in that way +of Mrs. Tenbruggen. We have both been mistaken about her. That +good creature has forgiven the brutal manner in which I spoke to +her, when she was in attendance on my father. She was the first +to propose that we should shake hands and forget it. My darling, +don't let all the good feeling be on one side. You have no idea +how kindly she speaks of you, and how anxious she is to help us +to be married. Come! come! meet her half-way. Write down the name +of the shop on my card, and I will take it back to her." + +Sheer amazement kept me silent: I let him go on. He was a mere +child in the hands of Mrs. Tenbruggen: she had only to determine +to make a fool of him, and she could do it. + +But why did she do it? What advantage had she to gain by +insinuating herself in this way into his good opinion, evidently +with the intention of urging him to reconcile us to each other? +How could we two poor young people be of the smallest use to +the fashionable Masseuse? + +My silence began to irritate Philip. "I never knew before how +obstinate you could be," he said; "you seem to be doing your +best--I can't imagine why--to lower yourself in my estimation." + +I held my tongue; I assumed my smile. It is all very well for men +to talk about the deceitfulness of women. What chance (I should +like to ask somebody who knows about it) do the men give us +of making our lives with them endurable, except by deceit! I gave +way, of course, and wrote down the address of the shop. + +He was so pleased that he kissed me. Yes! the most fondly +affectionate kiss that he had given me, for weeks past, was +my reward for submitting to Mrs. Tenbruggen. She is old enough +to be his mother, and almost as ugly as Miss Jillgall--and she +has made her interests his interests already! + + +On the next day, I fully expected to receive a visit from +Mrs. Tenbruggen. She knew better than that. I only got a polite +little note, thanking me for the address, and adding an artless +concession: "I earn more money than I know what to do with; +and I adore Irish lace." + +The next day came, and still she was careful not to show herself +too eager for a personal reconciliation. A splendid nosegay was +sent to me, with another little note: "A tribute, dear Helena, +offered by one of my grateful patients. Too beautiful a present +for an old woman like me. I agree with the poet: 'Sweets to the +sweet.' A charming thought of Shakespeare's, is it not? I should +like to verify the quotation. Would you mind leaving the volume +for me in the hall, if I call to-morrow?" + +Well done, Mrs. Tenbruggen! She doesn't venture to intrude on +Miss Gracedieu in the drawing-room; she only wants to verify +a quotation in the hall. Oh, goddess of Humility (if there is +such a person), how becomingly you are dressed when your milliner +is an artful old woman! + +While this reflection was passing through my mind, Miss Jillgall +came in--saw the nosegay on the table--and instantly pounced on +it. "Oh, for me! for me!" she cried. "I noticed it this morning +on Elizabeth's table. How very kind of her!" She plunged +her inquisitive nose into the poor flowers, and looked up +sentimentally at the ceiling. "The perfume of goodness," she +remarked, "mingled with the perfume of flowers!" "When you have +quite done with it," I said, "perhaps you will be so good as to +return my nosegay?" "_Your_ nosegay!" she exclaimed. "There is +Mrs. Tenbruggen's letter," I replied, "if you would like to look +at it." She did look at it. All the bile in her body flew up +into her eyes, and turned them green; she looked as if she longed +to scratch my face. I gave the flowers afterward to Maria; Miss +Jillgall's nose had completely spoiled them. + + +It would have been too ridiculous to have allowed Mrs. Tenbruggen +to consult Shakespeare in the hall. I had the honor of receiving +her in my own room. We accomplished a touching reconciliation, +and we quite forgot Shakespeare. + +She troubles me; she does indeed trouble me. + +Having set herself entirely right with Philip, she is determined +on performing the same miracle with me. Her reform of herself +is already complete. Her vulgar humor was kept under strict +restraint; she was quiet and well-bred, and readier to listen +than to talk. This change was not presented abruptly. She +contrived to express her friendly interests in Philip and in me +by hints dropped here and there, assisted in their effort by +answers on my part, into which I was tempted so skillfully that +I only discovered the snare set for me, on reflection. What is +it, I ask again, that she has in view in taking all this trouble? +Where is her motive for encouraging a love-affair, which Miss +Jillgall must have denounced to her as an abominable wrong +inflicted on Eunice? Money (even if there was a prospect of such +a thing, in our case) cannot be her object; it is quite true that +her success sets her above pecuniary anxiety. Spiteful feeling +against Eunice is out of the question. They have only met once; +and her opinion was expressed to me with evident sincerity: "Your +sister is a nice girl, but she is like other nice girls--she +doesn't interest me." There is Eunice's character, drawn from +the life in few words. In what an irritating position do I find +myself placed! Never before have I felt so interested in trying +to look into a person's secret mind; and never before have I been +so completely baffled. + +I had written as far as this, and was on the point of closing +my Journal, when a third note arrived from Mrs. Tenbruggen. + +She had been thinking about me at intervals (she wrote) all +through the rest of the day; and, kindly as I had received her, +she was conscious of being the object of doubts on my part which +her visit had failed to remove. Might she ask leave to call on +me, in the hope of improving her position in my estimation? +An appointment followed for the next day. + +What can she have to say to me which she has not already said? +Is it anything about Philip, I wonder? + + +CHAPTER LIV. + +HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED. + +At our interview of the next day, Mrs. Tenbruggen's capacity +for self-reform appeared under a new aspect. She dropped all +familiarity with me, and she stated the object of her visit +without a superfluous word of explanation or apology. + +I thought this a remarkable effort for a woman; and I recognized +the merit of it by leaving the lion's share of the talk to +my visitor. In these terms she opened her business with me: + +"Has Mr. Philip Dunboyne told you why he went to London?" + +"He made a commonplace excuse," I answered. "Business, he said, +took him to London. I know no more." + +"You have a fair prospect of happiness, Miss Helena, when you are +married--your future husband is evidently afraid of you. I am not +afraid of you; and I shall confide to your private ear something +which you have an interest in knowing. The business which took +young Mr. Dunboyne to London was to consult a competent person, +on a matter concerning himself. The competent person is the +sagacious (not to say sly) old gentleman--whom we used to call +the Governor. You know him, I believe?" + +"Yes. But I am at a loss to imagine why Philip should have +consulted him." + +"Have you ever heard or read, Miss Helena, of such a thing as +'an old man's fancy'?" + +"I think I have." + +"Well, the Governor has taken an old man's fancy to your sister. +They appeared to understand each other perfectly when I was at +the farmhouse." + +"Excuse me, Mrs. Tenbruggen, that is what I know already. Why did +Philip go to the Governor?" + +She smiled. "If anybody is acquainted with the true state of your +sister's feelings, the Governor is the man. I sent Mr. Dunboyne +to consult him--and there is the reason for it." + +This open avowal of her motives perplexed and offended me. After +declaring herself to be interested in my marriage-engagement had +she changed her mind, and resolved on favoring Philip's return +to Eunice? What right had he to consult anybody about the state +of that girl's feelings? _My_ feelings form the only subject +of inquiry that was properly open to him. I should have said +something which I might have afterward regretted, if Mrs. +Tenbruggen had allowed me the opportunity. Fortunately for both +of us, she went on with her narrative of her own proceedings. + +"Philip Dunboyne is an excellent fellow," she continued; "I +really like him--but he has his faults. He sadly wants strength +of purpose; and, like weak men in general, he only knows his own +mind when a resolute friend takes him in hand and guides him. +I am his resolute friend. I saw him veering about between you +and Eunice; and I decided for his sake--may I say for your sake +also?--on putting an end to that mischievous state of indecision. +You have the claim on him; you are the right wife for him, +and the Governor was (as I thought likely from what I had myself +observed) the man to make him see it. I am not in anybody's +secrets; it was pure guesswork on my part, and it has succeeded. +There is no more doubt now about Miss Eunice's sentiments. +The question is settled." + +"In my favor?" + +"Certainly in your favor--or I should not have said a word +about it." + +"Was Philip's visit kindly received? Or did the old wretch laugh +at him?" + +"My dear Miss Gracedieu, the old wretch is a man of the world, +and never makes mistakes of that sort. Before he could open +his lips, he had to satisfy himself that your lover deserved to +be taken into his confidence, on the delicate subject of Eunice's +sentiments. He arrived at a favorable conclusion. I can repeat +Philip's questions and the Governor's answers after putting +the young man through a stiff examination just as they passed: +'May I inquire, sir, if she has spoken to you about me?' 'She has +often spoken about you.' 'Did she seem to be angry with me?' 'She +is too good and too sweet to be angry with you.' 'Do you think +she will forgive me?' 'She has forgiven you.' 'Did she say so +herself?' 'Yes, of her own free will.' 'Why did she refuse to see +me when I called at the farm?' 'She had her own reasons--good +reasons.' 'Has she regretted it since?' 'Certainly not.' 'Is it +likely that she would consent, if I proposed a reconciliation?' +'I put that question to her myself.' 'How did she take it, +sir?' 'She declined to take it.' 'You mean that she declined +a reconciliation?' 'Yes.' 'Are you sure she was in earnest?' +'I am positively sure.' That last answer seems, by young +Dunboyne's own confession, to have been enough, and more than +enough for him. He got up to go--and then an odd thing happened. +After giving him the most unfavorable answers, the Governor +patted him paternally on the shoulder, and encouraged him to +hope. 'Before we say good-by, Mr. Philip, one word more. If +I was as young as you are, I should not despair.' There is +a sudden change of front! Who can explain it?" + +The Governor's mischievous resolution to reconcile Philip +and Eunice explained it, of course. With the best intentions +(perhaps) Mrs. Tenbruggen had helped that design by bringing +the two men together. "Go on," I said; "I am prepared to hear +next that Philip has paid another visit to my sister, and has +been received this time." + +I must say this for Mrs. Tenbruggen: she kept her temper +perfectly. + +"He has not been to the farm," she said, "but he has done +something nearly as foolish. He has written to your sister." + +"And he has received a favorable reply, of course?" + +She put her hand into the pocket of her dress. + +"There is your sister's reply," she said. + +Any persons who have had a crushing burden lifted, unexpectedly +and instantly, from off their minds, will know what I felt when +I read the reply. In the most positive language, Eunice refused +to correspond with Philip, or to speak with him. The concluding +words proved that she was in earnest. "You are engaged to Helena. +Consider me as a stranger until you are married. After that time +you will be my brother-in-law, and then I may pardon you for +writing to me." + +Nobody who knows Eunice would have supposed that she possessed +those two valuable qualities--common-sense and proper pride. +It is pleasant to feel that I can now send cards to my sister, +when I am Mrs. Philip Dunboyne. + +I returned the letter to Mrs. Tenbruggen, with the sincerest +expressions of regret for having doubted her. "I have been +unworthy of your generous interest in me," I said; "I am almost +ashamed to offer you my hand." + +She took my hand, and gave it a good, heady shake. + +"Are we friends?" she asked, in the simplest and prettiest +manner. "Then let us be easy and pleasant again," she went on. +"Will you call me Elizabeth; and shall I call you Helena? Very +well. Now I have got something else to say; another secret which +must be kept from Philip (I call _him_ by his name now, you see) +for a few days more. Your happiness, my dear, must not depend on +his miserly old father. He must have a little income of his own +to marry on. Among the hundreds of unfortunate wretches whom I +have relieved from torture of mind and body, there is a grateful +minority. Small! small! but there they are. I have influence +among powerful people; and I am trying to make Philip private +secretary to a member of Parliament. When I have succeeded, +you shall tell him the good news." + +What a vile humor I must have been in, at the time, not to have +appreciated the delightful gayety of this good creature; I went +to the other extreme now, and behaved like a gushing young miss +fresh from school. I kissed her. + +She burst out laughing. "What a sacrifice!" she cried. "A kiss +for me, which ought to have been kept for Philip! By-the-by, do +you know what I should do, Helena, in your place? I should take +our handsome young man away from that hotel!" + +"I will do anything that you advise," I said. + +"And you will do well, my child. In the first place, the hotel +is too expensive for Philip's small means. In the second place, +two of the chambermaids have audaciously presumed to be charming +girls; and the men, my dear--well! well! I will leave you to +find that out for yourself. In the third place, you want to have +Philip under your own wing; domestic familiarity will make him +fonder of you than ever. Keep him out of the sort of company that +he meets with in the billiard-room and the smoking-room. You have +got a spare bed here, I know, and your poor father is in no +condition to use his authority. Make Philip one of the family." + +This last piece of advice staggered me. I mentioned the +Proprieties. Mrs. Tenbruggen laughed at the Proprieties. + +"Make Selina of some use," she suggested. "While you have got +_her_ in the house, Propriety is rampant. Why condemn poor +helpless Philip to cheap lodgings? Time enough to cast him out to +the feather-bed and the fleas on the night before your marriage. +Besides, I shall be in and out constantly--for I mean to cure +your father. The tongue of scandal is silent in my awful +presence; an atmosphere of virtue surrounds Mamma Tenbruggen. +Think of it." + + +CHAPTER LV. + +HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED. + +I did think of it. Philip came to us, and lived in our house. + +Let me hasten to add that the protest of Propriety was duly +entered, on the day before my promised husband arrived. Standing +in the doorway--nothing would induce her to take a chair, or +even to enter the room--Miss Jillgall delivered her opinion +on Philip's approaching visit. Mrs. Tenbruggen reported it +in her pocket-book, as if she was representing a newspaper at +a public meeting. Here it is, copied from her notes: + +"Miss Helena Gracedieu, my first impulse under the present +disgusting circumstances was to leave the house, and earn a bare +crust in the cheapest garret I could find in the