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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Unlucky + A Fragment of a Girl's Life + +Author: Caroline Austin + +Release Date: March 22, 2011 [EBook #35653] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNLUCKY *** + + + + +Produced by Dave Morgan, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>Unlucky</h1> + +<h2>A Fragment of a Girl's Life</h2> + +<h2>BY CAROLINE AUSTIN</h2> + +<h3>Author of "Cousin Geoffrey and I," "Hugh Herbert's Inheritance," +"Dorothy's Dilemma," &c.</h3> + + +<h3>BLACKIE & SON LIMITED</h3> + +<h3>LONDON GLASGOW DUBLIN BOMBAY</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus1" id="illus1"></a> +<img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>CHRIS IS BROUGHT BACK BY HIS FRIEND THE SERGEANT</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I. <span class="smcap">Helen's Stepmother</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II. <span class="smcap">Cousin Mary</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III. <span class="smcap">Helen's Escapade</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV. <span class="smcap">Strangers yet</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V. <span class="smcap">Longford Grange</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI. <span class="smcap">Harold</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII. "<span class="smcap">If I had but loved her</span>"</a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + +<p><a href="#illus1">CHRIS IS BROUGHT BACK BY HIS FRIEND THE SERGEANT</a></p> + +<p><a href="#illus2">HELEN FLINGS THE VIOLIN AT MRS. DESMOND'S FEET</a></p> + +<p><a href="#illus3">HELEN AND HAROLD AT JIM'S BEDSIDE</a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>UNLUCKY:</h2> + +<h3>A FRAGMENT OF A GIRL'S LIFE.</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>HELEN'S STEPMOTHER.</h3> + + +<p>It must be allowed that Mrs. Desmond, with the best dispositions in the +world towards children in general and her most perplexing little +stepdaughter Helen in particular, was not very happy in her method of +dealing with young people. Brought up herself by two maiden aunts on the +old-fashioned repressive system, from which she had never consciously +suffered, the children of to-day, with their eager, uncontrolled +impulses, their passionate likes and dislikes, often fostered by their +elders, and their too early developed individualities, were simply a +painful enigma to her. That the fault lay in their training rather than +in the young people themselves Mrs. Desmond was free to confess, and, +during the long tranquil years of her maiden life, having never once +been called upon to face the child-problem seriously, she had contented +herself with gently regretting the lax discipline prevalent amongst the +rising generation, and with wondering mildly, and not without a certain +sense of quiet self-satisfaction, what would happen to the human race, +when, in course of time, all the properly brought-up people were +gathered to their fathers.</p> + +<p>All this was changed, however, when this lady, spending a quiet summer +at a Swiss hotel, met Colonel Desmond, who had just returned from India, +and who was trying to restore his broken health at the same tranquil +spot. Colonel Desmond was attracted by the lady's calm, sweet face, and +before long he had told her his story, how he had lost his wife just +thirteen years ago, and how she had left him with one little girl, +Helen, for whose sake principally he had returned from India, and from +whom he was now parted for the first time. He found his listener +singularly sympathetic, and not at all disposed to be impatient over his +long tale of doubts and difficulties, chiefly concerning Helen, round +whom nearly all her father's thoughts centred at this period. The end of +this pleasant friendship may be guessed. Colonel Desmond's liking for +his new friend quickly changed to something deeper, to which she +responded. After that they soon came to a mutual understanding, and it +came about so quickly, and yet so naturally, that their fellow-guests at +the hotel were more fluttered than those chiefly concerned when, one +fine morning, this middle-aged couple were quietly married at the little +English church, and then as quietly went away together. This happened a +few months before our story opens. Upon the intervening time it is +needless to dwell. Helen's feelings may be better imagined than +described when, one day, without a word of warning, her father walked +into the drawing-room of the pleasant, unruly household where she was +temporarily located, and where she was, at that particular moment, +engaged in teaching some untidy-looking children to sit monkey-wise upon +the ground like her ayah, and, rather hastily unclasping the clinging +arms which his little daughter had flung round his neck, he presented to +her the gentle-looking lady who stood by his side as her new mother. A +stormy scene had ensued, during which Helen certainly behaved +abominably, stamping her feet and using some very strong language, +luckily expressed in Hindustani, of which tongue Mrs. Desmond was +blissfully ignorant. But she witnessed the passion, she recognized the +undutiful conduct, and her heart sank within her at the prospect that +opened before her. This was by no means the ideal little daughter over +whom her gentle heart had yearned, and to whom she had meant to perform +a true mother's part. As she looked and listened her feelings hardened, +as the feelings of seemingly gentle people will harden sometimes, and +she told herself that this was a child who could not be won, but who +might be disciplined.</p> + +<p>This was Mrs. Desmond's first mistake. Unfortunately Helen's bad +behaviour at subsequent interviews only served to confirm her +stepmother's earliest impressions. Beneath her surface amiability Mrs. +Desmond possessed a considerable spirit of obstinate determination, and, +if taken the wrong way, she was not an easy person to manage. She now +determined, rightly or wrongly, that her stepdaughter's rebellious +temper must be conquered, and conquered with the only weapons that she +herself understood how to use. Accordingly when, a few weeks after her +first introduction to her father's wife, Helen came to the dull house in +Bloomsbury Square that Mrs. Desmond had inherited from her aunts, and +where she and her husband had fixed their abode until their future plans +were matured, the wayward girl found herself in a new and hitherto +undreamt-of atmosphere. The surprise caused by her novel surroundings +was so great that at first it almost took away her breath and left her +passive. That she, Helen, who had never learned anything save in the +most desultory fashion, upon whose caprices almost all her father's +arrangements had depended, and who had recognized no authority save that +of her own will, should be suddenly subjected to a routine that would +have been galling even to carefully brought-up children, must have +seemed to the poor child a cruel fate indeed. Every hour was mapped out +for her, every action was to be performed at its appointed time. Mrs. +Desmond had recalled, with singular accuracy, the memories of her own +school-room days, and upon these Helen's were to be modelled +henceforward. From seven to eight o'clock she was to practise. At eight +she breakfasted upon the orthodox bread and milk or porridge—both forms +of nourishment being detested by badly brought-up Helen—in company with +Mrs. Desmond's own maid, who had grown gray in her mistress's service. +Breakfast over, her lessons were conned lying on her back, and at nine +o'clock her governess—a forbidding-looking female, not at all of the +modern type, but possessed of exactly the requirements that had been +considered essential in the days of Mrs. Desmond's youth—arrived, and +did not leave her pupil for a moment until the evening, when, dressed in +a prim white frock and sash, Helen was expected to take her place in her +stepmother's drawing-room, where, at a due distance from the fire, and +with a proviso that she was to speak when spoken to, she was allowed to +amuse herself with a book until the gong sounded for her parents' +dinner, when she was supposed to go to bed, with Mrs. Desmond's prim +maid again in attendance to put out the light.</p> + +<p>It must not be supposed that Helen, her first surprise over, submitted +tamely to a life so utterly at variance with her former experiences and +so uncongenial to her tastes. On the contrary, she rebelled fiercely, +fairly frightening her composed stepmother with her outbursts of +passion, and distressing her father, who could not bear to see his +little daughter suffer, but who was daily falling more entirely under +his wife's influence, and who began to believe, with her, that nothing +but this sharp discipline could save Helen from the evil results of her +previous bad training.</p> + +<p>All his life Colonel Desmond had been completely under the influence of +some one person or another. For the last few years he had been Helen's +most obedient subject. It soon became evident that her place was being +taken by his new wife. Perhaps this was not wonderful. Weak, easy-going, +and somewhat broken in health, Colonel Desmond now found himself, for +the first time, an object of tender solicitude. His tastes were +consulted and his fancies gratified; above all, his wife—pleasant, +low-toned, and agreeable to look upon—was constantly at hand to +minister to his wants—a gracious, restful presence set in pleasant +surroundings—for Mrs. Desmond possessed ample means, and money worries +were, for the first time in the colonel's experience, conspicuous by +their absence. It can scarcely be wondered at, then, that Colonel +Desmond, looking at his wife with her serene untroubled face, and +recognizing her perfect propriety of word and action, felt that he could +not further Helen's interests more truly than by placing her +unreservedly in her stepmother's hands, remembering, too, the wild Irish +blood that she had inherited from her mother, for Helen's mother had +been a wayward child up to her last hour, and had sorely tried the +colonel, notwithstanding the very true love that he had borne her.</p> + +<p>Poor Helen! She was the jarring note in this contented, middle-aged +household. A grief to her father, who loved her; a terrible perplexity +to her well-meaning though prejudiced stepmother. Not at all a +terrible-looking little person, although Mrs. Desmond, amongst her most +intimate friends, did occasionally lament her stepdaughter's unfortunate +plainness. It was an interesting little face, with delicate though sharp +features, and large, questioning, restless, blue-gray eyes; sad enough +sometimes, but gleaming with fun and mischief on the least provocation. +Helen's rough dark hair and her rather angular figure were Mrs. +Desmond's despair; but the dark hair showed curious red glints when the +sun shone upon it such as would have struck an artist's fancy, and the +angular figure was lithe, and gave promise of graceful development when +the childish angularity should be out-grown.</p> + +<p>Just as it needed a trained eye to discern the possibilities of beauty +possessed by Helen, so it required some loving knowledge of young +natures to divine the latent good in her. Resentful, passionate, and +wayward, she was also deeply affectionate, and her passionate outbreaks +were followed by passionate repentance, a repentance that she expressed, +however, only to her father, and, as the months went by, rarely even to +him; for although his manner towards her was always kind and even +loving, she knew, with the unerring instinct of childhood, that his +affection was already to a certain extent alienated from her. She did +not blame him for this. In her loyal little heart he still reigned +supreme, as a being absolutely perfect and noble. It was on her +stepmother's unconscious head that all the vials of Helen's wrath were +poured. More or less cowed into outward submission, and half +broken-spirited by her monotonous life, she hated Mrs. Desmond with a +hatred that bade fair to poison her whole nature. To succeed in visibly +annoying her stepmother, to bring an angry cloud over her calm face, was +a positive pleasure to Helen. Mrs. Desmond had been accustomed to a +well-ordered household, and any domestic disturbance was extremely +annoying to her. Helen soon discovered this, and although she was +supposed not to speak to any member of the household, with the exception +of the maid, she delighted in surreptitious visits to the kitchen, and +in setting the servants by the ears. Then, again, noises of any kind +were Mrs. Desmond's abhorrence. Helen would purposely bang doors, tap +with her feet on the floor, even scrape a knife on her plate at +luncheon, and feel more than repaid for the sharp reproof which she drew +upon herself by watching her stepmother's agonized expression whilst the +torture was in progress. That these things were done purposely Mrs. +Desmond did not guess, any more than she imagined that the passionate +manifestations of affection for her father in which Helen occasionally +indulged, were evidences of real love.</p> + +<p>As a fact, there was something antagonistic between Mrs. Desmond's +rather cold nature and Helen's ardent disposition. Only love and +patience could have knit these two together. Mrs. Desmond's theory that +a young girl should be treated as an irresponsible being, and forced +into the same mould that had successfully moulded former generations if +she was to turn out a "nice" woman, was fatal in this instance. The +same want of comprehension of the meaning of real education overshadowed +Helen's studies. Although, in the orthodox sense of the word, Helen's +education had been sadly neglected, she was by no means ignorant. She +had seen and observed much; had read, and read intelligently, books that +most girls of her age would unhesitatingly pronounce "dry;" while for +music she had a genuine talent. This last gift, however, did not help +her much under the system of tuition adopted for her. Ordered, for +instance, to practise her scales for an hour each day, without receiving +any explanation as to the usefulness of such practice, the girl +naturally regarded scale-playing as a fresh device for annoying her. +Consequently her playing during her early morning practice soon became +one of Mrs. Desmond's chief tortures, for each jarring note penetrated +through the thin partitions of a London house, and, reaching that +unhappy lady's ears, robbed her of her comfortable morning nap. Far too +conscientious to put an end to the nuisance for consciously selfish +motives, and too lacking in musical taste herself to discern Helen's +real talent, she suffered as silently as she could; not so silently, +however, but that Helen perceived the annoyance which she caused, and +which she took care should continue unabated. But here, as in so many +other instances, poor Helen's weapons were turned against herself. +Being taken by her father to an afternoon concert, an impromptu pleasure +indulged in during a blissful day when her stepmother was away, she was +seized with a vehement desire to learn to play the violin. Her father, +who fancied that his little girl had been looking pale lately, and who +was pleased with the prospect of giving her so innocent a pleasure, +consented, and quite after the manner of old times, the concert over, +they went off together and purchased a violin, which Helen insisted on +carrying home herself.</p> + +<p>The afternoon had been so delightful, and had sped so quickly, that they +had both forgotten the time, and that Mrs. Desmond was to return home at +six o'clock. It was nearly seven when their cab brought them to their +own door.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mrs. Desmond had returned an hour ago and was in the +drawing-room," the servant said in answer to the colonel's rather +nervous questioning. A cloud fell upon Helen as she entered the warm, +well-lighted hall; but she clasped her violin tightly and followed her +father upstairs.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Desmond rose from a low chair as her husband entered the +drawing-room. She was dressed in a pretty tea-gown, that well became her +tall, slight figure. Soft lace was arranged on her head, and the shaded +red light played on her diamond rings. She looked the very embodiment of +delicately-nurtured, serene, English womanhood, and so the colonel +thought as his eyes fell upon her. "What has kept you? I have been +anxious about you," she said, addressing him in a gently-reproachful +voice. "You must be cold and tired. Come and sit by the fire, and I will +ring for tea."</p> + +<p>"My dear," returned her husband, coming forward and kissing her, "how +glad I am to see you back! The house seems like home again. As for tea, +the truth is, Helen and I—well, we have been having a little fun on our +own account. Come here, Helen, and tell your mother what we have been +doing. We sent Miss Walker about her business, didn't we? And then—."</p> + +<p>The colonel paused, and Mrs. Desmond then perceived Helen standing +half-timidly, half-defiantly near the door.</p> + +<p>"You there, Helen!" she said coldly. "How often am I to tell you that I +will not have you come into the drawing-room with your walking clothes +on! Go and take them off at once. When I was a child—."</p> + +<p>"It is really my fault this time, wife," put in the colonel, who dreaded +a scene with Helen, and who had, besides, begun to grow a little weary +of his wife's reminiscences of her childhood.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" returned Mrs. Desmond with quite unusual asperity. "Helen +knows my rules. She is quite old enough to understand that her duty is +to conform to them, and stay!"—as Helen was turning away +abruptly—"don't go while I am speaking. Have you learned your lessons +for to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then ask Martha to put a lamp in the school-room, and set to work at +once. We shall not expect to see you this evening."</p> + +<p>"I won't set to work at once—I won't, I won't, I won't," muttered Helen +under her breath. Her passion was rising; but for her father's sake, her +father who had been so good to her, and who she dimly understood was +responsible for her lapse from duty that afternoon, she strove to +control herself. Knowing that her only chance was in escape, she made a +dash at the door; but in so doing the top of her violin came into +contact with a small china-laden table, and a valuable Dresden figure +fell to the ground with a crash.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Desmond, fairly roused from her wonted calm, rushed forward, +uttering a low cry. Her china was very dear to her. She suffered no one +but herself to touch it, and it was her boast that each piece had in her +keeping remained as intact as it had been in her grandmother's time.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Helen!" she cried, "what have you done? My poor little shepherd is +broken. You might as well have broken the shepherdess too. The pair is +spoilt—utterly spoilt!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it can be mended," suggested the kind-hearted colonel, coming +forward. He was really touched by his wife's distress, and also not a +little uneasy about Helen's share in the disaster.</p> + +<p>"Mended!" repeated Mrs. Desmond with rising irritation. "Do you suppose +that I would have a piece of <i>mended</i> china in my drawing-room? No, the +mischief is irreparable—irreparable."</p> + +<p>As she spoke she gathered up the broken fragments tenderly, while a tear +fell upon her white hand.</p> + +<p>"Not irreparable, surely, my dear," persisted the colonel with +characteristic want of tact. "I have seen plenty of figures like these +in old china shops. To-morrow, first thing, Helen shall make amends for +her carelessness by—"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Helen!" interrupted Mrs. Desmond, who had regarded the first part +of the colonel's sentence as a confession of ignorance too gross for +argument, but who was recalled by the mention of Helen's name to the +enormity of the girl's offence. "Helen—"</p> + +<p>There was a moment's pause. Mrs. Desmond was half-astonished at the +bitterness of her own feelings, and felt the necessity of controlling +herself. She looked up and saw Helen watching her from the open doorway +with an expression of scarcely veiled triumph. It was the last straw. If +the girl's face had expressed even fear or shrinking, Mrs. Desmond's +better nature would have been touched; but there was something of +insolence in her stepdaughter's defiant attitude that exasperated the +usually self-controlled woman.</p> + +<p>"Helen," she said, and her voice was hard, "you have been exceedingly +clumsy: a clumsy woman is intolerable. I object to harsh measures, but +something must be done to make you more careful in future. For the +present, go to your own room and remain—. What is that you are +carrying?" she cried with a sudden change of voice, catching sight of +the violin which Helen held behind her.</p> + +<p>The faintest expression of anxiety flitted over Helen's face, but she +made no answer.</p> + +<p>"Show it to me at once. How dare you bring parcels into the +drawing-room?"</p> + +<p>"I am going to take it away now," returned the girl insolently without +moving, for an evil spirit seemed to possess her, and she was absolutely +gloating over her stepmother's evident discomfiture.</p> + +<p>"I insist upon seeing it," went on Mrs. Desmond; while the colonel, +murmuring "Helen" in a tone of remonstrance, walked over to the +fireplace.</p> + +<p>"You can see it, and hear it too!" cried Helen desperately, her passion +blazing out at her stepmother's authoritative tone; and as she spoke she +placed the violin on her shoulder, and with the bow drew a long +discordant wail from its strings.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Desmond started forward, but recovering herself by a violent effort +she stopped and put her hands to her ears. Helen dropped her right hand +by her side, with the other still holding the violin in position, and +regarded her stepmother with a flushed, triumphant face.</p> + +<p>"Go to your room," said the latter at last in accents of such bitterness +that even her husband felt uncomfortable. "Go to your room and to bed. +To-morrow I will see you. I do not wish to inflict any punishment upon +you in anger."</p> + +<p>"Punishment indeed!" cried Helen, whose blood was up. "I have done +nothing to deserve punishment. My father gave me this violin. You cannot +take it from me. It is mine."</p> + +<p>"It shall be taken from you. John," turning to her husband, "I appeal to +you. After Helen's disgraceful behaviour you cannot wish her to keep the +present which in your mistaken kindness you appear to have given her."</p> + +<p>The colonel sighed, but came forward nervously.</p> + +<p>"Helen," he said, "pray do not oppose your mother. You know that she +only desires your good. And really—"</p> + +<p>He stopped short, for Helen was regarding him with a curious expression, +and her breath was coming thick and fast.</p> + +<p>"Do <i>you</i> want me to give her my violin?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Only for a little time, Helen, to show that you are sorry, and that you +will be more obedient in future."</p> + +<p>For a full minute Helen stood clutching her violin and regarding her +father with that same curious expression; then she let the instrument +drop slowly from her shoulder, and seizing it with her right hand, flung +it from her with a furious gesture. It fell at Mrs. Desmond's feet.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus2" id="illus2"></a> +<img src="images/illus2.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>HELEN FLINGS THE VIOLIN AT MRS. DESMOND'S FEET</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Take it," cried the excited girl, "take it. You have robbed me of my +father, now you rob me of that. I hate you."</p> + +<p>Not waiting for a reply, she rushed wildly from the room, and a moment +later the sound of a banging door, adding a last torture to Mrs. +Desmond's sorely-tried nerves, informed all whom it might concern that +Helen was safe in her own chamber.</p> + +<p>Colonel Desmond sighed deeply and turned away. His wife, always careful +and orderly, stooped and picked up the violin.</p> + +<p>"I hope it has not suffered," she said, placing it on a table. "It must +go back to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Don't be hard on the child, Margaret," said the colonel, not noticing +the foregoing remark.</p> + +<p>"Am I ever hard on her, John?"</p> + +<p>As Mrs. Desmond spoke she crossed the room and reseated herself in her +easy-chair, leaning back wearily and wiping her eyes with her delicate +lace handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"No, my dear, of course not," returned the colonel. "But—"</p> + +<p>"But what?"</p> + +<p>"She needs patience. It is perhaps hard on her—"</p> + +<p>"Hard on her! It is hard on me, I think."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, my dear, I know that. I only mean—"</p> + +<p>Colonel Desmond scarcely knew what he meant. His heart was bleeding for +the wounds inflicted by that little termagant upstairs upon this gentle +woman who continued to sit with her handkerchief to her eyes. He was +longing to reconcile them, and yet he was dimly conscious that in his +blundering man fashion he was but setting them farther apart.</p> + +<p>"It is hard, I confess," murmured Mrs. Desmond after a pause. "If Helen +were my own child could I care more for her welfare? I sacrifice my +leisure, my inclinations—" her voice broke here, and once more the +handkerchief was applied.</p> + +<p>"My dear wife," began the colonel; but she motioned him to be silent.</p> + +<p>"You little know what I have to endure from that child," she went on. +"I do not wish you to know. She is your child, and I shall do my duty by +her. But to be blamed by you is more than I can bear."</p> + +<p>"I blame you, my dear Margaret! Come, you cannot mean that. Do you think +that I don't feel grateful to you for your patience and for your +goodness to me, to—to us every day. Why, you have only been away +four-and-twenty hours, and the house felt like a wilderness. That was +what drove me out, I think."</p> + +<p>The colonel knelt down beside his wife and took her hand. She suffered +herself to be consoled, and presently withdrew her handkerchief from her +eyes and smiled.</p> + +<p>"You are foolish to spoil Helen, dear John," she said. "With careful +training I don't despair of making a good woman of her yet. But you must +leave her to me, and her caprices must not be gratified."</p> + +<p>"I thought her desire to learn the violin was innocent enough."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, John! you know nothing about children and their training. +Girls were content with the piano in my young days; and I consider the +modern girl's craze for violin playing extremely unfeminine. No; that +violin must go back to-morrow. Helen's notions are far too fantastic +already."</p> + +<p>There was a suspicion of returning sharpness in Mrs. Desmond's tone, and +her husband wisely forbore to press the subject further. On his way to +dress for dinner he lingered for a few moments wistfully outside Helen's +closed door. But neither then nor later, when (after Mrs. Desmond had +retired on the plea of a headache, leaving the colonel free to follow +his own devices), he returned, and knocking gently, called Helen, did +any success reward his efforts to bring a crumb of consolation to the +poor child. Judging by her silence that she must have fallen asleep, +Colonel Desmond retired to his smoking-room and comforted himself by +reflecting that Helen had certainly been naughty and probably deserved +whatever punishment might be meted out to her. Then he recalled his +wife's angelic goodness and smiled, thinking that such a woman could not +possibly be very severe. Finally, as he knocked the ashes out of his +pipe before going to bed, he decided that only women could understand +girls, and that Helen would thank him some day for having given her such +a mother. But these comforting reflections did not prevent a wistful +face, not unlike Helen's own, from peering out at him from amongst the +dark shadows on the staircase, dimly lit by his solitary candle, a face +that had looked up into his once and had whispered with failing voice, +"Take care of the child and bring her safe to me." For our +responsibilities are our own, and we cannot safely delegate them even to +persons of angelic goodness.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>COUSIN MARY.</h3> + + +<p>"I think that you are wrong, Margaret. Young people must be more or less +the children of their generation."</p> + +<p>The speaker was a cousin of Mrs. Desmond's, a certain Miss Macleod, or +Cousin Mary as she was generally called by the younger members of her +acquaintances. Mary Macleod lived in a northern county, and she and Mrs. +Desmond had never been close friends, but circumstances having brought +the former to London for a time, she had accepted her cousin's +invitation to spend a week at Bloomsbury Square.</p> + +<p>Cousin Mary was a person to whom all confided their troubles, and +although she had only been in the house an hour or so, Mrs. Desmond was +already launched on her favourite topic, the miseries resulting from the +present pernicious system of bringing up young people. Mrs. Desmond was +rather a self-centred person, and she was quite unconscious that her +remarks were not approving themselves to her listener.</p> + +<p>"Really, Mary," she said, glancing up in some surprise at her +companion's tone, "you don't mean to say that you have taken up with +these new-fangled notions about education? A household that exists only +for children is, in my opinion—"</p> + +<p>She paused, becoming suddenly aware that Helen had entered the room, +book in hand as usual, and was taking up her accustomed station on a +straight-backed chair situated at a respectful distance from the +fireplace.</p> + +<p>"You here, Helen?" she said rather sharply. "I did not hear you come in. +Don't you see my cousin, Miss Macleod? Why don't you come and say 'How +do you do?' to her?"</p> + +<p>"I was waiting to be told to," returned the girl, with that indefinable +note of defiance in her voice which grated the more upon her stepmother +that it was impossible to discover in it any tangible cause of offence.</p> + +<p>As Helen spoke she came forward with a lagging step and took Miss +Macleod's outstretched hand, murmuring something unintelligible, Mrs. +Desmond watching her stepdaughter with displeased eyes the while. Since +the scene narrated in the last chapter, there had been a sort of armed +neutrality between these two. Helen had submitted to the punishment +inflicted upon her for her behaviour upon that occasion with the worst +possible grace, and no single word of contrition for her fault had +passed her lips. On the contrary, she maintained a sort of sullen +reserve which annoyed even her father, and went far to deprive her of +such consolation as she might have extracted from his secret, if +unspoken, sympathy. As for Mrs. Desmond, her spirit of obstinacy was +aroused, and so far from ascribing her failure to win Helen to any fault +of her own, she clung yet more persistently than ever to her +preconceived ideas, and subjected the girl to still severer discipline. +Whilst acting thus, Mrs. Desmond considered herself the most forgiving +of mortals because she maintained a forbearing though frigid demeanour +towards her wayward stepdaughter. With her husband, indeed, she assumed +a martyr-like air whenever Helen's name was mentioned. This did not +happen often. Mrs. Desmond really loved her husband and had far too much +tact to vex him, or to sound a jarring note in his hearing +unnecessarily. Neither did she set herself designedly to lessen Helen in +her father's affection. It was more by what she left unsaid than by what +she said that she conveyed to the colonel a bad impression of Helen's +disposition, and spoilt the happy, unrestrained intercourse that had +hitherto subsisted between these two.</p> + +<p>Such was the position of affairs at the time of Mary Macleod's visit. +That quick-witted lady had guessed it pretty accurately from her +cousin's conversation. Perhaps it interested her, for she watched Helen +keenly from the moment that she became aware of the girl's presence. She +smiled very pleasantly as Helen, in obedience to her stepmother's +command, approached the visitor, and not at all repelled, seemingly, by +the unwilling little hand that was laid in hers, she drew Helen's face +down and kissed it, saying in a warm voice, to which the slight northern +burr gave a homely sound:</p> + +<p>"So you are my new cousin. I am a relation, you know—Cousin Mary. But, +bless me, child, how cold your hands are! Come and sit by the fire and I +will warm them."</p> + +<p>A smile came upon Helen's face, although she drew back a little proudly.</p> + +<p>"I am not cold, thank you," she said, and moved away.</p> + +<p>Miss Macleod made no effort to detain her. She understood young people +too well to try to force them into friendliness, and, as I have said, +she had already made a tolerably shrewd guess as to the true state of +the case. Taking up her knitting, she continued her chat with Mrs. +Desmond in spite of the latter's rather constrained replies, for +childless Cousin Mary's passion for young people was well known in her +family, and Mrs. Desmond began to feel fidgety lest her guest might +even temporarily interfere with Helen's training. It was a relief when +the colonel entered the room smiling, happy, and friendly. After a few +words of greeting to his guest he turned to inform his wife of some +rather important news that had arrived from India by that day's mail. +Upon this Miss Macleod put down her knitting and beckoned to Helen, +pointing to a low chair by her side.</p> + +<p>"Your book must be very absorbing," she said smilingly as Helen obeyed.</p> + +<p>"No, it isn't," returned the girl abruptly. "I think it is the dullest +book I ever read."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you put it down then and talk to us?"</p> + +<p>"Because," began Helen, with an ominous look in her stepmother's +direction, "because"—but just then that lady, who had been listening to +her husband with one ear and to Helen with the other, broke in:</p> + +<p>"What is the dullest book you ever read?"</p> + +<p>"This. <i>Amy Herbert.</i>"</p> + +<p>"That is grateful, Helen, seeing the pains I took to get it for you."</p> + +<p>"And such a gorgeous-looking book too," put in the colonel, always eager +to make peace.</p> + +<p>Helen said nothing, but drew back her chair a little with a grating +sound, while Mrs. Desmond frowned and went on:</p> + +<p>"<i>Amy Herbert</i> is a book that has delighted hundreds of children. I can +remember that when I was a girl, I knew every line of it. It is a pity +that you do not lay to heart some of the lessons it teaches. But young +people won't be taught nowadays."</p> + +<p>"I think you are a little hard on young people, Margaret," put in Cousin +Mary's pleasant voice. "We grown-up people are influenced by the feelings +of our day. Books that appealed to our grandmothers don't affect us. +Children are subject to the same influences. It is quite possible—"</p> + +<p>"I can't see it," interrupted Mrs. Desmond with most unusual vehemence. +"What was good enough for my aunts, for instance, is quite good enough +for me, and always will be, I hope."</p> + +<p>"My dear," interposed the colonel mildly, "would you write that note for +me before dinner? It is important not to miss a single post."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Desmond sighed gently, but rose with a resigned air to comply with +her husband's request. He followed her to her writing-table, leaving +Cousin Mary and Helen alone.</p> + +<p>That notion of Miss Macleod's, that grown-up people and children were +not set wide as the poles asunder, but were close akin to one another, +struck Helen immensely, and made Cousin Mary seem quite an approachable +being in this young girl's eyes, and instinctively she drew closer to +this new relative with a pleasant sensation of confidence.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what I was doing when you two were talking," she said, +with the sudden burst of friendliness that comes so strangely from a +lonely child. "I was thinking."</p> + +<p>"Thinking, Helen! Were your thoughts worth a penny?"</p> + +<p>Helen was not to be dealt lightly with. She was very serious.</p> + +<p>"I heard what you were saying when I came into the room," she went on. +"And I wondered what you meant when you said that children must belong +to their generation."</p> + +<p>Cousin Mary looked grave.</p> + +<p>"It would take a long time to explain all that I meant," she said. +"Perhaps we shall have a chance of talking it over before I leave. I +didn't mean that the girls and boys of to-day have any excuse for being +naughty and rebellious. But I sometimes think that as we grown-up people +move about so much, and are tempted to grow restless and impatient, so +the same influences may affect children to a certain extent, and that a +very strict routine may be a little more irksome to them now than it was +to us thirty years ago."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is dreadful!—dreadful!" murmured Helen.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! Not dreadful, only perhaps a little tiresome."</p> + +<p>Helen's tone had been tragic, but there was a gleam of fun in Cousin +Mary's eyes as she replied that brought a smile to the girl's face.</p> + +<p>"Very tiresome," she said. "I hate lessons."</p> + +<p>"They are a little wee bit trying sometimes, I grant. And yet we must +learn them; must go on learning them all our lives."</p> + +<p>Cousin Mary's face had grown grave again, and Helen began to think her +the most perplexing person that she had ever met.</p> + +<p>"Go on learning!" she repeated. "Grown-up people don't learn lessons."</p> + +<p>"Not book lessons exactly, though I think I have learnt more book +lessons even since I have been grown up than I did in the school-room. +But that is a matter of choice. There are certain lessons that we must +learn, because God goes on teaching them to us until we really know +them."</p> + +<p>"Oh! What are they?" asked Helen in an awe-struck whisper.</p> + +<p>"I think obedience is one," replied Cousin Mary, with that little smile +lurking in her eyes again. "I am dreadfully disobedient sometimes, but I +am always sorry for it afterwards, I think. Perhaps some day I shall +learn to know that my way is not best, and then I sha'n't want to be +disobedient again."</p> + +<p>"You disobedient!"</p> + +<p>"It is quite true. For instance, I didn't want to come up to town at +this particular time. I very nearly said I wouldn't come. You see, my +doing so interfered with some very pleasant plans that I had made. That +was why I did not like it, although I knew all the time that I ought to +come. Now I begin to be very glad that I did not follow my own way, not +only because I have done my duty, but because I have found a new cousin +whom I mean to like very much."</p> + +<p>The expression of Helen's face altered as she listened to her new +friend's words. Her eyes, that had been heavy and downcast, lit up; she +raised her head and threw back her hair with something of her old, +careless gesture.</p> + +<p>"I like you very, very much," she said, "although you do say such +strange things. I wish—"</p> + +<p>Just then Cousin Mary's ball of wool fell from her lap and rolled away +to some distance. Helen sprang to her feet and rushed to fetch it. At +the same time Mrs. Desmond left her writing-table, and, shivering a +little, rejoined her cousin by the fire. As she did so Helen brushed +past her, holding the recovered ball in her hands. The action was not a +courteous one, and Mrs. Desmond's displeasure was not mitigated by +observing the girl's heightened colour and altered expression.</p> + +<p>"You are exceedingly awkward and clumsy," she said, smoothing her laces, +which had been displaced by Helen's rough contact. "I wonder what my +cousin will think of such a little barbarian. You had better say +good-night and go to bed at once. Perhaps that will teach you to be more +careful in future."</p> + +<p>Helen's face fell. Accustomed as she was to her stepmother's constant +fault finding, to be reproved in this fashion and sent to bed like a +baby before Cousin Mary stung her into fresh rebellion.</p> + +<p>"It is still only a quarter to eight," she said, glancing at the clock. +"Why should I go to bed before my usual hour? I have done nothing wrong. +I couldn't help knocking up against you just now."</p> + +<p>"Helen"—and for once the colonel's tone was really stern, for the +insolence of his daughter's tone angered him. "Helen, how dare you speak +in that way to your mother? Go to bed instantly, and don't let me see +you again until you are ready to apologize."</p> + +<p>For a moment Helen stood transfixed. Never in all her life had her +father spoken to her so before. Every vestige of colour left her face; +her white lips just moved, but no words came. Then she turned round and +walked quietly out of the room, forgetting even to slam the door behind +her.</p> + +<p>"I suppose that we have to thank you for being spared a scene, Mary," +said Mrs. Desmond as she sank into her chair with a deep sigh.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid that Helen is too much for Margaret," observed the colonel, +addressing his visitor, but looking anxiously at his wife.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you send her to a good school then?" asked the former +briskly. "It's a lonely life for her here, poor child!"</p> + +<p>"Because, Mary," interposed Mrs. Desmond, "I do not approve of a school +training for girls; and I shall never shirk a duty that I have +undertaken for my dear husband's sake, however painful and wearing it +may be."</p> + +<p>The colonel pressed his wife's hand, while Miss Macleod went on:</p> + +<p>"And yet in this case a school training might be the best. Probably the +child is too much alone and needs young society."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Mary! Was not I brought up alone in this very house? Helen +has many more indulgences than I ever had, and yet I was always happy +and contented."