town. But my +grateful heart remembers Mr. Gracedieu. My poor afflicted cousin +was good to me when I was helpless. I cannot forsake him when +_he_ is helpless. At whatever sacrifice of my own self-respect, +I remain under this roof, so dear to me for the Minister's sake. +I notice, miss, that you smile. I see my once dear Elizabeth, the +friend who has so bitterly disappointed me--" she stopped, and +put her handkerchief to her eyes, and went on again--"the friend +who has so bitterly disappointed me, taking satirical notes of +what I say. I am not ashamed of what I say. The virtue which will +not stretch a little, where the motive is good, is feeble virtue +indeed. I shall stay in the house, and witness horrors, and rise +superior to them. Good-morning, Miss Gracedieu. Good-morning, +Elizabeth." She performed a magnificent curtsey, and (as Mrs. +Tenbruggen's experience of the stage informed me) made a very +creditable exit. + + +A week has passed, and I have not opened my Diary. + +My days have glided away in one delicious flow of happiness. +Philip has been delightfully devoted to me. His fervent +courtship, far exceeding any similar attentions which he may +once have paid to Eunice, has shown such variety and such +steadfastness of worship, that I despair of describing it. +My enjoyment of my new life is to be felt--not to be coldly +considered, and reduced to an imperfect statement in words. + +For the first time I feel capable, if the circumstances +encouraged me, of acts of exalted virtue. For instance, I could +save my country if my country was worth it. I could die a martyr +to religion if I had a religion. In one word, I am exceedingly +well satisfied with myself. The little disappointments of life +pass over me harmless. I do not even regret the failure of good +Mrs. Tenbruggen's efforts to find an employment for Philip, +worthy of his abilities and accomplishments. The member of +Parliament to whom she had applied has chosen a secretary +possessed of political influence. That is the excuse put forward +in his letter to Mrs. Tenbruggen. Wretched corrupt creature! +If he was worth a thought I should pity him. He has lost Philip's +services. + + +Three days more have slipped by. The aspect of my heaven on earth +is beginning to alter. + +Perhaps the author of that wonderful French novel, "L'Ame +Damne'e," is right when he tells us that human happiness +is misery in masquerade. It would be wrong to say that I am +miserable. But I may be on the way to it; I am anxious. + +To-day, when he did not know that I was observing him, I +discovered a preoccupied look in Philip's eyes. He laughed when +I asked if anything had happened to vex him. Was it a natural +laugh? He put his arm round me and kissed me. Was it done +mechanically? I daresay I am out of humor myself. I think +I had a little headache. Morbid, probably. I won't think of it +any more. + +It has occurred to me this morning that he may dislike being +left by himself, while I am engaged in my household affairs. +If this is the case, intensely as I hate her, utterly as I loathe +the idea of putting her in command over my domestic dominions, +I shall ask Miss Jillgall to take my place as housekeeper. + +I was away to-day in the kitchen regions rather longer than +usual. When I had done with my worries, Philip was not to be +found. Maria, looking out of one of the bedroom windows instead +of doing her work, had seen Mr. Dunboyne leave the house. It was +possible that he had charged Miss Jillgall with a message for me. +I asked if she was in her room. No; she, too, had gone out. +It was a fine day, and Philip had no doubt taken a stroll--but he +might have waited till I could join him. There were some orders +to be given to the butcher and the green-grocer. I, too, left +the house, hoping to get rid of some little discontent, caused +by thinking of what had happened. Returning by the way of High +Street--I declare I can hardly believe it even now--I did +positively see Miss Jillgall coming out of a pawnbroker's shop! + +The direction in which she turned prevented her from seeing me. +She was quite unaware that I had discovered her; and I have said +nothing about it since. But I noticed something unusual in the +manner in which her watch-chain was hanging, and I asked her what +o'clock it was. She said, "You have got your own watch." I told +her my watch had stopped. "So has mine," she said. There is no +doubt about it now; she has pawned her watch. What for? She lives +here for nothing, and she has not had a new dress since I have +known her. Why does she want money? + +Philip had not returned when I got home. Another mysterious +journey to London? No. After an absence of more than two hours, +he came back. + +Naturally enough, I asked what he had been about. He had been +taking a long walk. For his health's sake? No: to think. To think +of what? Well, I might be surprised to hear it, but his idle life +was beginning to weigh on his spirits; he wanted employment. Had +he thought of an employment? Not yet. Which way had he walked? +Anyway: he had not noticed where he went. These replies were all +made in a tone that offended me. Besides, I observed there was +no dust on his boots (after a week of dry weather), and his walk +of two hours did not appear to have heated or tired him. I took +an opportunity of consulting Mrs. Tenbruggen. + +She had anticipated that I should appeal to her opinion, as +a woman of the world. + +I shall not set down in detail what she said. Some of it +humiliated me; and from some of it I recoiled. The expression +of her opinion came to this. In the absence of experience, +a certain fervor of temperament was essential to success in +the art of fascinating men. Either my temperament was deficient, +or my intellect overpowered it. It was natural that I should +suppose myself to be as susceptible to the tender passion as +the most excitable woman living. Delusion, my Helena, amiable +delusion! Had I ever observed or had any friend told me that +my pretty hands were cold hands? I had beautiful eyes, expressive +of vivacity, of intelligence, of every feminine charm, except +the one inviting charm that finds favor in the eyes of a man. +She then entered into particulars, which I don't deny showed +a true interest in helping me. I was ungrateful, sulky, +self-opinionated. Dating from that day's talk with Mrs. +Tenbruggen, my new friendship began to show signs of having +caught a chill. + +But I did my best to follow her instructions--and failed. + +It is perhaps true that my temperament is overpowered by +my intellect. Or it is possibly truer still that the fire +in my heart, when it warms to love, is a fire that burns low. +My belief is that I surprised Philip instead of charming him. +He responded to my advances, but I felt that it was not done +in earnest, not spontaneously. Had I any right to complain? +Was I in earnest? Was I spontaneous? We were making love to +each other under false pretenses. Oh, what a fool I was to ask +for Mrs. Tenbruggen's advice! + +A humiliating doubt has come to me suddenly. Has his heart been +inclining to Eunice again? After such a letter as she has written +to him? Impossible! + + +Three events since yesterday, which I consider, trifling as +they may be, intimations of something wrong. + +First, Miss Jillgall, who at one time was eager to take my place, +has refused to relieve me of my housekeeping duties. Secondly, +Philip has been absent again, on another long walk. Thirdly, +when Philip returned, depressed and sulky, I caught Miss Jillgall +looking at him with interest and pity visible in her skinny face. +What do these things mean? + + +I am beginning to doubt everybody. Not one of them, Philip +included, cares for me--but I can frighten them, at any rate. +Yesterday evening, I dropped on the floor as suddenly as if I had +been shot: a fit of some sort. The doctor honestly declared that +he was at a loss to account for it. He would have laid me under +an eternal obligation if he had failed to bring me back to life +again. + +As it is, I am more clever than the doctor. What brought the fit +on is well known to me. Rage--furious, overpowering, deadly +rage--was the cause. I am now in the cold-blooded state, which +can look back at the event as composedly as if it had happened +to some other girl. Suppose that girl had let her sweetheart know +how she loved him as she had never let him know it before. +Suppose she opened the door again the instant after she had left +the room, eager, poor wretch, to say once more, for the fiftieth +time, "My angel, I love you!" Suppose she found her angel +standing with his back toward her, so that his face was reflected +in the glass. And suppose she discovered in that face, so smiling +and so sweet when his head had rested on her bosom only +the moment before, the most hideous expression of disgust that +features can betray. There could be no doubt of it; I had made my +poor offering of love to a man who secretly loathed me. I wonder +that I survived my sense of my own degradation. Well! I am alive; +and I know him in his true character at last. Am I a woman who +submits when an outrage is offered to her? What will happen next? +Who knows? I am in a fine humor. What I have just written has set +me laughing at myself. Helena Gracedieu has one merit at +least--she is a very amusing person. + + +I slept last night. + +This morning, I am strong again, calm, wickedly capable +of deceiving Mr. Philip Dunboyne, as he has deceived me. He has +not the faintest suspicion that I have discovered him. I wish +he had courage enough to kill somebody. How I should enjoy hiring +the nearest window to the scaffold, and seeing him hanged! + +Miss Jillgall is in better spirits than ever. She is going to +take a little holiday; and the cunning creature makes a mystery +of it. "Good-by, Miss Helena. I am going to stay for a day +or two with a friend." What friend? Who cares? + + +Last night, I was wakeful. In the darkness a daring idea came to +me. To-day, I have carried out the idea. Something has followed +which is well worth entering in my Diary. + +I left the room at the usual hour for attending to my domestic +affairs. The obstinate cook did me a service; she was insolent; +she wanted to have her own way. I gave her her own way. In less +than five minutes I was on the watch in the pantry, which has +a view of the house door. My hat and my parasol were waiting +for me on the table, in case of my going out, too. + +In a few minutes more, I heard the door opened. Mr. Philip +Dunboyne stepped out. He was going to take another of his long +walks. + +I followed him to the street in which the cabs stand. He hired +the first one on the rank, an open chaise; while I kept myself +hidden in a shop door. + +The moment he started on his drive, I hired a closed cab. +"Double your fare," I said to the driver, "whatever it may be, +if you follow that chaise cleverly, and do what I tell you." + +He nodded and winked at me. A wicked-looking old fellow; just +the man I wanted. + +We followed the chaise. + + +CHAPTER LVI. + +HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED. + +When we had left the town behind us, the coachman began to drive +more slowly. In my ignorance, I asked what this change in +the pace meant. He pointed with his whip to the open road and +to the chaise in the distance. + +"If we keep too near the gentleman, miss, he has only got to look +back, and he'll see we are following him. The safe thing to do +is to let the chaise get on a bit. We can't lose sight of it, +out here." + +I had felt inclined to trust in the driver's experience, and he +had already justified my confidence in him. This encouraged me to +consult his opinion on a matter of some importance to my present +interests. I could see the necessity of avoiding discovery when +we had followed the chaise to its destination; but I was totally +at a loss to know how it could be done. My wily old man was ready +with his advice the moment I asked for it. + +"Wherever the chaise stops, miss, we must drive past it as if we +were going somewhere else. I shall notice the place while we go +by; and you will please sit back in the corner of the cab so that +the gentleman can't see you." + +"Well," I said, "and what next?" + +"Next, miss, I shall pull up, wherever it may be, out of sight +of the driver of the chaise. He bears an excellent character, +I don't deny it; but I've known him for years--and we had better +not trust him. I shall tell you where the gentleman stopped; +and you will go back to the place (on foot, of course), and see +for yourself what's to be done, specially if there happens to be +a lady in the case. No offense, miss; it's in my experience that +there's generally a lady in the case. Anyhow, you can judge for +yourself, and you'll know where to find me waiting when you want +me again." + +"Suppose something happens," I suggested, "that we don't expect?" + +"I shan't lose my head, miss, whatever happens." + +"All very well, coachman; but I have only your word for it." +In the irritable state of my mind, the man's confident way of +thinking annoyed me. + +"Begging your pardon, my young lady, you've got (if I may say so) +what they call a guarantee. When I was a young man, I drove a cab +in London for ten years. Will that do?" + +"I suppose you mean," I answered, "that you have learned deceit +in the wicked ways of the great city." + +He took this as a compliment. "Thank you, miss. That's it +exactly." + +After a long drive, or so it seemed to my impatience, we passed +the chaise drawn up at a lonely house, separated by a front +garden from the road. In two or three minutes more, we stopped +where the road took a turn, and descended to lower ground. +The farmhouse which we had left behind us was known to +the driver. He led the way to a gate at the side of the road, +and opened it for me. + +"In your place, miss," he said slyly, "the private way back +is the way I should wish to take. Try it by the fields. Turn to +the right when you have passed the barn, and you'll find yourself +at the back of the house." He stopped, and looked at his big +silver watch. "Half-past twelve," he said, "the Chawbacons--I +mean the farmhouse servants, miss--will be at their dinner. +All in your favor, so far. If the dog happens to be loose, don't +forget that his name's Grinder; call him by his name, and pat him +before he has time enough to think, and he'll let you be. When +you want me, here you'll find me waiting for orders." + +I looked back as I crossed the field. The driver was sitting on +the gate, smoking his pipe, and the horse was nibbling the grass +at the roadside. Two happy animals, without a burden on their +minds! + +After passing the barn, I saw nothing of the dog. Far or near, +no living creature appeared; the servants must have been at +dinner, as the coachman had foreseen. Arriving at a wooden fence, +I opened a gate in it, and found myself on a bit of waste ground. +On my left, there was a large duck-pond. On my right, I saw the +fowl-house and the pigstyes. Before me was a high impenetrable +hedge; and at some distance behind it--an orchard or a garden, +as I supposed, filling the intermediate space--rose the back +of the house. I made for the shelter of the hedge, in the fear +that some one might approach a window and see me. Once sheltered +from observation, I might consider what I should do next. It was +impossible to doubt that this was the house in which Eunice was +living. Neither could I fail to conclude that Philip had tried +to persuade her to see him, on those former occasions when he +told me he had taken a long walk. + +As I crouched behind the hedge, I heard voices approaching +on the other side of it. At last fortune had befriended me. +The person speaking at the moment was Miss Jillgall; and +the person who answered her was Philip. + +"I