</p> + +<p>"But I should say, Margaret, that your disposition and Helen's are +totally different. I can remember you a prim little girl sitting up in +your high chair working your sampler or repeating Watt's hymns. And do +you recollect your horror when I once went out of doors while I was +putting on my gloves and afterwards proposed to race round the square? +Ladies never did such things, you said. Now I have a suspicion that +Helen might be very easily induced to race anybody along Regent Street."</p> + +<p>The colonel smiled. There was a time when he used to boast of his little +girl's high spirits and untamed ways.</p> + +<p>"She has—" he began, but his wife interposed:</p> + +<p>"I remember you, Mary, as a regular hoyden," she observed, and was about +to go on when the announcement of dinner put an end to the conversation.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Desmond could be a very pleasant companion when she chose, and upon +this occasion she did choose, being anxious not only to obliterate from +her husband's mind the painful impression caused by Helen's conduct, but +also to convince her cousin that her marriage was an entirely happy one. +Dinner was excellent and daintily served. In the evening an old friend +of the colonel's dropped in, and there was plenty of bright talk. +Colonel Desmond seemed profoundly contented, and his wife scarcely less +so. Only Cousin Mary's thoughts wandered sometimes away from the +cheerful voices and the pretty drawing-room, with its bright lights and +fragrant flowers, to a small darkened chamber somewhere overhead, where +she suspected that a forlorn little figure might be tossing restlessly +and a young soul hardening for want of the love that is its right.</p> + +<p>"Poor young thing!" thought Cousin Mary, longing in her eager way to run +to the rescue, and yet knowing that she must bide her time if she would +not make bad worse. But, thinking thus, the softness of her cousin's +manner and the ancient endearments that passed between husband and wife +had rather an irritating effect upon her. Once or twice there was a +sharpness in her speech that a little astonished the good colonel.</p> + +<p>"I expected from what I heard to find your cousin a charming woman," he +said when he and his wife were alone together. "She has a pleasant +enough face, but rather a sharp tongue, hasn't she?"</p> + +<p>"Poor Mary!" laughed Mrs. Desmond softly. "She is a good soul at heart. +A little hard, no doubt, but she has many excellent points."</p> + +<p>Next day, although none of the usual noisy tokens of Helen's presence in +the house were lacking, neither she nor her governess appeared at +luncheon. Cousin Mary judged it wiser to ask no questions, but she sat +in the drawing-room long after Mrs. Desmond disappeared to dress for +that evening's dinner-party, hoping to catch a glimpse of the young +culprit. But although she allowed herself only ten minutes for dressing, +and was obliged in consequence to put on her plainest gown in place of +the more elaborate one she had proposed wearing, she caught never a +glimpse of Helen. Just, however, as she was closing her bed-room door +behind her she heard her name called.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Mary!"</p> + +<p>The voice came in an eager whisper from the landing above.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Mary, do just wait one minute."</p> + +<p>"I'll wait five if you like, although I'm a wee bit late."</p> + +<p>There was a rush down the stairs.</p> + +<p>"O!" cried Helen, "please don't speak so loud. The old cat will hear if +you do. The old cat is her maid. She is always trying what she can find +out. The servants—but, O! I didn't come to say this. Look here! I know +there was going to be a dinner party to-night, and I knew that she would +have flowers, and I was determined that you should have some too. So I +ran away from old Walker this afternoon. I gave her such a fright you +should have seen her face. And I bought <i>these</i>."</p> + +<p>As Helen, breathless and triumphant, finished speaking, she placed a +bunch of lilies of the valley in Cousin Mary's hand.</p> + +<p>"My dear child! I scarcely know what to say. O, yes! of course I will +wear them," in answer to a blank look of dismay on Helen's face. "I +thank you, dear, indeed I do. But, O! Helen, why did you do wrong for +me? And, dear child, I have missed you all day."</p> + +<p>Helen's face hardened.</p> + +<p>"Has she been setting you against me too?"</p> + +<p>"Helen, I can't stop now. I promise to wear your flowers and to think of +you all the evening. Will you promise me something?"</p> + +<p>"If I can."</p> + +<p>"Will you try to put all unkind and ungenerous thoughts out of your head +until I can see you again?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you mean by ungenerous. Other people—"</p> + +<p>There was a step on the stairs. Helen flew away, and Cousin Mary, going +her way down, nearly fell into the arms of Mrs. Desmond's maid.</p> + +<p>"I was coming up, miss, to see if I could assist you," said that +individual demurely.</p> + +<p>Cousin Mary put her aside rather coldly and proceeded to the +drawing-room, where the guests were already gathered, and where Mrs. +Desmond glanced at her cousin with some displeasure. This was +occasioned not only by the lateness of Miss Macleod's arrival, but by +the plainness of her attire, which, in Mrs. Desmond's opinion, was +emphasized by a great bunch of lilies of the valley pinned carelessly in +the front of her bodice without any attempt at arrangement, and looking, +as that lady afterwards said, as if they had just come from the nearest +greengrocer—a guess that came considerably nearer to the truth than +most guesses do.</p> + +<p>Dinner was a long and rather tedious affair. Cousin Mary's neighbours +were not particularly entertaining, and although she tried to exert +herself to talk her thoughts wandered constantly to the lonely child +upstairs. In the drawing-room matters were still worse. Most of the +ladies present were known to each other, and their small gossip sounded +quite meaningless to an utter stranger like Miss Macleod. Mrs. Desmond, +who, to do her justice, was never negligent of her duties as a hostess, +noticed her cousin's abstraction, and tried more than once to draw her +into the conversation, but without much success. When the gentlemen +appeared there was a little very indifferent music, and then the company +dispersed. Cousin Mary was heartily glad to find herself once more in +her own room. But although she had pleaded fatigue in the drawing-room +she seemed in no hurry to get into bed. Replacing her silk dress by a +soft Cashmere gown, she opened her door and listened. Presently she +heard Mrs. Desmond come up the stairs to her own room on the floor +below. Cousin Mary peeped over the banisters and saw that the maid was +in attendance. She waited until she heard the bed-room door close upon +mistress and maid, and then she walked quietly upstairs, smiling to +herself all the time.</p> + +<p>Arrived upon the landing, she looked about her, and presently espying a +door standing partly open, and, peeping in, she saw at once she had +reached her goal, for by the faint light that came in through the +uncurtained window she could discern Helen lying in bed and tossing +about restlessly.</p> + +<p>"Are you awake, Helen?" asked Cousin Mary softly.</p> + +<p>Helen sat up in bed.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she cried, "have you really come to see me? I was afraid to expect +you. And yet—"</p> + +<p>"Yet you had a notion that I might come."</p> + +<p>As Cousin Mary spoke she closed the door quietly and walked up to +Helen's bed. Then she struck a light and lit a small lamp that she +carried in her hand. After this she made Helen lie down, shook up her +pillow, and covered her up; and then, drawing a chair close up to the +bedside, she sat down herself.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to stop for a little while?" asked Helen with glistening +eyes.</p> + +<p>"For a little while, yes. Not for long, though; you ought to have been +asleep hours ago."</p> + +<p>"How can I go to sleep when I am so—so <i>dreadfully</i> unhappy?" Helen's +eyes that had been glistening a minute ago were filled with tears, and +her voice grew tremulous. "I hate being such a baby," she went on, +dashing away the rebellious tears with an angry hand. "I never let her +see me cry. Only—only, somehow, when any one is very kind like you +are——"</p> + +<p>"Silly child!" said Cousin Mary, taking the girl's hand, "don't you know +that you are making your own troubles out of that sore little heart of +yours?"</p> + +<p>"My own troubles! You don't understand, or you wouldn't say that. Why +should I do as she tells me? She isn't my mother. My father and I were +happy before she came, and now even father doesn't love me. I met him on +the stairs to-day and he asked me if I was sorry, and just because I +said I wasn't he went on and never spoke another word to me. He didn't +use to want me to be sorry, he wanted me to be happy."</p> + +<p>"And yet you weren't always happy then, Helen."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! I was; at least nearly always."</p> + +<p>"Had you no troubles? Did nothing ever go wrong? Were there no tears?"</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, sometimes things went wrong. But it was quite, quite +different then."</p> + +<p>"You believe that your father loved you then, don't you, Helen?"</p> + +<p>"I know he did."</p> + +<p>"And yet, loving you as he did, he saw that you must have some better +training than he was able to give you; and he wished to make a happy +home for you. He did his best for you, and you make things very hard for +him. I think he might truly say that his little daughter does not love +him."</p> + +<p>"But I do, even now. I would do anything in the world for him."</p> + +<p>"You show your affection very curiously, Helen."</p> + +<p>Helen was silent, and Cousin Mary went on. "When one loves a person +truly one ceases to think of one's own happiness so much."</p> + +<p>"But I can't do anything to make him happy now."</p> + +<p>"You could do a very great deal."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"By helping to make his home happy, by being respectful and obedient to +your stepmother, and by trying to become what she wishes to see you."</p> + +<p>"I never could please her if I tried ever so hard."</p> + +<p>"But have you ever tried?"</p> + +<p>Helen was again silent.</p> + +<p>"I know it wouldn't be quite easy at first, dear. But if you were to say +to yourself when you feel your temper rising, 'It is for my father's +sake,' it would be possible, I think. Love makes so many things easy."</p> + +<p>Helen lay very still. There was silence for a few minutes, and then +Cousin Mary spoke again. "You were rude yesterday evening, my child; +your father was quite right to reprove you. You caused him a great deal +of pain. Won't you make amends to him by telling him and your stepmother +that you are sorry?"</p> + +<p>Still no reply from Helen, and Cousin Mary was heaving a sigh of +disappointment, when suddenly the bed-clothes were flung violently on +one side, and Helen sprang to her feet.</p> + +<p>"I will go at once," she exclaimed. "She—I mean mamma—can't be in bed +yet. I shall be able to go to sleep when I have seen her and kissed my +father. And I suppose, Cousin Mary, that I ought to tell her that I ran +away from Miss Walker to-day. Well, never mind, I will tell it all, and +then I shall start fresh to-morrow. Wherever <i>can</i> my dressing-gown be?"</p> + +<p>Cousin Mary had some difficulty in dissuading this impulsive child from +executing her project. Miss Macleod, however, shrewdly suspected that +Mrs. Desmond would decline to receive her stepdaughter's apologies at +that late hour, and that a fresh scene would be the only outcome of such +an injudicious proceeding. Helen, rather crestfallen, at length allowed +herself to be coaxed back into bed again, and then Cousin Mary crept +down to the smoking-room and persuaded the colonel, who was sitting +rather gloomily over his expiring fire, to come upstairs and say +good-night to his repentant daughter. He did not require much +persuasion, and the moonlight shone through the little attic window upon +three very happy faces, as Cousin Mary looked on at the reconciliation +of father and daughter.</p> + +<p>"A thousand thanks for looking after my little girl," whispered the +colonel to Mary as they went down-stairs together. "She—she——"</p> + +<p>"She has the makings of a fine woman," interposed the latter warmly, +"but you must not repress her too much. Send her away from home. It will +be best, believe me."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, we must see," returned the colonel hesitatingly. "I must +talk it over with Margaret. And, by the bye, let us say nothing of what +has taken place to-night until Helen has made her peace. You understand. +Good night, good night!"</p> + +<p>So saying, and walking very cautiously, the colonel crept down-stairs +to his own quarters, while Cousin Mary, shrugging her shoulders a little +impatiently, sought her own room.</p> + +<p>As for Helen, she was soon asleep and dreaming of dainty feasts in which +she was participating. She had been dreadfully hungry, for she had +indignantly refused to eat the only food that had been brought to her in +her disgrace. In the sincerity of her penitence, however, she resolved +to bear the pangs of hunger in dignified silence, and if her +dream-feasts were not very satisfying they answered their purpose, for +the hours flew by and she never stirred until the morning.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>HELEN'S ESCAPADE.</h3> + + +<p>Helen was standing in the hall listening to the retreating wheels of the +cab that bore Cousin Mary away, and trying hard to keep back her tears. +It was the late afternoon of an early spring day. Spring, as is its +custom with us, had come suddenly; the air was soft and balmy, and the +open hall door revealed a vista of delicate green that had fallen like a +cloud upon the gaunt trees that filled the grimy London square. Even +the servant lingered at the open door, closing it at last reluctantly as +though loth to shut out the warm air and pleasant prospect.</p> + +<p>It was just such a day as stirs the blood of even old people, while it +sets young hearts beating, and conjures up before youthful eyes all +sorts of pleasant visions. To Helen, accustomed for so many years to a +cloudless eastern sky, the sunshine, although it brought her renewed +life, brought also vague indefinable longings. London with its endless +streets and squares, its never-ending succession of human beings, its +saddening sights and sounds, seemed to stifle her. She longed, scarcely +knowing what it was for which she longed, for the green country, for +freedom, for space. To Cousin Mary it had been possible to speak of +these and many other things. Cousin Mary gone—gone too holding out only +the vaguest promises of another meeting, and with no word at all about +claiming that visit from Helen of which a good deal had been said in the +early stages of their friendship, the girl, suddenly thrown back upon +herself, felt, with the exaggerated feelings of youth, as though she +were deserted by everybody. It was impossible that she could guess how +hard Cousin Mary had tried to secure that visit from Helen about which +she had, rather incautiously perhaps, spoken to her young favourite. For +as the days went on, and Miss Macleod's stay had lengthened out beyond +her original intention, her interest in Helen had increased, and had +deepened into real affection. Beneath Cousin Mary's influence all the +best part of Helen's nature came out. And, indeed, her deep +affectionateness, her generous impulses, her quick repentances for +wrong-doing, her power of receiving good impressions, all combined to +make Helen a very fascinating little person to one who took the trouble +to understand her disposition. That there was another side to Helen's +character Miss Macleod knew. Such intense natures ever have their +reverse side. She had her bad impulses as well as her good ones; and a +fierce temper that it would need many years of patient effort to bring +under control. There was a spice of recklessness in Helen, too, and an +impatience of restraint. Hers was a nature that might harden and develop +terrible possibilities for evil under adverse circumstances. All this +Cousin Mary saw with painful distinctness as she watched the girl with +ever-increasing interest.</p> + +<p>Accustomed as Mrs. Desmond declared she was to her cousin's vagaries, +this last fancy of Miss Macleod's rather astonished that lady. That +Helen should prefer a stranger to herself she regarded as merely another +proof of her stepdaughter's perversity. But what Mary Macleod could see +in the girl, and why she should want to carry off such an uninteresting +child on a long visit, fairly puzzled Mrs. Desmond. It was not only +perplexing, but extremely provoking, when it became evident that Miss +Macleod would not accept a polite excuse, but kept returning to the +charge, putting it into the colonel's head that Helen looked pale and +needed change.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps after all, my dear, it might be well to accept your cousin's +kind offer," he suggested when Cousin Mary, with most unusual +persistency, made a final attempt to carry her point upon the last +evening of her stay in town.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Desmond's thin lips tightened themselves a little, but she did not +reply immediately. She rose from her chair and crossed the room to where +her husband was sitting and laid her hand on his. "John," she said, +"didn't I promise you to do my best for your child?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my love, and I am sure—"</p> + +<p>"Have I kept my word so far?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course, my dear; but Helen is tiresome, no doubt. I only +thought that perhaps a little change—"</p> + +<p>"That is enough, John. I only want to be sure that you trust me to be +the best—to be the best judge of what is for your child's—"</p> + +<p>A little sob broke Mrs. Desmond's voice, and the last part of her speech +was inaudible. But she had completely conquered. Colonel Desmond had no +weapon for use against a woman's tears, and in spite of his promises to +support Mary Macleod, given to her in a private interview, during which +she had spoken pretty plainly, his silence gave consent to all that his +wife had to say when she had recovered herself sufficiently to decline +the obnoxious proposal in terms that left no further discussion of the +matter possible. And now Cousin Mary was gone, and the colonel, lying on +the drawing-room sofa prostrate with a bad headache, was conscious of +some qualms of conscience on Helen's account, not unmixed with feelings +of relief at the departure of this keen-eyed guest.</p> + +<p>"Your cousin is a very blunt woman," he said in rather a fretful tone to +his wife, who was sitting beside him. "It is strange how well she got on +with Helen. She seemed to like the child."</p> + +<p>"Oh! it was merely a caprice and a spirit of opposition. Mary was always +unlike other people," returned Mrs. Desmond.</p> + +<p>"I don't know why you should say that," went on the colonel, still +fretful. "People used to be very fond of Helen in India, and she has +been very well-behaved lately, hasn't she?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Desmond was nettled by her husband's tone and forgot her usual +prudence.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you call well-behaved," she said. "To me she seems +to grow more trying every day. Mary has made her simply insufferable. I +spare neither trouble nor expense, and yet—"</p> + +<p>"Really, Margaret," broke in the colonel, "do spare me any more +complaints. If you want to be rid of the child, send her to your cousin. +She begged hard enough to be allowed to have her. Why on earth you +refused I can't think."</p> + +<p>"Cousin Mary asked me and you—refused." The white face coming out of +gathering twilight shadows, and the tragic tones were Helen's.</p> + +<p>Poor Helen! Forgotten by everybody—her governess had left her earlier +than usual in the day—she had been sitting alone in her little +down-stairs school-room, thinking over all that she had learnt from +Cousin Mary. She had been forming the most heroic resolves about her +future conduct. Never, never would she purposely annoy her stepmother +again. She would be patient, she would bear reproof meekly. And she +would remember that great Father whose presence was such a reality to +Cousin Mary, and who was training her not in anger but in love. As for +her dear earthly father, Helen smiled as she thought of him, and +recalled the days when he was always patient with her wayward fits. Then +the gathering twilight made her feel lonely, and she remembered that he +was ill upstairs. She would go to him, she thought, and, if by any +happy chance she found him alone, she would tell him of her sorrow for +the past and of her good resolves for the future. And if Mrs. Desmond +was there? Well, there could be no harm in creeping in very gently and +asking him how he felt, giving him a kiss, perhaps, and going away +again.</p> + +<p>"I must be very quiet, and oh! I hope I shan't knock up against +anything," she said to herself as she went upstairs, speaking +half-audibly for company, as it were, and to keep up her spirits, for +the house seemed so still and quiet. The drawing-room door stood partly +open, but a screen concealed the upper part of the room, where the +colonel's sofa stood, from view. No one heard Helen enter, and although +she caught a murmur of voices she was half-way across the room when her +father's last remark arrested her attention.</p> + +<p>I suppose it is a fact that it is in our most exalted moods we are most +liable to fall. Her father's words stung Helen to the quick, and changed +the whole current of her thoughts. In a twinkling all her good +resolutions vanished. While she had been determining to submit, to be +good, they, her father and stepmother, were discussing her, wishing to +be rid of her, owning her a burden. And yet, just for the sake of +tormenting her, of keeping her in bondage, they had refused her to +Cousin Mary. Oh, it was cruel, cruel!</p> + +<p>"How could you do it? how could you?" she cried, her voice breaking into +a passionate sob. "Don't you know that I hate being here; yes, <i>hate</i> it +quite as much as you hate having me. And Cousin Mary is good. I am not +bad when I am with her. I—"</p> + +<p>"Helen," broke in Mrs. Desmond, while the colonel moaned and put his +hand to his head, "don't you see your father is ill? Go away instantly. +If you have learnt from Miss Macleod to listen at doors I must write and +beg her never to enter my house again. I did not know that you were +deceitful in addition to your other faults. Go at once. Don't speak +again."</p> + +<p>"Father," began Helen; but he shook his head impatiently and motioned +her away. For a moment she looked at them both defiantly, then, like one +possessed, she scattered some books that lay upon a table near her in +all directions.</p> + +<p>"John, John!" cried Mrs. Desmond, "you must interfere."</p> + +<p>But Helen only laughed.</p> + +<p>"You've told me to go. I'm going," she said, and walked away.</p> + +<p>Straight down-stairs she walked, singing as she went a snatch of an +Indian native song. In the hall a comforter belonging to her father +caught her eye. She picked it up and twisted it round her head and +throat, then opening the hall door she passed out without a moment's +hesitation into the fast-gathering darkness. The door closed heavily +behind her. Upstairs the colonel heard it and sprang to his foot.</p> + +<p>"My God!" he cried, "she has kept her word. She has gone. Quick! I must +follow her."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, John!" exclaimed his wife; "lie still. A servant shall go at +once. There is no need for alarm."</p> + +<p>As she spoke she laid her hand on his arm, but he shook it off +impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Don't dare to detain me," he said sternly. "If any evil happens to that +child I shall never forgive you."</p> + +<p>"John, John!" cried Mrs. Desmond, throwing herself on the sofa and +bursting into real tears. "John, listen to me—"</p> + +<p>But it was of no avail. Whether the colonel even heard his wife's last +appeal seems doubtful. Without pausing or turning his head, he walked +straight down-stairs and out into the street just as Helen had done +before him.</p> + +<p>Darkness was falling fast. The air had turned chilly, with a bite of the +east in it. Fresh from the warm drawing-room, Colonel Desmond shivered +as he looked round in every direction, trying in vain to discover some +trace of the fugitive. But to all appearance she had vanished, and the +colonel, his alarm increasing every moment, as the passers-by whom he +interrogated merely shook their heads in answer to his excited questions +as to whether they had noticed a little girl without hat or bonnet going +by, was forced to enlist a policeman to aid him in his search.</p> + +<p>A weary search it was, lasting for many hours. Helen, after leaving the +house, had walked steadily on, neither considering nor caring which way +she took. Before long she reached a labyrinth of small streets, where +there were few passers-by, and these chiefly clerks and artisans +hastening home. Scarcely aware of what she was doing, Helen paused every +now and then to watch these home-goers run eagerly up the steps of some +small dingy house, the door of which would open as if by magic at its +master's approach, whilst from within came gleams of light and glimpses +of small outstretched hands drawing father in. Such sights brought her a +realization of her own desolation, and she hurried on until at last +physical exhaustion brought her once more to a stand-still. Oh! how +tired and hungry she was! Even a piece of bread would have been welcome. +But, alas! her pocket was empty. She had not the wherewithal even to buy +bread. Then she sat down on a door-step and began to ponder on her +future proceedings. What was she to do? Go back? No; she would never do +that. Find Cousin Mary? But how was the necessary journey to be +accomplished without money? Certainly it might be possible to walk the +distance in two weeks—one week, perhaps. But—here Helen began to +shiver, and she was just trying to wrap her comforter more closely round +her when a light was flashed in her face and she felt her arm grasped. +Looking up, her heart nearly stood still with terror when she saw a +policeman standing beside her.</p> + +<p>He looked at her for a minute, whilst she tried to speak, but couldn't. +She felt as if a nightmare was coming true.</p> + +<p>"Get up and move on!" he said roughly. "Where do you come from? You +ought to have been at home long ago."</p> + +<p>Helen needed no second bidding. Although the policeman kept his hand +upon her arm, and seemed to have some intention of questioning her +further, she released herself quickly and set off running as fast as she +could go. On and on she went, up one street and down another, until once +more exhaustion forced her to stop. It was growing late, and she espied +a dark porch where it struck her that she might pass the night free from +discovery. "In the morning I shall be able to think," she said, +crouching down on the cold stones. Terribly afraid as she was, and cold +and hungry, the idea of returning home never entered Helen's head. She +had said to herself that she would never go back, and she fully meant to +keep her word. A sort of drowsiness was stealing over her when +approaching footsteps startled her into wakefulness and roused her to +fresh terror. She jumped up and ran down the steps. Two figures were +approaching; one looked like that of the dreaded policeman. Could he be +coming to take her to prison? Once more she turned to fly, but her foot +caught against the curb-stone, and she fell heavily, striking her head +against the ground. The shock stunned her and rendered her unconscious.</p> + +<p>When she opened her eyes great was her astonishment to see her father +bending over her, while a policeman with a deeply-concerned face was +looking on, and a cab was drawing up close beside them.</p> + +<p>"She'll be all right now, sir," said the policeman. "Let me lift her +into the cab."</p> + +<p>"Speak, Helen," cried the colonel, "are you hurt? Oh! my child, if any +harm had come to you!"</p> + +<p>"How did you come here, Father?" asked Helen, still frightened and a +little defiant, struggling to her feet.</p> + +<p>"I followed you, of course. Did you think I would leave you to wander +off alone? Come home."</p> + +<p>Helen shrank back.</p> + +<p>"Must I?" she said feebly.</p> + +<p>"We have been hard upon you, child, I daresay. I have been thinking, God +knows——"</p> + +<p>Her father's tone, almost more than his words, touched the girl's +generous heart.</p> + +<p>"It is I who am bad—wicked," she whispered, throwing her arms round his +neck. "Forgive me, dear."</p> + +<p>This whispered conversation occupied but a few seconds. Before many +minutes had passed Helen and her father, seated hand in hand, were +driving homewards. The sound of wheels brought Mrs. Desmond to the head +of the stairs. Her face bore signs of genuine emotion, but her +expression hardened when she saw her husband cross the hall leading +Helen, who hung back a little.</p> + +<p>"Oh! John," she cried, "I am thankful to see you back safely. Going out +without a coat, too! No one knows the anxiety I have endured."</p> + +<p>Colonel Desmond made no reply, but he put his arm round Helen and +half-forced her upstairs.</p> + +<p>"Wife," he said, "come here;" and they all three went into the +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"Margaret," he went on, and as he took her unresponsive hand and forced +her to approach Helen, there was an appeal in his voice that must have +touched a less self-absorbed woman, "Margaret, we have all something to +forgive. I think we have been a little hard on the child. I have +realized that through these fearful hours—hours that I shall never +forget. God has given her back to us. Let us take her as from Him, and +let this night be as if it had never been except for the lesson it has +taught us."</p> + +<p>"I do not understand heroics," said Mrs. Desmond coldly, moving away a +little. "Helen has behaved shamefully, but if you wish her fault to be +condoned, I have no more to say."</p> + +<p>As she spoke she seated herself in her low chair, leaning her head +wearily upon her hand.</p> + +<p>"Have you no kind word to say to her, Margaret?" pleaded the colonel, +unwilling to let slip the opportunity of bringing these two together, +and, manlike, making bad worse. "You are sorry, Helen? Tell your mother +so."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am sorry," said Helen. She spoke passively, like a child saying +a lesson.</p> + +<p>She was not sullen as her stepmother, smiling ironically, fancied; but +she was cold, tired, and hungry, and the painful emotions of the last +few hours had temporarily exhausted her power of feeling acutely.</p> + +<p>But Colonel Desmond heard the words, and was satisfied; the little +by-play was beyond him.</p> + +<p>"You hear her, Margaret? Forgive her freely. Think if we had lost her. +Think——"</p> + +<p>But the idea of his little girl wandering homeless and unprotected in +our great London through the long night hours, was too much for the +colonel. Ill and over-wrought, he turned white, staggered, and, throwing +himself into the nearest chair, sobbed like a child.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Desmond's maid sympathized too deeply with her injured mistress to +find it possible to wait on Helen that night. But Helen's cause having +been adjudicated a rightful one by the kitchen tribunal, where rough +justice is meted out with impartiality as a rule, the poor wornout child +had no lack of practical sympathy and help. She was soon in bed and +asleep, and although she woke up with a curious stiff feeling all over +her, she was by no means seriously the worse for her rash adventure.</p> + +<p>She awoke in a very humble frame of mind, thoroughly ashamed of her +flight, and half afraid to venture upon any more good resolutions. She +knew with unerring instinct that her stepmother had not forgiven her, +never would forgive her, and her heart sank as she thought of the sharp +reproofs, the never-ending tasks that would most certainly be her +portion for some time to come, until, perhaps, the memory of this fault +was lost through the commission of another of still greater enormity.</p> + +<p>"But I can never do anything so dreadful again, never!" said Helen to +herself as she rose and dressed; "and I must be patient. Perhaps if I am +she will even get to like me a little"—Mrs. Desmond was always +inelegantly <i>she</i> in Helen's thoughts. "I don't know that I should care +for that, though. But for father's sake, dear father! I had no idea he +cared so much. I must never hurt him again."</p> + +<p>After this she went down-stairs to practise her scales as usual, only +very quietly and carefully, with no unnecessary faults. Things soon fell +into their old channel, and, as she had anticipated, Helen had a good +many small persecutions to endure, although Mrs. Desmond carefully +avoided any open conflict with her stepdaughter. And in one way things +were never so bad with Helen again after that memorable evening, for she +never again doubted her father's love, and, as Cousin Mary had said, +love makes so many things easy.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>STRANGERS YET.</h3> + + +<p>Spring did not fulfil its early promise that year. Those few warm days +were followed by long weeks of bitter east wind, during which the tender +green leaves grew dark and shrivelled, whilst even the daffodils and +primroses that were hawked about the streets had a pinched, careworn +look, as though their whole existence had been a struggle.</p> + +<p>It almost seemed as though the east wind had penetrated inside the +comfortable house in Bloomsbury Square, and had poisoned that tranquil +atmosphere. Helen was no longer the only discordant element there. Mrs. +Desmond, whose calm boast it had always hitherto been that she never +allowed herself to be influenced by weather, suddenly developed +mysterious pains in her head which her doctor declared to be neuralgia.</p> + +<p>"The result of worry, I suppose?" suggested Mrs. Desmond with a mental +reference to Helen.</p> + +<p>"No doubt, no doubt," he returned indifferently, for he could not +imagine that this patient's worries were very serious ones; "no doubt. +Ladies will worry, you know. You want tone, plenty of strong +nourishment, and a change in the wind, that will soon set you up."</p> + +<p>The good doctor sighed a little as he walked down-stairs. It was so easy +to order good nourishment for the mistress of this luxurious house where +there was such absolute certainty that he would be obeyed. There were +other houses distant not five minutes' walk, where the very words were a +mockery. Suddenly he stopped. An idea had occurred to him, and he ran +back.</p> + +<p>"By the way," he said, re-opening the drawing-room door, "I am just +going on to see a poor woman who is suffering much in the same way as +yourself. She keeps herself and six children by her needle, poor soul. A +few glasses of port wine—"</p> + +<p>"Really, doctor," interrupted Mrs. Desmond, "I am sick of giving. It is +nothing but give, give nowadays. Why do these poor people have so many +children? And, besides, there is always the workhouse. Really I have +nothing to give just now."</p> + +<p>The doctor turned away shrugging his shoulders, and nearly tumbled over +Helen, who, on her way down-stairs, had stopped and overheard the +foregoing conversation.</p> + +<p>"Hullo! young lady," he cried, "what is the matter with you? Has the +east wind been upsetting you too?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" returned Helen, "I only—"</p> + +<p>"Only what?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Do</i> let me come down into the hall with you."</p> + +<p>"Run on, I'm coming."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Helen as they reached the hall, drawing the doctor out of +earshot of the waiting servant, "I have been watching for you all the +morning. Do you know that my father is ill?"</p> + +<p>"He hasn't sent for me."</p> + +<p>"No, because he doesn't want to worry—mamma"—Helen jerked the word +out—"now that she is ill herself. But all the same he is very bad. He +was in the school-room with me last evening, and he nearly fainted. You +must, please, see him."</p> + +<p>"Is he in the house now?"</p> + +<p>Helen nodded. "I can't stop a moment, Miss Walker is waiting for me. +But"—turning very red and fumbling in her pocket—"father gave me a new +half-crown last evening. It is no good to me; they won't let me spend +it. Please give it to that poor woman."</p> + +<p>"That I will, child, and see your father too, and—"</p> + +<p>But the doctor's further words were lost. Helen had already disappeared, +and before he had time to discover Colonel Desmond's whereabouts she had +meekly submitted to Miss Walker's sharp reproof for her lengthened +absence, and was deep in the intricacies of a long division sum.</p> + +<p>Helen's sharp eyes had not deceived her with regard to her father's +condition. He believed himself that he had never recovered from the +effects of a chill contracted during that sad search for his little +daughter. Anxious to spare her as much as possible, he had said little +of his own sensations at the time. His wife's growing irritability and +her evident suffering had kept him silent later, and he was sitting +alone in his smoking-room planning a flight to a warmer climate +whenever he could summon sufficient energy for the journey, when Dr. +Russell found him and ordered him off to bed at once. Mrs. Desmond, +dozing comfortably on her sofa, was considerably surprised to see the +doctor re-enter the drawing-room a second time unbidden.</p> + +<p>"Why, dear me!" she exclaimed anxiously, "I thought that you had gone +long ago. Am I worse? Are you keeping anything from me? Don't be afraid +to tell me my real state. I—"</p> + +<p>"Don't be alarmed. It is nothing about yourself that I have to say. It +regards your husband."</p> + +<p>"My husband!"</p> + +<p>The doctor, a little irritated, had spoken abruptly. Mrs. Desmond was +really frightened. She forgot that she was an invalid, and started up.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he is very ill. I have ordered him to go to bed. You had better +send for a trained nurse. In the meanwhile, give me pen and ink and I +will write a prescription, which you had better have made up at once."</p> + +<p>"Oh, doctor!" cried Mrs. Desmond, trying to calm herself, "tell me at +once what is the matter. I had no idea he was ill."</p> + +<p>"No; but your little girl had. I met her on the stairs and she begged me +to see her father."</p> + +<p>"Helen!"</p> + +<p>The word escaped from Mrs. Desmond almost involuntarily. She turned very +white, and rose immediately to find pen and ink as desired. "What a +cold, impassive woman!" thought the doctor as he watched her deliberate +movements. How could he guess the storm that was raging in her heart, +the bitterness against Helen that was poisoning her whole nature. And +yet here Helen had been right and she had been wrong. It had seemed +sometimes to her lately in her distorted mind as though her hitherto +tranquil existence were resolving itself into an ignoble struggle +between this insignificant child and herself for Colonel Desmond's +affection, a love that, as husband and father, she failed to understand +could have been given to them both in full measure. Since the night when +she had realized how deep a hold Helen had on her father's affections, +her own feelings towards her husband had suffered a change. Accustomed +for many years, by reason of her wealth and a certain charm which she +possessed, to be treated as a person of the first consideration in her +own circle, she could not brook the idea that a chit like Helen should, +as she chose to phrase it, rival her in her husband's love.</p> + +<p>And now Helen's quick eyes had caught what hers had failed to see. Were +they both going to lose him? Was it a judgment?</p> + +<p>Not a hint of what was passing in her mind betrayed itself in Mrs. +Desmond's face as she waited until the doctor had finished writing, and +then said:</p> + +<p>"You have not yet told me what it is that is the matter with my +husband?"</p> + +<p>"My dear madam, it is extremely difficult to say off-hand. He is in a +high state of fever. Looks like rheumatic fever at present. Has he had a +sudden chill?"</p> + +<p>"A chill?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; a sudden exposure of any kind?"</p> + +<p>"Would that account for his illness?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know about accounting for it entirely. He is thoroughly out of +health, I believe. Of course a chill might have finished him off."</p> + +<p>"He did have a chill, a very severe chill, about a fortnight ago," said +Mrs. Desmond slowly, whilst an almost cruel expression flitted over her +face.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I ought to have been sent for at once," returned the +doctor, taking up his hat and gloves; and adding a few directions and +promising to call again that evening, he departed.</p> + +<p>It was quite true. Colonel Desmond was very ill indeed. The weeks went +on; spring, real spring, came at last, but it brought no gladness to the +anxious watchers in Bloomsbury Square, for whose eyes the overshadowing +of the dark angel's wing blotted out the sunshine.