am afraid, dear Mr. Philip, you don't quite understand my +sweet Euneece. Honorable, high minded, delicate in her feelings, +and, oh, so unselfish! I don't want to alarm you, but when she +hears you have been deceiving Helena--" + +"Upon my word, Miss Jillgall, you are so provoking! I have not +been deceiving Helena. Haven't I told you what discouraging +answers I got, when I went to see the Governor? Haven't I shown +you Eunice's reply to my letter? You can't have forgotten it +already?" + +"Oh, yes, I have. Why should I remember it? Don't I know poor +Euneece was in your mind, all the time?" + +"You're wrong again! Eunice was not in my mind all the time. +I was hurt--I was offended by the cruel manner in which she had +treated me. And what was the consequence? So far was I from +deceiving Helena--she rose in my estimation by comparison with +her sister." + +"Oh, come, come, Mr. Philip! that won't do. Helena rising in +anybody's estimation? Ha! ha! ha!" + +"Laugh as much as you like, Miss Jillgall, you won't laugh away +the facts. Helena loved me; Helena was true to me. Don't be hard +on a poor fellow who is half distracted. What a man finds he can +do on one day, he finds he can't do on another. Try to understand +that a change does sometimes come over one's feelings." + +"Bless my soul, Mr. Philip, that's just what I have been +understanding all the time! I know your mind as well as you +know it yourself. You can't forget my sweet Euneece." + +"I tell you I tried to forget her! On my word of honor as +a gentleman, I tried to forget her, in justice to Helena. Is it +my fault that I failed? Eunice was in my mind, as you said just +now. Oh, my friend--for you are my friend, I am sure--persuade +her to see me, if it's only for a minute!" + +(Was there ever a man's mind in such a state of confusion as +this! First, I rise in his precious estimation, and Eunice drops. +Then Eunice rises, and I drop. Idiot! Mischievous idiot! Even +Selina seemed to be disgusted with him, when she spoke next.) + +"Mr. Philip, you are hard and unreasonable. I have tried to +persuade her, and I have made my darling cry. Nothing you +can say will induce me to distress her again. Go back, you +very undetermined man--go back to your Helena." + +"Too late." + +"Nonsense!" + +"I say too late. If I could have married Helena when I first went +to stay in the house, I might have faced the sacrifice. As it is, +I can't endure her; and (I tell you this in confidence) she has +herself to thank for what has happened." + +"Is that really true?" + +"Quite true." + +"Tell me what she did. + +"Oh, don't talk of her! Persuade Eunice to see me. I shall come +back again, and again, and again till you bring her to me." + +"Please don't talk nonsense. If she changes her mind, I will +bring her with pleasure. If she still shrinks from it, I regard +Euneece's feelings as sacred. Take my advice; don't press her. +Leave her time to think of you, and to pity you--and that true +heart may be yours again, if you are worthy of it." + +"Worthy of it? What do you mean?" + +"Are you quite sure, my young friend, that you won't go back +to Helena?" + +"Go back to _her_? I would cut my throat if I thought myself +capable of doing it!" + +"How did she set you against her? Did the wretch quarrel +with you?" + +"It might have been better for both of us if she had done that. +Oh, her fulsome endearments! What a contrast to the charming +modesty of Eunice! If I was rich, I would make it worth the while +of the first poor fellow I could find to rid me of Helena +by marrying her. I don't like saying such a thing of a woman, +but if you will have the truth--" + +"Well, Mr. Philip--and what is the truth?" + +"Helena disgusts me." + + +CHAPTER LVII. + +HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED. + +So it was all settled between them. Philip is to throw me away, +like one of his bad cigars, for this unanswerable reason: "Helena +disgusts me." And he is to persuade Eunice to take my place, +and be his wife. Yes! if I let him do it. + +I heard no more of their talk. With that last, worst outrage +burning in my memory, I left the place. + +On my way back to the carriage, the dog met me. Truly, a grand +creature. I called him by his name, and patted him. He licked my +hand. Something made me speak to him. I said: "If I was to tell +you to tear Mr. Philip Dunboyne to pieces, would you do it?" +The great good-natured brute held out his paw to shake hands. +Well! well! I was not an object of disgust to the dog. + +But the coachman was startled, when he saw me again. He said +something, I did not know what it was; and he produced +a pocket-flask, containing some spirits, I suppose. Perhaps +he thought I was going to faint. He little knew me. I told him +to drive back to the place at which I had hired the cab, and +earn his money. He earned it. + +On getting home, I found Mrs. Tenbruggen walking up and down +the dining-room, deep in thought. She was startled when we first +confronted each other. "You look dreadfully ill," she said. + +I answered that I had been out for a little exercise, and +had over-fatigued myself; and then changed the subject. "Does +my father seem to improve under your treatment?" I asked. + +"Very far from it, my dear. I promised that I would try what +Massage would do for him, and I find myself compelled to give +it up." + +"Why?" + +"It excites him dreadfully." + +"In what way?" + +"He has been talking wildly of events in his past life. His brain +is in some condition which is beyond my powers of investigation. +He pointed to a cabinet in his room, and said his past life +was locked up there. I asked if I should unlock it. He shook +with fear; he said I should let out the ghost of his dead +brother-in-law. Have you any idea of what he meant?" + +The cabinet was full of old letters. I could tell her that--and +could tell her no more. I had never heard of his brother-in-law. +Another of his delusions, no doubt. "Did you ever hear him +speak," Mrs. Tenbruggen went on, "of a place called Low Lanes?" + +She waited for my reply to this last inquiry with an appearance +of anxiety that surprised me. I had never heard him speak of +Low Lanes. + +"Have you any particular interest in the place?" I asked. + +"None whatever." + +She went away to attend on a patient. I retired to my bedroom, +and opened my Diary. Again and again, I read that remarkable +story of the intended poisoning, and of the manner in which it +had ended. I sat thinking over this romance in real life till +I was interrupted by the announcement of dinner. + +Mr. Philip Dunboyne had returned. In Miss Jillgall's absence we +were alone at the table. My appetite was gone. I made a pretense +of eating, and another pretense of being glad to see my devoted +lover. I talked to him in the prettiest manner. As a hypocrite, +he thoroughly matched me; he was gallant, he was amusing. +If baseness like ours had been punishable by the law, a prison +was the right place for both of us. + +Mrs. Tenbruggen came in again after dinner, still not quite easy +about my health. "How flushed you are!" she said. "Let me feel +your pulse." I laughed, and left her with Mr. Philip Dunboyne. + +Passing my father's door, I looked in, anxious to see +if he was in the excitable state which Mrs. Tenbruggen had +described. Yes; the effect which she had produced on him--how, +she knows best--had not passed away yet: he was still talking. +The attendant told me it had gone on for hours together. +On my approaching his chair, he called out: "Which are you? +Eunice or Helena?" When I had answered him, he beckoned me to +come nearer. "I am getting stronger every minute," he said. +"We will go traveling to-morrow, and see the place where you +were born." + +Where had I been born? He had never told me where. Had he +mentioned the place in Mrs. Tenbruggen's hearing? I asked +the attendant if he had been present while she was in the room. +Yes; he had remained at his post; he had also heard the allusion +to the place with the odd name. Had Mr. Gracedieu said anything +more about that place? Nothing more; the poor Minister's +mind had wandered off to other things. He was wandering now. +Sometimes, he was addressing his congregation; sometimes, +he wondered what they would give him for supper; sometimes, +he talked of the flowers in the garden. And then he looked +at me, and frowned, and said I prevented him from thinking. + +I went back to my bedroom, and opened my Diary, and read +the story again. + +Was the poison of which that resolute young wife proposed to make +use something that acted slowly, and told the doctors nothing +if they looked for it after death? + +Would it be running too great a risk to show the story to the +doctor, and try to get a little valuable information in that way? +It would be useless. He would make some feeble joke; he would +say, girls and poisons are not fit company for each other. + +But I might discover what I want to know in another way. I might +call on the doctor, after he has gone out on his afternoon +round of visits, and might tell the servant I would wait for +his master's return. Nobody would be in my way; I might get +at the medical literature in the consulting-room, and find +the information for myself. + +A knock at my door interrupted me in the midst of my plans. +Mrs. Tenbruggen again!--still in a fidgety state of feeling +on the subject of my health. "Which is it?" she said. "Pain +of body, my dear, or pain of mind? I am anxious about you." + +"My dear Elizabeth, your sympathy is thrown away on me. As +I have told you already, I am over-tired--nothing more." + +She was relieved to hear that I had no mental troubles to +complain of. "Fatigue," she remarked, "sets itself right +with rest. Did you take a very long walk?" + +"Yes." + +"Beyond the limits of the town, of course? Philip has been taking +a walk in the country, too. He doesn't say that he met you." + +These clever people sometimes overreach themselves. How she +suggested it to me, I cannot pretend to have discovered. But +I did certainly suspect that she had led Philip, while they +were together downstairs, into saying to her what he had already +said to Miss Jillgall. I was so angry that I tried to pump +my excellent friend, as she had been trying to pump me--a vulgar +expression, but vulgar writing is such a convenient way of +writing sometimes. My first attempt to entrap the Masseuse +failed completely. She coolly changed the subject. + +"Have I interrupted you in writing?" she asked, pointing to +my Diary. + +"No; I was idling over what I have written already--an +extraordinary story which I copied from a book." + +"May I look at it?" + +I pushed the open Diary across the table. If I was the object of +any suspicions which she wanted to confirm, it would be curious +to see if the poisoning story helped her. "It's a piece of family +history," I said; "I think you will agree with me that it is +really interesting." + +She began to read. As she went on, not all her power of +controlling herself could prevent her from turning pale. This +change of color (in such a woman) a little alarmed me. When +a girl is devoured by deadly hatred of a man, does the feeling +show itself to other persons in her face? I must practice before +the glass and train my face into a trustworthy state of +discipline. + +"Coarse melodrama!" Mrs. Tenbruggen declared. "Mere sensation. +No analysis of character. A made-up story!" + +"Well made up, surely?" I answered. + +"I don't agree with you." Her voice was not quite so steady +as usual. She asked suddenly if my clock was right--and declared +that she should be late for an appointment. On taking leave +she pressed my hand strongly--eyed me with distrustful attention +and said, very emphatically: "Take care of yourself, Helena; +pray take care of yourself." + +I am afraid I did a very foolish thing when I showed her +the poisoning story. Has it helped the wily old creature +to look into my inmost thoughts? + +Impossible! + + +To-day, Miss Jillgall returned, looking hideously healthy and +spitefully cheerful. Although she tried to conceal it, while +I was present, I could see that Philip had recovered his place +in her favor. After what he had said to her behind the hedge +at the farm, she would be relieved from all fear of my becoming +his wife, and would joyfully anticipate his marriage to Eunice. +There are thoughts in me which I don't set down in my book. +I only say: We shall see. + +This afternoon, I decided on visiting the doctor. The servant +was quite sorry for me when he answered the door. His master had +just left the house for a round of visits. I said I would wait. +The servant was afraid I should find waiting very tedious. +I reminded him that I could go away if I found it tedious. +At last, the polite old man left me. + +I went into the consulting-room, and read the backs of +the medical books ranged round the walls, and found a volume +that interested me. There was such curious information in it +that I amused myself by making extracts, using the first +sheets of paper that I could find. They had printed directions +at the top, which showed that the doctor was accustomed +to write his prescriptions on them. We had many, too many, +of his prescriptions in our house. + +The servant's doubts of my patience proved to have been well +founded. I got tired of waiting, and went home before the doctor +returned. + +From morning to night, nothing has been seen of Mrs. Tenbruggen +to-day. Nor has any apology for her neglect of us been received, +fond as she is of writing little notes. Has that story in my +Diary driven her away? Let me see what to-morrow may bring forth. + + +To-day has brought forth--nothing. Mrs. Tenbruggen still keeps +away from us. It looks as if my Diary had something to do with +the mystery of her absence. + +I am not in good spirits to-day. My nerves--if I have such +things, which is more than I know by my own experience--have been +a little shaken by a horrid dream. The medical information, which +my thirst for knowledge absorbed in the doctor's consulting-room, +turned traitor--armed itself with the grotesque horrors of +nightmare--and so thoroughly frightened me that I was on +the point of being foolish enough to destroy my notes. I thought +better of it, and my notes are safe under lock and key. + +Mr. Philip Dunboyne is trying to pave the way for his flight +from this house. He speaks of friends in London, whose interest +will help him to find the employment which is the object +of his ambition. "In a few days more," he said, "I shall ask +for leave of absence." + +Instead of looking at me, his eyes wandered to the window; his +fingers played restlessly with his watch-chain while he spoke. +I thought I would give him a chance, a last chance, of making +the atonement that he owes to me. This shows shameful weakness, +on my part. Does my own resolution startle me? Or does the wretch +appeal--to what? To my pity? It cannot be my love; I am +positively sure that I hate him. Well, I am not the first girl +who had been an unanswerable riddle to herself. + +"Is there any other motive for your departure?" I asked. + +"What other motive can there be?" he replied. I put what I had +to say to him in plainer words still. "Tell me, Philip, are you +beginning to wish that you were a free man again?" + +He still prevaricated. Was this because he is afraid of me, +or because he is not quite brute enough to insult me to my face? +I tried again for the third and last time. I almost put the words +into his mouth. + +"I fancy you have been out of temper lately," I said. "You have +not been your own kinder and better self. Is this the right +interpretation of the change that I think I see in you?" + +He answered: "I have not been very well lately." + +"And that is all?" + +"Yes--that is all." + +There was no more to be said; I turned away to