</p> + +<p>No comfort that love could devise or that money could purchase was +lacking to ease the colonel's sufferings. His nurses were the most +skilful that could be procured, and his wife was scarcely ever absent +from his side, and always eager to anticipate his wishes—all his +wishes, indeed, with one exception. Often in his hours of +unconsciousness Helen's name would pass his lips; often when he lay +conscious, but too weak to speak, his eyes would wander round the room +wistfully as if in search of something. But if Mrs. Desmond understood +his meaning she made no sign of doing so, and Helen's aching heart was +left without even such consolation as she might have derived from this +knowledge. Poor Helen! she had a hard time to go through. Her daily +routine was in no way altered because of this awful sorrow that was +hanging over her. Mrs. Desmond, who had not spoken to her stepdaughter +since the day of the colonel's seizure, had sent the girl a message to +say that lessons and the ordinary school-room routine were to go on as +usual. If Helen desired to testify her sorrow for her part in this +terrible affair, her only possible means of doing so was by the most +absolute obedience. The last part of this message might have been +enigmatical to Helen had she sat down to think it over. As a matter of +fact she did not. She only realized that these days of sorrow and +anxiety were to be lightened by no happiness of service rendered, that +submission to the daily round of irksome lessons was the only token she +could give of her longing desire to help her father. Helen did not +submit to this at once. With passionate words of entreaty on her lips +she went to seek her stepmother. Mrs. Desmond was resting; but something +in her maid's manner warned Helen that entreaty would be useless. After +this the girl had a hard battle with herself. First she determined to +rebel, to force her way into her father's room and refuse to leave his +side. She even remained for a few minutes outside his door, watching for +an opportunity to enter. It opened and some one came out. Helen pressed +forward, but the sound of a low moan arrested her step. That sound +touched her generous heart and changed the current of her thoughts. Her +father was ill and suffering, and to witness a scene between herself and +his wife would distress him, would be bad for him. The very idea made +Helen ashamed of herself. She turned resolutely away, her mind made up. +She would obey. It was all she could do for him. Like a little heroine +this girl kept the pledge she had made to herself. During the long, +weary days that followed not one word of repining escaped her lips. Even +Miss Walker could find nothing to complain of when the imperfect lessons +were relearned so patiently, and the pale face, with its large anxious +eyes, fixed itself so intently upon the allotted tasks. It was only at +night, when everyone excepting those who watched in the sick-room was in +bed and all was still, that Helen, looking like a little ghost, would +steal down-stairs, and stationing herself on the mat outside her +father's room, with her ear pressed against the door, would wait for +hours listening for every sound that could be heard from within. Thus +she would often remain feeling amply rewarded if she did but catch a +sound of her father's voice, until pale dawn and a faint movement +overhead warned her that she must return to her room or risk discovery.</p> + +<p>At last there came a day—a languid spring day—when a more than +ordinary sense of gloom seemed to oppress the now cheerless house. +Martha, the maid, said but little in answer to Helen's eager inquiries; +but she sighed incessantly during breakfast, and when the young lady +pushed away her plate of porridge untasted, spoke of chastisements which +might not improbably befall her in the near future. To these remarks +Helen paid but little heed, although she was conscious that Martha's +sighs were re-echoed by the other servants as they went about their work +languidly, making observations to one another in penetrating whispers, +throwing looks of pitiful meaning at Helen herself as, a wan, dejected +little figure, she passed up and down stairs.</p> + +<p>All this the girl saw and noted; but she said nothing, dreading, +perhaps, what she might hear. Miss Walker arrived as usual, but even she +seemed in no great hurry to begin lessons; and she made no remarks about +her pupil's imperfectly-mastered tasks, but put the lesson-books down +quickly with a sigh of relief. It was the day for French verbs, too. +"<i>J'ai, Tu as, Il</i>—. How does it go?" thought Helen in despair. Was she +going to be stupid just on this day when Miss Walker's forbearance left +her no excuse? She must remember. How does it go? "<i>J'ai, Tu</i>—." Worse +and worse. And, yes, that was Dr. Russell's footstep in the hall.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Walker! dear Miss Walker! let me go for one moment and speak +to the doctor."</p> + +<p>Before Helen knew what she was doing she had burst into tears, and Miss +Walker was actually holding her hand and trying to comfort her, and +telling her that her father was indeed very, very ill, but that there +was no need to despair.</p> + +<p>How that day went by Helen, looking back afterwards, never quite knew. +There were no more lessons, and Miss Walker appeared in quite a new +light, never once finding fault with her pupil, but actually trying to +amuse her and to draw her from her sad thoughts. Helen tried to feel +grateful, although not very successfully. In the first place, it was +difficult to dissociate Miss Walker from perpetual fault-finding, and in +the second place, although the girl dreaded being left alone, she was in +no mood to be amused. She was in fact entirely preoccupied with one +question—how to see her father; for see him she must, she told herself.</p> + +<p>The day wore on. Miss Walker lingered an hour longer than her accustomed +time, and then, secretly attributing her pupil's irresponsiveness and +reserve to want of feeling, she took her departure. On the door-steps +she met Dr. Russell.</p> + +<p>"Well, doctor, what news?" she asked.</p> + +<p>The doctor shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell," he answered. "If his strength holds out twenty-four +hours longer he may pull through yet. But—"</p> + +<p>"Poor Mrs. Desmond!" sighed Miss Walker. "How terrible for her if she is +left with that unruly child!"</p> + +<p>Dr. Russell looked sharply at his companion, and opened his lips to +speak, but feeling probably in no mood for conversation, he changed his +mind and, lifting his hat, walked into the house.</p> + +<p>Helen, meanwhile, had learnt that her stepmother was resting, and, +pacing up and down outside her door, was waiting until she heard Mrs. +Desmond moving within, to enter and make a passionate appeal to be +allowed to see her father. Terrible temptations assailed the poor child +as she walked up and down the landing, all her senses on the alert to +catch every sound. She heard Dr. Russell enter the sick-room and leave +it. Surely he would not refuse her permission to creep in and take one +look at that dear face. The doctor's footsteps died away, and silence +followed. Again she thought how easy it would be to walk in. Once inside +the sick-room the rest would be simple enough, for no one would dare to +make a disturbance there. But Helen had her own code of honour. She had +declared to herself that she would obey her stepmother implicitly during +this sad time, and she would not break her word even to herself.</p> + +<p>At last, just as the long spring twilight was fading into darkness, +Helen distinctly heard Mrs. Desmond moving. Impulsive as ever, and +forgetting that people when just aroused from sleep are not particularly +approachable, she flew to the door, at which she knocked vigorously.</p> + +<p>"Come in," cried Mrs. Desmond, and Helen entered.</p> + +<p>Strange as it may appear these two had never met since the very +commencement of the colonel's illness. This separation had by no means +mitigated the peculiar bitterness of feeling that existed in Mrs. +Desmond's heart against her stepdaughter. In her eyes Helen was the +author of this terrible calamity that threatened her, and the girl's +offence was heightened in her eyes by the fact that she, and not Mrs. +Desmond, had first discovered the colonel's illness. Worn out with the +long strain of nursing, her state of mind with regard to Helen had +become more than ever morbid, and she shrank from even a passing +allusion to her. As for Helen, the efforts she had made over herself +during the past weeks, the sincere sorrow she had experienced for the +pain that her waywardness had caused her father, had softened her whole +nature. She no longer regarded Mrs. Desmond as an antagonist against +whom she was justified in waging perpetual warfare, and she had told +herself that, if her father was restored to her, her stepmother should +have her loyal obedience. Thus determined, and relieved from the daily +fret of Mrs. Desmond's constant rebukes, the bitterness had died out of +Helen's heart; and now something in the elder woman's worn, aged +appearance touched the girl's generous nature. Moved by a sort of pity, +and by a sudden realization of their common anxiety, she forgot even her +desire to see her father in a longing to help this sad-looking lady who, +dressed in a white wrapper scarcely whiter than her face, which bore a +half-frightened, half-bewildered expression, stood in the middle of the +room with upraised hands as though dreading some sudden shock. Her eyes +fell upon Helen. Her hands dropped and her face darkened. There was a +second's silence, while the girl looked appealingly at her stepmother, +her fingers twitching nervously.</p> + +<p>"What do you want, Helen?" asked Mrs. Desmond at last, commanding her +voice with difficulty, for not only had the sudden knocking really +alarmed her, but she particularly disliked being found in dishabille.</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry, I do so wish I could help you!" broke from the impulsive +girl.</p> + +<p>"Sorry! did you come to tell me this?"</p> + +<p>"No, not exactly—but—"</p> + +<p>"I am glad of that. Sorrow is shown by acts, not words. I did not send +for you, and you have chosen to break upon the rest I so sorely need, at +a time, too, when—" Mrs. Desmond's voice shook, and once more pity +quenched Helen's rising resentment.</p> + +<p>"Oh! you don't know how sorry I am for you," she cried, as, running +forward, she seized her stepmother's hand, and looked imploringly into +her face.</p> + +<p>For a moment Mrs. Desmond allowed her hand to remain passively in +Helen's. There was something pleasant after all in the touch of those +warm strong young fingers; something that spoke of warmth, of comfort, +almost of support to this cold-natured woman who was feeling all her +hopes crumbling about her, who was face to face with mortal sorrow and +pain for the first time in her smooth easy life. One gentle +hand-pressure, one caressing movement, and the chasm that divided these +two might have been bridged over. But it was not to be. The remembrance +of Helen's past waywardness, and of the terrible results of the poor +child's foolish escapade, swept over her, obliterating more kindly +feelings. She withdrew her hand coldly, and moved away a few paces. +Helen, thrown back upon herself, felt her better feelings die within +her, and grew half-ashamed of her uncalled-for exhibition of tenderness.</p> + +<p>"I only came to ask you to allow me to see my father," she said, +speaking unconsciously in those sullen tones that she had cultivated in +old days, because she knew that they annoyed her stepmother. "I am sorry +if I disturbed you, but I thought I heard you moving before I knocked."</p> + +<p>"That I can scarcely believe, Helen," returned Mrs. Desmond, now +completely master of herself. "However, whether you did or not matters +little. As to your father, he is too ill to see anybody."</p> + +<p>"He can't be too ill to see me," returned Helen desperately, her wrath +rising at the notion that she, her father's child, should be classed +with "anybody" as though she were a stranger. "I should not disturb +him. When he had fever in India—"</p> + +<p>Poor Helen! as usual, she had struck the wrong chord, for Mrs. Desmond +could not endure any allusion to those old Indian days in which she had +had no part.</p> + +<p>"Spare me these discussions, Helen," she interrupted sharply. "It is all +very well to profess so much affection for your father. Remember that +but for you he would not be lying as he is now."</p> + +<p>"But for me!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Dr. Russell says that he contracted his illness that evening when, +distressed as he was by your disgraceful behaviour, he followed you and +brought you home."</p> + +<p>"Dr. Russell says so?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And if—if—"</p> + +<p>"If we lose him, do you mean? In that case, Helen, you will need no +words of mine, I should think, to point out the terrible consequences of +giving way to temper."</p> + +<p>To do Mrs. Desmond justice, she scarcely realized the full meaning of +her words. She was not deliberately cruel, but even upon an occasion +such as this she could not forget her creed with regard to young people, +or let slip the opportunity of pointing a moral. Helen heard her, but +said nothing. The girl stood quite still, her hands clasped, her face +white and rigid, and her eyes unnaturally distended. She was trying to +think; trying to take in the awful fact that it was her deed that had +brought this illness upon her father. Was it true, or was she dreaming? +she asked herself as all sorts of curious fancies, fancies quite +distinct from this absorbing sorrow, rushed through her brain, and the +pattern of the wallpaper took fantastic shapes, and the china ornaments +on the chimney-piece stood out with curious distinctness, whilst a small +ivory figure on the dressing-table seemed suddenly to take life and to +force itself upon her attention.</p> + +<p>Most people have experienced, at one time or another, the curious power +that inanimate objects acquire over a brain half-paralysed by some +sudden shock. To Helen the sensation was entirely a new one, and her +voice sounded strange and far-away in her own ears when, hearing +Martha's step on the landing outside, she said:</p> + +<p>"If my father asks for me will you send for me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," returned Mrs. Desmond more gently. She had been touched, almost +in spite of herself, at the girl's silence, and by the strained look on +her face, and she half-repented of having gone so far.</p> + +<p>But the softening came too late, and was lost on Helen, who turned +away, and who did not even see Martha's indignant look when she +discovered that her mistress had been disturbed.</p> + +<p>"Go to bed quietly, Helen, and you shall have news of your father in the +morning," called out Mrs. Desmond, still relenting.</p> + +<p>But Helen paid no heed. To-morrow, that was hours and hours hence. What +might not happen between now and then? This had been her doing and she +might not even go to her father; might not even hold his hand or look +into his face. Perhaps it was right. She deserved it all, and more, far +more than that or any other punishment that could be inflicted upon her. +Locking herself into her little dark room, she flung herself upon the +bed and tried to think. Hours went by, and still she lay there, while +all her short life passed in review before her. The happy Indian days, +the return to England, her first parting with her father, and then his +marriage. Poor Helen! the enormity of her anger and resentment, of her +whole behaviour, in fact, since that fatal day, appeared now to her in +an even exaggerated light. And then that last crowning sin that had +borne such bitter consequences. That Mrs. Desmond's statement had been +exaggerated never once occurred to Helen. She fully believed that she, +and she only, was answerable for her father's illness, that if he died +she it was who would have killed him. Many things, unnoticed at the +time, recurred to her now in confirmation of this belief; whisperings +and averted looks amongst the servants, subtle inuendoes of Martha's, +and Mrs. Desmond's undisguised aversion. Yes, it was true. Oh, to think +that her sin could have brought such terrible retribution! What would +Cousin Mary say? And yet, although Helen fancied she could almost see +Cousin Mary's grave, pained look, that kind friend was the only human +being for whose companionship the girl craved through the long hours of +that terrible night. Very long the hours were, and very slowly they went +by as the poor child lay between sleeping and waking, always with the +one idea present with her; listening for every sound, but feeling +unworthy even to creep down and lie outside the sick-room door.</p> + +<p>Pale dawn came at last. Helen lay and watched its coming until gradually +a numbness crept over her, and presently, worn out with her long vigil, +her eyes closed, and she slept. Ten minutes later a light tap came at +the door. The girl started up. Had she overslept herself? No; the room +was still nearly dark. What could the summons mean?</p> + +<p>Still dressed, just as she had first thrown herself on the bed, pale and +heavy-eyed, with trembling fingers she opened the door. One of the +night nurses stood outside. Helen caught her breath, while the nurse +started a little at this sad-faced apparition.</p> + +<p>"Don't be frightened, child," said the latter kindly, putting her hand +on the girl's arm. "Your father is better. He has slept for three hours, +and is now conscious, and he has asked for you."</p> + +<p>It was lucky that the nurse had hold of Helen's arm, for, strung up as +she was, the good news almost overcame her, and she staggered forward. +But the necessity for self-command soon restored her to herself. A few +minutes later she was kneeling by her father's side—such a changed +father!—with her cheek pressed against his hand. On the other side +stood Mrs. Desmond, bending over him. He opened his eyes, and they +rested tenderly, lingeringly on Helen; then feebly taking his wife's +hand he placed it in Helen's. After this, exhausted by the effort, he +closed his eyes again, while an expression of contentment flitted over +his face. He had given these two to one another. Whatever happened to +him, surely Helen would be cared for now; his wife would learn to +understand her for his sake.</p> + +<p>Dimly Helen understood her father, and inwardly she registered a +passionate vow of loyalty to his wishes. For the second time her +clinging fingers closed round her stepmother's irresponsive hand. Mrs. +Desmond made no movement. She accepted the charge, but she obstinately +withheld the love that might have made that charge an easy one. The +little wan figure creeping into the darkened room had had no power to +move her. But the meeting between father and daughter, the quiet content +that had come to her husband with Helen's presence and that all her +tenderness had failed to produce, these things she noted with jealous +eyes, and they gave a fresh impulse to her morbid feelings with regard +to her stepdaughter. Even here, by the sick-bed, Helen was first. +Colonel Desmond's first conscious request had been to see his child. The +scene did not last long. Mrs. Desmond quickly, almost impatiently, +motioned to Helen to go, and Helen obeyed unhesitatingly. Henceforward +she told herself, as in the glad morning light she knelt in prayer for +her father, there must be no more disobedience. If this awful shadow +might pass away, if the consequences of her sin might be averted, her +whole life should be spent in trying to redeem her fault. Pledges we +often make, how lightly! But our little Helen was made of sterner stuff. +Wilful and wayward as she was, there was a strain of that fibre in her, +possibly an inheritance from some martyred Irish ancestor, from which +saints and martyrs have been made. That, and the few following days of +alternating hope and fear, were an ordeal which left a mark upon her +never to be afterwards effaced. When, one morning, Dr. Russell himself +came to her and told her that her father was out of danger, she received +the news gravely, almost solemnly, for in the midst of her joy and +thankfulness she could not forget that she had been, in a certain sense, +taken at her word, and that her life was henceforth consecrated to the +fulfilment of the promises she had made in her hour of distress.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>LONGFORD GRANGE.</h3> + + +<p>An old orchard, its trees gnarled and moss-grown, their blossoms lying +thick upon the grass beneath. A little to the left the embowered gables +and red chimneys of an old house. On the right, and stretching away +towards the horizon, a wide expanse of quiet meadows starred with +buttercups, and intersected by tall hawthorn hedges. Over all the +delicate blue sky of an English summer day.</p> + +<p>It was a typical midland landscape, a landscape that possesses a quiet +charm peculiarly its own; and Helen, swinging herself gently to and fro +in a hammock under the bright sunshine, felt as much at home as though +Longford Grange had been her habitation for as many years as it had been +days.</p> + +<p>The sad days in Bloomsbury Square were things of the past. The dreary +house was shut up; the precious china was carefully packed away, the +chairs and tables were shrouded in their dust-sheets, and Mrs. Desmond's +household gods were temporarily, at least, at peace. It had all been +accomplished in far too great a hurry to please that lady; but Dr. +Russell's orders that the colonel was to leave London directly he was +well enough to be moved were peremptory, and Mrs. Desmond was forced to +give way to necessity. The idea, too, of a country life was by no means +pleasant to her, and she was wondering in a bewildered way what spot to +fix upon as a temporary resting-place when a letter arrived from her +half-sister, Mrs. Bayden, the wife of a country clergyman, saying that +Longford Grange, a house within a quarter of a mile of the Rectory, was +to let, and might suit her sister's purpose. The idea did not +immediately approve itself to Mrs. Desmond, who disliked the too close +neighbourhood of poor relations; but the colonel, hearing of the +suggestion, expressed a desire to fall in with it, and the matter was +settled. Helen's fate trembled in the balance for a few days, as Miss +Walker found herself unable to leave town, and Mrs. Desmond seriously +contemplated leaving her troublesome stepdaughter behind in the +governess's charge. Upon the first suggestion of such a plan to the +colonel, however, he spoke so decidedly of his determination not to be +separated from Helen that Mrs. Desmond saw that, for the present at +least, it was useless to argue the point. Dr. Russell, meeting his +little friend upon the stairs one day clenched the matter by remarking +upon her altered looks, and he went out of his way to urge upon her +parents the necessity of change of scene and a life of freedom for their +child after the evident strain she had undergone during her father's +illness. Mrs. Desmond scarcely relished this advice; but even she looked +a little anxiously at the girl, and wondered rather uncomfortably +whether Helen's curiously changed manner could be due to physical +causes. As for Colonel Desmond, he took fright at once. Helen must have +a holiday, must run wild if necessary, he declared. He was very weak +still, and in the full enjoyment of an invalid's privileges. Although +his wife positively shuddered at the idea of Helen's running wild, she +did not attempt to gainsay him, and after this there was no more +discussion about the matter. Helen went to Longford Grange without a +governess, and with a tacit understanding that, under certain +restrictions, such as early rising and punctual attendance at meals, +she was to be allowed to do pretty much as she pleased.</p> + +<p>But in spite of her father's tenderness, of the charms of a country +life, and the delights of freedom, Helen did not recover her health or +her spirits directly. Perhaps she was by nature a little morbid, and, if +so, the unnatural repression to which she had been subjected during the +past year, and the want of wholesome sympathy and young companionship +had tended to dangerously foster such a quality. She was always brooding +over what was past, and exaggerating her own failings. Morbidly +conscious that she was an object of dislike to her stepmother, she +credited Mrs. Desmond with a depth of feeling of which that cold-natured +woman was incapable. Anxious to show her true contrition for what was +past, she was perpetually fidgeting her stepmother with small attentions +which Mrs. Desmond not only failed to appreciate, but which she ascribed +to motives of which Helen's generous, open nature was incapable. Colonel +Desmond, indeed, looked on smiling. What an improvement in Helen! To be +sure he missed the child's bright ways and frank outspoken talk. But for +this, and for his little daughter's white, oldened face, he would have +begun to believe that his Margaret's training had worked miracles. But +to see these two beginning to understand one another was worth +anything, even his illness. No doubt it was her stepmother's tender +sympathy through that sad time that had brought Helen to this mind.</p> + +<p>So reasoned the colonel, and was content. Meanwhile he and his wife +became once more a good deal absorbed in each other's society, and Helen +was left to her own devices. Lonely Helen, lying in her hammock on this +bright summer's day thinking of many things about which young heads +should not concern themselves, heard a step in the orchard, and starting +up hastily, saw a young girl, apparently about her own age, coming +towards her.</p> + +<p>"One of those tiresome girls from the Rectory, I suppose," she said to +herself discontentedly. Helen had as yet only seen her stepmother's +relatives in church, Mrs. Desmond having hinted very strongly to her +sister that, owing to the colonel's state of health and her own +shattered nerves, intercourse between the Grange and Rectory would be +necessarily restricted, especially as regarded the young people. Agatha, +however, the eldest Rectory girl, had been presented to her aunt, in +whose eyes she had found favour, as Helen knew to her cost, having +smarted more than once under an unflattering comparison between herself +and the young lady in question.</p> + +<p>Helen took stock of her as she advanced, a prim little figure dressed +with exceeding neatness. Her face was small and well-featured, and she +had pretty dark eyes and smooth coils of brown hair, but her lips were +thin and their expression unpleasing. She walked, too, with a short, +ungraceful step, and there was an air of demure superiority about her +which was scarcely calculated to impress favourably those of her own age +at least. "I don't like her," said Helen to herself as Agatha approached +and held out her hand with a patronizing air, observing:</p> + +<p>"I suppose you are Helen Desmond?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose I am," returned Helen a little mischievously, sitting up in +her hammock, but still swinging herself slowly to and fro.</p> + +<p>Agatha's thin lips tightened. She had been annoyed that Helen had not +come forward to meet her; now she began to think her new acquaintance +not only ill-mannered but impertinent. "I daresay you don't know who I +am," she went on loftily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! I do. You are Agatha Bayden."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that I am Agatha?"</p> + +<p>"Because I saw you on Sunday boxing your little brother's ears behind +the churchyard wall. One of the choir boys said, 'That's Miss Agatha.' +I'm not sure he didn't say Agatha."</p> + +<p>Agatha turned crimson.</p> + +<p>"I have a message for you," she said, scorning a direct reply. "You are +to come to lunch with us to-day, and to spend the afternoon with us."</p> + +<p>"Who says so?" asked Helen not very courteously.</p> + +<p>"My mother has invited you, and my aunt says that you may come," +returned Agatha still loftily.</p> + +<p>The mention of Mrs. Desmond recalled Helen to her better mind. She +jumped out of the hammock.</p> + +<p>"I must make myself tidy first," she said with a smile and a sudden +change of tone that perplexed her companion. "I oughtn't to have kept +you standing here. Will you come in and sit down while I get ready?"</p> + +<p>"I have already spent half an hour with my aunt, and I think I had +better not disturb her again," said Agatha primly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! of course not," returned Helen. "We will go to my room by the +backstairs, then we sha'n't disturb anybody."</p> + +<p>The two girls went off together. Agatha, whose temper had been a good +deal ruffled, and who considered herself vastly Helen's superior, was +not disposed to be friendly, although Helen was already ashamed of her +blunt speeches, and tried to make amends for them by chatting pleasantly +as they went along. Her companion's frank and natural manner was not +what Agatha had expected, and she remained stiffly silent. On the +backstairs they encountered Martha, who was on her way to find Helen, +and who did not improve Agatha's temper by sending her to wait in the +library, while Helen was carried off to be tidied under Martha's own +eye, after which process she was to speak with Mrs. Desmond before +leaving the house.</p> + +<p>"I hope, Helen, that you will behave properly," said that lady when +Helen, a little shrinking and downcast, as she always was now in her +stepmother's presence, appeared before her. "I scarcely like letting you +go, my sister's children are so well brought up. Pray be careful, and +avoid, if you can, doing anything dreadful. Don't loll in your chair at +the table, and please only speak when you are spoken to."</p> + +<p>"I—I will do my best," answered Helen, struggling with her rising +temper. "Is that all?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Desmond looked at her sharply. "I hope you are not going to sulk, +Helen. I should not have said this had I not recollected your forward +behaviour when my cousin, Miss Macleod, was with us. Take example from +Agatha. She is really a charming girl. So gentle and ready to please! so +full of deference for her elders! With a little polish—"</p> + +<p>"Agatha can get into a passion and box her little brother's ears when +she thinks that no one is looking," burst out Helen.</p> + +<p>"Helen, you shock and disgust me. How can you repeat such low gossip?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't gossip," cried Helen. But she was already repentant. "I am +sorry I said it, though; it was mean," she went on. "I will try to +behave as you wish me to. But oh! I <i>wish</i> I might stop at home."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Helen! Go at once. I have nothing more to say to you, and I +hope you will keep your word and neither say nor do anything to shock my +sister."</p> + +<p>The girl looked at Mrs. Desmond for a moment and then turned away +impatiently, half-choked with the indignant words that rose to her lips. +The door closed rather noisily behind her as she rushed out into the +large square hall, where her father stood sunning himself in the open +doorway.</p> + +<p>"Dear, dearest father!" she cried, running up to him and flinging her +arms round his neck.</p> + +<p>"Don't smother me, child," he returned, laughing and gently disengaging +himself from her embrace.</p> + +<p>"Why, Helen," he went on, "tears! What is the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, nothing," cried the girl eagerly, dashing them away. "I am +going to the Rectory to spend a long day. I must not keep Agatha +waiting any longer. Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>Just then the drawing-room door opened and Mrs. Desmond appeared. She +misinterpreted the situation, of course, but she made no remark as Helen +ran past her, although she threw an indignant glance at the girl.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter with Helen?" asked the colonel rather sharply as his +wife joined him.</p> + +<p>She smiled disagreeably.</p> + +<p>"Need you ask me? You have heard the child's story."</p> + +<p>"I have heard no story. But I did hope that we should have no more of +these painful scenes."</p> + +<p>"So did I."</p> + +<p>This was all that passed on the subject, but once more a shadow fell +between husband and wife.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the girls quickly traversed the short distance that separated +the Grange from the Rectory, where Helen was coldly greeted by Mrs. +Bayden, a hard-featured woman, superficially not at all like her sister +either in manner or appearance. Their respective lots in life, too, had +been very different. Mrs. Desmond, the only daughter of their father's +first wife, had been early adopted by her mother's relations, from whom +she had inherited a considerable fortune. Mrs. Bayden was the eldest of +a numerous second family, and had married a poor clergyman while still +young. All her life had been spent in a struggle with what is perhaps +harder than real poverty—the struggle to keep up appearances on a small +income. Her husband was a quiet, well-meaning man, entirely wrapt up in +his five children, and terribly oppressed by the sameness and monotony +of his parish work. He was inclined to be fretful with his wife when +things did not run smoothly; but he shifted even his natural +responsibilities upon her shoulders, and although a little obstinate at +times, like all weak people, he always in the end deferred to her +judgment.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Bayden and their two youngest children, Grace and Harold, +were in the drawing-room awaiting the girls' arrival, for the +luncheon-gong had already sounded before they entered.</p> + +<p>"I knew we should be late," said Agatha spitefully. "Helen took such a +time to beautify herself."</p> + +<p>"Well, go at once and take off your hats," returned Mrs. Bayden +impatiently, "and then come straight to the dining-room."</p> + +<p>The girls obeyed. Helen, who was suffering from an unusual access of +shyness, was very glad to escape the gaze of so many pairs of curious +eyes, although the relief was only temporary, for immediately she was +seated at the luncheon-table she felt the scrutiny renewed.</p> + +<p>"Agatha, my child, you look tired," said Mr. Bayden anxiously. The +Baydens were always in a tremor over their children's health.</p> + +<p>"I am tired," remarked Agatha fretfully.</p> + +<p>There was a diversion while various restoratives were pressed upon +Agatha by her parents, and then Mr. Bayden, who was kind-hearted, turned +to Helen and asked her how she liked Longford.</p> + +<p>"I think it is a lovely place," said Helen enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>Agatha and Grace sniggered, while their elders smiled a little +contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"You don't call this flat country lovely, do you?" asked Mrs. Bayden.</p> + +<p>"Is it flat?" returned Helen, colouring. "I never thought about that."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, mother, Helen will think Dane's End lovely, and will call the +open ditch a stream," suggested Agatha.</p> + +<p>"I only meant," began Helen, "that after London—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," interposed Mr. Bayden, "of course the country is refreshing +after London, and the Grange is pretty. The church, too, is picturesque. +You admire our fine old church, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Helen faintly. She had no eye for architectural beauties, +and the scantily-filled church had struck her on Sunday as cold and +dreary.</p> + +<p>"I suppose that our village singing sounded very poor to you after that +in the London churches," went on Mr. Bayden, the faintest suspicion of a +self-satisfied smile dawning in the corners of his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Helen again, but with more decision. Her musical ears had +really been tortured by the discordant sounds produced by a choir of +village boys habited in soiled surplices, and engaged apparently in a +desperate attempt to outshout one another. Her frank assent was +unfortunate, however. Mrs. Bayden was proud of her choir, which she +managed, as she did everything else in the parish, but being entirely +destitute of musical taste she was quite unaware that the results +obtained by her efforts were not musically satisfactory, although a +volume of sound was not lacking. Helen was dimly conscious that she had +said something wrong, and her relief was considerable when Harold, a lad +of about twelve, who was seated beside her, looked up into her face with +his merry blue eyes and said:</p> + +<p>"I think our boys make a horrid noise, especially Jim Hunt. I saw you +looking at him. You can hear his voice over everybody's. I don't sing at +all when I sit by him."</p> + +<p>"Harold, how wicked of you!" said his mother. "You don't deserve the +privilege of sitting in the choir. Jim Hunt is an excellent boy, and his +voice is most useful."</p> + +<p>Agatha, her mother's echo, murmured, "How wicked!" upon which Harold +told her to "shut up."</p> + +<p>"Mother, do you hear that?" cried Agatha in her high-pitched tones.</p> + +<p>"Harold, Harold!" interposed Mr. Hayden nervously, "be good, pray. You +don't want to be punished again, do you?"</p> + +<p>"She has no business to interfere," persisted Harold. "Mother may say +I'm wicked; she sha'n't."</p> + +<p>"Harold!" cried Mrs. Bayden in a warning voice, after which there was an +instant's pause while hands wore joined, and Mr. Bayden murmured a hasty +and inaudible grace.</p> + +<p>This over, Helen, accompanied by Grace and Harold, withdrew to the +school-room, Agatha remaining with her parents.</p> + +<p>"Well, Agatha, and how did you get on at the Grange this morning?" asked +her father with some curiosity; while Mrs. Bayden, who for reasons of +her own was particularly anxious that Agatha should produce a favourable +impression on her aunt, looked up eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I got on as well as possible, at least until I found Helen. Aunt +Margaret kept me with her for ever so long, and she asked me to go and +see her again."</p> + +<p>"Did she? Well, perhaps she means to be kind after all," said Mr. +Bayden. "What do you say, mother?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bayden was knitting vigorously, and she only replied by an +impatient movement. Agatha went on.</p> + +<p>"As for Helen, I don't wonder that she annoys Aunt Margaret. She was +quite rude and disagreeable to me at first. Do you like her, mother?"</p> + +<p>"I can't say I do. Still I haven't much pity for my sister. Why did she +marry at all at her time of life, and above all, why did she marry a man +with a child? She ought to have considered her nephews and nieces before +she took such a step."</p> + +<p>Poor, over-anxious Mrs. Bayden, who had always looked forward to a time +when her rich lonely sister would take a fancy to one, if not more, of +her children, considered Helen as an interloper, and found it hard to +tolerate the girl's very existence. In addition to this, quite enough +about Helen's past misdeeds had been said to prejudice her in the +Baydens' eyes. Under the circumstances it can scarcely be wondered at, +perhaps, that her reception at the Rectory was not a very warm one. +Agatha and her mother, indeed, considered that they had done all that +was needed, but Mr. Bayden had some qualms of conscience with regard to +the lonely young stranger within their gates.</p> + +<p>"Poor child!" he said, as he rose from his chair preparatory to starting +on his usual afternoon potter in his parish, "we must be kind to her, +Agatha. I daresay she has had a rough bringing up."</p> + +<p>"She has had every advantage with my sister," snapped Mrs. Bayden. "She +was exceedingly brusque at luncheon, and she ought, <i>at least</i>, to have +learnt better manners by this time. Our choir isn't good enough for her, +indeed! I only hope that her example won't make Harold naughtier than +ever."</p> + +<p>"I don't see how anything could do that," observed Agatha.</p> + +<p>"Well, Agatha," returned her mother persuasively, "I think you had +better go upstairs to the others now. Your aunt doesn't care for Helen, +I know, but still she mightn't be pleased if she thought that we had +neglected her."</p> + +<p>Agatha obeyed rather reluctantly. Mrs. Bayden's eyes followed her with +admiring glances. Agatha was her mother's idol. Not disposed to be over +gentle even with her children, to all of whom she was honestly devoted, +Mrs. Bayden could never find it in her heart to speak a hasty word to +Agatha. The girl was well aware of her mother's weakness, and although, +to do her justice, she was an excellent and helpful daughter, she had +imbibed so high an opinion of her own talents, and of herself generally +from this circumstance, that to everyone, save her parents, she was +often insufferably overbearing. Then, too, she had been made the sharer +of all her mother's hopes and plans, and neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bayden had +any secrets from her. Her opinion was a distinct factor in the family +councils, and her sharp, often pert, remarks about their friends and +neighbours were rather encouraged than checked. Even her two big +brothers were not allowed to tease her with impunity when they were at +home for their holidays, whilst her authority was upheld in the rigid +obedience that she tried to exact from Grace and Harold.</p> + +<p>Perhaps for all her faults and foibles Agatha was rather to be pitied +than blamed, but Helen was scarcely likely to see them in that light, +and she may be pardoned for experiencing a sensation of disgust on +seeing Agatha enter the school-room and calmly sweep away some chips of +wood and cardboard out of which Harold, with some wire and a few rough +tools, was trying to construct what he called an organ. Harold had a +taste for mechanics, and was always dreaming of inventions. He did not +often find such a sympathetic listener as Helen, to whom he was +explaining his plans, and who was deeply interested in the description +of his designs for cardboard organ-pipes and other contrivances.</p> + +<p>"I think tin would be better," she was saying gravely as Agatha walked +in. "I will ask my father—"</p> + +<p>"Harold, you know that you oughtn't to make such a mess in this room. +Clear it away at once."</p> + +<p>Harold, whose face had been glowing with enthusiasm, looked up and saw +his sister. His whole expression altered.</p> + +<p>"I sha'n't," he said.</p> + +<p>"Sha'n't indeed! you'll have to," and Agatha raised the table-cloth +whereon the litter lay, and swept Harold's treasures on to the floor.</p> + +<p>"There, now, you have spoilt those pipes, and they took me hours to +make," screamed Harold, rushing at his sister and pushing her backward. +"I hate you. You are a horrid disagreeable thing. I will never forgive +you."</p> + +<p>"You bad, wicked boy!" cried Agatha, holding his hands; "this is the end +of all those fine promises that you made last Sunday. Supposing you were +to die in one of those dreadful passions, you would go to hell."