leave the room. +He followed me to the door. After a momentary hesitation, he +made the attempt to kiss me. I only looked at him--he drew back +from me in silence. I left the new Judas, standing alone, while +the shades of evening began to gather over the room. + + + +Third Period _(continued)_. + +_EVENTS IN THE FAMILY, RELATED BY MISS JILLGALL._ + + +CHAPTER LVIII. + +DANGER. + +"If anything of importance happens, I trust to you to write +an account of it, and to send the writing to me. I will come +to you at once, if I see reason to believe that my presence +is required." Those lines, in your last kind reply to me, rouse +my courage, dear Mr. Governor, and sharpen the vigilance which +has always been one of the strong points in my character. Every +suspicious circumstance which occurs in this house will be (so +to speak) seized on by my pen, and will find itself (so to speak +again) placed on its trial, before your unerring judgment! Let +the wicked tremble! I mention no names. + +Taking up my narrative where it came to an end when I last wrote, +I have to say a word first on the subject of my discoveries, +in regard to Philip's movements. + +The advertisement of a private inquiry office, which I read in +a newspaper, put the thing into my head. I provided myself with +money to pay the expenses by--I blush while I write it--pawning +my watch. This humiliation of my poor self has been rewarded by +success. Skilled investigation has proved that our young man has +come to his senses again, exactly as I supposed. On each occasion +when he was suspiciously absent from the house, he has been +followed to the farm. I have been staying there myself for a day +or two, in the hope of persuading Eunice to relent. The hope +has not yet been realized. But Philip's devotion, assisted by +my influence, will yet prevail. Let me not despair. + +Whether Helena knows positively that she has lost her wicked hold +on Philip I cannot say. It seems hardly possible that she could +have made the discovery just yet. The one thing of which I am +certain is, that she looks like a fiend. + +Philip has wisely taken my advice, and employed pious fraud. +He will get away from the wretch, who has tempted him once and +may tempt him again, under pretense of using the interest of +his friends in London to find a place under Government. He has +not been very well for the last day or two, and the execution +of our project is in consequence delayed. + +I have news of Mrs. Tenbruggen which will, I think, surprise you. + +She has kept away from us in a most unaccountable manner. +I called on her at the hotel, and heard she was engaged with +her lawyer. On the next day, she suddenly returned to her old +habits, and paid the customary visit. I observed a similar +alteration in her state of feeling. She is now coldly civil +to Helena; and she asks after Eunice with a maternal interest +touching to see--I said to her: "Elizabeth, you appear to have +changed your opinion of the two girls, since I saw you." She +answered, with a delightful candor which reminded me of old +times: "Completely!" I said: "A woman of your intellectual +caliber, dear, doesn't change her mind without a good reason +for it." Elizabeth cordially agreed with me. I ventured to be +a little more explicit: "You have no doubt made some interesting +discovery." Elizabeth agreed again; and I ventured again: +"I suppose I may not ask what the discovery is?" "No, Selina, +you may not ask." + +This is curious; but it is nothing to what I have got to tell +you next. Just as I was longing to take her to my bosom again +as my friend and confidante, Elizabeth has disappeared. And, +alas! alas! there is a reason for it which no sympathetic person +can dispute. + +I have just received some overwhelming news, in the form of +a neat parcel, addressed to myself. + +There has been a scandal at the hotel. That monster in human +form, Elizabeth's husband, is aware of his wife's professional +fame, has heard of the large sums of money which she earns as +the greatest living professor of massage, has been long on the +lookout for her, and has discovered her at last. He has not only +forced his way into her sitting-room at the hotel; he insists on +her living with him again; her money being the attraction, it is +needless to say. If she refuses, he threatens her with the law, +the barbarous law, which, to use his own coarse expression, will +"restore his conjugal rights." + +All this I gather from the narrative of my unhappy friend, which +forms one of the two inclosures in her parcel. She has already +made her escape. Ha! the man doesn't live who can circumvent +Elizabeth. The English Court of Law isn't built which can catch +her when she roams the free and glorious Continent. + +The vastness of this amazing woman's mind is what I must pause +to admire. In the frightful catastrophe that has befallen her, +she can still think of Philip and Euneece. She is eager to hear +of their marriage, and renounces Helena with her whole heart. +"I too was deceived by that cunning young Woman," she writes. +"Beware of her, Selina. Unless I am much mistaken, she is going +to end badly. Take care of Philip, take care of Euneece. If +you want help, apply at once to my favorite hero in real life, +The Governor." I don't presume to correct Elizabeth's language. +I should have called you The idol of the Women. + +The second inclosure contains, as I suppose, a wedding present. +It is carefully sealed--it feels no bigger than an ordinary +letter--and it contains an inscription which your highly- +cultivated intelligence may be able to explain. I copy it +as follows: + +"To be inclosed in another envelope, addressed to Mr. Dunboyne +the elder, at Percy's Private Hotel, London, and delivered by +a trustworthy messenger, on the day when Mr. Philip Dunboyne +is married to Miss Eunice Gracedieu. Placed meanwhile under +the care of Miss Selina Jillgall." + +Why is this mysterious letter to be sent to Philip's father? +I wonder whether that circumstance will puzzle you as it has +puzzled me. + +I have kept my report back, so as to send you the last news +relating to Philip's state of health. To my great regret, +his illness seems to have made a serious advance since yesterday. +When I ask if he is in pain, he says: "It isn't exactly pain; +I feel as if I was sinking. Sometimes I am giddy; and sometimes +I find myself feeling thirsty and sick." I have no opportunity of +looking after him as I could wish; for Helena insists on nursing +him, assisted by the housemaid. Maria is a very good girl in +her way, but too stupid to be of much use. If he is not better +to-morrow, I shall insist on sending for the doctor. + + +He is no better; and he wishes to have medical help. Helena +doesn't seem to understand his illness. It was not until Philip +had insisted on seeing him that she consented to send for +the doctor. + +You had some talk with this experienced physician when you were +here, and you know what a clever man he is. When I tell you that +he hesitates to say what is the matter with Philip, you will feel +as much alarmed as I do. I will wait to send this to the post +until I can write in a more definite way. + + +Two days more have passed. The doctor has put two very strange +questions to me. + +He asked, first, if there was anybody staying with us besides +the regular members of the household. I said we had no visitor. +He wanted to know, next, if Mr. Philip Dunboyne had made any +enemies since he has been living in our town. I said none +that I knew of--and I took the liberty of asking what he meant. +He answered to this, that he has a few more inquiries to make, +and that he will tell me what he means to-morrow. + + +For God's sake come here as soon as you possibly can. The whole +burden is thrown on me--and I am quite unequal to it. + +I received the doctor to-day in the drawing-room. To my +amazement, he begged leave to speak with me in the garden. +When I asked why, he answered: "I don't want to have a listener +at the door. Come out on the lawn, where we can be sure that +we are alone." + +When we were in the garden, he noticed that I was trembling. + +"Rouse your courage, Miss Jillgall," he said. "In the Minister's +helpless state there is nobody whom I can speak to but yourself." + +I ventured to remind him that he might speak to Helena as well +as to myself. + +He looked as black as thunder when I mentioned her name. All he +said was, "No!" But, oh, if you had heard his voice--and he so +gentle and sweet-tempered at other times--you would have felt, +as I did, that he had Helena in his mind! + +"Now, listen to this," he went on. "Everything that my art can +do for Mr. Philip Dunboyne, while I am at his bedside, is undone +while I am away by some other person. He is worse to-day than +I have seen him yet." + +"Oh, sir, do you think he will die?" + +"He will certainly die unless the right means are taken to save +him, and taken at once. It is my duty not to flinch from telling +you the truth. I have made a discovery since yesterday which +satisfies me that I am right. Somebody is trying to poison Mr. +Dunboyne; and somebody will succeed unless he is removed from +this house." + +I am a poor feeble creature. The doctor caught me, or I should +have dropped on the grass. It was not a fainting-fit. I only +shook and shivered so that I was too weak to stand up. Encouraged +by the doctor, I recovered sufficiently to be able to ask him +where Philip was to be taken to. He said: "To the hospital. No +poisoner can follow my patient there. Persuade him to let me +take him away, when I call again in an hour's time." + +As soon as I could hold a pen, I sent a telegram to you. Pray, +pray come by the earliest train. I also telegraphed to old Mr. +Dunboyne, at the hotel in London. + +It was impossible for me to face Helena; I own I was afraid. +The cook kindly went upstairs to see who was in Philip's room. +It was the housemaid's turn to look after him for a while. +I went instantly to his bedside. + +There was no persuading him to allow himself to be taken +to the hospital. "I am dying," he said. "If you have any pity +for me, send for Euneece. Let me see her once more, let me hear +her say that she forgives me, before I die." + +I hesitated. It was too terrible to think of Euneece in the same +house with her sister. Her life might be in danger! Philip gave +me a look, a dreadful ghastly look. "If you refuse," he said +wildly, "the grave won't hold me. I'll haunt you for the rest +of your life." + +"She shall hear that you are ill," I answered--and ran out +of the room before he could speak again. + +What I had promised to write, I did write. But, placed between +Euneece's danger and Philip's danger, my heart was all for +Euneece. Would Helena spare her, if she came to Philip's bedside? +In such terror as I never felt before in my life, I added a word +more, entreating her not to leave the farm. I promised to keep +her regularly informed on the subject of Philip's illness; +and I mentioned that I expected the Governor to return to us +immediately. "Do nothing," I wrote, "without his advice." +My letter having been completed, I sent the cook away with it, +in a chaise. She belonged to the neighborhood, and she knew +the farmhouse well. + +Nearly two hours afterward, I heard the chaise stop at the door, +and ran out, impatient to hear how my sweet girl had received +my letter. God help us all! When I opened the door, the first +person whom I saw was Euneece herself. + + +CHAPTER LIX. + +DEFENSE. + +One surprise followed another, after I had encountered Euneece +at the door. + +When my fondness had excused her for setting the well-meant +advice in my letter at defiance, I was conscious of expecting to +see her in tears; eager, distressingly eager, to hear what hope +there might be of Philip's recovery. I saw no tears, I heard no +inquiries. She was pale, and quiet, and silent. Not a word fell +from her when we met, not a word when she kissed me, not a word +when she led the way into the nearest room--the dining-room. +It was only when we were shut in together that she spoke. + +"Which is Philip's room?" she asked. + +Instead of wanting to know how he was, she desired to know +where he was! I pointed toward the back dining-room, which had +been made into a bedroom for Philip. He had chosen it himself, +when he first came to stay with us, because the window opened +into the garden. and he could slip out and smoke at any hour +of the day or night, when he pleased. + +"Who is with him now?" was the next strange thing this +sadly-changed girl said to me. + +"Maria is taking her turn," I answered; "she assists in nursing +Philip." + +"Where is--?" Euneece got no further than that. Her breath +quickened, her color faded away. I had seen people look as she +was looking now, when they suffered under some sudden pain. +Before I could offer to help her, she rallied, and went on: +"Where," she began again, "is the other nurse?" + +"You mean Helena?" I said. + +"I mean the Poisoner." + +When I remind you, dear Mr. Governor, that my letter had +carefully concealed from her the horrible discovery made by +the doctor, your imagination will picture my state of mind. She +saw that I was overpowered. Her sweet nature, so strangely frozen +up thus far, melted at last. "You don't know what I have heard," +she said, "you don't know what thoughts have been roused in me." +She left her chair, and sat on my knee with the familiarity of +the dear old times, and took the letter that I had written to her +from her pocket. + +"Look at it yourself," she said, "and tell me if anybody could +read it, and not see that you were concealing something. My dear, +I have driven round by the doctor's house--I have seen him--I +have persuaded him, or perhaps I ought to say surprised him, +into telling me the truth. But the kind old man is obstinate. He +wouldn't believe me when I told him I was on my way here to save +Philip's life. He said: 'My child, you will only put your own +life in jeopardy. If I had not seen that danger, I should never +have told you of the dreadful state of things at home. Go back +to the good people at the farm, and leave the saving of Philip +to me.'" + +"He was right, Euneece, entirely right." + +"No, dear, he was wrong. I begged him to come here, and judge +for himself; and I ask you to do the same." + +I was obstinate. "Go back!" I persisted. "Go back to the farm!" + +"Can I see Philip?" she asked. + +I have heard some insolent men say that women are like cats. +If they mean that we do, figuratively speaking, scratch at times, +I am afraid they are not altogether wrong. An irresistible +impulse made me say to poor Euneece: "This is a change indeed, +since you refused to receive Philip." + +"Is there no change in the circumstances?" she asked sadly. +"Isn't he ill and in danger?" + +I begged her to forgive me; I said I meant no harm. + +"I gave him up to my sister," she continued, "when I believed +that his happiness depended, not on me, but on her. I take him +back to myself, when he is at the mercy of a demon who threatens +his life. Come, Selina, let us go to Philip." + +She put her arm round me, and made me get up from my chair. +I was so easily persuaded by her, that the fear of what Helena's +jealousy and Helena's anger might do was scarcely present in +my thoughts. The door of communication was locked on the side +of the bedchamber. I went into the hall, to enter Philip's room +by the other door. She followed, waiting behind me. I heard what +passed between them when Maria went out to her. + +"Where is Miss Gracedieu?" + +"Resting upstairs, miss, in her room." + +"Look at the clock, and tell me when you expect her to come down +here." + +"I am to call her, miss, in ten minutes more." + +"Wait in the dining-room, Maria, till I come back to you." + +She joined me. I held the door open for her