</p> + +<p>"It is you who are wicked to speak like that," interposed Helen, unable +to witness the scene in silence any longer. "You provoked him, you know +you did."</p> + +<p>"Children, children, what is the matter?"</p> + +<p>The combatants stopped their hostilities and turned round. Mrs. Bayden, +on her way upstairs, had heard the noise of the scuffle and had appeared +upon the scene.</p> + +<p>"It is Harold, of course, as usual," said Agatha, recovering her +self-possession at once. "He will do his silly carpentering here, and +you know you have often told him he is only to do it in the barn. I was +only trying to make him obedient, and he flew at me and pushed and +kicked me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harold!" sighed Mrs. Bayden, "how could you? Fancy if you had +injured your sister seriously."</p> + +<p>"It isn't true," began Harold, but his mother stopped him.</p> + +<p>"I want to hear no more. I have heard too much already. That +rubbish"—pointing to the wood and cardboard on the floor—"must be +given to me. Pick it up."</p> + +<p>Harold, his face dark and lowering, obeyed, and the "rubbish," tenderly +placed in a wastepaper basket, was handed to his mother.</p> + +<p>"You will take care of it, won't you?" he said, with a little break in +his voice.</p> + +<p>"No, Harold, I must do my duty. You must be punished for your conduct. I +shall burn these things."</p> + +<p>Harold could not guess all that her mistaken sternness cost his mother. +With a cry like that of a wounded animal he rushed away, and Helen +stepped forward.</p> + +<p>"Please don't burn those things," she said, "Agatha really did provoke +him. I should have been quite as angry, perhaps angrier, if anyone had +treated me as she did Harold."</p> + +<p>"I am quite ready to believe that, Helen," returned Mrs. Bayden with a +curious smile. "When you remember the terrible consequences of your own +conduct, you will not wonder that I am anxious to save Harold from the +scourge of an ungoverned temper."</p> + +<p>Helen shrank back as though she had received a blow. Mrs. Bayden was +quite right, she thought. Her interference could never do any good. But +she was still smarting under the sense of injustice, although she was +not the sufferer upon this occasion.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you tell your mother that Harold wasn't to blame?" she asked +Grace indignantly when Mrs. Bayden and Agatha had gone, and those two +were left alone.</p> + +<p>Grace shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't have been any good," she said; "mother always takes +Agatha's part. Besides, she and Harold are always quarrelling. It's just +as often his fault as hers. I wish he was at school like the other boys. +But come along out into the garden. We can take books with us and +read."</p> + +<p>Nothing loth, Helen agreed. They found a shady spot, and Grace, who +liked nothing so much as reading, was soon deep in her book. But Helen +was restless and ill at ease. Her attention wandered, and she could +think of nothing but Harold.</p> + +<p>"I think I will go for a stroll," she said presently. "You needn't come. +I like wandering about by myself."</p> + +<p>Grace was too comfortable to move. She merely nodded her assent, and +went on with her book.</p> + +<p>Thus left free to follow her own devices, Helen searched all over the +garden for Harold, but without success. She was just giving up the +search in despair when she heard a rustling noise inside the shrubbery. +Pushing her way amongst the bushes with some difficulty, she came upon a +spot that had been cleared, and there she found Harold digging away with +might and main. He was so intent upon his work that he did not at first +notice her approach, and she watched him with some amusement as he flung +down each spadeful of earth, striking it sharply several times with his +spade as he did so.</p> + +<p>At length he became aware that he was no longer alone, and looked round +sharply.</p> + +<p>"However did you find me out?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I have been looking for you, and I heard a noise in the shrubbery and +guessed that I might find you here."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you've come. I liked you directly I saw you; and you took my +part."</p> + +<p>Helen was silent. She had rather a wise little head on her shoulders, +and an instinct warned her not to discuss his sister's behaviour with +Harold.</p> + +<p>"Don't you wonder what I'm doing?" he went on.</p> + +<p>"You are digging, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I come here when I am too angry to do anything else, and I slash +away at the earth until I grow quite happy again."</p> + +<p>Helen smiled.</p> + +<p>"What a good idea! I can guess exactly how you feel."</p> + +<p>"Can you? Well, don't tell anyone. If Agatha knew, she would be sure to +say that I was in mischief, and then I should be forbidden to come here +again."</p> + +<p>"I won't say a word. Go on digging, and I will stop and watch you."</p> + +<p>Harold threw down his spade.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to dig any more. I say, shall we sit on the top of the +wall and talk? There is a place just there overlooking the road from +where one can see everything that goes by without being seen one's +self."</p> + +<p>Helen needed no persuasion. Assisted by Harold, who climbed like a cat, +she easily scaled the wall, and, sheltered from observation by the leafy +branches of an overhanging copper beech, they soon fell into pleasant +talk. So deeply interesting were their mutual confidences, that it was +not until a glimpse of Mrs. Desmond's victoria going by rapidly recalled +Helen to a recollection of the impropriety of her present position that +she remembered Grace, whom she had left so unceremoniously, and who +would probably be seeking her, as the afternoon was wearing on.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" asked Harold, seeing Helen's face fall.</p> + +<p>"There is mamma going to the Rectory. She said that she might fetch me."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you say mother? Mamma sounds so funny."</p> + +<p>"Because she isn't my <i>mother</i>."</p> + +<p>Both were silent for a moment. Harold's questioning blue eyes looked +curiously into Helen's face, but it betrayed nothing. Helen was too +deep-natured to wear her heart upon her sleeve. She knew quite well that +Mrs. Desmond disliked the word mamma, considering it underbred; but the +girl had told herself that she would call no stranger mother, and she +kept her word.</p> + +<p>"I suppose that I ought to have been with Grace all this time," she +said, breaking silence. "Come along, Harold, and let us find her +quickly."</p> + +<p>"Never mind Grace. She never cares for anybody when she has a book, and +she didn't want you to come at all. I expect it is about tea-time, and +the best thing we can do is to go straight back to the school-room."</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, in order to reach the house it was necessary to pass +right under the drawing-room windows. Mrs. Desmond's victoria had +deposited her at the Rectory some time before Harold and Helen could +return thither, and she clearly discerned the two untidy little figures +scudding across the lawn.</p> + +<p>"Dear me! Is that Helen?" she asked. "I told her to be ready when I +called for her."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bayden, who, with Agatha's assistance, was dispensing tea, looked +up nervously.</p> + +<p>"Helen! I hope not. I thought that the school-room tea had gone up some +time ago. Agatha, would you—"</p> + +<p>"It is Helen," broke in Agatha abruptly. "She ran away from Grace and +left her alone all the afternoon. Of course she has been with Harold. +Birds of a feather, you know. Shall I tell her to come to you at once, +Aunt Margaret?"</p> + +<p>"Do, my dear," said Mrs. Desmond. "I wish Helen were more like your +girl, Susan," she went on as Agatha left the room.</p> + +<p>"Agatha is one in a thousand," returned Mrs. Bayden, her sharp voice +growing almost soft.</p> + +<p>"Yes," observed Mr. Bayden plaintively. "If all our children were but +like her! There's Harold now. Would you believe it, I met him in the +garden early in the afternoon, and I spoke to him quite gently, and he +rushed past me saying, 'I hate you all, I hate you all!' Such terrible +language to use to a father."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid that it is all your own fault, Richard," returned Mrs. +Desmond unsympathetically. "You spoil your children. I positively +shudder to think of what the world will come to when—"</p> + +<p>"But you yourself admit that Agatha is all that can be desired," +interrupted Mrs. Bayden impatiently. She was by no means pleased that +her husband should expose Harold's naughtiness to an outsider.</p> + +<p>"Agatha seems a good girl," replied Mrs. Desmond coldly. "She needs +forming, of course; but considering that she has spent all her life in a +country village one must not blame her for that. As for Harold, why +don't you send him to school?"</p> + +<p>"Because, Margaret, I can't afford it at present," said Mrs. Bayden +bluntly.</p> + +<p>"An excellent reason, my dear Susan. It is a pity that you can't manage, +though, to discipline him at home. Why don't you take him in hand, +Richard?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Bayden sighed deeply and looked imploringly at his sister-in-law.</p> + +<p>"How can I?" he said. "My children are so dear to me. And then I have +other cares. The parish—"</p> + +<p>"Oh! by the way, talking of the parish," interrupted Mrs. Desmond, +"things seem to be very badly managed here. Two different families have +been at the Grange begging since we came. There can't be any poverty +here, and besides—Why, Helen, what have you been doing to yourself?" +This last was addressed to her stepdaughter, who had been marched down +by Agatha, and who was now brought summarily into the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"I—I have only been in the garden," said Helen, painfully conscious of +tumbled hair, soiled hands, and torn frock.</p> + +<p>"Only in the garden! What are those green marks on your dress?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know," said Helen, beginning to brush herself +vigorously and making bad worse.</p> + +<p>"You don't know! It looks to me as if you had been climbing <i>trees</i>."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! indeed I haven't," said Helen, thankful to be able to deny so +terrible an accusation.</p> + +<p>"What have you been doing, then?"</p> + +<p>"I—I only climbed a wall."</p> + +<p>"Climbed a wall! What for?"</p> + +<p>"To sit there."</p> + +<p>"This is the child for whom no expense has been spared," observed Mrs. +Desmond tragically to her sister. "Dancing lessons, drilling lessons, +deportment, this last especially, have been dinned into her from morning +till night. And yet your Agatha knows how to behave herself better than +she does."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Mrs. Desmond indulged in a deep sigh, and the +Baydens, a little nettled at this half-contemptuous reference to Agatha, +remained silent.</p> + +<p>"Come," went on the injured lady presently, addressing Helen. "I am +sorry that I ever allowed you to come here. I knew that you would +disgrace me. Say good-bye to my sister."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye!" said Helen, giving her hand awkwardly to Mrs. Bayden.</p> + +<p>"Oh! you must let her come again," observed good-natured Mr. Bayden. +"She didn't mean to do anything wrong, I'm sure. And I daresay it was +quite as much Harold's fault as hers. Pray, don't be angry with the poor +child."</p> + +<p>Ejaculating a few conciliatory remarks of this kind, Mr. Bayden +accompanied his sister-in-law to her carriage, standing bareheaded in +the porch until she passed out of sight.</p> + +<p>"Really," he observed fretfully as he re-entered the drawing-room and +threw himself into an armchair, "really, my dear, you must shield me +from your sister as much as possible. I shrink from no sacrifice for my +dear children's sake, as you know; but pray don't let her attack me +again. It was most unfeeling of her to speak as she did about the +parish. Indeed, it was worse than unfeeling, it was positively +disrespectful to speak in that way to a clergyman. I, too, who toil in +my parish from one year's end to another! She positively spoke as if I +didn't do my duty."</p> + +<p>"Do you think, Richard, that it is pleasant for me to hear our children +slightingly spoken of?" returned Mrs. Bayden. "But I bear it, and so +must you. As for parish matters, Margaret knows no more about the +management of a parish than she does about children. It won't do to +quarrel with her, though."</p> + +<p>"Well, spare me, spare me, that is all I ask," said Mr. Bayden. "Really +I feel half sorry for that poor child Helen."</p> + +<p>"I expect that she is quite able to take care of herself," answered the +wife. "You mustn't forget that she nearly killed her father by her +behaviour in London."</p> + +<p>"That was very shocking, certainly," murmured Mr. Bayden. "Give me +another cup of tea, my dear. By the way, Betty Smith has been attacking +me again about her daughter. These people are never satisfied. They are +a most ungrateful set. And Joseph Hall spoke to me about my new stole. +Did you ever hear such impertinence? Just as if I were accountable to my +people for anything I choose to do."</p> + +<p>This, the waywardness of their flock in indulging in every Briton's +birthright, the privilege of private judgment, was a congenial topic +with the worthy couple. In its discussion they temporarily forgot their +grievances against Mrs. Desmond, who, meanwhile, with Helen seated +beside her, drove home in silence. The root of her increased bitterness +against her stepdaughter lay in that little incident that had occurred +in the morning. But of this Helen could not be aware, and the poor +child, recalling all her good resolutions, began once more to exaggerate +her own shortcomings, and to wonder miserably why it was that she was so +hopelessly stupid and bad. And yet, in spite of everything, she did not +regret her visit to the Rectory. Agatha and Grace might be cold and +disagreeable, and sneer at her whenever she opened her lips, but Harold +with his eager face and his odd fancies was quite different. If only she +and Harold might meet sometimes, she felt that she could bear the snubs +of his family with a good deal of equanimity. And in planning how she +could help Harold, and how she could manage to interest her father in +her new friend, Helen forgot her own wrongs, and forgot even to be angry +when her stepmother told her that her company would not be required in +the drawing-room that evening. When our heads are full of others it is +wonderful how insignificant our own personal concerns become.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>HAROLD.</h3> + + +<p>Helen's attempts to interest her father in Harold were crowned with +success almost beyond her hopes. Colonel Desmond, who was fond of +children, had been already attracted by the boy's singularly handsome +face, and having a certain turn for mechanics himself, he was disposed +to be sympathetic over Harold's futile efforts to construct organs out +of cardboard and to model engines from blocks of wood. More than this, +it pleased the colonel to see his little daughter and her small friend +together. They had, indeed, an excellent effect upon one another. Both +naturally wilful and wayward with others, they seemed to have but one +will when together. Harold, who was accustomed to be alternately teased +and bullied by his sisters, to be wept over by his mother, and to be +treated as a dangerous if beloved animal by his father, looked upon +Helen as a superior being, on whose sympathy he could always count, who, +in some curious way, understood that it was not the object of his life +to outrage the feelings of those around him, and to whom he could safely +confide his dearest and most secret projects without fear of ridicule. +As for Helen, her feelings for her new friend partook of a motherly as +well as of a sisterly character. Her added years and her larger +experience, so far from giving her any desire to domineer over Harold, +aroused in her heart a sort of tenderness for him, which his sister's +treatment of him and the want of sympathy which he experienced at home +tended to foster. With regard to Harold's talents Helen had no +misgivings; and she was ready to listen patiently for hours whilst he +unfolded his schemes to her, ascribing to her own dullness and want of +comprehension the seeming vagueness of some of these schemes, promising +eagerly to help him in the working out of certain dull yet necessary +details of the sort which aspiring geniuses of all ages have been +disposed to shirk.</p> + +<p>It must not be supposed that this happy friendship was recognized at +once by the children's respective belongings. Indeed, had it not been +for the colonel's unwonted firmness, the probability is that Harold and +Helen, after their first meeting, would have been kept resolutely apart.</p> + +<p>"The colonel seems to have taken a fancy to Harold," said Mr. Bayden to +his wife one day when Colonel Desmond and Helen had called and invited +the boy to accompany them on some distant expedition.</p> + +<p>"Such a pity that it was not Agatha!" sighed Mrs. Bayden, taking up a +fresh stocking from her heaped-up basket.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bayden was not the only person who considered it a pity that the +colonel's fancy had been taken by Harold.</p> + +<p>"I could have endured Agatha, but why you choose to annoy me by having +that rough boy continually here I cannot understand," observed Mrs. +Desmond to her husband.</p> + +<p>"My dear wife, why should Harold annoy you? He is scarcely ever in the +house, and he can't do much harm in the garden."</p> + +<p>"He is the most unsatisfactory of my sister's children. Everyone knows +that he is a bad boy. Even Richard, who is a perfect idiot about his +children, acknowledges that he can do nothing with Harold."</p> + +<p>"All I can say is that Bayden is—well, I must not abuse your +relations, Margaret. But, believe me, that boy has some good stuff in +him. Besides, he is a fine, handsome little chap, and his resemblance to +you is quite astonishing. Surely that ought to recommend him to me."</p> + +<p>The colonel's speech, although exceedingly diplomatic, was justified by +facts. Harold's face, notwithstanding its rounded outlines, did bear a +resemblance to his aunt's. She smiled.</p> + +<p>"You may say what you like, John, but I can't believe that Harold and +Helen can be good companions for one another. If she had taken a fancy +even to Grace I should have made no objection."</p> + +<p>"Let the children be," returned the colonel a little testily. "Helen +looks better already for young companionship, and we cannot force +children's likes and dislikes any more than we can our own."</p> + +<p>"That, I suppose, you learnt from Mary Macleod," said Mrs. Desmond, the +smile fading from her face. "However, I shall say no more. If any harm +comes of your foolish indulgence remember that I warned you."</p> + +<p>The colonel did not reply. Why his wife had yielded so readily rather +puzzled him. But Mrs. Desmond had her own reasons. Helen had long been a +thorn in her side, and the pricking of this poor little thorn was fast +becoming unendurable to her. She had resolved, therefore, that her +stepdaughter must be sent away, and, like a wise woman, she was +husbanding all her forces towards the gaining of this important end, and +she was well aware that a little complaisance in an unimportant matter +of this kind would make her future task easier.</p> + +<p>Helen was even more surprised than her father to find that after her +unlucky day at the Rectory no embargo was put upon her intercourse with +Harold. How it came about neither they nor their elders exactly knew, +but through the long June days the two children were constantly +together, either working in a rough workshop which the colonel had +extemporized for them in an outbuilding, or rambling about the country +in search of flowers and butterflies. Notwithstanding Mrs. Desmond's +determination about Helen's future, it is scarcely likely that she could +have witnessed her stepdaughter leading a life so opposed to her own +preconceived notions without remonstrance had she not been really +suffering from the effects of her long anxiety in the spring, and +disposed for the first time in her life to let things take their course.</p> + +<p>It was a very happy time for Helen, the happiest, perhaps, that she had +ever known. In the old days, when all her desires were gratified, her +waywardness and wilfulness had thrown a cloud over everything. Now she +was honestly trying to do what was right and to keep her temper under +due control, whilst healthy, sympathetic companionship kept her mind +occupied and prevented her from dwelling upon morbid fancies.</p> + +<p>"If only mamma would like me a little," she used to think sometimes as +she went off to bed chilled by Mrs. Desmond's frigid good-night, but +full of happy plans for the morrow. But even of gaining "mamma's liking" +Helen did not altogether despair. She meant to be so good, so obedient, +she felt quite sure that she must win her stepmother at last.</p> + +<p>"What is it that you wish for most in all the world?" she asked Harold +suddenly one evening.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Desmond had kept her room all day, and Helen and Harold, having +drunk tea in the school-room, with the colonel as their guest, were +sitting under an apple-tree in the orchard. The setting sun flooded the +fair June landscape, and threw a glory round their young heads, showing +to their half-bewildered childish eyes strange visions and "lights that +never were on sea or land."</p> + +<p>"What do I wish for most!" repeated Harold. "To do something great, I +think. What is the good of living if one is only to be just like +everyone else. I should like people to point me out as I went by, and to +say, 'That is Harold Bayden. He did—' I wonder what I should like them +to say, there are so many things it would be nice to be famous for."</p> + +<p>"I don't think that I should care to be famous," said Helen gravely. "I +should like everyone to like me. It is dreadful not to be liked."</p> + +<p>"You can't expect everyone to like you. It is much better to have one or +two people who like you very much."</p> + +<p>"Yes. But people don't like me. I don't know why it is."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Helen! doesn't your father like you? And I think that you are +awfully jolly."</p> + +<p>"Of course my father likes me, because he is my father. But you know +that Grace and Agatha can't bear me. Perhaps you wouldn't like me, +Harold, if you knew how wicked I have been."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Helen!"</p> + +<p>"It isn't nonsense, Harold. Shall I tell you? I hardly like to speak of +it. It makes me shudder when I think of what might have been."</p> + +<p>"Helen, what on earth do you mean?"</p> + +<p>Harold's big eyes were fixed in amazement on his companion's face. She +went on speaking more to herself than to him.</p> + +<p>"And yet it is true, quite true, though I can scarcely believe it +sometimes. And when you say that I am so much nicer and jollier than +Grace and Agatha I feel like a hypocrite."</p> + +<p>"Helen!"</p> + +<p>"They never did what I have done. Just think, Harold, I was so angry and +so wicked one day that I tried to run away. Father followed me and +brought me back, and he didn't scold me a bit, but he was so sorry that +he cried—actually <i>cried</i>. Did you know that a man could cry?"</p> + +<p>"I am not sure," said Harold meditatively. Mr. Bayden's manner when he +was unduly annoyed by parochial matters, or provoked by his son's +iniquities, was often suggestive of tears, consequently the idea of a +man's crying presented nothing very tragic to Harold's imagination. +Besides, he was a little puzzled by the intensity of Helen's manner, and +scarcely understood her.</p> + +<p>"I don't see that there was anything very wicked in running away. Of +course you would have gone back. What else could you have done? And I +daresay you were provoked." Harold spoke soothingly. He knew what it was +to be provoked himself, and had had his own dreams of running away to +sea, dreams which, it must be allowed, had never shaped themselves very +distinctly in his brain. Still, in virtue of them he could sympathize +most fully with Helen in her small escapade.</p> + +<p>"Yes; but, Harold, you don't understand," she went on. "It was coming +out after me on that bitter night that nearly killed my father. Just +think: if—if he had died I should have killed him." Helen's voice +broke, and she buried her face in her hands.</p> + +<p>"Don't, Helen," said Harold after a moment's perplexed pause. "You +didn't, you see. It is all right. Very likely your father would have +been ill anyway. And besides—"</p> + +<p>"No, Harold, it is no good saying those things," burst out Helen. "As +long as I live I shall always see father lying on his bed, too feeble +almost to speak, and I shall have the feeling that it was for me. I try +to forget it, but it always comes back. I should like to be able to do +something very hard for him or for—mamma, just to prove how sorry I +am."</p> + +<p>"Did he really look as if he were going to die?" asked Harold rather +irrelevantly.</p> + +<p>Helen nodded. To speak the words again hurt her.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what dying is like?" went on Harold.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, and almost as he spoke, the sun dropped behind a bank of red +clouds. A little breeze sprang up and murmured in the trees overhead.</p> + +<p>Helen shuddered and drew closer to her companion.</p> + +<p>"It must be very awful," he went on. "And to think that the world will +go on just the same when we are gone. The sun will shine and the birds +will sing, and we shall be lying in the dreadful cold earth. It is +horrible."</p> + +<p>"I used to think just like that once, Harold," whispered Helen +half-shyly. "I was dreadfully afraid of all sorts of things. I used to +think after I had been naughty that perhaps I should go to sleep and +wake up in hell. One day I told Cousin Mary—you don't know Cousin Mary, +do you? It is so easy to talk to her; one can tell her <i>anything</i>. She +thinks that dying will be only like going to sleep in the dark. We shall +be a little frightened, perhaps, but we shall know all the time that +nothing bad can really happen to us. And if any pain comes to us +afterwards it will be quite different from the pain that we suffer +now—pain that will never make us impatient or angry, because we shall +be able then to understand that it is bringing us nearer to God and +heaven. Cousin Mary says that is the end of all pain, only we are not +able to understand it quite now."</p> + +<p>"Cousin Mary must say very odd things," observed Harold, who had been +trying to fathom Helen's meaning, and who felt hopelessly puzzled. +"Mother says that she is odd, and father says that some of her notions +are not—I forget the word; but they never ask her to stay with us. Is +she really very nice?"</p> + +<p>"Very," answered Helen emphatically.</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Both children were busy with their own thoughts. They +made a striking picture as they sat close together beneath the gnarled +apple-tree, the dying sunset lights lingering on their fair young +heads—a picture that was not without its pathos, because life must pass +that way, life—and death.</p> + +<p>"I expect that it is getting late, and I ought to be going home," said +Harold after a few minutes, wearying of silence, and beginning to feel +that even Agatha's teasing would have a refreshingly every-day sound +after such serious thoughts.</p> + +<p>Helen rose rather reluctantly.</p> + +<p>"Very well," she said. "Let us go in and say good-night to father, and +afterwards I will walk with you as far as the gate."</p> + +<p>"And I say, Helen, you won't forget to cut out those wheels for me +to-morrow morning, will you? They must match exactly, remember. And if +you could pull out and stretch that wire——"</p> + +<p>"I sha'n't forget, Harold. You needn't fear. But, by the way, you never +told me about Jim Hunt."</p> + +<p>"I heard father saying that he was very ill indeed. Mother stopped him +from saying more when she saw that I was there. I was thinking about him +just now. I used to hate him sometimes when he sat in the choir and +screamed in my ear. But I'm sorry for him now. I wish I hadn't hated +him. Father spoke as if he thought he was going to die."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't we do something for him?" suggested practical Helen.</p> + +<p>"I have sixpence," returned Harold, "if that would do."</p> + +<p>Helen shook her head.</p> + +<p>"You can't give people money when they are ill. I'll tell you what I +might do. I'll ask father if I may gather some strawberries and take +them to a sick boy in the village. If you come to-morrow morning +directly your lessons are over we might take them together."</p> + +<p>"It won't do for Agatha to know. I should never hear the end of it. And, +besides, she hates poor people."</p> + +<p>"No one need know. Father never asks any questions. He will just say, +'Do as you like.' He is sure to say nothing."</p> + +<p>Harold was silent for a moment. A little struggle was going on his mind. +He knew that his mother would have disapproved of the project, and that +he was never allowed to go near any cottage where sickness was. But he +was sorry for Jim Hunt, who had done him many a rough kindness, +kindnesses which Harold was conscious of having often ill requited, and +he really longed to do the village lad this small service.</p> + +<p>"Don't you care to come, Harold?" asked Helen in surprised tones. She +was a little annoyed that her plan had not immediately approved itself +to Harold, never guessing the reason for his hesitation. "I can go by +myself if you are afraid of Agatha."</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid of Agatha, and of course I will go too. The +strawberries won't be my present, but I will tell Jim that I will give +him the engine I am making now when it is finished. And I say, Helen, we +might call it 'Jim,' mightn't we? I daresay that would please him."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it would. Then it is settled. I shall be waiting for you in +the orchard to-morrow. If we walk fast across the fields we can stay a +little while with Jim and get back in plenty of time for lunch."</p> + +<p>No hitch occurred in the projected arrangements. Mrs. Desmond still kept +her room on the following day. Colonel Desmond gladly complied with his +little daughter's request, and Helen, basket in hand, was awaiting +Harold in the orchard some time before the appointed hour, which, +however, passed without bringing him. At last she saw him running across +the grass.</p> + +<p>"How late you are! I began to think you weren't coming," she cried.</p> + +<p>Harold's face was flushed, and did not wear its best expression.</p> + +<p>"I came as soon as I could," he said. "Of course, as I was in a hurry +everything went wrong. I <i>hate</i> Latin. Why need one learn what one +doesn't like? And Agatha—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind Agatha," interrupted Helen soothingly. "You have come; that +is the great thing. Let us start at once. We can talk as we go."</p> + +<p>"How fast you are walking!" said Harold presently, a little note of +fretfulness in his voice as, beneath a blazing noonday sun, Helen +half-ran across the fields, her companion toiling after her.</p> + +<p>"Because we must make haste," returned Helen rather sharply, looking +round at Harold. Then she stopped short suddenly. "What is the matter?" +she asked in altered tones. "Aren't you well? Let me go alone, and you +can wait in the shade till I come back."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Helen!" said Harold, still fretfully. "I am quite well, only +I am hot, and you will walk so fast."</p> + +<p>Helen did not reply. She altered her pace and began to talk on other +subjects; but Harold was singularly quiet and unresponsive.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes the children arrived at a stile, and, leaving the +fields, passed into a narrow lane, from which, by a plank that crossed +a black, festering ditch, they reached a group of low thatched houses, +very picturesque in appearance, but telling a tale of age and decay. +Towards one of these, rather larger than the rest, and separated from +the road by a strip of garden, Harold now led the way, closely followed +by Helen. Harold knocked at the door, and a gruff voice cried "Come in!" +Harold walked in boldly; Helen followed timidly. These scenes were new +to her, and she felt terribly shy.</p> + +<p>The Hunt family was seated at dinner. The father, in his rough working +clothes, had already pushed an almost untasted plate of food away from +him, but several flaxen heads were busy over the table, whilst Mrs. +Hunt, a hard-featured woman, was bustling about and speaking in a sharp, +high-pitched key.</p> + +<p>"Lor'! be it you, Master Harold?" cried the man, whilst the woman +dropped a saucepan lid in her astonishment.</p> + +<p>"I—we came to ask about Jim," said Harold.</p> + +<p>"Well, he bean't no better as I can see," returned the man. "You can +tell the parson so."</p> + +<p>"I didn't come from my father, I came for myself," said Harold stoutly; +"and please we should like to see Jim if we may."</p> + +<p>Husband and wife exchanged glances.</p> + +<p>"Won't the young lady sit down?" asked Mrs. Hunt, after an instant's +pause, dusting a chair for Helen with her apron.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," replied Helen, "we only came to see Jim, and we haven't +much time."</p> + +<p>"Let 'em go, then, if they wull," observed the man, answering his wife's +unspoken question.</p> + +<p>"He won't know you," said Mrs. Hunt, whose eyes were fixed on Helen's +basket; "and it's no good giving him things he can't swallow. But if +Master Harold and the young lady like to go upstairs they're welcome. +He's lying in the room right atop of the stairs. You'll find the door +open to keep the room cool."</p> + +<p>The visitors needed no second bidding. Stumbling up the dark rotten +staircase they soon found themselves in the room where, on a rough bed, +Jim, with wide open, blank eyes, lay tossing and tumbling. The +atmosphere here was less oppressive than that below, and through the +tiny window a little breeze came, and the sunlight made one golden patch +upon the rough, dirty floor.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus3" id="illus3"></a> +<img src="images/illus3.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>HELEN AND HAROLD AT JIM'S BEDSIDE</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Don't you know us, Jim?" asked Harold, going up to the sick boy and +bending over him.</p> + +<p>Jim only replied by an unmeaning stare, and began to mutter inaudibly.</p> + +<p>"See, Jim, we have brought you some strawberries," said Helen, advancing +and opening her basket.</p> + +<p>A glance of intelligence passed over the lad's face as he looked from +Helen to the strawberries, but it faded directly, and the low muttering +recommenced.</p> + +<p>"Can't we do anything for him?" asked Harold in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"I think that we might make him more comfortable," said Helen, beginning +with deft fingers to straighten the bed-clothes and raise the pillows. +"And see, his poor mouth is parched. We might moisten his lips."</p> + +<p>"Well, miss, you are kind, to be sure," said Mrs. Hunt's voice from the +doorway; "I can't do for him as I would. There's the children; they must +be seen to, and the fowls and the pigs. He was a good lad to me, though +he is not my own, and we never had a wrong word, never."</p> + +<p>"Won't he get better?" asked Harold.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe as he will," returned the woman. "The very night as he +was took I says to his father, he's took for death. And I believe my +words is coming true."</p> + +<p>"Water!" murmured Jim, a look of consciousness stealing into his +fever-stricken eyes.</p> + +<p>The woman hastened to his side and gave the water, not unkindly.</p> + +<p>"Who's that?" he asked, pointing at Harold.</p> + +<p>"Why, Jim, don't you know? That's Master Harold come to see you. And the +young lady from the Grange, she—" But Jim was already beginning to +wander again, and both Harold and Helen were almost due at home, and +dared not prolong their stay.</p> + +<p>"It is so dreadful for him to be alone," said Helen as they stumbled +down-stairs preceded by Mrs. Hunt. "May I come and sit with him this +afternoon?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hunt assented. She did not want the young lady "bothering about," +but it would never do to risk falling out with the Grange. So it was +arranged that Helen should return, and then she and Harold started off +homewards at a rapid pace. It did occur to Helen to ask her father's +permission for this second visit, but when she arrived at home she found +that he was out and not expected back until late in the afternoon. Mrs. +Desmond was still upstairs, and Helen lunched alone, and afterwards, her +head still full of poor Jim, took a few restless turns up and down the +garden walks, and then set out for the village.</p> + +<p>Upon the village a sort of afternoon calm seemed to have fallen. The +children were in school, the men at work in the fields, a few of the +women were straw-plaiting and gossiping idly at their doors, and these +stared and whispered one to another as Helen passed them on her way to +the Hunts' cottage. Here all was silent, save that through the open +window overhead a sound of Jim's unintelligible muttering could be heard +occasionally.</p> + +<p>"It's you, miss, is it?" said Mrs. Hunt, appearing at last in answer to +Helen's timid knocking; "go up if you like. Nobody can do any good, I'm +afeard. But it's kind of you to come."</p> + +<p>Helen made no answer, but climbed the narrow staircase and entered the +sick boy's room. There was no change since her last visit, although she +fancied that Jim's face brightened a little as she went in. Very gently +she attended to his comfort, and she even succeeded in making him +swallow some milk that stood by his bedside. Then he closed his eyes, +and she went and sat down by the window, wondering whether a sense of +human companionship was the comfort to Jim that she fancied it would be +to herself under similar circumstances. Very slowly the afternoon wore +on. Every now and then the sick boy stirred and recommenced his confused +talk. Such strange talk it seemed to Helen to come from dying lips. It +was his work that troubled him. The fowls that would lay away, the cows +that he could not milk, the sheep that would stray. And he was always +late, and father would come home and be angry.</p> + +<p>"Poor Jim! perhaps his work is all done. Perhaps no one will ever be +angry with him any more," thought Helen, tears rising to her eyes. Seen +in this light it did occur to her that dying was not such a very sad +thing after all. Here was Jim, whose life had been a hard one, who had +known no pleasures, who was stupid, every one said, and whom no one had +cared for much. That very night, perhaps, he would know more than the +wisest man living; he might be seeing more beautiful things than we can +even picture, and be making the most wonderful discoveries about that +undying love which Cousin Mary had said was always about us from the +moment we were born. And on earth no one would speak his name save +gently, no one would remember that he was plain and silly, but he would +be thought of tenderly, and even those who had not loved him would have +a sigh to give to his memory.</p> + +<p>"Was dying so very sad after all?" Helen was still asking herself this +question, when from below there came a sound of merry laughter, and of +trampling childish feet. The children were coming out from school, and +simultaneously the whole village seemed to wake up. Boys shouted and +played; lowing cows were brought in to be milked; the women began their +preparations for the evening meal, and, from their open doorways, called +loudly upon their respective children. Life was there; and here was +death. Poor Jim! never to mingle with his fellows again; never to feel +the warm sun and the soft air; to go away from the cheerful day into the +dark unknown. Yes; it was dreadful, dreadful, and Helen buried her face +in her hands to shut out the sad picture.</p> + +<p>Just then she heard a sound of voices below. Mrs. Hunt was talking +volubly, but who was she addressing? Not her husband certainly. Perhaps +it was the doctor. Helen felt a little shamefaced at the idea of being +caught watching beside the sick boy, and she advanced to the door to see +if there was any chance of escape. Then she felt still more perturbed, +for she recognized Mr. Bayden's voice speaking in quick nervous tones.</p> + +<p>"Of course, Mrs. Hunt," he was saying, "if I could do the poor lad any +good, I would see him directly. But you say that he knows nobody."</p> + +<p>"Well, I can't say that exactly. He seemed to brighten up like when +Master Harold came in this morning. Not that—"</p> + +<p>"Master Harold!"</p> + +<p>The words were gasped out in quick, agitated accents.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; why, bless me! I thought you sent him, him and the young lady +from the Grange. They come just as we was sittin' at dinner, and I says +to Hunt, says I, I do take it kind like—"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that Master Harold was here this morning? That he saw +Jim?"</p> + +<p>"I do, sir; and the young lady—"</p> + +<p>But there was no need for any more of Mrs. Hunt's roundabout statements. +Helen had already guessed from Mr. Bayden's agitated tones that +something was wrong, and she now appeared upon the scene.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing here?" cried the clergyman, catching sight of her.</p> + +<p>"I—I only came to see Jim, he seemed so lonely," faltered Helen. "I am +very sorry if I did wrong. Please don't blame Harold. It was all my +doing that we came."</p> + +<p>"Oh! what have you done! what have you done!" cried Mr. Bayden, wringing +his hands. "Come home with me directly. I must see your father."</p> + +<p>"Well, I never!" ejaculated Mrs. Hunt in some indignation; whilst Helen, +still bewildered, prepared to obey.</p> + +<p>"My good woman, don't attempt to interfere," said Mr. Bayden testily, +trying to control himself. "Anything that I can do for the poor lad, of +course, as a clergyman, I am prepared to do. But I cannot risk my +children. Here is money. Get anything that is needed for Jim."</p> + +<p>"A pretty clergyman!" muttered Mrs. Hunt, looking sullenly at the money +that still lay upon the table, as though half inclined to throw it after +its donor, who was by this time half-way down the village street, +followed by Helen. "Well, it's lucky for him Jim is none o' mine, or I'd +have given him a piece of my mind. A pretty clergyman!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Bayden meanwhile, who would have been the last person in the world +to wound Mrs. Hunt's feelings wilfully, and who was quite unconscious +that in his terror and excitement he had omitted to explain to her the +cause of his perturbation at Harold's visit, was half-way across the +fields leading to the Grange before he had sufficiently recovered +himself even to address Helen.</p> + +<p>"Am I walking too fast for you?" he said then.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" answered Helen, who was nearly out of breath with her efforts +to keep up with her companion. "I hope you won't be angry with Harold," +she added timidly. "I am quite sure my father won't mind my having +gone."</p> + +<p>"Not mind your having gone!" repeated Mr. Bayden. "It was a most wicked, +thoughtless act. And to lead Harold into mischief too! My poor Harold!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Bayden, is anything the matter with Harold?"</p> + +<p>Helen's agonized tones touched the clergyman, preoccupied as he was.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he returned more gently. "He ate no lunch, and he +complained of headache this afternoon. It may be nothing."</p> + +<p>"But why—why?" began Helen, when, to her joy, she saw her father a +little ahead of them.</p> + +<p>"There is father!" she cried joyfully, running after him. Her tale was +nearly told before Mr. Bayden came up to them.</p> + +<p>"What has my little girl been doing?" asked the colonel, smiling. +"Interfering with your sick folk? No harm done, I hope."</p> + +<p>"I hope not," answered Mr. Bayden tremulously. "But—shall I speak +before her?"</p> + +<p>"Run on, Helen," said the colonel. "Now," he went on as Helen obeyed, an +anxious look gathering on his face, "what is it?"</p> + +<p>"Just this. I met the doctor this afternoon, and he fears an epidemic in +the village. Jim Hunt is dying, may be dead already. He ought to have +been isolated from the first. But our regular doctor is away, and this +one has no sense. As for that silly Mrs. Hunt—"</p> + +<p>"Has the doctor pronounced the disease infectious?" interrupted the +colonel impatiently.</p> + +<p>"He doesn't know what to make of it. Two more children in the village +are down with it."</p> + +<p>"And our children have been exposed to it?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Bayden nodded.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry, Bayden," resumed the colonel. "Let us hope that no harm +will come of it. Helen has been thoughtless. I will speak to her. The +less said to anyone else the better. I daresay it would only +unnecessarily alarm your wife. Come in now and have some tea."</p> + +<p>"Don't ask me," cried the clergyman, his excitement rising again. +"Harold was not well when I left home. Nothing but duty would have taken +me out. Good-bye, good-bye!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Bayden hurried away a good deal annoyed with Colonel Desmond for his +apparent unconcern, and resolved to impart the whole affair to his wife +as soon as possible.</p> + +<p>Helen rejoined her father.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Helen!" said the latter gravely, "this is a bad business. What +could have induced you to go to the Hunts' cottage, and to take Harold +with you? I am really vexed with you."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, father," faltered Helen, "I did not think that I was doing +anything wrong."</p> + +<p>"Didn't you know that Jim has a fever. And now Mr. Bayden says that +Harold has taken it."</p> + +<p>Helen gave a little cry and buried her face in her hands. She understood +it all now, Mr. Bayden's distress and her father's annoyance. And +Harold? Then her thoughts stopped, they dared not travel further.</p> + +<p>"Let this be a lesson to you, Helen," went on the colonel seriously, +still annoyed and a little anxious, although sorry for the child's +evident distress. "You are too heedless. That is at the root of all your +troubles. There, run in now and get yourself cool. We mustn't have you +laid up, and the heat to-day is quite Indian. Cheer up! I daresay Harold +will be well to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Thus dismissed, Helen went her way. She was very sad and downcast, and +her old morbid fancies returned in full force. Two days of terrible +suspense followed, during which even Mrs. Desmond remarked upon the +girl's altered looks. On the third day a hurried note from Mrs. Bayden +informed her sister that Harold was dangerously ill, and alluded to his +visit to Jim in Helen's company in terms that there was no mistaking. +Mrs. Desmond's annoyance at the reception of this information was not +lessened by the fact of its having been hitherto kept from her +knowledge. But Helen was too unhappy to suffer greatly from her +stepmother's reproaches, too down-hearted to take comfort even from her +father's assurances that Harold must have taken the fever before his +visit to Jim, as otherwise it would not have declared itself so +speedily.</p> + +<p>There was, in fact, no comfort for poor Helen, not even the comfort of +knowing from hour to hour how the sufferer fared. All communication +between the Rectory and the Grange was stopped, and Mrs. Desmond was +making hasty preparations for departure. Helen wandered about, a forlorn +little figure, generally alone, but occasionally accompanied by her +father.</p> + +<p>It was upon one of these latter occasions on the very last day of their +stay at the Grange, that the father and daughter, walking sadly through +the lanes, encountered Mr. Bayden. The clergyman tried to pass on, but +the colonel interposed.</p> + +<p>"We're not afraid of infection here, Bayden. How is the lad?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Bayden shook his head. "He is very, very ill," he answered brokenly.</p> + +<p>"Dear me! Such a fine little fellow! He is sure to pull through."</p> + +<p>"I dare not hope for it," returned the clergyman; "though I would give +my life for him."</p> + +<p>As he spoke he passed on, and the colonel and Helen continued their walk +in sad silence. Colonel Desmond was half surprised at his little girl's +silence. He even thought that she ought to have spoken, and hoped that +she was not growing hard-hearted.</p> + +<p>He did not look at her face, or its strained unchildlike expression +might have alarmed him. Neither could he see her when, finding herself +alone in her own room, she sat down and buried her face in her hands, +moaning, "I would give my life for him, my life for him," while tearless +sobs shook her slight frame.</p> + +<p>No one thought of Helen through those sad days, no one pitied her. Even +her father was vexed that through her thoughtlessness she had made it +possible for people to say that she was answerable for Harold's illness. +More and more the poor little head puzzled itself over questions that +can find no answer here; but strangest of all it seemed to her to think +of the days when Harold was the Rectory grievance, the bitterest drop in +his mother's cup, and to contrast them with the present, when love was +fighting its bitter battle over him with death.</p> + +<p>How miserable Agatha had looked in church last Sunday! Perhaps even +Agatha knew that she loved her brother now. How sad that love and +tenderness should come too late! Was it always so?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>"IF I HAD BUT LOVED HER."</h3> + + +<p>Dearly as Mrs. Desmond loved London and the comforts of her own home, +she had no desire to spend the last days of sultry July in Bloomsbury +Square. The Grange being no longer, in her eyes, a safe abode, the +difficult question now arose where next to go. Long and anxious were the +consultations that took place between husband and wife upon this +subject. At last Colonel Desmond, glancing over the <i>Times</i> +advertisement sheet, read of a pleasure steamer which was to start for +the Baltic and St. Petersburg on the 1st of August. An idea struck him. +Mrs. Desmond owned some property in Russia. Would she not like to see +it? The short voyage would be agreeable. They might return by Vienna and +Germany. Should they go? The idea actually found favour in Mrs. +Desmond's eyes. She had had no experience of travelling by sea, and +fancied that a voyage would be pleasant enough. And if they returned by +Germany even the colonel might be brought to see the wisdom of placing +Helen at one of those excellent German schools of which Mrs. Desmond had +been wont to speak scornfully enough in times gone by. She did not +forget that she had done so; but the knowledge that Helen had forced her +to act in a manner contrary to her openly-expressed opinions added to +the bitterness of her feelings towards the girl.</p> + +<p>Rather to the colonel's surprise his wife raised no question about +Helen's accompanying them on the projected trip. Longford Grange was +deserted in all haste. Mrs. Desmond declared that the place had not +suited her, and that she was thankful to see the last of it. Neither was +the colonel sorry. Only Helen's heart ached as she drove with her +parents through the village on her way to the station, straining her +eyes to catch a last glimpse of the Rectory, where Harold lay, as they +had just heard, between life and death.</p> + +<p>"My poor sister!" sighed Mrs. Desmond, who was in a pleasant mood, +thankful to be getting safely away from the neighbourhood of the fever. +"My poor sister! No doubt she will feel the boy's loss; but, after all, +there will be one less to provide for. And Harold was the most +troublesome of them all. These trials are often blessings in disguise."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" said the colonel, with a quick glance at Helen. "Harold will +live to trouble them yet. You see if he doesn't. And as for his being +troublesome, it's my belief that parents like the tiresome children +best."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Desmond pursed up her thin lips, and glanced at Helen in her turn.</p> + +<p>"You speak without knowledge, John," she returned coldly. "To love a +child that is continually paining you is impossible. It is a piece of +modern cant to say that it is. Of course one must do one's <i>duty</i> +towards a troublesome child. That is what you mean, I suppose."</p> + +<p>The colonel merely shrugged his shoulders and made no reply. He did not +find his wife charming when she took this tone.</p> + +<p>"I know some one who is sorry to leave Longford," he said after a pause, +looking kindly at Helen, who, white and silent, sat opposite to her +father.</p> + +<p>"Sorry!" began Helen half-stupidly. She was putting a strong restraint +upon herself, for she dreaded showing any feeling before her stepmother.</p> + +<p>"Surely Helen must be rather glad than sorry," interposed the latter. +"If I were in her place I should pray that I might never see Longford +again."</p> + +<p>Both the colonel and Helen understood Mrs. Desmond's meaning. But +although the former threw himself back with an impatient gesture, while +Helen's lips quivered and her cheeks flushed, they both took refuge in +silence, which remained unbroken until the station was reached.</p> + +<p>A fortnight later and the days at Longford seemed almost like a dream to +Helen, so changed were the outward surroundings of her life.</p> + +<p>The steamer in which our friends had embarked had reached the landlocked +Baltic. The lingering northern twilight was slowly, reluctantly giving +place to night, such night as northern latitudes know even in late +summer, when a sort of delicate gray veil, through which every object is +distinctly visible, shrouds the earth for a few hours between sunset and +sunrise. These nights possess a poetical charm that almost defies +description, a charm that touches the most unimaginative with a vague +sense of the nearness of an intangible other-world. There is a darkening +and a hush. Nature, weary with the long day, rests; but rests, as it +were, awake, waiting for the quick-coming dawn. Helen, sitting a little +apart from a merry group of fellow-passengers on the steamer's deck, was +under the spell of this wonderful summer's night. There are certain +phases in nature which seem to work upon highly-strung people until they +experience a kind of spiritual quickening, some such quickening as we +imagine may come to us after death. It was this influence that was upon +Helen now. The day had passed pleasantly enough except for one incident. +Mrs. Desmond had not found the voyage come up to her expectations. In +crossing the North Sea she had been horribly sea-sick, and now, although +scarcely a ripple disturbed the surface of the Baltic, she found it hard +to forget her previous sufferings. Upon this day, however, she had +ventured up on deck for the first time. Helen, noticing her stepmother +shivering, had run unasked to fetch her a wrap. Heedlessly catching up +the first she could find, a white fleecy shawl, she ran up the companion +with it in her hand. Just as she reached the top a steward, carrying a +plate of soup, passed her. How it came about Helen scarcely knew, but +the ship lurched, and the contents of the plate were bestowed upon the +delicate white shawl. Mrs. Desmond from her chair watched the scene, and +gave a little cry of dismay as she saw the rich soup dyeing her +favourite shawl.</p> + +<p>Tears rushed to Helen's eyes.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry," she stammered, going forward slowly and hanging her +head.</p> + +<p>Inwardly Mrs. Desmond felt convinced that Helen had acted from first to +last with the sole purpose of annoying her. A good many people, however, +were sitting and standing near her, and she controlled her anger.</p> + +<p>"Why did you fetch the shawl?" she asked coldly.</p> + +<p>"I—I thought it would make you more comfortable."</p> + +<p>There was a second's pause, during which Mrs. Desmond mentally decided +that Helen was lying deliberately.</p> + +<p>"Take the thing away, please," she said at last. "It is utterly ruined. +The very sight of it makes me feel ill."</p> + +<p>"What an unlucky little girl it is!" said Colonel Desmond, patting +Helen's shoulder as she turned silently away.</p> + +<p>"And what a pity to see such a lovely shawl ruined!" ejaculated a lady +who was sitting next to Mrs. Desmond, and who thought that that lady had +displayed remarkable forbearance.</p> + +<p>"What an unlucky little girl!" The words haunted Helen all day. They +rang in her ears persistently. Was she unlucky? Would she always be +unlucky? always doing things that hurt others? Would she never have a +chance of showing that she was not really wicked? that she longed to do +those sweet gracious actions that came so naturally from some people? +Would no one ever love her except her father, whom she was always +disappointing, whose chief trouble and anxiety she was, her stepmother +said?</p> + +<p>"I try, I try!" cried Helen to herself; "but I always do the wrong +thing. I am unlucky."</p> + +<p>Dusky night came on. No one noticed Helen as she sat alone in her quiet +corner. Mrs. Desmond had retired long ago. Colonel Desmond had gone his +own way, imagining his little girl safely in bed. Gradually the various +groups of passengers dispersed, calling out merry good-nights to one +another. Silence fell, broken only by the faint lapping of the sea +against the ship as she went swiftly through the water.</p> + +<p>With wide-open eyes, full of sad questionings, Helen looked out over the +still waters and watched a faint coast-line that showed itself far away +against the horizon. There was no moon visible, only that curious gray +shroud veiled sea and sky, making everything look unreal and ghost-like, +its effect heightened by the peculiar stillness of the sultry +atmosphere.</p> + +<p>Intensely wide awake, Helen sat and watched, while every incident in her +short life seemed to pass in review before her. More vividly than any +other, there came back to her the scene in Jim Hunt's dying chamber. She +could almost have fancied that she was sitting once more by the little +open window, listening to the sick boy's rambling talk, while the +children shouted and laughed below.</p> + +<p>Then the scene changed. What had happened? Where was the ship and the +gray waters and shadowy, distant land? Had she been dreaming? Where was +she?</p> + +<p>In a sick-room, not bare and comfortless like Jim Hunt's, but bright and +cheerful, lit with shaded lamps, and filled with tokens of thoughtful +love. On the bed someone was lying, but from where Helen stood only a +curly head was visible. At a small table by the bedside sat a lady, +busy, apparently, over a gaily-coloured scrap-book. Her back was turned +to Helen, but as the girl advanced timidly she raised her head and said: +"I think I have done enough to-night, Harold. I will put the rest in +to-morrow." "Not to-morrow;" and the little figure in its eagerness +tried, though vainly, to raise itself in bed. "Not to-morrow. Mother, +mother, do finish it to-night."</p> + +<p>Helen clasped her hands. This was Harold. She pressed forward and tried +to speak, but no words came. It was all curious, for Mrs. Bayden must +surely see her now, and yet she made no sign. Helen looked at Harold, +but his eyes were closed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bayden glanced anxiously at Harold and then bent once more over the +scrap-book. Helen stood quite still, gazing at Harold. His beautiful +rounded face had grown pale and pinched, and it was almost difficult to +recognize him, so changed was he. He lay quite still for what seemed to +Helen a long time, but at last he moved and opened his eyes. Then he saw +Helen standing at the foot of his bed, and he sat up and stretched out +his arms to her, his face beaming with joy.</p> + +<p>"Helen, Helen!" he cried. "Don't you see her, mother? I am coming. +Helen, wait for me."</p> + +<p>As the sound of his voice died away, the vision faded. Helen looked +round, and found herself upon the sea, and heard again the water lapping +against the ship. Only there was a change. The air was cold and charged +with moisture. The distant coast-line had disappeared from sight, and +the delicate gray veil had given place to a thick mist, through which +the pale dawn strove in vain to pierce.</p> + +<p>She sat quite still, trying to collect her thoughts. The impression +left upon her by her dream was so vivid that it was at first impossible +to believe that she had been asleep, and even when she succeeded in +persuading herself that this had been the case the conviction remained +that Harold lived, that he was waiting for her, and that they would meet +again. This conviction gave her neither pleasure nor pain, but was so +settled that it would have surprised her more to have seen her father +standing beside her than Harold. She was curiously tranquillized too. +All the vain longings and regrets that had troubled her so sorely of +late were stilled. She felt quite happy and at rest, and regardless of +the rolling mist which seemed to be closing in round the ship, she +curled herself up in her long chair and fell fast asleep.</p> + +<p>The child slept soundly, although the mist thickened and increased +rapidly, and the captain, hastily aroused, paced the deck anxiously. +Speed was reduced, all hands were on the alert, and discordant blasts on +the fog-horn disturbed the quiet. Still Helen did not stir, until, +suddenly, from the look-out there came a ringing cry, "Ship ahead!" Then +she started up and saw what looked through the mist like a phantom ship +bearing down upon the doomed vessel on which she stood. Half paralysed +by vague fear, although quite ignorant of the reality of the peril, +Helen remained rooted to the spot, whilst a few minutes of agonizing +suspense ensued, and the captain's voice rang out his orders and each +man went to his post. Then came a crash, a shock, under which the vessel +shuddered like a living thing, and, almost as it seemed the next moment, +the phantom-like ship, her deadly work done, was moving away, +disregarding the affrighted shrieks with which the air was suddenly +filled.</p> + +<p>The passengers, rudely awakened, rushed on deck. Cries and shrieks were +soon redoubled, for almost immediately after she was struck the ship +stopped, and it became known that water was pouring into the +engine-room, extinguishing the fires. There followed a few minutes of +indescribable confusion, during which the men held bravely to their +posts, until, once more, and for the last time, the captain's voice rang +out clear and calm from the bridge:</p> + +<p>"All hands clear away the boats! Save yourselves! To the boats!"</p> + +<p>Instantly there was a rush for the boats, one of which was lashed to the +ship close to where Helen was standing wringing her hands and calling +wildly for her father.</p> + +<p>Before the boat could be lowered it was filled, but a ship's officer, +compassionating the lonely, terrified child, was just about to place +Helen in the already heavily-weighted craft, when a woman, who, with a +child in her arms, had just managed to scramble in, started up, +screaming:</p> + +<p>"My boy, my boy! He is not here! Save him, oh, save him!"</p> + +<p>At sound of her voice a delicate, lame boy, between whom and Helen there +had been a sort of friendship, pressed forward, but was instantly borne +back by the excited crowd.</p> + +<p>"Help him, I can manage for myself," said Helen, disengaging herself +from her would-be deliverer's grasp and pointing to the boy.</p> + +<p>There was no time for parleying. Crying, "Make way for the women and +children," the officer, fancying that Helen also was safe, thrust the +lame boy over the ship's side, and the over-filled boat moved away.</p> + +<p>This half-instinctive act of generosity restored Helen to her presence +of mind. The frantic crowd that had surged round her melted away as the +boat passed out of sight. She rallied her courage and looked around her, +wondering how she could best set about finding her father.</p> + +<p>At this period the scene was a terrible one. The vessel was sinking +fast, and already, where Helen stood, the water was almost up to her +knees. Heart-rending cries and pitiful prayers filled the air. Mothers +were calling wildly on their children, husbands on their wives, for the +heavy mist and darkness added to the horror of the scene, making it +difficult for people to distinguish one another.</p> + +<p>Obtaining no answer to her repeated cries, Helen determined to advance +cautiously. Clinging to the bulwarks, stumbling at every step, half +drenched with water and benumbed with cold, she scrambled on for some +distance. Once or twice she fancied that she heard her father's voice +calling her, and replying as well as she was able, she struggled on in +the direction from which the sound came. To reach him was her one +absorbing desire. She felt certain that his strong arms would save her, +that he would not let her perish.</p> + +<p>Dawn came slowly. The mists lifted, but only to show a wild waste of +water ruffled by a rising wind, and the sea-horses moaning and fretting +round the doomed vessel, as though waiting for their prey. Helen +shivered, and her courage began to fail. The water was rising, and +people were climbing into the rigging.</p> + +<p>"Father! father!" she cried wildly; but there was no answer, only a +faint moan that sounded as though it came from someone quite close to +her.</p> + +<p>Helen paused. The sound was so pitiful it arrested her attention. She +looked about, and presently she descried a crouched-up figure close +beside her clinging to a hand-rail that had formed part of some steps +leading to the bridge. The girl put out her hand and touched the +recumbent figure.</p> + +<p>"Are you hurt?" she asked. "Can I help you?"</p> + +<p>Helen felt her hand clutched, and the figure raised itself. Then she +started back, for in the wild, terror-stricken face that met her gaze +she recognized her stepmother.</p> + +<p>"Mamma!"</p> + +<p>"Helen!"</p> + +<p>"Where is my father?"</p> + +<p>The words burst from Helen's lips in agonized entreaty.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Desmond shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I do not know," she answered feebly. "He left me safe, as he thought. I +only went back to fetch a few things that I was trying to preserve, and +that he had taken from me and thrown on the deck. There was plenty of +time, everyone said. And when I returned my place was taken. It was +wicked, cowardly. And I have been alone ever since."</p> + +<p>"But my father, my father?" repeated Helen impatiently.</p> + +<p>"How can I tell? He went in search of you. It was a terrible risk; I +told him so. You should have been with us."</p> + +<p>A pang smote Helen's heart. She had been unlucky again. But for that +profound sleep that had fallen upon her on deck she might easily have +found her father at the first alarm.</p> + +<p>"He cannot be far away. He would never forsake us," she said, wrenching +her hand from her stepmother's grasp. "I must find him."</p> + +<p>"O, Helen, do not leave me!" moaned Mrs. Desmond, raising herself and +clinging to the girl's drenched skirts, "it is so terrible to be alone, +and I am so weak. If any help came I might be passed over and forgotten. +I cannot scream as some people do. Stay with me, Helen, stay with me."</p> + +<p>Helen stood for a moment irresolute. If she remained here she must +abandon all hope of finding her father, almost, it seemed to her, all +hope of life. And the water was always mounting higher. She was not weak +like her stepmother. If no other help was at hand she might climb with +others into the rigging and wait for the aid that must surely come. And +there would be always that chance of finding her father.</p> + +<p>"If I find father he will be able to help you," she said, moving away a +little.</p> + +<p>"No, no, Helen; you must not leave me," cried Mrs. Desmond; and again +she clutched the girl's hand, those strong young fingers that had +closed so appealingly on hers once, but that were irresponsive now. Did +a recollection of that day, when Helen had appealed to her in vain, +return to Mrs. Desmond? Perhaps so, for there was a real ring of sorrow +in her voice as she said:</p> + +<p>"I daresay I have been hard upon you, Helen; but I meant to do my duty +by you. And if at first—"</p> + +<p>For once Mrs. Desmond had touched the right chord in Helen's breast. +There was no need for more words. The past flashed back upon the girl's +mind. Here was the chance for which she had longed, and she had been +going to throw it away.</p> + +<p>"Of course I will stay with you," she cried impulsively, flinging +herself down beside her stepmother. "Don't be so sad, mamma," she went +on soothingly. "Father is sure to come to us. We shall be saved, I am +sure."</p> + +<p>"Do you really think so, Helen?" moaned Mrs. Desmond. "I wish I could +believe it. Couldn't you say a prayer, child? I can't remember one, +although I have always said my prayers, night and morning; and I have +always tried to do my duty—always."</p> + +<p>Tenderly supporting her stepmother's head on her poor, drenched lap, +Helen whispered our Lord's prayer, and then Mrs. Desmond wandered on +again, wondering about this and that, and chiefly why such a terrible +crisis should have come into her tranquil life.</p> + +<p>"It has been all sorrow and trouble," she said, remembering the troubled +course of the past year. "I couldn't bear you, Helen. You must forgive +me. We must forgive everyone now."</p> + +<p>With tears in her eyes Helen gave the required forgiveness. How strange +it all seemed! She and her stepmother alone together, with an awful +death creeping close up to them, and the understanding that would have +sweetened both their lives coming too late. Presently Mrs. Desmond's +mind began to wander. Helen listened to her disjointed talk, soothing +her as well as she was able; raising her voice occasionally to call +imploringly on her father, little dreaming that he, having left his wife +as he believed in safety, and having received an assurance from a ship's +officer that Helen had been placed in the first boat that left the ship, +had provided himself with a life-buoy, and was now battling with the +waves, trusting to the chance of keeping himself afloat and of being +eventually picked up by a passing vessel.</p> + +<p>The desire of life was strong in Helen. It was terrible to her to remain +inactive and to watch the water gradually engulfing the ship. Sometimes +she felt almost unable to endure it longer; but at her least movement +Mrs. Desmond would start up, imploring her to remain.</p> + +<p>"I would come back," she said once or twice. "I only want to find +another place where we might be a little safer. The water is coming in +upon us so fast."</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Desmond was almost past fear itself now, and her only reply was +to cling yet more closely to the lithe young figure by her side; and +Helen could not steel her heart against such an appeal.</p> + +<p>Still the ordeal was a terrible one. Awful as the scene had been when +the vessel had first struck, it became more appalling now, as, +gradually, cries were hushed, those few left upon the wreck reserving +all their strength for their fight with death, and the cold dawn showed +still only that vast expanse of gray, seething waters, unbroken by even +a passing sail. Helen's heart sank within her. Must it come, this awful +death? Was there no help anywhere? The strong life within her rebelled +at the thought, and she looked round her, wondering whether her strength +would enable her to drag Mrs. Desmond with her to a place of greater +safety. Still holding her stepmother's hand, she managed to drag herself +to her feet, and as she did so she caught sight of a rude raft, composed +of a few planks hastily fastened together, on which two men were +standing, having apparently just put off from the wreck.</p> + +<p>"Help!" she cried.</p> + +<p>The raft drifted on and there came no answer. With the courage of +despair she repeated her cry, and the men looked round. Possibly the +sight of the forlorn childish figure standing, as it appeared, utterly +alone on the doomed vessel, touched them, for, notwithstanding the +danger of returning to the fast-submerging wreck, they altered their +course and came within hail.</p> + +<p>"You must jump!" shouted one, throwing a rope to Helen, who stood with +both hands outstretched, calling out words of encouragement to Mrs. +Desmond, who still clung to her, and who was too dazed with terror and +exhaustion to understand that help was at hand.</p> + +<p>"Quick!" shouted their deliverers. "Pass the rope round you and trust to +it. We can come no nearer."</p> + +<p>"Quick!" they cried again as they saw Helen stooping down and adjusting +the rope, not round herself, but round a figure that lay at her feet.</p> + +<p>"Courage, mamma, courage!" she said. "Hold fast to the rope! We are +saved, we are saved!"</p> + +<p>"Saved!" echoed Mrs. Desmond, clutching feebly at the rope. "Don't leave +me, Helen."</p> + +<p>"Come," shouted the men, "there is not a moment to lose."</p> + +<p>"Hold fast, dear, hold fast!" said Helen, beginning to attach herself +also to the rope. But it was too late. Crying "Ready?" the men pulled +the rope. With a faint scream Mrs. Desmond disappeared alone into the +swirling water. A minute or two later her dripping, senseless form lay +upon the raft, which was itself almost engulfed immediately afterwards +as, with an awful booming sound, the wreck settled down lower into the +water. A rising wave caught Helen and carried her off her feet. She +caught at some floating wreckage, which supported her for a moment, and +looked round her for the last time. The raft had disappeared from sight. +She was alone.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Day broke. The mist melted away as the sun rose sparkling on the water +that, swept by a light wind, danced gaily in the glad morning light. But +of the ship that had moved so gallantly over those same waters only a +few short hours before, no trace remained, save here and there some +floating wreckage. No trace either of the brave little soul whose +perplexities were all over now, who would never be unlucky any more, to +whom death had come gently and tenderly at last, and to whom it had been +given to offer the supremest sacrifice, even its own life, for another.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Colonel and Mrs. Desmond were amongst the survivors on that fatal night, +whose terrible events cost the latter a long and painful illness. On her +recovery she burst into tears when Helen's name was mentioned in her +presence for the first time. Whether she was fully conscious of her +stepdaughter's heroic behaviour towards her no one ever exactly knew. +Her husband learnt much of what had passed through her ravings during +her illness, but he dreaded recurring to so painful a subject. Very +sadly, after many months had elapsed, they returned to their home in +Bloomsbury Square, and from that day forward no untoward event occurred +to mar the outward calm of the lives of this middle-aged couple as they +went down into what seemed serene old age; but the colonel's hair +whitened rapidly, and Mrs. Desmond realized too late all that she had +missed.</p> + +<p>Spring was in the land once more when Colonel and Mrs. Desmond, aged and +saddened, stood again in sight of Longford Grange. Mrs. Desmond trembled +as she walked, and the colonel took her hand gently and led her towards +the churchyard. There, at the head of a little mound, bright with +spring flowers, a marble cross had been placed. On it was written—</p> + +<h4>IN MEMORY OF<br /> +HAROLD,<br /> +Who Died August 10th, 187—.</h4> + + +<p>And below—</p> + + +<h4>On the same day and about the same hour,</h4> + +<h4>HELEN,<br /> +Drowned through the Foundering of the<br /> +"Empress" in the Baltic.</h4> + +<h4>"<i>Love is all and death is nought.</i>"</h4> + +<p>Mrs. Desmond knelt down and kissed the cold stone. "If I had but loved +her," she said.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Unlucky, by Caroline Austin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNLUCKY *** + +***** This file should be named 35653-h.htm or 35653-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/6/5/35653/ + +Produced by Dave Morgan, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Unlucky + A Fragment of a Girl's Life + +Author: Caroline Austin + +Release Date: March 22, 2011 [EBook #35653] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNLUCKY *** + + + + +Produced by Dave Morgan, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + Unlucky + + A Fragment of a Girl's Life + + BY CAROLINE AUSTIN + +Author of "Cousin Geoffrey and I," "Hugh Herbert's Inheritance," +"Dorothy's Dilemma," &c. + + + BLACKIE & SON LIMITED + + LONDON GLASGOW DUBLIN BOMBAY + + + + +[Illustration: CHRIS IS BROUGHT BACK BY HIS FRIEND THE SERGEANT] + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +I. HELEN'S STEPMOTHER + +II. COUSIN MARY + +III. HELEN'S ESCAPADE + +IV. STRANGERS YET + +V. LONGFORD GRANGE + +VI. HAROLD + +VII. "IF I HAD BUT LOVED HER" + + + + +UNLUCKY: + +A FRAGMENT OF A GIRL'S LIFE. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +HELEN'S STEPMOTHER. + + +It must be allowed that Mrs. Desmond, with the best dispositions in the +world towards children in general and her most perplexing little +stepdaughter Helen in particular, was not very happy in her method of +dealing with young people. Brought up herself by two maiden aunts on the +old-fashioned repressive system, from which she had never consciously +suffered, the children of to-day, with their eager, uncontrolled +impulses, their passionate likes and dislikes, often fostered by their +elders, and their too early developed individualities, were simply a +painful enigma to her. That the fault lay in their training rather than +in the young people themselves Mrs. Desmond was free to confess, and, +during the long tranquil years of her maiden life, having never once +been called upon to face the child-problem seriously, she had contented +herself with gently regretting the lax discipline prevalent amongst the +rising generation, and with wondering mildly, and not without a certain +sense of quiet self-satisfaction, what would happen to the human race, +when, in course of time, all the properly brought-up people were +gathered to their fathers. + +All this was changed, however, when this lady, spending a quiet summer +at a Swiss hotel, met Colonel Desmond, who had just returned from India, +and who was trying to restore his broken health at the same tranquil +spot. Colonel Desmond was attracted by the lady's calm, sweet face, and +before long he had told her his story, how he had lost his wife just +thirteen years ago, and how she had left him with one little girl, +Helen, for whose sake principally he had returned from India, and from +whom he was now parted for the first time. He found his listener +singularly sympathetic, and not at all disposed to be impatient over his +long tale of doubts and difficulties, chiefly concerning Helen, round +whom nearly all her father's thoughts centred at this period. The end of +this pleasant friendship may be guessed. Colonel Desmond's liking for +his new friend quickly changed to something deeper, to which she +responded. After that they soon came to a mutual understanding, and it +came about so quickly, and yet so naturally, that their fellow-guests at +the hotel were more fluttered than those chiefly concerned when, one +fine morning, this middle-aged couple were quietly married at the little +English church, and then as quietly went away together. This happened a +few months before our story opens. Upon the intervening time it is +needless to dwell. Helen's feelings may be better imagined than +described when, one day, without a word of warning, her father walked +into the drawing-room of the pleasant, unruly household where she was +temporarily located, and where she was, at that particular moment, +engaged in teaching some untidy-looking children to sit monkey-wise upon +the ground like her ayah, and, rather hastily unclasping the clinging +arms which his little daughter had flung round his neck, he presented to +her the gentle-looking lady who stood by his side as her new mother. A +stormy scene had ensued, during which Helen certainly behaved +abominably, stamping her feet and using some very strong language, +luckily expressed in Hindustani, of which tongue Mrs. Desmond was +blissfully ignorant. But she witnessed the passion, she recognized the +undutiful conduct, and her heart sank within her at the prospect that +opened before her. This was by no means the ideal little daughter over +whom her gentle heart had yearned, and to whom she had meant to perform +a true mother's part. As she looked and listened her feelings hardened, +as the feelings of seemingly gentle people will harden sometimes, and +she told herself that this was a child who could not be won, but who +might be disciplined. + +This was Mrs. Desmond's first mistake. Unfortunately Helen's bad +behaviour at subsequent interviews only served to confirm her +stepmother's earliest impressions. Beneath her surface amiability Mrs. +Desmond possessed a considerable spirit of obstinate determination, and, +if taken the wrong way, she was not an easy person to manage. She now +determined, rightly or wrongly, that her stepdaughter's rebellious +temper must be conquered, and conquered with the only weapons that she +herself understood how to use. Accordingly when, a few weeks after her +first introduction to her father's wife, Helen came to the dull house in +Bloomsbury Square that Mrs. Desmond had inherited from her aunts, and +where she and her husband had fixed their abode until their future plans +were matured, the wayward girl found herself in a new and hitherto +undreamt-of atmosphere. The surprise caused by her novel surroundings +was so great that at first it almost took away her breath and left her +passive. That she, Helen, who had never learned anything save in the +most desultory fashion, upon whose caprices almost all her father's +arrangements had depended, and who had recognized no authority save that +of her own will, should be suddenly subjected to a routine that would +have been galling even to carefully brought-up children, must have +seemed to the poor child a cruel fate indeed. Every hour was mapped out +for her, every action was to be performed at its appointed time. Mrs. +Desmond had recalled, with singular accuracy, the memories of her own +school-room days, and upon these Helen's were to be modelled +henceforward. From seven to eight o'clock she was to practise. At eight +she breakfasted upon the orthodox bread and milk or porridge--both forms +of nourishment being detested by badly brought-up Helen--in company with +Mrs. Desmond's own maid, who had grown gray in her mistress's service. +Breakfast over, her lessons were conned lying on her back, and at nine +o'clock her governess--a forbidding-looking female, not at all of the +modern type, but possessed of exactly the requirements that had been +considered essential in the days of Mrs. Desmond's youth--arrived, and +did not leave her pupil for a moment until the evening, when, dressed in +a prim white frock and sash, Helen was expected to take her place in her +stepmother's drawing-room, where, at a due distance from the fire, and +with a proviso that she was to speak when spoken to, she was allowed to +amuse herself with a book until the gong sounded for her parents' +dinner, when she was supposed to go to bed, with Mrs. Desmond's prim +maid again in attendance to put out the light. + +It must not be supposed that Helen, her first surprise over, submitted +tamely to a life so utterly at variance with her former experiences and +so uncongenial to her tastes. On the contrary, she rebelled fiercely, +fairly