to go into Philip's +room. It was not out of curiosity; the feeling that urged me +was sympathy, when I waited a moment to see their first meeting. +She bent over the poor, pallid, trembling, suffering man, +and raised him in her arms, and laid his head on her bosom. +"My Philip!" She murmured those words in a kiss. I closed +the door, I had a good cry; and, oh, how it comforted me! + +There was only a minute to spare when she came out of the room. +Maria was waiting for her. Euneece said, as quietly as ever: +"Go and call Miss Gracedieu." + +The girl looked at her, and saw--I don't know what. Maria became +alarmed. But she went up the stairs, and returned in haste +to tell us that her young mistress was coming down. + +The faint rustling of Helena's dress as she left her room +reached us in the silence. I remained at the open door of +the dining-room, and Maria approached and stood near me. We were +both frightened. Euneece stepped forward, and stood on the mat +at the foot of the stairs, waiting. Her back was toward me; +I could only see that she was as still as a statue. The rustling +of the dress came nearer. Oh, heavens! what was going to happen? +My teeth chattered in my head; I held by Maria's shoulder. Drops +of perspiration showed themselves on the girl's forehead; she +stared in vacant terror at the slim little figure, posted firm +and still on the mat. + +Helena turned the corner of the stairs, and waited a moment +on the last landing, and saw her sister. + +"You here?" she said. "What do you want?" + +There was no reply. Helena descended, until she reached the last +stair but one. There, she stopped. Her staring eyes grew large +and wild; her hand shook as she stretched it out, feeling for +the banister; she staggered as she caught at it, and held herself +up. The silence was still unbroken. Something in me, stronger +than myself, drew my steps along the hall nearer and nearer +to the stair, till I could see the face which had struck that +murderous wretch with terror. + +I looked. + +No! it was not my sweet girl; it was a horrid transformation +of her. I saw a fearful creature, with glittering eyes that +threatened some unimaginable vengeance. Her lips were drawn back; +they showed her clinched teeth. A burning red flush dyed +her face. The hair of her head rose, little by little, slowly. +And, most dreadful sight of all, she seemed, in the stillness of +the house, to be _listening to something_. If I could have moved, +I should have fled to the first place of refuge I could find. +If I could have raised my voice, I should have cried for help. +I could do neither the one nor the other. I could only look, +look, look; held by the horror of it with a hand of iron. + +Helena must have roused her courage, and resisted her terror. +I heard her speak: + +"Let me by!" + +"No." + +Slowly, steadily, in a whisper, Euneece made that reply. + +Helena tried once more--still fighting against her own terror: +I knew it by the trembling of her voice. + +"Let me by," she repeated; "I am on my way to Philip's room." + +"You will never enter Philip's room again." + +"Who will stop me?" + +"I will." + +She had spoken in the same steady whisper throughout--but now +she moved. I saw her set her foot on the first stair. I saw +the horrid glitter in her eyes flash close into Helena's face. +I heard her say: + +"Poisoner, go back to your room." + +Silent and shuddering, Helena shrank away from her--daunted +by her glittering eyes; mastered by her lifted hand pointing up +the stairs. + +Helena slowly ascended till she reached the landing. She turned +and looked down; she tried to speak. The pointing hand struck her +dumb, and drove her up the next flight of stairs. She was lost to +view. Only the small rustling sound of the dress was to be heard, +growing fainter and fainter; then an interval of stillness; then +the noise of a door opened and closed again; then no sound more +--but a change to be seen: the transformed creature was crouching +on her knees, still and silent, her face covered by her hands. +I was afraid to approach her; I was afraid to speak to her. After +a time, she rose. Suddenly, swiftly, with her head turned away +from me, she opened the door of Philip's room--and was gone. + +I looked round. There was only Maria in the lonely hall. +Shall I try to tell you what my sensations were? It may sound +strangely, but it is true--I felt like a sleeper, who has +half-awakened from a dream. + + +CHAPTER LX. + +DISCOVERY. + +A little later, on that eventful day, when I was most in need +of all that your wisdom and kindness could do to guide me, +came the telegram which announced that you were helpless under +an attack of gout. As soon as I had in some degree got over +my disappointment, I remembered having told Euneece in my letter +that I expected her kind old friend to come to us. With +the telegram in my hand I knocked softly at Philip's door. + +The voice that bade me come in was the gentle voice that I knew +so well. Philip was sleeping. There, by his bedside, with +his hand resting in her hand, was Euneece, so completely restored +to her own sweet self that I could hardly believe what I had +seen, not an hour since. She talked of you, when I showed her +your message, with affectionate interest and regret. Look back, +my admirable friend, at what I have written on the two or three +pages which precede this, and explain the astounding contrast +if you can. + +I was left alone to watch by Philip, while Euneece went away +to see her father. Soon afterward, Maria took my place; I had +been sent for to the next room to receive the doctor. + +He looked care-worn and grieved. I said I was afraid he had +brought bad news with him. + +"The worst possible news," he answered. "A terrible exposure +threatens this family, and I am powerless to prevent it," + +He then asked me to remember the day when I had been surprised +by the singular questions which he had put to me, and when he had +engaged to explain himself after he had made some inquiries. Why, +and how, he had set those inquiries on foot was what he had now +to tell. I will repeat what he said, in his own words, as nearly +as I can remember them. While he was in attendance on Philip, +he had observed symptoms which made him suspect that Digitalis +had been given to the young man, in doses often repeated. Cases +of attempted poisoning by this medicine were so rare, that he +felt bound to put his suspicions to the test by going round +among the chemists's shops--excepting of course the shop at which +his own prescriptions were made up--and asking if they had lately +dispensed any preparation of Digitalis, ordered perhaps in +a larger quantity than usual. At the second shop he visited, +the chemist laughed. "Why, doctor," he said, "have you forgotten +your own prescription?" After this, the prescription was asked +for, and produced. It was on the paper used by the doctor--paper +which had his address printed at the top, and a notice added, +telling patients who came to consult him for the second time +to bring their prescriptions with them. Then, there followed in +writing: "Tincture of Digitalis, one ounce"--with his signature +at the end, not badly imitated, but a forgery nevertheless. +The chemist noticed the effect which this discovery had produced +on the doctor, and asked if that was his signature. He could +hardly, as an honest man, have asserted that a forgery was +a signature of his own writing. So he made the true reply, and +asked who had presented the prescription. The chemist called to +his assistant to come forward. "Did you tell me that you knew, +by sight, the young lady who brought this prescription?" +The assistant admitted it. "Did you tell me she was Miss Helena +Gracedieu?" "I did." "Are you sure of not having made any +mistake?" "Quite sure." The chemist then said: "I myself supplied +the Tincture of Digitalis, and the young lady paid for it, and +took it away with her. You have had all the information that +I can give you, sir; and I may now ask, if you can throw any +light on the matter." Our good friend thought of the poor +Minister, so sorely afflicted, and of the famous name so +sincerely respected in the town and in the country round, +and said he could not undertake to give an immediate answer. +The chemist was excessively angry. "You know as well as I do," +he said, "that Digitalis, given in certain doses, is a poison, +and you cannot deny that I honestly believed myself to be +dispensing your prescription. While you are hesitating to give me +an answer, my character may suffer; I may be suspected myself." +He ended in declaring he should consult his lawyer. The doctor +went home, and questioned his servant. The man remembered the day +of Miss Helena's visit in the afternoon, and the intention that +she expressed of waiting for his master's return. He had shown +her into the parlor which opened into the consulting-room. No +other visitor was in the house at that time, or had arrived +during the rest of the day. The doctor's own experience, when +he got home, led him to conclude that Helena had gone into +the consulting-room. He had entered that room, for the purpose +of writing some prescriptions, and had found the leaves of paper +that he used diminished in number. After what he had heard, and +what he had discovered (to say nothing of what he suspected), it +occurred to him to look along the shelves of his medical library. +He found a volume (treating of Poisons) with a slip of paper +left between the leaves; the poison described at the place +so marked being Digitalis, and the paper used being one of his +own prescription-papers. "If, as I fear, a legal investigation +into Helena's conduct is a possible event," the doctor concluded, +"there is the evidence that I shall be obliged to give, when I am +called as a witness." + +It is my belief that I could have felt no greater dismay, if +the long arm of the Law had laid its hold on me while he was +speaking. I asked what was to be done. + +"If she leaves the house at once," the doctor replied, "she may +escape the infamy of being charged with an attempt at murder +by poison; and, in her absence, I can answer for Philip's life. +I don't urge you to warn her, because that might be a dangerous +thing to do. It is for you to decide, as a member of the family, +whether you will run the risk." + +I tried to speak to him of Euneece, and to tell him what I had +already related to yourself. He was in no humor to listen to me. +"Keep it for a fitter time," he answered; "and think of what +I have just said to you." With that, he left me, on his way +to Philip's room. + +Mental exertion was completely beyond me. Can you understand a +poor middle-aged spinster being frightened into doing a dangerous +thing? That may seem to be nonsense. But if you ask why I took +a morsel of paper, and wrote the warning which I was afraid to +communicate by word of mouth--why I went upstairs with my knees +knocking together, and opened the door of Helena's room just wide +enough to let my hand pass through--why I threw the paper in, +and banged the door to again, and ran downstairs as I have never +run since I was a little girl--I can only say, in the way of +explanation, what I have said already: I was frightened into +doing it. + +What I have written, thus far, I shall send to you by to-night's +post. + +The doctor came back to me, after he had seen Philip, and spoken +with Euneece. He was very angry; and, I must own, not without +reason. Philip had flatly refused to let himself be removed to +the hospital; and Euneece--"a mere girl"--had declared that she +would be answerable for consequences! The doctor warned me that +he meant to withdraw from the case, and to make his declaration +before the magistrates. At my entreaties he consented to +return in the evening, and to judge by results before taking +the terrible step that he had threatened. + +While I remained at home on the watch, keeping the doors of +both rooms locked, Eunice went out to get Philip's medicine. +She came back, followed by a boy carrying a portable apparatus +for cooking. "All that Philip wants, and all that we want," +she explained, "we can provide for ourselves. Give me a morsel +of paper to write on." + +Unhooking the little pencil attached to her watch-chain, she +paused and looked toward the door. "Somebody listening," she +whispered. "Let them listen." She wrote a list of necessaries, +in the way of things to eat and things to drink, and asked me +to go out and get them myself. "I don't doubt the servants," she +said, speaking distinctly enough to be heard outside; "but I am +afraid of what a Poisoner's cunning and a Poisoner's desperation +may do, in a kitchen which is open to her." I went away on +my errand--discovering no listener outside, I need hardly say. On +my return, I found the door of communication with Philip's room +closed, but no longer locked. "We can now attend on him in turn," +she said, "without opening either of the doors which lead into +the hall. At night we can relieve each other, and each of us can +get sleep as we want it in the large armchair in the dining-room. +Philip must be safe under our charge, or the doctor will insist +on taking him to the hospital. When we want Maria's help, from +time to time, we can employ her under our own superintendence. +Have you anything else, Selina, to suggest?" + +There was nothing left to suggest. Young and inexperienced as +she was, how (I asked) had she contrived to think of all this? +She answered, simply "I'm sure I don't know; my thoughts came +to me while I was looking at Philip." + +Soon afterward I found an opportunity of inquiring if Helena +had left the house. She had just rung her bell; and Maria had +found her, quietly reading, in her room. Hours afterward, when +I was on the watch at night, I heard Philip's door softly tried +from the outside. Her dreadful purpose had not been given up, +even yet. + +The doctor came in the evening, as he had promised, and found +an improvement in Philip's health. I mentioned what precautions +we had taken, and that they had been devised by Euneece. "Are you +going to withdraw from the case?" I asked. "I am coming back +to the case," he answered, "to-morrow morning." + +It had been a disappointment to me to receive no answer +to the telegram which I had sent to Mr. Dunboyne the elder. +The next day's post brought the explanation in a letter to Philip +from his father, directed to him at the hotel here. This showed +that my telegram, giving my address at this house, had not +been received. Mr. Dunboyne announced that he had returned +to Ireland, finding the air of London unendurable, after the sea- +breezes at home. If Philip had already married, his father would +leave him to a life of genteel poverty with Helena Gracedieu. If +he had thought better of it, his welcome was waiting for him. + +Little did Mr. Dunboyne know what changes had taken place since +he and his son had last met, and what hope might yet present +itself of brighter days for poor Euneece! I thought of writing +to him. But how would that crabbed old man receive a confidential +letter from a lady who was a stranger? + +My doubts were set at rest by Philip himself. He asked me +to write a few lines of reply to his father; declaring that +his marriage with Helena was broken off--that he had not given up +all hope of being permitted to offer the sincere expression of +his penitence to Euneece--and that he would gladly claim his +welcome, as soon as he was well enough to undertake the journey +to Ireland. When he had signed the letter, I was so pleased that +I made a smart remark. I said: "This is a treaty of peace between +father and son." + +When the doctor arrived in the morning, and found the change +for the better in his patient confirmed, he did justice to us at +last. He spoke kindly, and even gratefully, to