frightening her composed stepmother with her outbursts of +passion, and distressing her father, who could not bear to see his +little daughter suffer, but who was daily falling more entirely under +his wife's influence, and who began to believe, with her, that nothing +but this sharp discipline could save Helen from the evil results of her +previous bad training. + +All his life Colonel Desmond had been completely under the influence of +some one person or another. For the last few years he had been Helen's +most obedient subject. It soon became evident that her place was being +taken by his new wife. Perhaps this was not wonderful. Weak, easy-going, +and somewhat broken in health, Colonel Desmond now found himself, for +the first time, an object of tender solicitude. His tastes were +consulted and his fancies gratified; above all, his wife--pleasant, +low-toned, and agreeable to look upon--was constantly at hand to +minister to his wants--a gracious, restful presence set in pleasant +surroundings--for Mrs. Desmond possessed ample means, and money worries +were, for the first time in the colonel's experience, conspicuous by +their absence. It can scarcely be wondered at, then, that Colonel +Desmond, looking at his wife with her serene untroubled face, and +recognizing her perfect propriety of word and action, felt that he could +not further Helen's interests more truly than by placing her +unreservedly in her stepmother's hands, remembering, too, the wild Irish +blood that she had inherited from her mother, for Helen's mother had +been a wayward child up to her last hour, and had sorely tried the +colonel, notwithstanding the very true love that he had borne her. + +Poor Helen! She was the jarring note in this contented, middle-aged +household. A grief to her father, who loved her; a terrible perplexity +to her well-meaning though prejudiced stepmother. Not at all a +terrible-looking little person, although Mrs. Desmond, amongst her most +intimate friends, did occasionally lament her stepdaughter's unfortunate +plainness. It was an interesting little face, with delicate though sharp +features, and large, questioning, restless, blue-gray eyes; sad enough +sometimes, but gleaming with fun and mischief on the least provocation. +Helen's rough dark hair and her rather angular figure were Mrs. +Desmond's despair; but the dark hair showed curious red glints when the +sun shone upon it such as would have struck an artist's fancy, and the +angular figure was lithe, and gave promise of graceful development when +the childish angularity should be out-grown. + +Just as it needed a trained eye to discern the possibilities of beauty +possessed by Helen, so it required some loving knowledge of young +natures to divine the latent good in her. Resentful, passionate, and +wayward, she was also deeply affectionate, and her passionate outbreaks +were followed by passionate repentance, a repentance that she expressed, +however, only to her father, and, as the months went by, rarely even to +him; for although his manner towards her was always kind and even +loving, she knew, with the unerring instinct of childhood, that his +affection was already to a certain extent alienated from her. She did +not blame him for this. In her loyal little heart he still reigned +supreme, as a being absolutely perfect and noble. It was on her +stepmother's unconscious head that all the vials of Helen's wrath were +poured. More or less cowed into outward submission, and half +broken-spirited by her monotonous life, she hated Mrs. Desmond with a +hatred that bade fair to poison her whole nature. To succeed in visibly +annoying her stepmother, to bring an angry cloud over her calm face, was +a positive pleasure to Helen. Mrs. Desmond had been accustomed to a +well-ordered household, and any domestic disturbance was extremely +annoying to her. Helen soon discovered this, and although she was +supposed not to speak to any member of the household, with the exception +of the maid, she delighted in surreptitious visits to the kitchen, and +in setting the servants by the ears. Then, again, noises of any kind +were Mrs. Desmond's abhorrence. Helen would purposely bang doors, tap +with her feet on the floor, even scrape a knife on her plate at +luncheon, and feel more than repaid for the sharp reproof which she drew +upon herself by watching her stepmother's agonized expression whilst the +torture was in progress. That these things were done purposely Mrs. +Desmond did not guess, any more than she imagined that the passionate +manifestations of affection for her father in which Helen occasionally +indulged, were evidences of real love. + +As a fact, there was something antagonistic between Mrs. Desmond's +rather cold nature and Helen's ardent disposition. Only love and +patience could have knit these two together. Mrs. Desmond's theory that +a young girl should be treated as an irresponsible being, and forced +into the same mould that had successfully moulded former generations if +she was to turn out a "nice" woman, was fatal in this instance. The +same want of comprehension of the meaning of real education overshadowed +Helen's studies. Although, in the orthodox sense of the word, Helen's +education had been sadly neglected, she was by no means ignorant. She +had seen and observed much; had read, and read intelligently, books that +most girls of her age would unhesitatingly pronounce "dry;" while for +music she had a genuine talent. This last gift, however, did not help +her much under the system of tuition adopted for her. Ordered, for +instance, to practise her scales for an hour each day, without receiving +any explanation as to the usefulness of such practice, the girl +naturally regarded scale-playing as a fresh device for annoying her. +Consequently her playing during her early morning practice soon became +one of Mrs. Desmond's chief tortures, for each jarring note penetrated +through the thin partitions of a London house, and, reaching that +unhappy lady's ears, robbed her of her comfortable morning nap. Far too +conscientious to put an end to the nuisance for consciously selfish +motives, and too lacking in musical taste herself to discern Helen's +real talent, she suffered as silently as she could; not so silently, +however, but that Helen perceived the annoyance which she caused, and +which she took care should continue unabated. But here, as in so many +other instances, poor Helen's weapons were turned against herself. +Being taken by her father to an afternoon concert, an impromptu pleasure +indulged in during a blissful day when her stepmother was away, she was +seized with a vehement desire to learn to play the violin. Her father, +who fancied that his little girl had been looking pale lately, and who +was pleased with the prospect of giving her so innocent a pleasure, +consented, and quite after the manner of old times, the concert over, +they went off together and purchased a violin, which Helen insisted on +carrying home herself. + +The afternoon had been so delightful, and had sped so quickly, that they +had both forgotten the time, and that Mrs. Desmond was to return home at +six o'clock. It was nearly seven when their cab brought them to their +own door. + +"Yes, Mrs. Desmond had returned an hour ago and was in the +drawing-room," the servant said in answer to the colonel's rather +nervous questioning. A cloud fell upon Helen as she entered the warm, +well-lighted hall; but she clasped her violin tightly and followed her +father upstairs. + +Mrs. Desmond rose from a low chair as her husband entered the +drawing-room. She was dressed in a pretty tea-gown, that well became her +tall, slight figure. Soft lace was arranged on her head, and the shaded +red light played on her diamond rings. She looked the very embodiment of +delicately-nurtured, serene, English womanhood, and so the colonel +thought as his eyes fell upon her. "What has kept you? I have been +anxious about you," she said, addressing him in a gently-reproachful +voice. "You must be cold and tired. Come and sit by the fire, and I will +ring for tea." + +"My dear," returned her husband, coming forward and kissing her, "how +glad I am to see you back! The house seems like home again. As for tea, +the truth is, Helen and I--well, we have been having a little fun on our +own account. Come here, Helen, and tell your mother what we have been +doing. We sent Miss Walker about her business, didn't we? And then--." + +The colonel paused, and Mrs. Desmond then perceived Helen standing +half-timidly, half-defiantly near the door. + +"You there, Helen!" she said coldly. "How often am I to tell you that I +will not have you come into the drawing-room with your walking clothes +on! Go and take them off at once. When I was a child--." + +"It is really my fault this time, wife," put in the colonel, who dreaded +a scene with Helen, and who had, besides, begun to grow a little weary +of his wife's reminiscences of her childhood. + +"Nonsense!" returned Mrs. Desmond with quite unusual asperity. "Helen +knows my rules. She is quite old enough to understand that her duty is +to conform to them, and stay!"--as Helen was turning away +abruptly--"don't go while I am speaking. Have you learned your lessons +for to-morrow?" + +"No." + +"Then ask Martha to put a lamp in the school-room, and set to work at +once. We shall not expect to see you this evening." + +"I won't set to work at once--I won't, I won't, I won't," muttered Helen +under her breath. Her passion was rising; but for her father's sake, her +father who had been so good to her, and who she dimly understood was +responsible for her lapse from duty that afternoon, she strove to +control herself. Knowing that her only chance was in escape, she made a +dash at the door; but in so doing the top of her violin came into +contact with a small china-laden table, and a valuable Dresden figure +fell to the ground with a crash. + +Mrs. Desmond, fairly roused from her wonted calm, rushed forward, +uttering a low cry. Her china was very dear to her. She suffered no one +but herself to touch it, and it was her boast that each piece had in her +keeping remained as intact as it had been in her grandmother's time. + +"Oh, Helen!" she cried, "what have you done? My poor little shepherd is +broken. You might as well have broken the shepherdess too. The pair is +spoilt--utterly spoilt!" + +"Perhaps it can be mended," suggested the kind-hearted colonel, coming +forward. He was really touched by his wife's distress, and also not a +little uneasy about Helen's share in the disaster. + +"Mended!" repeated Mrs. Desmond with rising irritation. "Do you suppose +that I would have a piece of _mended_ china in my drawing-room? No, the +mischief is irreparable--irreparable." + +As she spoke she gathered up the broken fragments tenderly, while a tear +fell upon her white hand. + +"Not irreparable, surely, my dear," persisted the colonel with +characteristic want of tact. "I have seen plenty of figures like these +in old china shops. To-morrow, first thing, Helen shall make amends for +her carelessness by--" + +"Ah, Helen!" interrupted Mrs. Desmond, who had regarded the first part +of the colonel's sentence as a confession of ignorance too gross for +argument, but who was recalled by the mention of Helen's name to the +enormity of the girl's offence. "Helen--" + +There was a moment's pause. Mrs. Desmond was half-astonished at the +bitterness of her own feelings, and felt the necessity of controlling +herself. She looked up and saw Helen watching her from the open doorway +with an expression of scarcely veiled triumph. It was the last straw. If +the girl's face had expressed even fear or shrinking, Mrs. Desmond's +better nature would have been touched; but there was something of +insolence in her stepdaughter's defiant attitude that exasperated the +usually self-controlled woman. + +"Helen," she said, and her voice was hard, "you have been exceedingly +clumsy: a clumsy woman is intolerable. I object to harsh measures, but +something must be done to make you more careful in future. For the +present, go to your own room and remain--. What is that you are +carrying?" she cried with a sudden change of voice, catching sight of +the violin which Helen held behind her. + +The faintest expression of anxiety flitted over Helen's face, but she +made no answer. + +"Show it to me at once. How dare you bring parcels into the +drawing-room?" + +"I am going to take it away now," returned the girl insolently without +moving, for an evil spirit seemed to possess her, and she was absolutely +gloating over her stepmother's evident discomfiture. + +"I insist upon seeing it," went on Mrs. Desmond; while the colonel, +murmuring "Helen" in a tone of remonstrance, walked over to the +fireplace. + +"You can see it, and hear it too!" cried Helen desperately, her passion +blazing out at her stepmother's authoritative tone; and as she spoke she +placed the violin on her shoulder, and with the bow drew a long +discordant wail from its strings. + +Mrs. Desmond started forward, but recovering herself by a violent effort +she stopped and put her hands to her ears. Helen dropped her right hand +by her side, with the other still holding the violin in position, and +regarded her stepmother with a flushed, triumphant face. + +"Go to your room," said the latter at last in accents of such bitterness +that even her husband felt uncomfortable. "Go to your room and to bed. +To-morrow I will see you. I do not wish to inflict any punishment upon +you in anger." + +"Punishment indeed!" cried Helen, whose blood was up. "I have done +nothing to deserve punishment. My father gave me this violin. You cannot +take it from me. It is mine." + +"It shall be taken from you. John," turning to her husband, "I appeal to +you. After Helen's disgraceful behaviour you cannot wish her to keep the +present which in your mistaken kindness you appear to have given her." + +The colonel sighed, but came forward nervously. + +"Helen," he said, "pray do not oppose your mother. You know that she +only desires your good. And really--" + +He stopped short, for Helen was regarding him with a curious expression, +and her breath was coming thick and fast. + +"Do _you_ want me to give her my violin?" she asked. + +"Only for a little time, Helen, to show that you are sorry, and that you +will be more obedient in future." + +For a full minute Helen stood clutching her violin and regarding her +father with that same curious expression; then she let the instrument +drop slowly from her shoulder, and seizing it with her right hand, flung +it from her with a furious gesture. It fell at Mrs. Desmond's feet. + +[Illustration: HELEN FLINGS THE VIOLIN AT MRS. DESMOND'S FEET] + +"Take it," cried the excited girl, "take it. You have robbed me of my +father, now you rob me of that. I hate you." + +Not waiting for a reply, she rushed wildly from the room, and a moment +later the sound of a banging door, adding a last torture to Mrs. +Desmond's sorely-tried nerves, informed all whom it might concern that +Helen was safe in her own chamber. + +Colonel Desmond sighed deeply and turned away. His wife, always careful +and orderly, stooped and picked up the violin. + +"I hope it has not suffered," she said, placing it on a table. "It must +go back to-morrow." + +"Don't be hard on the child, Margaret," said the colonel, not noticing +the foregoing remark. + +"Am I ever hard on her, John?" + +As Mrs. Desmond spoke she crossed the room and reseated herself in her +easy-chair, leaning back wearily and wiping her eyes with her delicate +lace handkerchief. + +"No, my dear, of course not," returned the colonel. "But--" + +"But what?" + +"She needs patience. It is perhaps hard on her--" + +"Hard on her! It is hard on me, I think." + +"Yes, yes, my dear, I know that. I only mean--" + +Colonel Desmond scarcely knew what he meant. His heart was bleeding for +the wounds inflicted by that little termagant upstairs upon this gentle +woman who continued to sit with her handkerchief to her eyes. He was +longing to reconcile them, and yet he was dimly conscious that in his +blundering man fashion he was but setting them farther apart. + +"It is hard, I confess," murmured Mrs. Desmond after a pause. "If Helen +were my own child could I care more for her welfare? I sacrifice my +leisure, my inclinations--" her voice broke here, and once more the +handkerchief was applied. + +"My dear wife," began the colonel; but she motioned him to be silent. + +"You little know what I have to endure from that child," she went on. +"I do not wish you to know. She is your child, and I shall do my duty by +her. But to be blamed by you is more than I can bear." + +"I blame you, my dear Margaret! Come, you cannot mean that. Do you think +that I don't feel grateful to you for your patience and for your +goodness to me, to--to us every day. Why, you have only been away +four-and-twenty hours, and the house felt like a wilderness. That was +what drove me out, I think." + +The colonel knelt down beside his wife and took her hand. She suffered +herself to be consoled, and presently withdrew her handkerchief from her +eyes and smiled. + +"You are foolish to spoil Helen, dear John," she said. "With careful +training I don't despair of making a good woman of her yet. But you must +leave her to me, and her caprices must not be gratified." + +"I thought her desire to learn the violin was innocent enough." + +"Nonsense, John! you know nothing about children and their training. +Girls were content with the piano in my young days; and I consider the +modern girl's craze for violin playing extremely unfeminine. No; that +violin must go back to-morrow. Helen's notions are far too fantastic +already." + +There was a suspicion of returning sharpness in Mrs. Desmond's tone, and +her husband wisely forbore to press the subject further. On his way to +dress for dinner he lingered for a few moments wistfully outside Helen's +closed door. But neither then nor later, when (after Mrs. Desmond had +retired on the plea of a headache, leaving the colonel free to follow +his own devices), he returned, and knocking gently, called Helen, did +any success reward his efforts to bring a crumb of consolation to the +poor child. Judging by her silence that she must have fallen asleep, +Colonel Desmond retired to his smoking-room and comforted himself by +reflecting that Helen had certainly been naughty and probably deserved +whatever punishment might be meted out to her. Then he recalled his +wife's angelic goodness and smiled, thinking that such a woman could not +possibly be very severe. Finally, as he knocked the ashes out of his +pipe before going to bed, he decided that only women could understand +girls, and that Helen would thank him some day for having given her such +a mother. But these comforting reflections did not prevent a wistful +face, not unlike Helen's own, from peering out at him from amongst the +dark shadows on the staircase, dimly lit by his solitary candle, a face +that had looked up into his once and had whispered with failing voice, +"Take care of the child and bring her safe to me." For our +responsibilities are our own, and we cannot safely delegate them even to +persons of angelic goodness. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +COUSIN MARY. + + +"I think that you are wrong, Margaret. Young people must be more or less +the children of their generation." + +The speaker was a cousin of Mrs. Desmond's, a certain Miss Macleod, or +Cousin Mary as she was generally called by the younger members of her +acquaintances. Mary Macleod lived in a northern county, and she and Mrs. +Desmond had never been close friends, but circumstances having brought +the former to London for a time, she had accepted her cousin's +invitation to spend a week at Bloomsbury Square. + +Cousin Mary was a person to whom all confided their troubles, and +although she had only been in the house an hour or so, Mrs. Desmond was +already launched on her favourite topic, the miseries resulting from the +present pernicious system of bringing up young people. Mrs. Desmond was +rather a self-centred person, and she was quite unconscious that her +remarks were not approving themselves to her listener. + +"Really, Mary," she said, glancing up in some surprise at her +companion's tone, "you don't mean to say that you have taken up with +these new-fangled notions about education? A household that exists only +for children is, in my opinion--" + +She paused, becoming suddenly aware that Helen had entered the room, +book in hand as usual, and was taking up her accustomed station on a +straight-backed chair situated at a respectful distance from the +fireplace. + +"You here, Helen?" she said rather sharply. "I did not hear you come in. +Don't you see my cousin, Miss Macleod? Why don't you come and say 'How +do you do?' to her?" + +"I was waiting to be told to," returned the girl, with that indefinable +note of defiance in her voice which grated the more upon her stepmother +that it was impossible to discover in it any tangible cause of offence. + +As Helen spoke she came forward with a lagging step and took Miss +Macleod's outstretched hand, murmuring something unintelligible, Mrs. +Desmond watching her stepdaughter with displeased eyes the while. Since +the scene narrated in the last chapter, there had been a sort of armed +neutrality between these two. Helen had submitted to the punishment +inflicted upon her for her behaviour upon that occasion with the worst +possible grace, and no single word of contrition for her fault had +passed her lips. On the contrary, she maintained a sort of sullen +reserve which annoyed even her father, and went far to deprive her of +such consolation as she might have extracted from his secret, if +unspoken, sympathy. As for Mrs. Desmond, her spirit of obstinacy was +aroused, and so far from ascribing her failure to win Helen to any fault +of her own, she clung yet more persistently than ever to her +preconceived ideas, and subjected the girl to still severer discipline. +Whilst acting thus, Mrs. Desmond considered herself the most forgiving +of mortals because she maintained a forbearing though frigid demeanour +towards her wayward stepdaughter. With her husband, indeed, she assumed +a martyr-like air whenever Helen's name was mentioned. This did not +happen often. Mrs. Desmond really loved her husband and had far too much +tact to vex him, or to sound a jarring note in his hearing +unnecessarily. Neither did she set herself designedly to lessen Helen in +her father's affection. It was more by what she left unsaid than by what +she said that she conveyed to the colonel a bad impression of Helen's +disposition, and spoilt the happy, unrestrained intercourse that had +hitherto subsisted between these two. + +Such was the position of affairs at the time of Mary Macleod's visit. +That quick-witted lady had guessed it pretty accurately from her +cousin's conversation. Perhaps it interested her, for she watched Helen +keenly from the moment that she became aware of the girl's presence. She +smiled very pleasantly as Helen, in obedience to her stepmother's +command, approached the visitor, and not at all repelled, seemingly, by +the unwilling little hand that was laid in hers, she drew Helen's face +down and kissed it, saying in a warm voice, to which the slight northern +burr gave a homely sound: + +"So you are my new cousin. I am a relation, you know--Cousin Mary. But, +bless me, child, how cold your hands are! Come and sit by the fire and I +will warm them." + +A smile came upon Helen's face, although she drew back a little proudly. + +"I am not cold, thank you," she said, and moved away. + +Miss Macleod made no effort to detain her. She understood young people +too well to try to force them into friendliness, and, as I have said, +she had already made a tolerably shrewd guess as to the true state of +the case. Taking up her knitting, she continued her chat with Mrs. +Desmond in spite of the latter's rather constrained replies, for +childless Cousin Mary's passion for young people was well known in her +family, and Mrs. Desmond began to feel fidgety lest her guest might +even temporarily interfere with Helen's training. It was a relief when +the colonel entered the room smiling, happy, and friendly. After a few +words of greeting to his guest he turned to inform his wife of some +rather important news that had arrived from India by that day's mail. +Upon this Miss Macleod put down her knitting and beckoned to Helen, +pointing to a low chair by her side. + +"Your book must be very absorbing," she said smilingly as Helen obeyed. + +"No, it isn't," returned the girl abruptly. "I think it is the dullest +book I ever read." + +"Why don't you put it down then and talk to us?" + +"Because," began Helen, with an ominous look in her stepmother's +direction, "because"--but just then that lady, who had been listening to +her husband with one ear and to Helen with the other, broke in: + +"What is the dullest book you ever read?" + +"This. _Amy Herbert._" + +"That is grateful, Helen, seeing the pains I took to get it for you." + +"And such a gorgeous-looking book too," put in the colonel, always eager +to make peace. + +Helen said nothing, but drew back her chair a little with a grating +sound, while Mrs. Desmond frowned and went on: + +"_Amy Herbert_ is a book that has delighted hundreds of children. I can +remember that when I was a girl, I knew every line of it. It is a pity +that you do not lay to heart some of the lessons it teaches. But young +people won't be taught nowadays." + +"I think you are a little hard on young people, Margaret," put in Cousin +Mary's pleasant voice. "We grown-up people are influenced by the feelings +of our day. Books that appealed to our grandmothers don't affect us. +Children are subject to the same influences. It is quite possible--" + +"I can't see it," interrupted Mrs. Desmond with most unusual vehemence. +"What was good enough for my aunts, for instance, is quite good enough +for me, and always will be, I hope." + +"My dear," interposed the colonel mildly, "would you write that note for +me before dinner? It is important not to miss a single post." + +Mrs. Desmond sighed gently, but rose with a resigned air to comply with +her husband's request. He followed her to her writing-table, leaving +Cousin Mary and Helen alone. + +That notion of Miss Macleod's, that grown-up people and children were +not set wide as the poles asunder, but were close akin to one another, +struck Helen immensely, and made Cousin Mary seem quite an approachable +being in this young girl's eyes, and instinctively she drew closer to +this new relative with a pleasant sensation of confidence. + +"I'll tell you what I was doing when you two were talking," she said, +with the sudden burst of friendliness that comes so strangely from a +lonely child. "I was thinking." + +"Thinking, Helen! Were your thoughts worth a penny?" + +Helen was not to be dealt lightly with. She was very serious. + +"I heard what you were saying when I came into the room," she went on. +"And I wondered what you meant when you said that children must belong +to their generation." + +Cousin Mary looked grave. + +"It would take a long time to explain all that I meant," she said. +"Perhaps we shall have a chance of talking it over before I leave. I +didn't mean that the girls and boys of to-day have any excuse for being +naughty and rebellious. But I sometimes think that as we grown-up people +move about so much, and are tempted to grow restless and impatient, so +the same influences may affect children to a certain extent, and that a +very strict routine may be a little more irksome to them now than it was +to us thirty years ago." + +"Oh, it is dreadful!--dreadful!" murmured Helen. + +"Nonsense! Not dreadful, only perhaps a little tiresome." + +Helen's tone had been tragic, but there was a gleam of fun in Cousin +Mary's eyes as she replied that brought a smile to the girl's face. + +"Very tiresome," she said. "I hate lessons." + +"They are a little wee bit trying sometimes, I grant. And yet we must +learn them; must go on learning them all our lives." + +Cousin Mary's face had grown grave again, and Helen began to think her +the most perplexing person that she had ever met. + +"Go on learning!" she repeated. "Grown-up people don't learn lessons." + +"Not book lessons exactly, though I think I have learnt more book +lessons even since I have been grown up than I did in the school-room. +But that is a matter of choice. There are certain lessons that we must +learn, because God goes on teaching them to us until we really know +them." + +"Oh! What are they?" asked Helen in an awe-struck whisper. + +"I think obedience is one," replied Cousin Mary, with that little smile +lurking in her eyes again. "I am dreadfully disobedient sometimes, but I +am always sorry for it afterwards, I think. Perhaps some day I shall +learn to know that my way is not best, and then I sha'n't want to be +disobedient again." + +"You disobedient!" + +"It is quite true. For instance, I didn't want to come up to town at +this particular time. I very nearly said I wouldn't come. You see, my +doing so interfered with some very pleasant plans that I had made. That +was why I did not like it, although I knew all the time that I ought to +come. Now I begin to be very glad that I did not follow my own way, not +only because I have done my duty, but because I have found a new cousin +whom I mean to like very much." + +The expression of Helen's face altered as she listened to her new +friend's words. Her eyes, that had been heavy and downcast, lit up; she +raised her head and threw back her hair with something of her old, +careless gesture. + +"I like you very, very much," she said, "although you do say such +strange things. I wish--" + +Just then Cousin Mary's ball of wool fell from her lap and rolled away +to some distance. Helen sprang to her feet and rushed to fetch it. At +the same time Mrs. Desmond left her writing-table, and, shivering a +little, rejoined her cousin by the fire. As she did so Helen brushed +past her, holding the recovered ball in her hands. The action was not a +courteous one, and Mrs. Desmond's displeasure was not mitigated by +observing the girl's heightened colour and altered expression. + +"You are exceedingly awkward and clumsy," she said, smoothing her laces, +which had been displaced by Helen's rough contact. "I wonder what my +cousin will think of such a little barbarian. You had better say +good-night and go to bed at once. Perhaps that will teach you to be more +careful in future." + +Helen's face fell. Accustomed as she was to her stepmother's constant +fault finding, to be reproved in this fashion and sent to bed like a +baby before Cousin Mary stung her into fresh rebellion. + +"It is still only a quarter to eight," she said, glancing at the clock. +"Why should I go to bed before my usual hour? I have done nothing wrong. +I couldn't help knocking up against you just now." + +"Helen"--and for once the colonel's tone was really stern, for the +insolence of his daughter's tone angered him. "Helen, how dare you speak +in that way to your mother? Go to bed instantly, and don't let me see +you again until you are ready to apologize." + +For a moment Helen stood transfixed. Never in all her life had her +father spoken to her so before. Every vestige of colour left her face; +her white lips just moved, but no words came. Then she turned round and +walked quietly out of the room, forgetting even to slam the door behind +her. + +"I suppose that we have to thank you for being spared a scene, Mary," +said Mrs. Desmond as she sank into her chair with a deep sigh. + +"I'm afraid that Helen is too much for Margaret," observed the colonel, +addressing his visitor, but looking anxiously at his wife. + +"Why don't you send her to a good school then?" asked the former +briskly. "It's a lonely life for her here, poor child!" + +"Because, Mary," interposed Mrs. Desmond, "I do not approve of a school +training for girls; and I shall never shirk a duty that I have +undertaken for my dear husband's sake, however painful and wearing it +may be." + +The colonel pressed his wife's hand, while Miss Macleod went on: + +"And yet in this case a school training might be the best. Probably the +child is too much alone and needs young society." + +"Nonsense, Mary! Was not I brought up alone in this very house? Helen +has many more indulgences than I ever had, and yet I was always happy +and contented." + +"But I should say, Margaret, that your disposition and Helen's are +totally different. I can remember you a prim little girl sitting up in +your high chair working your sampler or repeating Watt's hymns. And do +you recollect your horror when I once went out of doors while I was +putting on my gloves and afterwards proposed to race round the square? +Ladies never did such things, you said. Now I have a suspicion that +Helen might be very easily induced to race anybody along Regent Street." + +The colonel smiled. There was a time when he used to boast of his little +girl's high spirits and untamed ways. + +"She has--" he began, but his wife interposed: + +"I remember you, Mary, as a regular hoyden," she observed, and was about +to go on when the announcement of dinner put an end to the conversation. + +Mrs. Desmond could be a very pleasant companion when she chose, and upon +this occasion she did choose, being anxious not only to obliterate from +her husband's mind the painful impression caused by Helen's conduct, but +also to convince her cousin that her marriage was an entirely happy one. +Dinner was excellent and daintily served. In the evening an old friend +of the colonel's dropped in, and there was plenty of bright talk. +Colonel Desmond seemed profoundly contented, and his wife scarcely less +so. Only Cousin Mary's thoughts wandered sometimes away from the +cheerful voices and the pretty drawing-room, with its bright lights and +fragrant flowers, to a small darkened chamber somewhere overhead, where +she suspected that a forlorn little figure might be tossing restlessly +and a young soul hardening for want of the love that is its right. + +"Poor young thing!" thought Cousin Mary, longing in her eager way to run +to the rescue, and yet knowing that she must bide her time if she would +not make bad worse. But, thinking thus, the softness of her cousin's +manner and the ancient endearments that passed between husband and wife +had rather an irritating effect upon her. Once or twice there was a +sharpness in her speech that a little astonished the good colonel. + +"I expected from what I heard to find your cousin a charming woman," he +said when he and his wife were alone together. "She has a pleasant +enough face, but rather a sharp tongue, hasn't she?" + +"Poor Mary!" laughed Mrs. Desmond softly. "She is a good soul at heart. +A little hard, no doubt, but she has many excellent points." + +Next day, although none of the usual noisy tokens of Helen's presence in +the house were lacking, neither she nor her governess appeared at +luncheon. Cousin Mary judged it wiser to ask no questions, but she sat +in the drawing-room long after Mrs. Desmond disappeared to dress for +that evening's dinner-party, hoping to catch a glimpse of the young +culprit. But although she allowed herself only ten minutes for dressing, +and was obliged in consequence to put on her plainest gown in place of +the more elaborate one she had proposed wearing, she caught never a +glimpse of Helen. Just, however, as she was closing her bed-room door +behind her she heard her name called. + +"Cousin Mary!" + +The voice came in an eager whisper from the landing above. + +"Cousin Mary, do just wait one minute." + +"I'll wait five if you like, although I'm a wee bit late." + +There was a rush down the stairs. + +"O!" cried Helen, "please don't speak so loud. The old cat will hear if +you do. The old cat is her maid. She is always trying what she can find +out. The servants--but, O! I didn't come to say this. Look here! I know +there was going to be a dinner party to-night, and I knew that she would +have flowers, and I was determined that you should have some too. So I +ran away from old Walker this afternoon. I gave her such a fright you +should have seen her face. And I bought _these_." + +As Helen, breathless and triumphant, finished speaking, she placed a +bunch of lilies of the valley in Cousin Mary's hand. + +"My dear child! I scarcely know what to say. O, yes! of course I will +wear them," in answer to a blank look of dismay on Helen's face. "I +thank you, dear, indeed I do. But, O! Helen, why did you do wrong for +me? And, dear child, I have missed you all day." + +Helen's face hardened. + +"Has she been setting you against me too?" + +"Helen, I can't stop now. I promise to wear your flowers and to think of +you all the evening. Will you promise me something?" + +"If I can." + +"Will you try to put all unkind and ungenerous thoughts out of your head +until I can see you again?" + +"I don't know what you mean by ungenerous. Other people--" + +There was a step on the stairs. Helen flew away, and Cousin Mary, going +her way down, nearly fell into the arms of Mrs. Desmond's maid. + +"I was coming up, miss, to see if I could assist you," said that +individual demurely. + +Cousin Mary put her aside rather coldly and proceeded to the +drawing-room, where the guests were already gathered, and where Mrs. +Desmond glanced at her cousin with some displeasure. This was +occasioned not only by the lateness of Miss Macleod's arrival, but by +the plainness of her attire, which, in Mrs. Desmond's opinion, was +emphasized by a great bunch of lilies of the valley pinned carelessly in +the front of her bodice without any attempt at arrangement, and looking, +as that lady afterwards said, as if they had just come from the nearest +greengrocer--a guess that came considerably nearer to the truth than +most guesses do. + +Dinner was a long and rather tedious affair. Cousin Mary's neighbours +were not particularly entertaining, and although she tried to exert +herself to talk her thoughts wandered constantly to the lonely child +upstairs. In the drawing-room matters were still worse. Most of the +ladies present were known to each other, and their small gossip sounded +quite meaningless to an utter stranger like Miss Macleod. Mrs. Desmond, +who, to do her justice, was never negligent of her duties as a hostess, +noticed her cousin's abstraction, and tried more than once to draw her +into the conversation, but without much success. When the gentlemen +appeared there was a little very indifferent music, and then the company +dispersed. Cousin Mary was heartily glad to find herself once more in +her own room. But although she had pleaded fatigue in the drawing-room +she seemed in no hurry to get into bed. Replacing her silk dress by a +soft Cashmere gown, she opened her door and listened. Presently she +heard Mrs. Desmond come up the stairs to her own room on the floor +below. Cousin Mary peeped over the banisters and saw that the maid was +in attendance. She waited until she heard the bed-room door close upon +mistress and maid, and then she walked quietly upstairs, smiling to +herself all the time. + +Arrived upon the landing, she looked about her, and presently espying a +door standing partly open, and, peeping in, she saw at once she had +reached her goal, for by the faint light that came in through the +uncurtained window she could discern Helen lying in bed and tossing +about restlessly. + +"Are you awake, Helen?" asked Cousin Mary softly. + +Helen sat up in bed. + +"Oh!" she cried, "have you really come to see me? I was afraid to expect +you. And yet--" + +"Yet you had a notion that I might come." + +As Cousin Mary spoke she closed the door quietly and walked up to +Helen's bed. Then she struck a light and lit a small lamp that she +carried in her hand. After this she made Helen lie down, shook up her +pillow, and covered her up; and then, drawing a chair close up to the +bedside, she sat down herself. + +"Are you going to stop for a little while?" asked Helen with glistening +eyes. + +"For a little while, yes. Not for long, though; you ought to have been +asleep hours ago." + +"How can I go to sleep when I am so--so _dreadfully_ unhappy?" Helen's +eyes that had been glistening a minute ago were filled with tears, and +her voice grew tremulous. "I hate being such a baby," she went on, +dashing away the rebellious tears with an angry hand. "I never let her +see me cry. Only--only, somehow, when any one is very kind like you +are----" + +"Silly child!" said Cousin Mary, taking the girl's hand, "don't you know +that you are making your own troubles out of that sore little heart of +yours?" + +"My own troubles! You don't understand, or you wouldn't say that. Why +should I do as she tells me? She isn't my mother. My father and I were +happy before she came, and now even father doesn't love me. I met him on +the stairs to-day and he asked me if I was sorry, and just because I +said I wasn't he went on and never spoke another word to me. He didn't +use to want me to be sorry, he wanted me to be happy." + +"And yet you weren't always happy then, Helen." + +"Oh, yes! I was; at least nearly always." + +"Had you no troubles? Did nothing ever go wrong? Were there no tears?" + +"Well, of course, sometimes things went wrong. But it was quite, quite +different then." + +"You believe that your father loved you then, don't you, Helen?" + +"I know he did." + +"And yet, loving you as he did, he saw that you must have some better +training than he was able to give you; and he wished to make a happy +home for you. He did his best for you, and you make things very hard for +him. I think he might truly say that his little daughter does not love +him." + +"But I do, even now. I would do anything in the world for him." + +"You show your affection very curiously, Helen." + +Helen was silent, and Cousin Mary went on. "When one loves a person +truly one ceases to think of one's own happiness so much." + +"But I can't do anything to make him happy now." + +"You could do a very great deal." + +"How?" + +"By helping to make his home happy, by being respectful and obedient to +your stepmother, and by trying to become what she wishes to see you." + +"I never could please her if I tried ever so hard." + +"But have you ever tried?" + +Helen was again silent. + +"I know it wouldn't be quite easy at first, dear. But if you were to say +to yourself when you feel your temper rising, 'It is for my father's +sake,' it would be possible, I think. Love makes so many things easy." + +Helen lay very still. There was silence for a few minutes, and then +Cousin Mary spoke again. "You were rude yesterday evening, my child; +your father was quite right to reprove you. You caused him a great deal +of pain. Won't you make amends to him by telling him and your stepmother +that you are sorry?" + +Still no reply from Helen, and Cousin Mary was heaving a sigh of +disappointment, when suddenly the bed-clothes were flung violently on +one side, and Helen sprang to her feet. + +"I will go at once," she exclaimed. "She--I mean mamma--can't be in bed +yet. I shall be able to go to sleep when I have seen her and kissed my +father. And I suppose, Cousin Mary, that I ought to tell her that I ran +away from Miss Walker to-day. Well, never mind, I will tell it all, and +then I shall start fresh to-morrow. Wherever _can_ my dressing-gown be?" + +Cousin Mary had some difficulty in dissuading this impulsive child from +executing her project. Miss Macleod, however, shrewdly suspected that +Mrs. Desmond would decline to receive her stepdaughter's apologies at +that late hour, and that a fresh scene would be the only outcome of such +an injudicious proceeding. Helen, rather crestfallen, at length allowed +herself to be coaxed back into bed again, and then Cousin Mary crept +down to the smoking-room and persuaded the colonel, who was sitting +rather gloomily over his expiring fire, to come upstairs and say +good-night to his repentant daughter. He did not require much +persuasion, and the moonlight shone through the little attic window upon +three very happy faces, as Cousin Mary looked on at the reconciliation +of father and daughter. + +"A thousand thanks for looking after my little girl," whispered the +colonel to Mary as they went down-stairs together. "She--she----" + +"She has the makings of a fine woman," interposed the latter warmly, +"but you must not repress her too much. Send her away from home. It will +be best, believe me." + +"Well, well, we must see," returned the colonel hesitatingly. "I must +talk it over with Margaret. And, by the bye, let us say nothing of what +has taken place to-night until Helen has made her peace. You understand. +Good night, good night!" + +So saying, and walking very cautiously, the colonel crept down-stairs +to his own quarters, while Cousin Mary, shrugging her shoulders a little +impatiently, sought her own room. + +As for Helen, she was soon asleep and dreaming of dainty feasts in which +she was participating. She had been dreadfully hungry, for she had +indignantly refused to eat the only food that had been brought to her in +her disgrace. In the sincerity of her penitence, however, she resolved +to bear the pangs of hunger in dignified silence, and if her +dream-feasts were not very satisfying they answered their purpose, for +the hours flew by and she never stirred until the morning. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +HELEN'S ESCAPADE. + + +Helen was standing in the hall listening to the retreating wheels of the +cab that bore Cousin Mary away, and trying hard to keep back her tears. +It was the late afternoon of an early spring day. Spring, as is its +custom with us, had come suddenly; the air was soft and balmy, and the +open hall door revealed a vista of delicate green that had fallen like a +cloud upon the gaunt trees that filled the grimy London square. Even +the servant lingered at the open door, closing it at last reluctantly as +though loth to shut out the warm air and pleasant prospect. + +It was just such a day as stirs the blood of even old people, while it +sets young hearts beating, and conjures up before youthful eyes all +sorts of pleasant visions. To Helen, accustomed for so many years to a +cloudless eastern sky, the sunshine, although it brought her renewed +life, brought also vague indefinable longings. London with its endless +streets and squares, its never-ending succession of human beings, its +saddening sights and sounds, seemed to stifle her. She longed, scarcely +knowing what it was for which she longed, for the green country, for +freedom, for space. To Cousin Mary it had been possible to speak of +these and many other things. Cousin Mary gone--gone too holding out only +the vaguest promises of another meeting, and with no word at all about +claiming that visit from Helen of which a good deal had been said in the +early stages of their friendship, the girl, suddenly thrown back upon +herself, felt, with the exaggerated feelings of youth, as though she +were deserted by everybody. It was impossible that she could guess how +hard Cousin Mary had tried to secure that visit from Helen about which +she had, rather incautiously perhaps, spoken to her young favourite. For +as the days went on, and Miss Macleod's stay had lengthened out beyond +her original intention, her interest in Helen had increased, and had +deepened into real affection. Beneath Cousin Mary's influence all the +best part of Helen's nature came out. And, indeed, her deep +affectionateness, her generous impulses, her quick repentances for +wrong-doing, her power of receiving good impressions, all combined to +make Helen a very fascinating little person to one who took the trouble +to understand her disposition. That there was another side to Helen's +character Miss Macleod knew. Such intense natures ever have their +reverse side. She had her bad impulses as well as her good ones; and a +fierce temper that it would need many years of patient effort to bring +under control. There was a spice of recklessness in Helen, too, and an +impatience of restraint. Hers was a nature that might harden and develop +terrible possibilities for evil under adverse circumstances. All this +Cousin Mary saw with painful distinctness as she watched the girl with +ever-increasing interest. + +Accustomed as Mrs. Desmond declared she was to her cousin's vagaries, +this last fancy of Miss Macleod's rather astonished that lady. That +Helen should prefer a stranger to herself she regarded as merely another +proof of her stepdaughter's perversity. But what Mary Macleod could see +in the girl, and why she should want to carry off such an uninteresting +child on a long visit, fairly puzzled Mrs. Desmond. It was not only +perplexing, but extremely provoking, when it became evident that Miss +Macleod would not accept a polite excuse, but kept returning to the +charge, putting it into the colonel's head that Helen looked pale and +needed change. + +"Perhaps after all, my dear, it might be well to accept your cousin's +kind offer," he suggested when Cousin Mary, with most unusual +persistency, made a final attempt to carry her point upon the last +evening of her stay in town. + +Mrs. Desmond's thin lips tightened themselves a little, but she did not +reply immediately. She rose from her chair and crossed the room to where +her husband was sitting and laid her hand on his. "John," she said, +"didn't I promise you to do my best for your child?" + +"Yes, my love, and I am sure--" + +"Have I kept my word so far?" + +"Of course, of course, my dear; but Helen is tiresome, no doubt. I only +thought that perhaps a little change--" + +"That is enough, John. I only want to be sure that you trust me to be +the best--to be the best judge of what is for your child's--" + +A little sob broke Mrs. Desmond's voice, and the last part of her speech +was inaudible. But she had completely conquered. Colonel Desmond had no +weapon for use against a woman's tears, and in spite of his promises to +support Mary Macleod, given to her in a private interview, during which +she had spoken pretty plainly, his silence gave consent to all that his +wife had to say when she had recovered herself sufficiently to decline +the obnoxious proposal in terms that left no further discussion of the +matter possible. And now Cousin Mary was gone, and the colonel, lying on +the drawing-room sofa prostrate with a bad headache, was conscious of +some qualms of conscience on Helen's account, not unmixed with feelings +of relief at the departure of this keen-eyed guest. + +"Your cousin is a very blunt woman," he said in rather a fretful tone to +his wife, who was sitting beside him. "It is strange how well she got on +with Helen. She seemed to like the child." + +"Oh! it was merely a caprice and a spirit of opposition. Mary was always +unlike other people," returned Mrs. Desmond. + +"I don't know why you should say that," went on the colonel, still +fretful. "People used to be very fond of Helen in India, and she has +been very well-behaved lately, hasn't she?" + +Mrs. Desmond was nettled by her husband's tone and forgot her usual +prudence. + +"I don't know what you call well-behaved," she said. "To me she seems +to grow more trying every day. Mary has made her simply insufferable. I +spare neither trouble nor expense, and yet--" + +"Really, Margaret," broke in the colonel, "do spare me any more +complaints. If you want to be rid of the child, send her to your cousin. +She begged hard enough to be allowed to have her. Why on earth you +refused I can't think." + +"Cousin Mary asked me and you--refused." The white face coming out of +gathering twilight shadows, and the tragic tones were Helen's. + +Poor Helen! Forgotten by everybody--her governess had left her earlier +than usual in the day--she had been sitting alone in her little +down-stairs school-room, thinking over all that she had learnt from +Cousin Mary. She had been forming the most heroic resolves about her +future conduct. Never, never would she purposely annoy her stepmother +again. She would be patient, she would bear reproof meekly. And she +would remember that great Father whose presence was such a reality to +Cousin Mary, and who was training her not in anger but in love. As for +her dear earthly father, Helen smiled as she thought of him, and +recalled the days when he was always patient with her wayward fits. Then +the gathering twilight made her feel lonely, and she remembered that he +was ill upstairs. She would go to him, she thought, and, if by any +happy chance she found him alone, she would tell him of her sorrow for +the past and of her good resolves for the future. And if Mrs. Desmond +was there? Well, there could be no harm in creeping in very gently and +asking him how he felt, giving him a kiss, perhaps, and going away +again. + +"I must be very quiet, and oh! I hope I shan't knock up against +anything," she said to herself as she went upstairs, speaking +half-audibly for company, as it were, and to keep up her spirits, for +the house seemed so still and quiet. The drawing-room door stood partly +open, but a screen concealed the upper part of the room, where the +colonel's sofa stood, from view. No one heard Helen enter, and although +she caught a murmur of voices she was half-way across the room when her +father's last remark arrested her attention. + +I suppose it is a fact that it is in our most exalted moods we are most +liable to fall. Her father's words stung Helen to the quick, and changed +the whole current of her thoughts. In a twinkling all her good +resolutions vanished. While she had been determining to submit, to be +good, they, her father and stepmother, were discussing her, wishing to +be rid of her, owning her a burden. And yet, just for the sake of +tormenting her, of keeping her in bondage, they had refused her to +Cousin Mary. Oh, it was cruel, cruel! + +"How could you do it? how could you?" she cried, her voice breaking into +a passionate sob. "Don't you know that I hate being here; yes, _hate_ it +quite as much as you hate having me. And Cousin Mary is good. I am not +bad when I am with her. I--" + +"Helen," broke in Mrs. Desmond, while the colonel moaned and put his +hand to his head, "don't you see your father is ill? Go away instantly. +If you have learnt from Miss Macleod to listen at doors I must write and +beg her never to enter my house again. I did not know that you were +deceitful in addition to your other faults. Go at once. Don't speak +again." + +"Father," began Helen; but he shook his head impatiently and motioned +her away. For a moment she looked at them both defiantly, then, like one +possessed, she scattered some books that lay upon a table near her in +all directions. + +"John, John!" cried Mrs. Desmond, "you must interfere." + +But Helen only laughed. + +"You've told me to go. I'm going," she said, and walked away. + +Straight down-stairs she walked, singing as she went a snatch of an +Indian native song. In the hall a comforter belonging to her father +caught her eye. She picked it up and twisted it round her head and +throat, then opening the hall door she passed out without a moment's +hesitation into the fast-gathering darkness. The door closed heavily +behind her. Upstairs the colonel heard it and sprang to his foot. + +"My God!" he cried, "she has kept her word. She has gone. Quick! I must +follow her." + +"Nonsense, John!" exclaimed his wife; "lie still. A servant shall go at +once. There is no need for alarm." + +As she spoke she laid her hand on his arm, but he shook it off +impatiently. + +"Don't dare to detain me," he said sternly. "If any evil happens to that +child I shall never forgive you." + +"John, John!" cried Mrs. Desmond, throwing herself on the sofa and +bursting into real tears. "John, listen to me--" + +But it was of no avail. Whether the colonel even heard his wife's last +appeal seems doubtful. Without pausing or turning his head, he walked +straight down-stairs and out into the street just as Helen had done +before him. + +Darkness was falling fast. The air had turned chilly, with a bite of the +east in it. Fresh from the warm drawing-room, Colonel Desmond shivered +as he looked round in every direction, trying in vain to discover some +trace of the fugitive. But to all appearance she had vanished, and the +colonel, his alarm increasing every moment, as the passers-by whom he +interrogated merely shook their heads in answer to his excited questions +as to whether they had noticed a little girl without hat or bonnet going +by, was forced to enlist a policeman to aid him in his search. + +A weary search it was, lasting for many hours. Helen, after leaving the +house, had walked steadily on, neither considering nor caring which way +she took. Before long she reached a labyrinth of small streets, where +there were few passers-by, and these chiefly clerks and artisans +hastening home. Scarcely aware of what she was doing, Helen paused every +now and then to watch these home-goers run eagerly up the steps of some +small dingy house, the door of which would open as if by magic at its +master's approach, whilst from within came gleams of light and glimpses +of small outstretched hands drawing father in. Such sights brought her a +realization of her own desolation, and she hurried on until at last +physical exhaustion brought her once more to a stand-still. Oh! how +tired and hungry she was! Even a piece of bread would have been welcome. +But, alas! her pocket was empty. She had not the wherewithal even to buy +bread. Then she sat down on a door-step and began to ponder on her +future proceedings. What was she to do? Go back? No; she would never do +that. Find Cousin Mary? But how was the necessary journey to be +accomplished without money? Certainly it might be possible to walk the +distance in two weeks--one week, perhaps. But--here Helen began to +shiver, and she was just trying to wrap her comforter more closely round +her when a light was flashed in her face and she felt her arm grasped. +Looking up, her heart nearly stood still with terror when she saw a +policeman standing beside her. + +He looked at her for a minute, whilst she tried to speak, but couldn't. +She felt as if a nightmare was coming true. + +"Get up and move on!" he said roughly. "Where do you come from? You +ought to have been at home long ago." + +Helen needed no second bidding. Although the policeman kept his hand +upon her arm, and seemed to have some intention of questioning her +further, she released herself quickly and set off running as fast as she +could go. On and on she went, up one street and down another, until once +more exhaustion forced her to stop. It was growing late, and she espied +a dark porch where it struck her that she might pass the night free from +discovery. "In the morning I shall be able to think," she said, +crouching down on the cold stones. Terribly afraid as she was, and cold +and hungry, the idea of returning home never entered Helen's head. She +had said to herself that she would never go back, and she fully meant to +keep her word. A sort of drowsiness was stealing over her when +approaching footsteps startled her into wakefulness and roused her to +fresh terror. She jumped up and ran down the steps. Two figures were +approaching; one looked like that of the dreaded policeman. Could he be +coming to take her to prison? Once more she turned to fly, but her foot +caught against the curb-stone, and she fell heavily, striking her head +against the ground. The shock stunned her and rendered her unconscious. + +When she opened her eyes great was her astonishment to see her father +bending over her, while a policeman with a deeply-concerned face was +looking on, and a cab was drawing up close beside them. + +"She'll be all right now, sir," said the policeman. "Let me lift her +into the cab." + +"Speak, Helen," cried the colonel, "are you hurt? Oh! my child, if any +harm had come to you!" + +"How did you come here, Father?" asked Helen, still frightened and a +little defiant, struggling to her feet. + +"I followed you, of course. Did you think I would leave you to wander +off alone? Come home." + +Helen shrank back. + +"Must I?" she said feebly. + +"We have been hard upon you, child, I daresay. I have been thinking, God +knows----" + +Her father's tone, almost more than his words, touched the girl's +generous heart. + +"It is I who am bad--wicked," she whispered, throwing her arms round his +neck. "Forgive me, dear." + +This whispered conversation occupied but a few seconds. Before many +minutes had passed Helen and her father, seated hand in hand, were +driving homewards. The sound of wheels brought Mrs. Desmond to the head +of the stairs. Her face bore signs of genuine emotion, but her +expression hardened when she saw her husband cross the hall leading +Helen, who hung back a little. + +"Oh! John," she cried, "I am thankful to see you back safely. Going out +without a coat, too! No one knows the anxiety I have endured." + +Colonel Desmond made no reply, but he put his arm round Helen and +half-forced her upstairs. + +"Wife," he said, "come here;" and they all three went into the +drawing-room. + +"Margaret," he went on, and as he took her unresponsive hand and forced +her to approach Helen, there was an appeal in his voice that must have +touched a less self-absorbed woman, "Margaret, we have all something to +forgive. I think we have been a little hard on the child. I have +realized that through these fearful hours--hours that I shall never +forget. God has given her back to us. Let us take her as from Him, and +let this night be as if it had never been except for the lesson it has +taught us." + +"I do not understand heroics," said Mrs. Desmond coldly, moving away a +little. "Helen has behaved shamefully, but if you wish her fault to be +condoned, I have no more to say." + +As she spoke she seated herself in her low chair, leaning her head +wearily upon her hand. + +"Have you no kind word to say to her, Margaret?" pleaded the colonel, +unwilling to let slip the opportunity of bringing these two together, +and, manlike, making bad worse. "You are sorry, Helen? Tell your mother +so." + +"Yes, I am sorry," said Helen. She spoke passively, like a child saying +a lesson. + +She was not sullen as her stepmother, smiling ironically, fancied; but +she was cold, tired, and hungry, and the painful emotions of the last +few hours had temporarily exhausted her power of feeling acutely. + +But Colonel Desmond heard the words, and was satisfied; the little +by-play was beyond him. + +"You hear her, Margaret? Forgive her freely. Think if we had lost her. +Think----" + +But the idea of his little girl wandering homeless and unprotected in +our great London through the long night hours, was too much for the +colonel. Ill and over-wrought, he turned white, staggered, and, throwing +himself into the nearest chair, sobbed like a child. + +Mrs. Desmond's maid sympathized too deeply with her injured mistress to +find it possible to wait on Helen that night. But Helen's cause having +been adjudicated a rightful one by the kitchen tribunal, where rough +justice is meted out with impartiality as a rule, the poor wornout child +had no lack of practical sympathy and help. She was soon in bed and +asleep, and although she woke up with a curious stiff feeling all over +her, she was by no means seriously the worse for her rash adventure. + +She awoke in a very humble frame of mind, thoroughly ashamed of her +flight, and half afraid to venture upon any more good resolutions. She +knew with unerring instinct that her stepmother had not forgiven her, +never would forgive her, and her heart sank as she thought of the sharp +reproofs, the never-ending tasks that would most certainly be her +portion for some time to come, until, perhaps, the memory of this fault +was lost through the commission of another of still greater enormity. + +"But I can never do anything so dreadful again, never!" said Helen to +herself as she rose and dressed; "and I must be patient. Perhaps if I am +she will even get to like me a little"--Mrs. Desmond was always +inelegantly _she_ in Helen's thoughts. "I don't know that I should care +for that, though. But for father's sake, dear father! I had no idea he +cared so much. I must never hurt him again." + +After this she went down-stairs to practise her scales as usual, only +very quietly and carefully, with no unnecessary faults. Things soon fell +into their old channel, and, as she had anticipated, Helen had a good +many small persecutions to endure, although Mrs. Desmond carefully +avoided any open conflict with her stepdaughter. And in one way things +were never so bad with Helen again after that memorable evening, for she +never again doubted her father's love, and, as Cousin Mary had said, +love makes so many things easy. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +STRANGERS YET. + + +Spring did not fulfil its early promise that year. Those few warm days +were followed by long weeks of bitter east wind, during which the tender +green leaves grew dark and shrivelled, whilst even the daffodils and +primroses that were hawked about the streets had a pinched, careworn +look, as though their whole existence had been a struggle. + +It almost seemed as though the east wind had penetrated inside the +comfortable house in Bloomsbury Square, and had poisoned that tranquil +atmosphere. Helen was no longer the only discordant element there. Mrs. +Desmond, whose calm boast it had always hitherto been that she never +allowed herself to be influenced by weather, suddenly developed +mysterious pains in her head which her doctor declared to be neuralgia. + +"The result of worry, I suppose?" suggested Mrs. Desmond with a mental +reference to Helen. + +"No doubt, no doubt," he returned indifferently, for he could not +imagine that this patient's worries were very serious ones; "no doubt. +Ladies will worry, you know. You want tone, plenty of strong +nourishment, and a change in the wind, that will soon set you up." + +The good doctor sighed a little as he walked down-stairs. It was so easy +to order good nourishment for the mistress of this luxurious house where +there was such absolute certainty that he would be obeyed. There were +other houses distant not five minutes' walk, where the very words were a +mockery. Suddenly he stopped. An idea had occurred to him, and he ran +back. + +"By the way," he said, re-opening the drawing-room door, "I am just +going on to see a poor woman who is suffering much in the same way as +yourself. She keeps herself and six children by her needle, poor soul. A +few glasses of port wine--" + +"Really, doctor," interrupted Mrs. Desmond, "I am sick of giving. It is +nothing but give, give nowadays. Why do these poor people have so many +children? And, besides, there is always the workhouse. Really I have +nothing to give just now." + +The doctor turned away shrugging his shoulders, and nearly tumbled over +Helen, who, on her way down-stairs, had stopped and overheard the +foregoing conversation. + +"Hullo! young lady," he cried, "what is the matter with you? Has the +east wind been upsetting you too?" + +"Oh, no!" returned Helen, "I only--" + +"Only what?" + +"_Do_ let me come down into the hall with you." + +"Run on, I'm coming." + +"Oh!" cried Helen as they reached the hall, drawing the doctor out of +earshot of the waiting servant, "I have been watching for you all the +morning. Do you know that my father is ill?" + +"He hasn't sent for me." + +"No, because he doesn't want to worry--mamma"--Helen jerked the word +out--"now that she is ill herself. But all the same he is very bad. He +was in the school-room with me last evening, and he nearly fainted. You +must, please, see him." + +"Is he in the house now?" + +Helen nodded. "I can't stop a moment, Miss Walker is waiting for me. +But"--turning very red and fumbling in her pocket--"father gave me a new +half-crown last evening. It is no good to me; they won't let me spend +it. Please give it to that poor woman." + +"That I will, child, and see your father too, and--" + +But the doctor's further words were lost. Helen had already disappeared, +and before he had time to discover Colonel Desmond's whereabouts she had +meekly submitted to Miss Walker's sharp reproof for her lengthened +absence, and was deep in the intricacies of a long division sum. + +Helen's sharp eyes had not deceived her with regard to her father's +condition. He believed himself that he had never recovered from the +effects of a chill contracted during that sad search for his little +daughter. Anxious to spare her as much as possible, he had said little +of his own sensations at the time. His wife's growing irritability and +her evident suffering had kept him silent later, and he was sitting +alone in his smoking-room planning a flight to a warmer climate +whenever he could summon sufficient energy for the journey, when Dr. +Russell found him and ordered him off to bed at once. Mrs. Desmond, +dozing comfortably on her sofa, was considerably surprised to see the +doctor re-enter the drawing-room a second time unbidden. + +"Why, dear me!" she exclaimed anxiously, "I thought that you had gone +long ago. Am I worse? Are you keeping anything from me? Don't be afraid +to tell me my real state. I--" + +"Don't be alarmed. It is nothing about yourself that I have to say. It +regards your husband." + +"My husband!" + +The doctor, a little irritated, had spoken abruptly. Mrs. Desmond was +really frightened. She forgot that she was an invalid, and started up. + +"Yes, he is very ill. I have ordered him to go to bed. You had better +send for a trained nurse. In the meanwhile, give me pen and ink and I +will write a prescription, which you had better have made up at once." + +"Oh, doctor!" cried Mrs. Desmond, trying to calm herself, "tell me at +once what is the matter. I had no idea he was ill." + +"No; but your little girl had. I met her on the stairs and she begged me +to see her father." + +"Helen!" + +The word escaped from Mrs. Desmond almost involuntarily. She turned very +white, and rose immediately to find pen and ink as desired. "What a +cold, impassive woman!" thought the doctor as he watched her deliberate +movements. How could he guess the storm that was raging in her heart, +the bitterness against Helen that was poisoning her whole nature. And +yet here Helen had been right and she had been wrong. It had seemed +sometimes to her lately in her distorted mind as though her hitherto +tranquil existence were resolving itself into an ignoble struggle +between this insignificant child and herself for Colonel Desmond's +affection, a love that, as husband and father, she failed to understand +could have been given to them both in full measure. Since the night when +she had realized how deep a hold Helen had on her father's affections, +her own feelings towards her husband had suffered a change. Accustomed +for many years, by reason of her wealth and a certain charm which she +possessed, to be treated as a person of the first consideration in her +own circle, she could not brook the idea that a chit like Helen should, +as she chose to phrase it, rival her in her husband's love. + +And now Helen's quick eyes had caught what hers had failed to see. Were +they both going to lose him? Was it a judgment? + +Not a hint of what was passing in her mind betrayed itself in Mrs. +Desmond's face as she waited until the doctor had finished writing, and +then said: + +"You have not yet told me what it is that is the matter with my +husband?" + +"My dear madam, it is extremely difficult to say off-hand. He is in a +high state of fever. Looks like rheumatic fever at present. Has he had a +sudden chill?" + +"A chill?" + +"Yes; a sudden exposure of any kind?" + +"Would that account for his illness?" + +"I don't know about accounting for it entirely. He is thoroughly out of +health, I believe. Of course a chill might have finished him off." + +"He did have a chill, a very severe chill, about a fortnight ago," said +Mrs. Desmond slowly, whilst an almost cruel expression flitted over her +face. + +"Well, then, I ought to have been sent for at once," returned the +doctor, taking up his hat and gloves; and adding a few directions and +promising to call again that evening, he departed. + +It was quite true. Colonel Desmond was very ill indeed. The weeks went +on; spring, real spring, came at last, but it brought no gladness to the +anxious watchers in Bloomsbury Square, for whose eyes the overshadowing +of the dark angel's wing blotted out the sunshine. + +No comfort that love could devise or that money could purchase was +lacking to ease the colonel's sufferings. His nurses were the most +skilful that could be procured, and his wife was scarcely ever absent +from his side, and always eager to anticipate his wishes--all his +wishes, indeed, with one exception. Often in his hours of +unconsciousness Helen's name would pass his lips; often when he lay +conscious, but too weak to speak, his eyes would wander round the room +wistfully as if in search of something. But if Mrs. Desmond understood +his meaning she made no sign of doing so, and Helen's aching heart was +left without even such consolation as she might have derived from this +knowledge. Poor Helen! she had a hard time to go through. Her daily +routine was in no way altered because of this awful sorrow that was +hanging over her. Mrs. Desmond, who had not spoken to her stepdaughter +since the day of the colonel's seizure, had sent the girl a message to +say that lessons and the ordinary school-room routine were to go on as +usual. If Helen desired to testify her sorrow for her part in this +terrible affair, her only possible means of doing so was by the most +absolute obedience. The last part of this message might have been +enigmatical to Helen had she sat down to think it over. As a matter of +fact she did not. She only realized that these days of sorrow and +anxiety were to be lightened by no happiness of service rendered, that +submission to the daily round of irksome lessons was the only token she +could give of her longing desire to help her father. Helen did not +submit to this at once. With passionate words of entreaty on her lips +she went to seek her stepmother. Mrs. Desmond was resting; but something +in her maid's manner warned Helen that entreaty would be useless. After +this the girl had a hard battle with herself. First she determined to +rebel, to force her way into her father's room and refuse to leave his +side. She even remained for a few minutes outside his door, watching for +an opportunity to enter. It opened and some one came out. Helen pressed +forward, but the sound of a low moan arrested her step. That sound +touched her generous heart and changed the current of her thoughts. Her +father was ill and suffering, and to witness a scene between herself and +his wife would distress him, would be bad for him. The very idea made +Helen ashamed of herself. She turned resolutely away, her mind made up. +She would obey. It was all she could do for him. Like a little heroine +this girl kept the pledge she had made to herself. During the long, +weary days that followed not one word of repining escaped her lips. Even +Miss Walker could find nothing to complain of when the imperfect lessons +were relearned so patiently, and the pale face, with its large anxious +eyes, fixed itself so intently upon the allotted tasks. It was only at +night, when everyone excepting those who watched in the sick-room was in +bed and all was still, that Helen, looking like a little ghost, would +steal down-stairs, and stationing herself on the mat outside her +father's room, with her ear pressed against the door, would wait for +hours listening for every sound that could be heard from within. Thus +she would often remain feeling amply rewarded if she did but catch a +sound of her father's voice, until pale dawn and a faint movement +overhead warned her that she must return to her room or risk discovery. + +At last there came a day--a languid spring day--when a more than +ordinary sense of gloom seemed to oppress the now cheerless house. +Martha, the maid, said but little in answer to Helen's eager inquiries; +but she sighed incessantly during breakfast, and when the young lady +pushed away her plate of porridge untasted, spoke of chastisements which +might not improbably befall her in the near future. To these remarks +Helen paid but little heed, although she was conscious that Martha's +sighs were re-echoed by the other servants as they went about their work +languidly, making observations to one another in penetrating whispers, +throwing looks of pitiful meaning at Helen herself as, a wan, dejected +little figure, she passed up and down stairs. + +All this the girl saw and noted; but she said nothing, dreading, +perhaps, what she might hear. Miss Walker arrived as usual, but even she +seemed in no great hurry to begin lessons; and she made no remarks about +her pupil's imperfectly-mastered tasks, but put the lesson-books down +quickly with a sigh of relief. It was the day for French verbs, too. +"_J'ai, Tu as, Il_--. How does it go?" thought Helen in despair. Was she +going to be stupid just on this day when Miss Walker's forbearance left +her no excuse? She must remember. How does it go? "_J'ai, Tu_--." Worse +and worse. And, yes, that was Dr. Russell's footstep in the hall. + +"Oh, Miss Walker! dear Miss Walker! let me go for one moment and speak +to the doctor." + +Before Helen knew what she was doing she had burst into tears, and Miss +Walker was actually holding her hand and trying to comfort her, and +telling her that her father was indeed very, very ill, but that there +was no need to despair. + +How that day went by Helen, looking back afterwards, never quite knew. +There were no more lessons, and Miss Walker appeared in quite a new +light, never once finding fault with her pupil, but actually trying to +amuse her and to draw her from her sad thoughts. Helen tried to feel +grateful, although not very successfully. In the first place, it was +difficult to dissociate Miss Walker from perpetual fault-finding, and in +the second place, although the girl dreaded being left alone, she was in +no mood to be amused. She was in fact entirely preoccupied with one +question--how to see her father; for see him she must, she told herself. + +The day wore on. Miss Walker lingered an hour longer than her accustomed +time, and then, secretly attributing her pupil's irresponsiveness and +reserve to want of feeling, she took her departure. On the door-steps +she met Dr. Russell. + +"Well, doctor, what news?" she asked. + +The doctor shook his head. + +"I cannot tell," he answered. "If his strength holds out twenty-four +hours longer he may pull through yet. But--" + +"Poor Mrs. Desmond!" sighed Miss Walker. "How terrible for her if she is +left with that unruly child!" + +Dr. Russell looked sharply at his companion, and opened his lips to +speak, but feeling probably in no mood for conversation, he changed his +mind and, lifting his hat, walked into the house. + +Helen, meanwhile, had learnt that her stepmother was resting, and, +pacing up and down outside her door, was waiting until she heard Mrs. +Desmond moving within, to enter and make a passionate appeal to be +allowed to see her father. Terrible temptations assailed the poor child +as she walked up and down the landing, all her senses on the alert to +catch every sound. She heard Dr. Russell enter the sick-room and leave +it. Surely he would not refuse her permission to creep in and take one +look at that dear face. The doctor's footsteps died away, and silence +followed. Again she thought how easy it would be to walk in. Once inside +the sick-room the rest would be simple enough, for no one would dare to +make a disturbance there. But Helen had her own code of honour. She had +declared to herself that she would obey her stepmother implicitly during +this sad time, and she would not break her word even to herself. + +At last, just as the long spring twilight was fading into darkness, +Helen distinctly heard Mrs. Desmond moving. Impulsive as ever, and +forgetting that people when just aroused from sleep are not particularly +approachable, she flew to the door, at which she knocked vigorously. + +"Come in," cried Mrs. Desmond, and Helen entered. + +Strange as it may appear these two had never met since the very +commencement of the colonel's illness. This separation had by no means +mitigated the peculiar bitterness of feeling that existed in Mrs. +Desmond's heart against her stepdaughter. In her eyes Helen was the +author of this terrible calamity that threatened her, and the girl's +offence was heightened in her eyes by the fact that she, and not Mrs. +Desmond, had first discovered the colonel's illness. Worn out with the +long strain of nursing, her state of mind with regard to Helen had +become more than ever morbid, and she shrank from even a passing +allusion to her. As for Helen, the efforts she had made over herself +during the past weeks, the sincere sorrow she had experienced for the +pain that her waywardness had caused her father, had softened her whole +nature. She no longer regarded Mrs. Desmond as an antagonist against +whom she was justified in waging perpetual warfare, and she had told +herself that, if her father was restored to her, her stepmother should +have her loyal obedience. Thus determined, and relieved from the daily +fret of Mrs. Desmond's constant rebukes, the bitterness had died out of +Helen's heart; and now something in the elder woman's worn, aged +appearance touched the girl's generous nature. Moved by a sort of pity, +and by a sudden realization of their common anxiety, she forgot even her +desire to see her father in a longing to help this sad-looking lady who, +dressed in a white wrapper scarcely whiter than her face, which bore a +half-frightened, half-bewildered expression, stood in the middle of the +room with upraised hands as though dreading some sudden shock. Her eyes +fell upon Helen. Her hands dropped and her face darkened. There was a +second's silence, while the girl looked appealingly at her stepmother, +her fingers twitching nervously. + +"What do you want, Helen?" asked Mrs. Desmond at last, commanding her +voice with difficulty, for not only had the sudden knocking really +alarmed her, but she particularly disliked being found in dishabille. + +"I'm so sorry, I do so wish I could help you!" broke from the impulsive +girl. + +"Sorry! did you come to tell me this?" + +"No, not exactly--but--" + +"I am glad of that. Sorrow is shown by acts, not words. I did not send +for you, and you have chosen to break upon the rest I so sorely need, at +a time, too, when--" Mrs. Desmond's voice shook, and once more pity +quenched Helen's rising resentment. + +"Oh! you don't know how sorry I am for you," she cried, as, running +forward, she seized her stepmother's hand, and looked imploringly into +her face. + +For a moment Mrs. Desmond allowed her hand to remain passively in +Helen's. There was something pleasant after all in the touch of those +warm strong young fingers; something that spoke of warmth, of comfort, +almost of support to this cold-natured woman who was feeling all her +hopes crumbling about her, who was face to face with mortal sorrow and +pain for the first time in her smooth easy life. One gentle +hand-pressure, one caressing movement, and the chasm that divided these +two might have been bridged over. But it was not to be. The remembrance +of Helen's past waywardness, and of the terrible results of the poor +child's foolish escapade, swept over her, obliterating more kindly +feelings. She withdrew her hand coldly, and moved away a few paces. +Helen, thrown back upon herself, felt her better feelings die within +her, and grew half-ashamed of her uncalled-for exhibition of tenderness. + +"I only came to ask you to allow me to see my father," she said, +speaking unconsciously in those sullen tones that she had cultivated in +old days, because she knew that they annoyed her stepmother. "I am sorry +if I disturbed you, but I thought I heard you moving before I knocked." + +"That I can scarcely believe, Helen," returned Mrs. Desmond, now +completely master of herself. "However, whether you did or not matters +little. As to your father, he is too ill to see anybody." + +"He can't be too ill to see me," returned Helen desperately, her wrath +rising at the notion that she, her father's child, should be classed +with "anybody" as though she were a stranger. "I should not disturb +him. When he had fever in India--" + +Poor Helen! as usual, she had struck the wrong chord, for Mrs. Desmond +could not endure any allusion to those old Indian days in which she had +had no part. + +"Spare me these discussions, Helen," she interrupted sharply. "It is all +very well to profess so much affection for your father. Remember that +but for you he would not be lying as he is now." + +"But for me!" + +"Yes. Dr. Russell says that he contracted his illness that evening when, +distressed as he was by your disgraceful behaviour, he followed you and +brought you home." + +"Dr. Russell says so?" + +"Yes." + +"And if--if--" + +"If we lose him, do you mean? In that case, Helen, you will need no +words of mine, I should think, to point out the terrible consequences of +giving way to temper." + +To do Mrs. Desmond justice, she scarcely realized the full meaning of +her words. She was not deliberately cruel, but even upon an occasion +such as this she could not forget her creed with regard to young people, +or let slip the opportunity of pointing a moral. Helen heard her, but +said nothing. The girl stood quite still, her hands clasped, her face +white and rigid, and her eyes unnaturally distended. She was trying to +think; trying to take in the awful fact that it was her deed that had +brought this illness upon her father. Was it true, or was she dreaming? +she asked herself as all sorts of curious fancies, fancies quite +distinct from this absorbing sorrow, rushed through her brain, and the +pattern of the wallpaper took fantastic shapes, and the china ornaments +on the chimney-piece stood out with curious distinctness, whilst a small +ivory figure on the dressing-table seemed suddenly to take life and to +force itself upon her attention. + +Most people have experienced, at one time or another, the curious power +that inanimate objects acquire over a brain half-paralysed by some +sudden shock. To Helen the sensation was entirely a new one, and her +voice sounded strange and far-away in her own ears when, hearing +Martha's step on the landing outside, she said: + +"If my father asks for me will you send for me?" + +"Yes," returned Mrs. Desmond more gently. She had been touched, almost +in spite of herself, at the girl's silence, and by the strained look on +her face, and she half-repented of having gone so far. + +But the softening came too late, and was lost on Helen, who turned +away, and who did not even see Martha's indignant look when she +discovered that her mistress had been disturbed. + +"Go to bed quietly, Helen, and you shall have news of your father in the +morning," called out Mrs. Desmond, still relenting. + +But Helen paid no heed. To-morrow, that was hours and hours hence. What +might not happen between now and then? This had been her doing and she +might not even go to her father; might not even hold his hand or look +into his face. Perhaps it was right. She deserved it all, and more, far +more than that or any other punishment that could be inflicted upon her. +Locking herself into her little dark room, she flung herself upon the +bed and tried to think. Hours went by, and still she lay there, while +all her short life passed in review before her. The happy Indian days, +the return to England, her first parting with her father, and then his +marriage. Poor Helen! the enormity of her anger and resentment, of her +whole behaviour, in fact, since that fatal day, appeared now to her in +an even exaggerated light. And then that last crowning sin that had +borne such bitter consequences. That Mrs. Desmond's statement had been +exaggerated never once occurred to Helen. She fully believed that she, +and she only, was answerable for her father's illness, that if he died +she it was who would have killed him. Many things, unnoticed at the +time, recurred to her now in confirmation of this belief; whisperings +and averted looks amongst the servants, subtle inuendoes of Martha's, +and Mrs. Desmond's undisguised aversion. Yes, it was true. Oh, to think +that her sin could have brought such terrible retribution! What would +Cousin Mary say? And yet, although Helen fancied she could almost see +Cousin Mary's grave, pained look, that kind friend was the only human +being for whose companionship the girl craved through the long hours of +that terrible night. Very long the hours were, and very slowly they went +by as the poor child lay between sleeping and waking, always with the +one idea present with her; listening for every sound, but feeling +unworthy even to creep down and lie outside the sick-room door. + +Pale dawn came at last. Helen lay and watched its coming until gradually +a numbness crept over her, and presently, worn out with her long vigil, +her eyes closed, and she slept. Ten minutes later a light tap came at +the door. The girl started up. Had she overslept herself? No; the room +was still nearly dark. What could the summons mean? + +Still dressed, just as she had first thrown herself on the bed, pale and +heavy-eyed, with trembling fingers she opened the door. One of the +night nurses stood outside. Helen caught her breath, while the nurse +started a little at this sad-faced apparition. + +"Don't be frightened, child," said the latter kindly, putting her hand +on the girl's arm. "Your father is better. He has slept for three hours, +and is now conscious, and he has asked for you." + +It was lucky that the nurse had hold of Helen's arm, for, strung up as +she was, the good news almost overcame her, and she staggered forward. +But the necessity for self-command soon restored her to herself. A few +minutes later she was kneeling by her father's side--such a changed +father!