Euneece. No more +allusions to the hospital as a place of safety escaped him. +He asked me cautiously for news of Helena. I could only tell him +that she had gone out at her customary time, and had returned at +her customary time. He did not attempt to conceal that my reply +had made him uneasy. + +"Are you still afraid that she may succeed in poisoning Philip?" +I asked. + +"I am afraid of her cunning," he said. "If she is charged +with attempting to poison young Dunboyne, she has some system +of defense, you may rely on it, for which we are not prepared. +There, in my opinion, is the true reason for her extraordinary +insensibility to her own danger." + +Two more days passed, and we were still safe under the protection +of lock and key. + +On the evening of the second day (which was a Monday) Maria came +to me in great tribulation. On inquiring what was the matter, +I received a disquieting reply: "Miss Helena is tempting me. She +is so miserable at being prevented from seeing Mr. Philip, and +helping to nurse him, that it is quite distressing to see her. +At the same time, miss, it's hard on a poor servant. She asks me +to take the key secretly out of the door, and lend it to her +at night for a few minutes only. I'm really afraid I shall be +led into doing it, if she goes on persuading me much longer." + +I commended Maria for feeling scruples which proved her to be +the best of good girls, and promised to relieve her from all +fear of future temptation. This was easily done. Euneece kept +the key of Philip's door in her pocket; and I kept the key of +the dining-room door in mine. + + +CHAPTER LXI. + +ATROCITY. + +On the next day, a Tuesday in the week, an event took place +which Euneece and I viewed with distrust. Early in the afternoon, +a young man called with a note for Helena. It was to be given +to her immediately, and no answer was required. + +Maria had just closed the house door, and was on her way upstairs +with the letter, when she was called back by another ring at the +bell. Our visitor was the doctor. He spoke to Maria in the hall: + +"I think I see a note in your hand. Was it given to you by +the young man who has just left the house?" + +"Yes, sir. + +"If he's your sweetheart, my dear, I have nothing more to say." + +"Good gracious, doctor, how you do talk! I never saw the young +man before in my life." + +"In that case, Maria, I will ask you to let me look at +the address. Aha! Mischief!" + +The moment I heard that I threw open the dining-room door. +Curiosity is not easily satisfied. When it hears, it wants +to see; when it sees, it wants to know. Every lady will agree +with me in this observation. + +"Pray come in," I said. + +"One minute, Miss Jillgall. My girl, when you give Miss Helena +that note, try to get a sly look at her when she opens it, +and come and tell me what you have seen." He joined me in +the dining-room, and closed the door. "The other day," he went +on, "when I told you what I had discovered in the chemist's +shop, I think I mentioned a young man who was called to speak +to a question of identity--an assistant who knew Miss Helena +Gracedieu by sight." + +"Yes, yes!" + +"That young man left the note which Maria has just taken +upstairs." + +"Who wrote it, doctor, and what does it say?" + +"Questions naturally asked, Miss Jillgall--and not easily +answered. Where is Eunice? Her quick wit might help us." + +She had gone out to buy some fruit and flowers for Philip. + +The doctor accepted his disappointment resignedly. "Let us try +what we can do without her," he said. "That young man's master +has been in consultation (you may remember why) with his lawyer, +and Helena may be threatened by an investigation before +the magistrates. If this wild guess of mine turns out to have +hit the mark, the poisoner upstairs has got a warning." + +I asked if the chemist had written the note. Foolish enough +of me when I came to think of it. The chemist would scarcely +act a friendly part toward Helena, when she was answerable for +the awkward position in which he had placed himself. Perhaps +the young man who had left the warning was also the writer +of the warning. The doctor reminded me that he was all but +a stranger to Helena. "We are not usually interested," +he remarked, "in a person whom we only know by sight." + +"Remember that he is a young man," I ventured to say. This was +a strong hint, but the doctor failed to see it. He had evidently +forgotten his own youth. I made another attempt. + +"And vile as Helena is," I continued, "we cannot deny that +this disgrace to her sex is a handsome young lady." + +He saw it at last. "Woman's wit!" he cried. "You have hit it, +Miss Jillgall. The young fool is smitten with her, and has given +her a chance of making her escape." + +"Do you think she will take the chance?" + +"For all our sakes, I pray God she may! But I don't feel sure +about it." + +"Why?" + +"Recollect what you and Eunice have done. You have shown your +suspicion of her without an attempt to conceal it. If you had put +her in prison you could not have more completely defeated her +infernal design. Do you think she is a likely person to submit +to that, without an effort to be even with you?" + +Just as he said those terrifying words, Maria came back to us. +He asked at once what had kept her so long upstairs. + +The girl had evidently something to say, which had inflated +her (if I may use such an expression) with a sense of her own +importance. + +"Please to let me tell it, sir," she answered, "in my own way. +Miss Helena turned as pale as ashes when she opened the letter, +and then she took a turn in the room, and then she looked at me +with a smile--well, miss, I can only say that I felt that smile +in the small of my back. I tried to get to the door. She stopped +me. She says: 'Where's Miss Eunice?' I says: 'Gone out.' She +says: 'Is there anybody in the drawing-room?' I says: 'No, miss.' +She says: 'Tell Miss Jillgall I want to speak to her, and say +I am waiting in the drawing-room.' It's every word of it true! +And, if a poor servant may give an opinion, I don't like the look +of it." + +The doctor dismissed Maria. "Whatever it is," he said to me, +"you must go and hear it." + +I am not a courageous woman; I expressed myself as being willing +to go to her, if the doctor went with me. He said that was +impossible; she would probably refuse to speak before any +witness; and certainly before him. But he promised to look after +Philip in my absence, and to wait below if it really so happened +that I wanted him. I need only ring the bell, and he would come +to me the moment he heard it. Such kindness as this roused my +courage, I suppose. At any rate, I went upstairs. + +She was standing by the fire-place, with her elbow on the +chimney-piece, and her head, resting on her hand. I stopped just +inside the door, waiting to hear what she had to say. In this +position her side-face only was presented to me. It was a ghastly +face. The eye that I could see turned wickedly on me when I came +in--then turned away again. Otherwise, she never moved. I confess +I trembled, but I did my best to disguise it. + +She broke out suddenly with what she had to say: "I won't allow +this state of things to go on any longer. My horror of an +exposure which will disgrace the family has kept me silent, +wrongly silent, so far. Philip's life is in danger. I am +forgetting my duty to my affianced husband, if I allow myself +to be kept away from him any longer. Open those locked doors, +and relieve me from the sight of you. Open the doors, I say, +or you will both of you--you the accomplice, she the wretch +who directs you--repent it to the end of your lives." + +In my own mind, I asked myself if she had gone mad. But I only +answered: "I don't understand you." + +She said again: "You are Eunice's accomplice." + +"Accomplice in what?" I asked. + +She turned her head slowly and faced me. I shrank from looking +at her. + +"All the circumstances prove it," she went on. "I have supplanted +Eunice in Philip's affection. She was once engaged to marry him; +I am engaged to marry him now. She is resolved that he shall +never make me his wife. He will die if I delay any longer. He +will die if I don't crush her, like the reptile she is. She comes +here--and what does she do? Keeps him prisoner under her own +superintendence. Who gets his medicine? She gets it. Who cooks +his food? She cooks it. The doors are locked. I might be a +witness of what goes on; and I am kept out. The servants who +ought to wait on him are kept out. She can do what she likes +with his medicine; she can do what she likes with his food: she +is infuriated with him for deserting her, and promising to marry +me. Give him back to my care; or, dreadful as it is to denounce +my own sister, I shall claim protection from the magistrates." + +I lost all fear of her: I stepped close up to the place at which +she was standing; I cried out: "Of what, in God's name, do you +accuse your sister?" + +She answered: "I accuse her of poisoning Philip Dunboyne." + +I ran out of the room; I rushed headlong down the stairs. +The doctor heard me, and came running into the hall. I caught +hold of him like a madwoman. "Euneece!" My breath was gone; +I could only say: "Euneece!" + +He dragged me into the dining-room. There was wine on the +side-board, which he had ordered medically for Philip. He forced +me to drink some of it. It ran through me like fire; it helped me +to speak. "Now tell me," he said, "what has she done to Eunice?" + +"She brings a horrible accusation against her," I answered. + +"What is the accusation?" I told him. + +He looked me through and through. "Take care!" he said. "No +hysterics, no exaggeration. You may lead to dreadful consequences +if you are not sure of yourself. If it's really true, say it +again." I said it again--quietly this time. + +His face startled me; it was white with rage. He snatched his hat +off the hall table. + +"What are you going to do?" I asked. + +"My duty." He was out of the house before I could speak to him +again. + + + +Third Period _(concluded)._ + +_TROUBLES AND TRIUMPHS OF THE FAMILY, RELATED BY THE GOVERNOR._ + + +CHAPTER LXII. + +THE SENTENCE PRONOUNCED. + +MARTYRS to gout know, by sad experience, that they suffer under +one of the most capricious of maladies. An attack of this disease +will shift, in the most unaccountable manner, from one part of +the body to another; or, it will release the victim when there is +every reason to fear that it is about to strengthen its hold on +him; or, having shown the fairest promise of submitting to +medical treatment, it will cruelly lay the patient prostrate +again in a state of relapse. Adverse fortune, in my case, +subjected me to this last and worst trial of endurance. Two +months passed--months of pain aggravated by anxiety--before I was +able to help Eunice and Miss Jillgall personally with my sympathy +and advice. + +During this interval, I heard regularly from the friendly and +faithful Selina. + +Terror and suspense, courageously endured day after day, seem +to have broken down her resistance, poor soul, when Eunice's +good name and Eunice's tranquillity were threatened by the most +infamous of false accusations. From that time, Miss Jillgall's +method of expressing herself betrayed a gradual deterioration. +I shall avoid presenting at a disadvantage a correspondent who +has claims on my gratitude, if I give the substance only of what +she wrote--assisted by the newspaper which she sent to me, while +the legal proceedings were in progress. + + +Honest indignation does sometimes counsel us wisely. When +the doctor left Miss Jillgall, in anger and in haste, he had +determined on taking the course from which, as a humane man +and a faithful friend, he had hitherto recoiled. It was no time, +now, to shrink from the prospect of an exposure. The one hope of +successfully encountering the vindictive wickedness of Helena +lay in the resolution to be beforehand with her, in the appeal +to the magistrates with which she had threatened Eunice and +Miss Jillgall. The doctor's sworn information stated the whole +terrible case of the poisoning, ranging from his first suspicions +and their confirmation, to Helena's atrocious attempt to +accuse her innocent sister of her own guilt. So firmly were +the magistrates convinced of the serious nature of the case +thus stated, that they did not hesitate to issue their warrant. +Among the witnesses whose attendance was immediately secured, +by the legal adviser to whom the doctor applied, were the farmer +and his wife. + +Helena was arrested while she was dressing to go out. +Her composure was not for a moment disturbed. "I was on my way," +she said coolly, "to make a statement before the justices. +The sooner they hear what I have to say the better." + +The attempt of this shameless wretch to "turn the tables" on +poor Eunice--suggested, as I afterward discovered, by the record +of family history which she had quoted in her journal--was +defeated with ease. The farmer and his wife proved the date +at which Eunice had left her place of residence under their roof. +The doctor's evidence followed. He proved, by the production of +his professional diary, that the discovery of the attempt to +poison his patient had taken place before the day of Eunice's +departure from the farm, and that the first improvement +in Mr. Philip Dunboyne's state of health had shown itself after +that young lady's arrival to perform the duties of a nurse. +To the wise precautions which she had taken--perverted by Helena +to the purpose of a false accusation--the doctor attributed +the preservation of the young man's life. + +Having produced the worst possible impression on the minds of +the magistrates, Helena was remanded. Her legal adviser had +predicted this result; but the vindictive obstinacy of his client +had set both experience and remonstrance at defiance. + +At the renewed examination, the line of defense adopted by +the prisoner's lawyer proved to be--mistaken identity. + +It was asserted that she had never entered the chemist's shop; +also, that the assistant had wrongly identified some other lady +as Miss Helena Gracedieu; also, that there was not an atom +of evidence to connect her with the stealing of the doctor's +prescription-paper and the forgery of his writing. Other +assertions to the same purpose followed, on which it is needless +to dwell. + +The case for the prosecution was, happily, in competent hands. +With the exception of one witness, cross-examination afforded +no material help to the evidence for the defense. + +The chemist swore positively to the personal appearance +of Helena, as being the personal appearance of the lady who +had presented the prescription. His assistant, pressed on +the question of identity, broke down under cross-examination +--purposely, as it was whispered, serving the interests of +the prisoner. But the victory, so far gained by the defense, +was successfully contested by the statement of the next witness, +a respectable tradesman in the town. He had seen the newspaper +report of the first examination, and had volunteered to present +himself as a witness. A member of Mr. Gracedieu's congregation, +his pew in the chapel was so situated as to give him a view of +the minister's daughters occupying their pew. He had seen +the prisoner on every Sunday, for years past; and he swore that +he was passing the door of the chemist's shop, at the moment when +she stepped out into the street, having a bottle covered with +the customary white paper in her hand. The doctor and his servant +were the next witnesses called. They were severely cross- +examined. Some of their statements--questioned technically +with success--received unexpected and powerful support, due +to the discovery and production of the prisoner's diary. +The entries, guardedly as some of them were written, revealed +her motive for attempting to poison Philip Dunboyne; proved +that she had purposely called on the doctor when she knew that +he would be out, that she had entered the consulting-room, +and examined the medical books, had found (to use her own +written words) "a volume that interested her," and had used +the prescription-papers for the purpose of making notes. +The notes themselves were not to be found; they had doubtless +been destroyed. Enough, and more than enough, remained to make +the case for the prosecution complete. The magistrates committed +Helena Gracedieu for trial at the next assizes. + +I arrived in the town, as well as I can remember, about a week +after the trial had taken place. + +Found guilty, the prisoner had been recommended to mercy by +the jury--partly in consideration of her youth; partly as +an expression of sympathy and respect for her unhappy father. +The judge (a father himself) passed a lenient sentence. She was +condemned to imprisonment for two years. The careful matron +of the jail had provided herself with a bottle of smelling-salts, +in the fear that there might be need for it when Helena heard +her sentence pronounced. Not the slightest sign of agitation +appeared in her face or her manner. She lied to the last; +asserting her innocence in a firm voice, and returning from +the dock to the prison without requiring assistance from anybody. + +Relating these particulars to me, in a state of ungovernable +excitement, good Miss Jillgall ended with a little confession +of her own, which operated as a relief to my overburdened mind +after what I had just heard. + +"I wouldn't own it," she said, "to anybody but a dear friend. One +thing, in the dreadful disgrace that has fallen on us, I am quite +at a loss to account for. Think of Mr. Gracedieu's daughter being +one of those criminal creatures on whom it was once your terrible +duty to turn the key! Why didn't she commit suicide?" + +"My dear lady, no thoroughly wicked creature ever yet committed +suicide. Self-destruction, when it is not an act of madness, +implies some acuteness of feeling--sensibility to remorse or to +shame, or perhaps a distorted idea of making atonement. There is +no such thing as remorse or shame, or hope of making atonement, +in Helena's nature." + +"But when she comes out of prison, what will she do?" + +"Don't alarm yourself, my good friend. She will do very well." + +"Oh, hush! hush! Poetical justice, Mr. Governor!" + +"Poetical fiddlesticks, Miss Jillgall." + + +CHAPTER LXIII. + +THE OBSTACLE REMOVED. + +When the subject of the trial was happily dismissed, my first +inquiry related to Eunice. The reply was made with an ominous +accompaniment of sighs and sad looks. Eunice had gone back to +her duties as governess at the farm. Hearing this, I asked +naturally what had become of Philip. + +Melancholy news, again, was the news that I now heard. + +Mr. Dunboyne the elder had died suddenly, at his house in +Ireland, while Philip was on his way home. When the funeral +ceremony had come to an end, the will was read. It had been made +only a few days before the testator's death; and the clause which +left all his property to his son was preceded by expressions of +paternal affection, at a time when Philip was in sore need of +consolation. After alluding to a letter, received from his son, +the old man added: "I always loved him, without caring to confess +it; I detest scenes of sentiment, kissings, embracings, tears, +and that sort of thing. But Philip has yielded to my wishes, +and has broken off a marriage which would have made him, as well +as me, wretched for life. After this, I may speak my mind from +my grave, and may tell my boy that I loved him. If the wish is +likely to be of any use, I will add (on the chance)--God bless +him." + +"Does Philip submit to separation from Eunice?" I asked. "Does +he stay in Ireland?" + +"Not he, poor fellow! He will be here to-morrow or next day. +When I last wrote," Miss Jillgall continued, "I told him I hoped +to see you again soon. If you can't help us (I mean with Eunice) +that unlucky young man will do some desperate thing. He will join +those madmen at large who disturb poor savages in Africa, or go +nowhere to find nothing in the Arctic regions. + +"Whatever I can do, Miss Jillgall, shall be gladly done. Is it +really possible that Eunice refuses to marry him, after having +saved his life?" + +"A little patience, please, Mr. Governor; let Philip tell his own +story. If I try to do it, I shall only cry--and we have had tears +enough lately, in this house." + +Further consultation being thus deferred, I went upstairs to +the Minister's room. + +He was sitting by the window, in his favorite armchair, absorbed +in knitting! The person who attended on him, a good-natured, +patient fellow, had been a sailor in his younger days, and had +taught Mr. Gracedieu how to use the needles. "You see it amuses +him," the man said, kindly. "Don't notice his mistakes, he thinks +there isn't such another in the world for knitting as himself. +You can see, sir, how he sticks to it." He was so absorbed over +his employment that I had to speak to him twice, before I could +induce him to look at me. The utter ruin of his intellect did not +appear to have exercised any disastrous influence over his bodily +health. On the contrary, he had grown fatter since I had last +seen him; his complexion had lost the pallor that I remembered-- +there was color in his cheeks. + +"Don't you remember your old friend?" I said. He smiled, and +nodded, and repeated the words: + +"Yes, yes, my old friend." It was only too plain that he had not +the least recollection of me. "His memory is gone," the man said. +"When he puts away his knitting, at night, I have to find it for +him in the morning. But, there! he's happy--enjoys his victuals, +likes sitting out in the garden and watching the birds. There's +been a deal of trouble in the family, sir; and it has all passed +over him like a wet sponge over a slate." The old sailor was +right. If that wreck of a man had been capable of feeling and +thinking, his daughter's disgrace would have broken his heart. +In a world of sin and sorrow, is peaceable imbecility always +to be pitied? I have known men who would have answered, without +hesitation: "It is to be envied." And where (some persons might +say) was the poor Minister's reward for the act of mercy which +had saved Eunice in her infancy? Where it ought to be! A man who +worthily performs a good action finds his reward in the action +itself. + + +At breakfast, on the next day, the talk touched on those passages +in Helena's diary, which had been produced in court as evidence +against her. + +I expressed a wish to see what revelation of a depraved nature +the entries in the diary might present; and my curiosity was +gratified. At a fitter time, I may find an opportunity of +alluding to the impression produced on me by the diary. In +the meanwhile, the event of Philip's return claims notice in +the first place. + +The poor fellow was so glad to see me that he shook hands as +heartily as if we had known each other from the time when he was +a boy. + +"Do you remember how kindly you spoke to me when I called on you +in London?" he asked. "If I have repeated those words once--but +perhaps you don't remember them? You said: 'If I was as young as +you are, I should not despair.' Well! I have said that to myself +over and over again, for a hundred times at least. Eunice will +listen to you, sir, when she will listen to nobody else. This +is the first happy moment I have had for weeks past." + +I suppose I must have looked glad to hear that. Anyway, Philip +shook hands with me again. + +Miss Jillgall was present. The gentle-hearted old maid was so +touched by our meeting that she abandoned herself to the genial +impulse of the moment, and gave Philip a kiss. The outraged +claims of propriety instantly seized on her. She blushed as if +the long-lost days of her girlhood had been found again, and ran +out of the room. + +"Now, Mr. Philip," I said, "I have been waiting, at Miss +Jillgall's suggestion, to get my information from you. There is +something wrong between Eunice and yourself. What is it? And who +is to blame?" + +"Her vile sister is to blame," he answered. "That reptile was +determined to sting us. And she has done it!" he cried, starting +to his feet, and walking up and down the room, urged into action +by his own unendurable sense of wrong. "I say, she has done it, +after Eunice has saved me--done it, when Eunice was ready to be +my wife." + +"How has she done it?" + +Between grief and indignation his reply was involved in +a confusion of vehemently-spoken words, which I shall not attempt +to reproduce. Eunice had reminded him that her sister had been +publicly convicted of an infamous crime, and publicly punished +for it by imprisonment. "If I consent to marry you," she said, +"I stain you with my disgrace; that shall never be." With this +resolution, she had left him. "I have tried to convince her," +Philip said, "that she will not be associated with her sister's +disgrace when she bears my name; I have promised to take her +far away from England, among people who have never even heard of +her sister. Miss Jillgall has used her influence to help me. All +in vain! There is no hope for us but in you. I am not thinking +selfishly only of myself. She tries to conceal it--but, oh, she +is broken-hearted! Ask the farmer's wife, if you don't believe +me. Judge for yourself, sir. Go--for God's sake, go to the farm." + +I made him sit down and compose himself. + +"You may depend on my going to the farm," I answered. "I shall +write to Eunice to-day, and follow my letter to-morrow." He tried +to thank me; but I would not allow it. "Before I consent to +accept the expression of your gratitude," I said, "I must know +a little more of you than I know now. This is only the second +occasion on which we have met. Let us look back a little, Mr. +Philip Dunboyne. You were Eunice's affianced husband; and you +broke faith with her. That was a rascally action. How do you +defend it?" + +His head sank. "I am ashamed to defend it," he answered. + +I pressed him without mercy. "You own yourself," I said, "that +it was a rascally action?" + +"Use stronger language against me, even than that, sir--I deserve +it." + +"In plain words," I went on, "you can find no excuse for +your conduct?" + +"In the past time," he said, "I might have found excuses." + +"But you can't find them now?" + +"I must not even look for them now." + +"Why not?" + +"I owe it to Eunice to leave my conduct at its worst; with +nothing said--by me--to defend it." + +"What has Eunice done to have such a claim on you as that?" + +"Eunice has forgiven me." + +It was gratefully and delicately said. Ought I to have allowed +this circumstance to weigh with me? I ask, in return, had _I_ +never committed any faults? As a fellow-mortal and fellow-sinner, +had I any right to harden my heart against an expression of +penitence which I felt to be sincere in its motive? + +But I was bound to think of Eunice. I did think of her, before +I ventured to accept the position--the critical position, as +I shall presently show--of Philip's friend. + +After more than an hour of questions put without reserve, and +of answers given without prevarication, I had traveled over +the whole ground laid out by the narratives which appear in +these pages, and had arrived at my conclusion--so far as Philip +Dunboyne was concerned. + +I found him to be a man with nothing absolutely wicked in +him--but with a nature so perilously weak, in many respects, +that it might drift into wickedness unless a stronger nature +was at hand to bold it back. Married to a wife without force +of character, the probabilities would point to him as likely +to yield to examples which might make him a bad husband. Married +to a wife with a will of her own, and with true love to sustain +her--a wife who would know when to take the command and how +to take the command--a wife who, finding him tempted to commit +actions unworthy of his better self, would be far-sighted enough +to perceive that her husband's sense of honor might sometimes +lose its balance, without being on that account hopelessly +depraved--then, and, in these cases only, the probabilities would +point to Philip as a man likely to be the better and the happier +for his situation, when the bonds of wedlock had got him. + +But the serious question was not answered yet. + +Could I feel justified in placing Eunice in the position toward +Philip which I have just endeavored to describe? I dared not +allow my mind to dwell on the generosity which had so nobly +pardoned him, or on the force of character which had bravely +endured the bitterest disappointment, the cruelest humiliation. +The one consideration which I was bound to face, was the sacred +consideration of her happiness in her life to come. + +Leaving Philip, with a few words of sympathy which might help him +to bear his suspense, I went to my room to think. + +The time passed--and I could arrive at no positive conclusion. +Either way--with or without Philip--the contemplation of Eunice's +future harassed me with doubt. Even if I had conquered my own +indecision, and had made up my mind to sanction the union of +the two young people, the difficulties that now beset me would +not have been dispersed. Knowing what I alone knew, I could +certainly remove Eunice's one objection to the marriage. In other +words, I had only to relate what had happened on the day when +the Chaplain brought the Minister to the prison, and the obstacle +of their union would be removed. But, without considering Philip, +it was simply out of the question to do this, in mercy to Eunice +herself. What was Helena's disgrace, compared with the infamy +which stained the name of the poor girl's mother! The other +alternative of telling her part of the truth only was before me, +if I could persuade myself to adopt it. I failed to persuade +myself; my morbid anxiety for her welfare made me hesitate again. +Human patience could endure no more. Rashness prevailed +and prudence yielded--I left my decision to be influenced +by the coming interview with Eunice. + +The next day I drove to the farm. Philip's entreaties persuaded +me to let him be my companion, on one condition--that he waited +in the carriage while I went into the house. + +I had carefully arranged my ideas, and had decided on proceeding +with the greatest caution, before I ventured on saying the +all-important words which, once spoken, were not to be recalled. +The worst of those anxieties, under which the delicate health +of Mr. Gracedieu had broken down, was my anxiety now. Could I +reconcile it to my conscience to permit a man, innocent of all +knowledge of the truth, to marry the daughter of a condemned +murderess, without honestly telling him what he was about to do? +Did I deserve to be pitied? did I deserve to be blamed?--my mind +was still undecided when I entered the house. + +She ran to meet me as if she had been my daughter; she kissed me +as if she had been my daughter; she fondly looked up at me as if +she had been my daughter. At the sight of that sweet young face, +so sorrowful, and so patiently enduring sorrow, all my doubts +and hesitations, everything artificial about me with which I had +entered the room, vanished in an instant. + +After she had thanked me for coming to see her, I saw her tremble +a little. The uppermost interest in her heart was forcing its way +outward to expression, try as she might to keep it back. "Have +you seen Philip?" she asked. The tone in which she put that +question decided me--I was resolved to let her marry him. +Impulse! Yes, impulse, asserting itself inexcusably in a man at +the end of his life. I ought to have known better than to have +given way. Very likely. But am I the only mortal who ought to +have known better--and did not? + +When Eunice asked if I had seen Philip, I owned that he was +outside in the carriage. Before she could reproach me, I went on +with what I had to say: "My child, I know what a sacrifice you +have made; and I should honor your scruples, if you had any +reason for feeling them." + +"Any reason for feeling them?" She turned pale as she repeated +the words. + +An idea came to me. I rang for the servant, and sent her to +the carriage to tell Philip to come in. "My dear, I am not +putting you to any unfair trial," I assured her; "I am going +to prove that I love you as truly as if you were my own child." + +When they were both present, I resolved that they should not +suffer a moment of needless suspense. Standing between them, I +took Eunice's hand, and laid my other hand on Philip's shoulder, +and spoke out plainly. + +"I am here to make you both happy," I said. "I can remove +the only obstacle to your marriage, and I mean to do it. But +I must insist on one condition. Give me your promise, Philip, +that you will ask for no explanations, and that you will be +satisfied with the one true statement which is all that I can +offer to you." + +He gave me his promise, without an instant's hesitation. + +"Philip grants what I ask," I said to Eunice. "Do you grant it, +too?" + +Her hand turned cold in mine; but she spoke firmly when she said: +"Yes." + +I gave her into Philip's care. It was his privilege to console +and support her. It was my duty to say the decisive words: + +"Rouse your courage, dear Eunice; you are no more affected by +Helena's disgrace than I am. You are not her sister. Her father +is not your father; her mother was not your mother. I was +present, in the time of your infancy, when Mr. Gracedieu's +fatherly kindness received you as his adopted child. This, +I declare to you both, on my word of honor, is the truth." + +How she bore it I am not able to say. My foolish old eyes were +filling with tears. I could just see plainly enough to find +my way to the door, and leave them together. + +In my reckless state of mind, I never asked myself if Time would +be my accomplice, and keep the part of the secret which I had not +revealed--or be my enemy, and betray me. The chances, either way, +were perhaps equal. The deed was done. + + +CHAPTER LXIV. + +THE TRUTH TRIUMPHANT. + +The marriage was deferred, at Eunice's request, as an expression +of respect to the memory of Philip's father. + +When the time of delay had passed, it was arranged that +the wedding ceremony should be held--after due publication +of Banns--at the parish church of the London suburb in which +my house was situated. Miss Jillgall was bridesmaid, and I gave +away the bride. Before we set out for the church, Eunice asked +leave to speak with me for a moment in private. + +"Don't think," she said, "that I am forgetting my promise to be +content with what you have told me about myself. I am not so +ungrateful as that. But I do want, before I consent to be +Philip's wife, to feel sure that I am not quite unworthy of him. +Is it because I am of mean birth that you told me I was Mr. +Gracedieu's adopted child--and told me no more?" + +I could honestly satisfy her, so far. "Certainly not!" I said. + +She put her arms round my neck. "Do you say that," she asked, +"to make my mind easy? or do you say it on your word of honor?" + +"On my word of honor." + +We arrived at the church. Let Miss Jillgall describe +the marriage, in her own inimitable way. + +"No wedding breakfast, when you don't want to eat it. No wedding +speeches, when nobody wants to make them, and nobody wants to +hear them. And no false sentiment, shedding tears and reddening +noses, on the happiest day in the whole year. A model marriage! +I could desire nothing better, if I had any prospect of being +a bride myself." + +They went away for their honeymoon to a quiet place by +the seaside, not very far from the town in which Eunice had +passed some of the happiest and the wretchedest days in her life. +She persisted in thinking it possible that Mr. Gracedieu might +recover the use of his faculties, at the last, and might wish +to see her on his death-bed. "His adopted daughter," she gently +reminded me, "is his only daughter now." The doctor shook +his head when I told him what Eunice had said to me--and, +the sad truth must be told, the doctor was right. + +Miss Jillgall returned, on the wedding-day, to take care of +the good man who had befriended her in her hour of need. + +Before the end of the week, I heard from her, and was +disagreeably reminded of an incident which we had both forgotten, +absorbed as we were in other and greater interests, at the time. + +Mrs. Tenbruggen had again appeared on the scene! She had written +to Miss Jillgall, from Paris, to say that she had heard of old +Mr. Dunboyne's death, and that she wished to have the letter +returned, which she had left for delivery to Philip's father +on the day when Philip and Eunice were married. I had my own +suspicions of what that letter might contain; and I regretted +that Miss Jillgall had sent it back without first waiting to +consult me. My misgivings, thus excited, were increased by more +news of no very welcome kind. Mrs. Tenbruggen had decided on +returning to her professional pursuits in England. Massage, +now the fashion everywhere, had put money into her pocket among +the foreigners; and her husband, finding that she persisted in +keeping out of his reach, had consented to a compromise. He was +ready to submit to a judicial separation; in consideration of +a little income which his wife had consented to settle on him, +under the advice of her lawyer. + +Some days later, I received a delightful letter from Philip and +Eunice; reminding me that I had engaged to pay them a visit at +the seaside. My room was ready for me, and I was left to choose +my own day. I had just begun to write my reply, gladly accepting +the invitation, when an ominous circumstance occurred. My servant +announced "a lady"; and I found myself face to face with--Mrs. +Tenbruggen! + +She was as cheerful as ever, and as eminently agreeable as ever. + +"I have heard it all from Selina," she said. "Philip's marriage +to Eunice (I shall go and congratulate them, of course), and +the catastrophe (how dramatic!) of Helena Gracedieu. I warned. +Selina that Miss Helena would end badly. To tell the truth, she +frightened me. I don't deny that I am a mischievous woman when +I find myself affronted, quite capable of taking my revenge in my +own small spiteful way. But poison and murder--ah, the frightful +subject! let us drop it, and talk of something that doesn't make +my hair (it's really my own hair) stand on end. Has Selina told +you that I have got rid of my charming husband, on easy pecuniary +terms? Oh, you know that? Very well. I will tell you something +that you don't know. Mr. Governor, I have found you out." + +"May I venture to ask how?" + +"When I guessed which was which of those two girls," she +answered, "and guessed wrong, you deliberately encouraged +the mistake. Very clever, but you overdid it. From that moment, +though I kept it to myself, I began to fear I might be wrong. +Do you remember Low Lanes, my dear sir? A charming old church. +I have had another consultation with my lawyer. His questions +led me into mentioning how it happened that I heard of Low Lanes. +After looking again at his memorandum of the birth advertised +in the newspaper without naming the place--he proposed trying +the church register at Low Lanes. Need I tell you the result? +I know, as well as you do, that Philip has married the adopted +child. He has had a mother-in-law who was hanged, and, what +is more, he has the honor, through his late father, of being +otherwise connected with the murderess by marriage--as his aunt!" + +Bewilderment and dismay deprived me of my presence of mind. +"How did you discover that?" I was foolish enough to ask. + +"Do you remember when I brought the baby to the prison?" she +said. "The father--as I mentioned at the time--had been a dear +and valued friend of mine. No person could be better qualified +to tell me who had married his wife's sister. If that lady had +been living, I should never have been troubled with the charge +of the child. Any more questions?" + +"Only one. Is Philip to hear of this?" + +"Oh, for shame! I don't deny that Philip insulted me grossly, +in one way; and that Philip's late father insulted me grossly, +in another way. But Mamma Tenbruggen is a Christian. She returns +good for evil, and wouldn't for the world disturb the connubial +felicity of Mr. and Mrs. Philip Dunboyne." + +The moment the woman was out of my house, I sent a telegram to +Philip to say that he might expect to see me that night. I caught +the last train in the evening; and I sat down to supper with +those two harmless young creatures, knowing I must prepare +the husband for what threatened them, and weakly deferring it, +when I found myself in their presence, until the next day. Eunice +was, in some degree, answerable for this hesitation on my part. +No one could look at her husband, and fail to see that he was +a supremely happy man. But I detected signs of care in the wife's +face. + +Before breakfast the next morning I was out on the beach, trying +to decide how the inevitable disclosure might be made. Eunice +joined me. Now, when we were alone, I asked if she was really +and completely happy. Quietly and sadly she answered: "Not yet." + +I hardly knew what to say. My face must have expressed +disappointment and surprise. + +"I shall never be quite happy," she resumed, "till I know what +it is that you kept from me on that memorable day. I don't like +having a secret from my husband--though it is not _my_ secret." + +"Remember your promise," I said + +"I don't forget it," she answered. "I can only wish that +my promise would keep back the thoughts that come to me in +spite of myself." + +"What thoughts?" + +"There is something, as I fear, in the story of my parents which +you are afraid to confide to me. Why did Mr. Gracedieu allow me +to believe and leave everybody to believe, that I was his own +child?" + +"My dear, I relieved your mind of those doubts on the morning +of your marriage." + +"No. I was only thinking of myself at that time. My mother-- +the doubt of _her_ is the doubt that torments me now." + +"What do you mean?" + +She put her arm in mine, and held by it with both hands. + +"The mock-mother!" she whispered. "Do you remember that dreadful +Vision, that horrid whispering temptation in the dead of night? +_Was_ it a mock-mother? Oh, pity me! I don't know who my mother +was. One horrid thought about her is a burden on my mind. If she +was a good woman, you who love me would surely have made me happy +by speaking of her?" + +Those words decided me at last. Could she suffer more than she +had suffered already, if I trusted her with the truth? I ran +the risk. There was a time of silence that filled me with terror. +The interval passed. She took my hand, and put it to her heart. +"Does it beat as if I was frightened?" she asked. + + +No! It was beating calmly. + +"Does it relieve your anxiety?" + +It told me that I had not surprised her. That unforgotten Vision +of the night had prepared her for the worst, after the time when +I had told her that she was an adopted child. "I know," I said, +"that those whispered temptations overpowered you again, when +you and Helena met on the stairs, and you forbade her to enter +Philip's room. And I know that love had conquered once more, when +you were next seen sitting by Philip's bedside. Tell me--have you +any misgivings now? Is there fear in your heart of the return +of that tempting spirit in you, in the time to come?" + +"Not while Philip lives!" + +There, where her love was--there her safety was. And she knew it! +She suddenly left me. I asked where she was going. + +"To tell Philip," was the reply. + +She was waiting for me at the door, when I followed her to +the house. + +"Is it done?" I said. + +"It is done," she answered. + +"What did he say?" + +"He said: 'My darling, if I could be fonder of you than ever, +I should be fonder of you now.'" + +I have been blamed for being too ready to confide to Philip +the precious trust of Eunice's happiness. If that reply does +not justify me, where is justification to be found? + + +POSTSCRIPT. + +Later in the day, Mrs. Tenbruggen arrived to offer her +congratulations. She asked for a few minutes with Philip alone. +As a cat elaborates her preparations for killing a mouse, so +the human cat elaborated her preparations for killing Philip's +happiness, he remained uninjured by her teeth and her claws. +"Somebody," she said, "has told you of it already?" And Philip +answered: "Yes; my wife." + +For some months longer, Mr. Gracedieu lingered. One morning, he +said to Eunice: "I want to teach you to knit. Sit by me, and see +me do it." His hands fell softly on his lap; his head sank little +by little on her shoulder. She could just hear him whisper: "How +pleasant it is to sleep!" Never was Death's dreadful work more +gently done + +Our married pair live now on the paternal estate in Ireland; and +Miss Jillgall reigns queen of domestic affairs. I am still strong +enough to pass my autumn holidays in that pleasant house. + +At times, my memory reverts to Helena Gracedieu, and to what +I discovered when I had seen her diary. + +How little I knew of that terrible creature when I first met with +her, and fancied that she had inherited her mother's character! +It was weak indeed to compare the mean vices of Mrs. Gracedieu +with the diabolical depravity of her daughter. Here the doctrine +of hereditary transmission of moral qualities must own that it +has overlooked the fertility (for growth of good and for growth +of evil equally) which is inherent in human nature. There are +virtues that exalt us, and vices that degrade us, whose +mysterious origin is, not in our parents, but in ourselves. When +I think of Helena, I ask myself, where is the trace which reveals +that the first murder in the world was the product of inherited +crime? + +The criminal left the prison, on the expiration of her sentence, +so secretly that it was impossible to trace her. Some months +later, Miss Jillgall received an illustrated newspaper published +in the United States. She showed me one of the portraits in it. + +"Do you recognize the illustrious original?" she asked, with +indignant emphasis on the last two words. I recognized Helena. +"Now read her new title," Miss Jillgall continued. + +I read: "The Reverend Miss Gracedieu." + +The biographical notice followed. Here is an extract: "This +eminent lady, the victim of a shocking miscarriage of justice +in England, is now the distinguished leader of a new community +in the United States. We hail in her the great intellect which +asserts the superiority of woman over man. In the first French +Revolution, the attempt made by men to found a rational religion +met with only temporary success. It was reserved for the mightier +spirit of woman to lay the foundations more firmly, and to +dedicate one of the noblest edifices in this city to the Worship +of Pure Reason. Readers who wish for further information will +do well to provide themselves with the Reverend Miss Gracedieu's +Orations--the tenth edition of which is advertised in our +columns." + +"I once asked you," Miss Jillgall reminded me, "what Helena would +do when she came out of prison, and you said she would do very +well. Oh, Mr. Governor, Solomon was nothing to You!" + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Legacy of Cain, by Wilkie Collins + diff --git a/old/lcain11.zip b/old/lcain11.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2cc9c7e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/lcain11.zip |