--with her cheek pressed against his hand. On the other side +stood Mrs. Desmond, bending over him. He opened his eyes, and they +rested tenderly, lingeringly on Helen; then feebly taking his wife's +hand he placed it in Helen's. After this, exhausted by the effort, he +closed his eyes again, while an expression of contentment flitted over +his face. He had given these two to one another. Whatever happened to +him, surely Helen would be cared for now; his wife would learn to +understand her for his sake. + +Dimly Helen understood her father, and inwardly she registered a +passionate vow of loyalty to his wishes. For the second time her +clinging fingers closed round her stepmother's irresponsive hand. Mrs. +Desmond made no movement. She accepted the charge, but she obstinately +withheld the love that might have made that charge an easy one. The +little wan figure creeping into the darkened room had had no power to +move her. But the meeting between father and daughter, the quiet content +that had come to her husband with Helen's presence and that all her +tenderness had failed to produce, these things she noted with jealous +eyes, and they gave a fresh impulse to her morbid feelings with regard +to her stepdaughter. Even here, by the sick-bed, Helen was first. +Colonel Desmond's first conscious request had been to see his child. The +scene did not last long. Mrs. Desmond quickly, almost impatiently, +motioned to Helen to go, and Helen obeyed unhesitatingly. Henceforward +she told herself, as in the glad morning light she knelt in prayer for +her father, there must be no more disobedience. If this awful shadow +might pass away, if the consequences of her sin might be averted, her +whole life should be spent in trying to redeem her fault. Pledges we +often make, how lightly! But our little Helen was made of sterner stuff. +Wilful and wayward as she was, there was a strain of that fibre in her, +possibly an inheritance from some martyred Irish ancestor, from which +saints and martyrs have been made. That, and the few following days of +alternating hope and fear, were an ordeal which left a mark upon her +never to be afterwards effaced. When, one morning, Dr. Russell himself +came to her and told her that her father was out of danger, she received +the news gravely, almost solemnly, for in the midst of her joy and +thankfulness she could not forget that she had been, in a certain sense, +taken at her word, and that her life was henceforth consecrated to the +fulfilment of the promises she had made in her hour of distress. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +LONGFORD GRANGE. + + +An old orchard, its trees gnarled and moss-grown, their blossoms lying +thick upon the grass beneath. A little to the left the embowered gables +and red chimneys of an old house. On the right, and stretching away +towards the horizon, a wide expanse of quiet meadows starred with +buttercups, and intersected by tall hawthorn hedges. Over all the +delicate blue sky of an English summer day. + +It was a typical midland landscape, a landscape that possesses a quiet +charm peculiarly its own; and Helen, swinging herself gently to and fro +in a hammock under the bright sunshine, felt as much at home as though +Longford Grange had been her habitation for as many years as it had been +days. + +The sad days in Bloomsbury Square were things of the past. The dreary +house was shut up; the precious china was carefully packed away, the +chairs and tables were shrouded in their dust-sheets, and Mrs. Desmond's +household gods were temporarily, at least, at peace. It had all been +accomplished in far too great a hurry to please that lady; but Dr. +Russell's orders that the colonel was to leave London directly he was +well enough to be moved were peremptory, and Mrs. Desmond was forced to +give way to necessity. The idea, too, of a country life was by no means +pleasant to her, and she was wondering in a bewildered way what spot to +fix upon as a temporary resting-place when a letter arrived from her +half-sister, Mrs. Bayden, the wife of a country clergyman, saying that +Longford Grange, a house within a quarter of a mile of the Rectory, was +to let, and might suit her sister's purpose. The idea did not +immediately approve itself to Mrs. Desmond, who disliked the too close +neighbourhood of poor relations; but the colonel, hearing of the +suggestion, expressed a desire to fall in with it, and the matter was +settled. Helen's fate trembled in the balance for a few days, as Miss +Walker found herself unable to leave town, and Mrs. Desmond seriously +contemplated leaving her troublesome stepdaughter behind in the +governess's charge. Upon the first suggestion of such a plan to the +colonel, however, he spoke so decidedly of his determination not to be +separated from Helen that Mrs. Desmond saw that, for the present at +least, it was useless to argue the point. Dr. Russell, meeting his +little friend upon the stairs one day clenched the matter by remarking +upon her altered looks, and he went out of his way to urge upon her +parents the necessity of change of scene and a life of freedom for their +child after the evident strain she had undergone during her father's +illness. Mrs. Desmond scarcely relished this advice; but even she looked +a little anxiously at the girl, and wondered rather uncomfortably +whether Helen's curiously changed manner could be due to physical +causes. As for Colonel Desmond, he took fright at once. Helen must have +a holiday, must run wild if necessary, he declared. He was very weak +still, and in the full enjoyment of an invalid's privileges. Although +his wife positively shuddered at the idea of Helen's running wild, she +did not attempt to gainsay him, and after this there was no more +discussion about the matter. Helen went to Longford Grange without a +governess, and with a tacit understanding that, under certain +restrictions, such as early rising and punctual attendance at meals, +she was to be allowed to do pretty much as she pleased. + +But in spite of her father's tenderness, of the charms of a country +life, and the delights of freedom, Helen did not recover her health or +her spirits directly. Perhaps she was by nature a little morbid, and, if +so, the unnatural repression to which she had been subjected during the +past year, and the want of wholesome sympathy and young companionship +had tended to dangerously foster such a quality. She was always brooding +over what was past, and exaggerating her own failings. Morbidly +conscious that she was an object of dislike to her stepmother, she +credited Mrs. Desmond with a depth of feeling of which that cold-natured +woman was incapable. Anxious to show her true contrition for what was +past, she was perpetually fidgeting her stepmother with small attentions +which Mrs. Desmond not only failed to appreciate, but which she ascribed +to motives of which Helen's generous, open nature was incapable. Colonel +Desmond, indeed, looked on smiling. What an improvement in Helen! To be +sure he missed the child's bright ways and frank outspoken talk. But for +this, and for his little daughter's white, oldened face, he would have +begun to believe that his Margaret's training had worked miracles. But +to see these two beginning to understand one another was worth +anything, even his illness. No doubt it was her stepmother's tender +sympathy through that sad time that had brought Helen to this mind. + +So reasoned the colonel, and was content. Meanwhile he and his wife +became once more a good deal absorbed in each other's society, and Helen +was left to her own devices. Lonely Helen, lying in her hammock on this +bright summer's day thinking of many things about which young heads +should not concern themselves, heard a step in the orchard, and starting +up hastily, saw a young girl, apparently about her own age, coming +towards her. + +"One of those tiresome girls from the Rectory, I suppose," she said to +herself discontentedly. Helen had as yet only seen her stepmother's +relatives in church, Mrs. Desmond having hinted very strongly to her +sister that, owing to the colonel's state of health and her own +shattered nerves, intercourse between the Grange and Rectory would be +necessarily restricted, especially as regarded the young people. Agatha, +however, the eldest Rectory girl, had been presented to her aunt, in +whose eyes she had found favour, as Helen knew to her cost, having +smarted more than once under an unflattering comparison between herself +and the young lady in question. + +Helen took stock of her as she advanced, a prim little figure dressed +with exceeding neatness. Her face was small and well-featured, and she +had pretty dark eyes and smooth coils of brown hair, but her lips were +thin and their expression unpleasing. She walked, too, with a short, +ungraceful step, and there was an air of demure superiority about her +which was scarcely calculated to impress favourably those of her own age +at least. "I don't like her," said Helen to herself as Agatha approached +and held out her hand with a patronizing air, observing: + +"I suppose you are Helen Desmond?" + +"I suppose I am," returned Helen a little mischievously, sitting up in +her hammock, but still swinging herself slowly to and fro. + +Agatha's thin lips tightened. She had been annoyed that Helen had not +come forward to meet her; now she began to think her new acquaintance +not only ill-mannered but impertinent. "I daresay you don't know who I +am," she went on loftily. + +"Oh, yes! I do. You are Agatha Bayden." + +"How do you know that I am Agatha?" + +"Because I saw you on Sunday boxing your little brother's ears behind +the churchyard wall. One of the choir boys said, 'That's Miss Agatha.' +I'm not sure he didn't say Agatha." + +Agatha turned crimson. + +"I have a message for you," she said, scorning a direct reply. "You are +to come to lunch with us to-day, and to spend the afternoon with us." + +"Who says so?" asked Helen not very courteously. + +"My mother has invited you, and my aunt says that you may come," +returned Agatha still loftily. + +The mention of Mrs. Desmond recalled Helen to her better mind. She +jumped out of the hammock. + +"I must make myself tidy first," she said with a smile and a sudden +change of tone that perplexed her companion. "I oughtn't to have kept +you standing here. Will you come in and sit down while I get ready?" + +"I have already spent half an hour with my aunt, and I think I had +better not disturb her again," said Agatha primly. + +"Oh, no! of course not," returned Helen. "We will go to my room by the +backstairs, then we sha'n't disturb anybody." + +The two girls went off together. Agatha, whose temper had been a good +deal ruffled, and who considered herself vastly Helen's superior, was +not disposed to be friendly, although Helen was already ashamed of her +blunt speeches, and tried to make amends for them by chatting pleasantly +as they went along. Her companion's frank and natural manner was not +what Agatha had expected, and she remained stiffly silent. On the +backstairs they encountered Martha, who was on her way to find Helen, +and who did not improve Agatha's temper by sending her to wait in the +library, while Helen was carried off to be tidied under Martha's own +eye, after which process she was to speak with Mrs. Desmond before +leaving the house. + +"I hope, Helen, that you will behave properly," said that lady when +Helen, a little shrinking and downcast, as she always was now in her +stepmother's presence, appeared before her. "I scarcely like letting you +go, my sister's children are so well brought up. Pray be careful, and +avoid, if you can, doing anything dreadful. Don't loll in your chair at +the table, and please only speak when you are spoken to." + +"I--I will do my best," answered Helen, struggling with her rising +temper. "Is that all?" + +Mrs. Desmond looked at her sharply. "I hope you are not going to sulk, +Helen. I should not have said this had I not recollected your forward +behaviour when my cousin, Miss Macleod, was with us. Take example from +Agatha. She is really a charming girl. So gentle and ready to please! so +full of deference for her elders! With a little polish--" + +"Agatha can get into a passion and box her little brother's ears when +she thinks that no one is looking," burst out Helen. + +"Helen, you shock and disgust me. How can you repeat such low gossip?" + +"It isn't gossip," cried Helen. But she was already repentant. "I am +sorry I said it, though; it was mean," she went on. "I will try to +behave as you wish me to. But oh! I _wish_ I might stop at home." + +"Nonsense, Helen! Go at once. I have nothing more to say to you, and I +hope you will keep your word and neither say nor do anything to shock my +sister." + +The girl looked at Mrs. Desmond for a moment and then turned away +impatiently, half-choked with the indignant words that rose to her lips. +The door closed rather noisily behind her as she rushed out into the +large square hall, where her father stood sunning himself in the open +doorway. + +"Dear, dearest father!" she cried, running up to him and flinging her +arms round his neck. + +"Don't smother me, child," he returned, laughing and gently disengaging +himself from her embrace. + +"Why, Helen," he went on, "tears! What is the matter?" + +"Nothing, nothing," cried the girl eagerly, dashing them away. "I am +going to the Rectory to spend a long day. I must not keep Agatha +waiting any longer. Good-bye!" + +Just then the drawing-room door opened and Mrs. Desmond appeared. She +misinterpreted the situation, of course, but she made no remark as Helen +ran past her, although she threw an indignant glance at the girl. + +"What is the matter with Helen?" asked the colonel rather sharply as his +wife joined him. + +She smiled disagreeably. + +"Need you ask me? You have heard the child's story." + +"I have heard no story. But I did hope that we should have no more of +these painful scenes." + +"So did I." + +This was all that passed on the subject, but once more a shadow fell +between husband and wife. + +Meanwhile the girls quickly traversed the short distance that separated +the Grange from the Rectory, where Helen was coldly greeted by Mrs. +Bayden, a hard-featured woman, superficially not at all like her sister +either in manner or appearance. Their respective lots in life, too, had +been very different. Mrs. Desmond, the only daughter of their father's +first wife, had been early adopted by her mother's relations, from whom +she had inherited a considerable fortune. Mrs. Bayden was the eldest of +a numerous second family, and had married a poor clergyman while still +young. All her life had been spent in a struggle with what is perhaps +harder than real poverty--the struggle to keep up appearances on a small +income. Her husband was a quiet, well-meaning man, entirely wrapt up in +his five children, and terribly oppressed by the sameness and monotony +of his parish work. He was inclined to be fretful with his wife when +things did not run smoothly; but he shifted even his natural +responsibilities upon her shoulders, and although a little obstinate at +times, like all weak people, he always in the end deferred to her +judgment. + +Mr. and Mrs. Bayden and their two youngest children, Grace and Harold, +were in the drawing-room awaiting the girls' arrival, for the +luncheon-gong had already sounded before they entered. + +"I knew we should be late," said Agatha spitefully. "Helen took such a +time to beautify herself." + +"Well, go at once and take off your hats," returned Mrs. Bayden +impatiently, "and then come straight to the dining-room." + +The girls obeyed. Helen, who was suffering from an unusual access of +shyness, was very glad to escape the gaze of so many pairs of curious +eyes, although the relief was only temporary, for immediately she was +seated at the luncheon-table she felt the scrutiny renewed. + +"Agatha, my child, you look tired," said Mr. Bayden anxiously. The +Baydens were always in a tremor over their children's health. + +"I am tired," remarked Agatha fretfully. + +There was a diversion while various restoratives were pressed upon +Agatha by her parents, and then Mr. Bayden, who was kind-hearted, turned +to Helen and asked her how she liked Longford. + +"I think it is a lovely place," said Helen enthusiastically. + +Agatha and Grace sniggered, while their elders smiled a little +contemptuously. + +"You don't call this flat country lovely, do you?" asked Mrs. Bayden. + +"Is it flat?" returned Helen, colouring. "I never thought about that." + +"Perhaps, mother, Helen will think Dane's End lovely, and will call the +open ditch a stream," suggested Agatha. + +"I only meant," began Helen, "that after London--" + +"Yes, yes," interposed Mr. Bayden, "of course the country is refreshing +after London, and the Grange is pretty. The church, too, is picturesque. +You admire our fine old church, don't you?" + +"Yes," said Helen faintly. She had no eye for architectural beauties, +and the scantily-filled church had struck her on Sunday as cold and +dreary. + +"I suppose that our village singing sounded very poor to you after that +in the London churches," went on Mr. Bayden, the faintest suspicion of a +self-satisfied smile dawning in the corners of his mouth. + +"Yes," said Helen again, but with more decision. Her musical ears had +really been tortured by the discordant sounds produced by a choir of +village boys habited in soiled surplices, and engaged apparently in a +desperate attempt to outshout one another. Her frank assent was +unfortunate, however. Mrs. Bayden was proud of her choir, which she +managed, as she did everything else in the parish, but being entirely +destitute of musical taste she was quite unaware that the results +obtained by her efforts were not musically satisfactory, although a +volume of sound was not lacking. Helen was dimly conscious that she had +said something wrong, and her relief was considerable when Harold, a lad +of about twelve, who was seated beside her, looked up into her face with +his merry blue eyes and said: + +"I think our boys make a horrid noise, especially Jim Hunt. I saw you +looking at him. You can hear his voice over everybody's. I don't sing at +all when I sit by him." + +"Harold, how wicked of you!" said his mother. "You don't deserve the +privilege of sitting in the choir. Jim Hunt is an excellent boy, and his +voice is most useful." + +Agatha, her mother's echo, murmured, "How wicked!" upon which Harold +told her to "shut up." + +"Mother, do you hear that?" cried Agatha in her high-pitched tones. + +"Harold, Harold!" interposed Mr. Hayden nervously, "be good, pray. You +don't want to be punished again, do you?" + +"She has no business to interfere," persisted Harold. "Mother may say +I'm wicked; she sha'n't." + +"Harold!" cried Mrs. Bayden in a warning voice, after which there was an +instant's pause while hands wore joined, and Mr. Bayden murmured a hasty +and inaudible grace. + +This over, Helen, accompanied by Grace and Harold, withdrew to the +school-room, Agatha remaining with her parents. + +"Well, Agatha, and how did you get on at the Grange this morning?" asked +her father with some curiosity; while Mrs. Bayden, who for reasons of +her own was particularly anxious that Agatha should produce a favourable +impression on her aunt, looked up eagerly. + +"I got on as well as possible, at least until I found Helen. Aunt +Margaret kept me with her for ever so long, and she asked me to go and +see her again." + +"Did she? Well, perhaps she means to be kind after all," said Mr. +Bayden. "What do you say, mother?" + +Mrs. Bayden was knitting vigorously, and she only replied by an +impatient movement. Agatha went on. + +"As for Helen, I don't wonder that she annoys Aunt Margaret. She was +quite rude and disagreeable to me at first. Do you like her, mother?" + +"I can't say I do. Still I haven't much pity for my sister. Why did she +marry at all at her time of life, and above all, why did she marry a man +with a child? She ought to have considered her nephews and nieces before +she took such a step." + +Poor, over-anxious Mrs. Bayden, who had always looked forward to a time +when her rich lonely sister would take a fancy to one, if not more, of +her children, considered Helen as an interloper, and found it hard to +tolerate the girl's very existence. In addition to this, quite enough +about Helen's past misdeeds had been said to prejudice her in the +Baydens' eyes. Under the circumstances it can scarcely be wondered at, +perhaps, that her reception at the Rectory was not a very warm one. +Agatha and her mother, indeed, considered that they had done all that +was needed, but Mr. Bayden had some qualms of conscience with regard to +the lonely young stranger within their gates. + +"Poor child!" he said, as he rose from his chair preparatory to starting +on his usual afternoon potter in his parish, "we must be kind to her, +Agatha. I daresay she has had a rough bringing up." + +"She has had every advantage with my sister," snapped Mrs. Bayden. "She +was exceedingly brusque at luncheon, and she ought, _at least_, to have +learnt better manners by this time. Our choir isn't good enough for her, +indeed! I only hope that her example won't make Harold naughtier than +ever." + +"I don't see how anything could do that," observed Agatha. + +"Well, Agatha," returned her mother persuasively, "I think you had +better go upstairs to the others now. Your aunt doesn't care for Helen, +I know, but still she mightn't be pleased if she thought that we had +neglected her." + +Agatha obeyed rather reluctantly. Mrs. Bayden's eyes followed her with +admiring glances. Agatha was her mother's idol. Not disposed to be over +gentle even with her children, to all of whom she was honestly devoted, +Mrs. Bayden could never find it in her heart to speak a hasty word to +Agatha. The girl was well aware of her mother's weakness, and although, +to do her justice, she was an excellent and helpful daughter, she had +imbibed so high an opinion of her own talents, and of herself generally +from this circumstance, that to everyone, save her parents, she was +often insufferably overbearing. Then, too, she had been made the sharer +of all her mother's hopes and plans, and neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bayden had +any secrets from her. Her opinion was a distinct factor in the family +councils, and her sharp, often pert, remarks about their friends and +neighbours were rather encouraged than checked. Even her two big +brothers were not allowed to tease her with impunity when they were at +home for their holidays, whilst her authority was upheld in the rigid +obedience that she tried to exact from Grace and Harold. + +Perhaps for all her faults and foibles Agatha was rather to be pitied +than blamed, but Helen was scarcely likely to see them in that light, +and she may be pardoned for experiencing a sensation of disgust on +seeing Agatha enter the school-room and calmly sweep away some chips of +wood and cardboard out of which Harold, with some wire and a few rough +tools, was trying to construct what he called an organ. Harold had a +taste for mechanics, and was always dreaming of inventions. He did not +often find such a sympathetic listener as Helen, to whom he was +explaining his plans, and who was deeply interested in the description +of his designs for cardboard organ-pipes and other contrivances. + +"I think tin would be better," she was saying gravely as Agatha walked +in. "I will ask my father--" + +"Harold, you know that you oughtn't to make such a mess in this room. +Clear it away at once." + +Harold, whose face had been glowing with enthusiasm, looked up and saw +his sister. His whole expression altered. + +"I sha'n't," he said. + +"Sha'n't indeed! you'll have to," and Agatha raised the table-cloth +whereon the litter lay, and swept Harold's treasures on to the floor. + +"There, now, you have spoilt those pipes, and they took me hours to +make," screamed Harold, rushing at his sister and pushing her backward. +"I hate you. You are a horrid disagreeable thing. I will never forgive +you." + +"You bad, wicked boy!" cried Agatha, holding his hands; "this is the end +of all those fine promises that you made last Sunday. Supposing you were +to die in one of those dreadful passions, you would go to hell." + +"It is you who are wicked to speak like that," interposed Helen, unable +to witness the scene in silence any longer. "You provoked him, you know +you did." + +"Children, children, what is the matter?" + +The combatants stopped their hostilities and turned round. Mrs. Bayden, +on her way upstairs, had heard the noise of the scuffle and had appeared +upon the scene. + +"It is Harold, of course, as usual," said Agatha, recovering her +self-possession at once. "He will do his silly carpentering here, and +you know you have often told him he is only to do it in the barn. I was +only trying to make him obedient, and he flew at me and pushed and +kicked me." + +"Oh, Harold!" sighed Mrs. Bayden, "how could you? Fancy if you had +injured your sister seriously." + +"It isn't true," began Harold, but his mother stopped him. + +"I want to hear no more. I have heard too much already. That +rubbish"--pointing to the wood and cardboard on the floor--"must be +given to me. Pick it up." + +Harold, his face dark and lowering, obeyed, and the "rubbish," tenderly +placed in a wastepaper basket, was handed to his mother. + +"You will take care of it, won't you?" he said, with a little break in +his voice. + +"No, Harold, I must do my duty. You must be punished for your conduct. I +shall burn these things." + +Harold could not guess all that her mistaken sternness cost his mother. +With a cry like that of a wounded animal he rushed away, and Helen +stepped forward. + +"Please don't burn those things," she said, "Agatha really did provoke +him. I should have been quite as angry, perhaps angrier, if anyone had +treated me as she did Harold." + +"I am quite ready to believe that, Helen," returned Mrs. Bayden with a +curious smile. "When you remember the terrible consequences of your own +conduct, you will not wonder that I am anxious to save Harold from the +scourge of an ungoverned temper." + +Helen shrank back as though she had received a blow. Mrs. Bayden was +quite right, she thought. Her interference could never do any good. But +she was still smarting under the sense of injustice, although she was +not the sufferer upon this occasion. + +"Why didn't you tell your mother that Harold wasn't to blame?" she asked +Grace indignantly when Mrs. Bayden and Agatha had gone, and those two +were left alone. + +Grace shrugged her shoulders. + +"It wouldn't have been any good," she said; "mother always takes +Agatha's part. Besides, she and Harold are always quarrelling. It's just +as often his fault as hers. I wish he was at school like the other boys. +But come along out into the garden. We can take books with us and +read." + +Nothing loth, Helen agreed. They found a shady spot, and Grace, who +liked nothing so much as reading, was soon deep in her book. But Helen +was restless and ill at ease. Her attention wandered, and she could +think of nothing but Harold. + +"I think I will go for a stroll," she said presently. "You needn't come. +I like wandering about by myself." + +Grace was too comfortable to move. She merely nodded her assent, and +went on with her book. + +Thus left free to follow her own devices, Helen searched all over the +garden for Harold, but without success. She was just giving up the +search in despair when she heard a rustling noise inside the shrubbery. +Pushing her way amongst the bushes with some difficulty, she came upon a +spot that had been cleared, and there she found Harold digging away with +might and main. He was so intent upon his work that he did not at first +notice her approach, and she watched him with some amusement as he flung +down each spadeful of earth, striking it sharply several times with his +spade as he did so. + +At length he became aware that he was no longer alone, and looked round +sharply. + +"However did you find me out?" he asked. + +"I have been looking for you, and I heard a noise in the shrubbery and +guessed that I might find you here." + +"I'm glad you've come. I liked you directly I saw you; and you took my +part." + +Helen was silent. She had rather a wise little head on her shoulders, +and an instinct warned her not to discuss his sister's behaviour with +Harold. + +"Don't you wonder what I'm doing?" he went on. + +"You are digging, aren't you?" + +"Yes; I come here when I am too angry to do anything else, and I slash +away at the earth until I grow quite happy again." + +Helen smiled. + +"What a good idea! I can guess exactly how you feel." + +"Can you? Well, don't tell anyone. If Agatha knew, she would be sure to +say that I was in mischief, and then I should be forbidden to come here +again." + +"I won't say a word. Go on digging, and I will stop and watch you." + +Harold threw down his spade. + +"I don't want to dig any more. I say, shall we sit on the top of the +wall and talk? There is a place just there overlooking the road from +where one can see everything that goes by without being seen one's +self." + +Helen needed no persuasion. Assisted by Harold, who climbed like a cat, +she easily scaled the wall, and, sheltered from observation by the leafy +branches of an overhanging copper beech, they soon fell into pleasant +talk. So deeply interesting were their mutual confidences, that it was +not until a glimpse of Mrs. Desmond's victoria going by rapidly recalled +Helen to a recollection of the impropriety of her present position that +she remembered Grace, whom she had left so unceremoniously, and who +would probably be seeking her, as the afternoon was wearing on. + +"What's the matter?" asked Harold, seeing Helen's face fall. + +"There is mamma going to the Rectory. She said that she might fetch me." + +"Why don't you say mother? Mamma sounds so funny." + +"Because she isn't my _mother_." + +Both were silent for a moment. Harold's questioning blue eyes looked +curiously into Helen's face, but it betrayed nothing. Helen was too +deep-natured to wear her heart upon her sleeve. She knew quite well that +Mrs. Desmond disliked the word mamma, considering it underbred; but the +girl had told herself that she would call no stranger mother, and she +kept her word. + +"I suppose that I ought to have been with Grace all this time," she +said, breaking silence. "Come along, Harold, and let us find her +quickly." + +"Never mind Grace. She never cares for anybody when she has a book, and +she didn't want you to come at all. I expect it is about tea-time, and +the best thing we can do is to go straight back to the school-room." + +Unfortunately, in order to reach the house it was necessary to pass +right under the drawing-room windows. Mrs. Desmond's victoria had +deposited her at the Rectory some time before Harold and Helen could +return thither, and she clearly discerned the two untidy little figures +scudding across the lawn. + +"Dear me! Is that Helen?" she asked. "I told her to be ready when I +called for her." + +Mrs. Bayden, who, with Agatha's assistance, was dispensing tea, looked +up nervously. + +"Helen! I hope not. I thought that the school-room tea had gone up some +time ago. Agatha, would you--" + +"It is Helen," broke in Agatha abruptly. "She ran away from Grace and +left her alone all the afternoon. Of course she has been with Harold. +Birds of a feather, you know. Shall I tell her to come to you at once, +Aunt Margaret?" + +"Do, my dear," said Mrs. Desmond. "I wish Helen were more like your +girl, Susan," she went on as Agatha left the room. + +"Agatha is one in a thousand," returned Mrs. Bayden, her sharp voice +growing almost soft. + +"Yes," observed Mr. Bayden plaintively. "If all our children were but +like her! There's Harold now. Would you believe it, I met him in the +garden early in the afternoon, and I spoke to him quite gently, and he +rushed past me saying, 'I hate you all, I hate you all!' Such terrible +language to use to a father." + +"I'm afraid that it is all your own fault, Richard," returned Mrs. +Desmond unsympathetically. "You spoil your children. I positively +shudder to think of what the world will come to when--" + +"But you yourself admit that Agatha is all that can be desired," +interrupted Mrs. Bayden impatiently. She was by no means pleased that +her husband should expose Harold's naughtiness to an outsider. + +"Agatha seems a good girl," replied Mrs. Desmond coldly. "She needs +forming, of course; but considering that she has spent all her life in a +country village one must not blame her for that. As for Harold, why +don't you send him to school?" + +"Because, Margaret, I can't afford it at present," said Mrs. Bayden +bluntly. + +"An excellent reason, my dear Susan. It is a pity that you can't manage, +though, to discipline him at home. Why don't you take him in hand, +Richard?" + +Mr. Bayden sighed deeply and looked imploringly at his sister-in-law. + +"How can I?" he said. "My children are so dear to me. And then I have +other cares. The parish--" + +"Oh! by the way, talking of the parish," interrupted Mrs. Desmond, +"things seem to be very badly managed here. Two different families have +been at the Grange begging since we came. There can't be any poverty +here, and besides--Why, Helen, what have you been doing to yourself?" +This last was addressed to her stepdaughter, who had been marched down +by Agatha, and who was now brought summarily into the drawing-room. + +"I--I have only been in the garden," said Helen, painfully conscious of +tumbled hair, soiled hands, and torn frock. + +"Only in the garden! What are those green marks on your dress?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," said Helen, beginning to brush herself +vigorously and making bad worse. + +"You don't know! It looks to me as if you had been climbing _trees_." + +"Oh, no! indeed I haven't," said Helen, thankful to be able to deny so +terrible an accusation. + +"What have you been doing, then?" + +"I--I only climbed a wall." + +"Climbed a wall! What for?" + +"To sit there." + +"This is the child for whom no expense has been spared," observed Mrs. +Desmond tragically to her sister. "Dancing lessons, drilling lessons, +deportment, this last especially, have been dinned into her from morning +till night. And yet your Agatha knows how to behave herself better than +she does." + +There was a pause. Mrs. Desmond indulged in a deep sigh, and the +Baydens, a little nettled at this half-contemptuous reference to Agatha, +remained silent. + +"Come," went on the injured lady presently, addressing Helen. "I am +sorry that I ever allowed you to come here. I knew that you would +disgrace me. Say good-bye to my sister." + +"Good-bye!" said Helen, giving her hand awkwardly to Mrs. Bayden. + +"Oh! you must let her come again," observed good-natured Mr. Bayden. +"She didn't mean to do anything wrong, I'm sure. And I daresay it was +quite as much Harold's fault as hers. Pray, don't be angry with the poor +child." + +Ejaculating a few conciliatory remarks of this kind, Mr. Bayden +accompanied his sister-in-law to her carriage, standing bareheaded in +the porch until she passed out of sight. + +"Really," he observed fretfully as he re-entered the drawing-room and +threw himself into an armchair, "really, my dear, you must shield me +from your sister as much as possible. I shrink from no sacrifice for my +dear children's sake, as you know; but pray don't let her attack me +again. It was most unfeeling of her to speak as she did about the +parish. Indeed, it was worse than unfeeling, it was positively +disrespectful to speak in that way to a clergyman. I, too, who toil in +my parish from one year's end to another! She positively spoke as if I +didn't do my duty." + +"Do you think, Richard, that it is pleasant for me to hear our children +slightingly spoken of?" returned Mrs. Bayden. "But I bear it, and so +must you. As for parish matters, Margaret knows no more about the +management of a parish than she does about children. It won't do to +quarrel with her, though." + +"Well, spare me, spare me, that is all I ask," said Mr. Bayden. "Really +I feel half sorry for that poor child Helen." + +"I expect that she is quite able to take care of herself," answered the +wife. "You mustn't forget that she nearly killed her father by her +behaviour in London." + +"That was very shocking, certainly," murmured Mr. Bayden. "Give me +another cup of tea, my dear. By the way, Betty Smith has been attacking +me again about her daughter. These people are never satisfied. They are +a most ungrateful set. And Joseph Hall spoke to me about my new stole. +Did you ever hear such impertinence? Just as if I were accountable to my +people for anything I choose to do." + +This, the waywardness of their flock in indulging in every Briton's +birthright, the privilege of private judgment, was a congenial topic +with the worthy couple. In its discussion they temporarily forgot their +grievances against Mrs. Desmond, who, meanwhile, with Helen seated +beside her, drove home in silence. The root of her increased bitterness +against her stepdaughter lay in that little incident that had occurred +in the morning. But of this Helen could not be aware, and the poor +child, recalling all her good resolutions, began once more to exaggerate +her own shortcomings, and to wonder miserably why it was that she was so +hopelessly stupid and bad. And yet, in spite of everything, she did not +regret her visit to the Rectory. Agatha and Grace might be cold and +disagreeable, and sneer at her whenever she opened her lips, but Harold +with his eager face and his odd fancies was quite different. If only she +and Harold might meet sometimes, she felt that she could bear the snubs +of his family with a good deal of equanimity. And in planning how she +could help Harold, and how she could manage to interest her father in +her new friend, Helen forgot her own wrongs, and forgot even to be angry +when her stepmother told her that her company would not be required in +the drawing-room that evening. When our heads are full of others it is +wonderful how insignificant our own personal concerns become. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +HAROLD. + + +Helen's attempts to interest her father in Harold were crowned with +success almost beyond her hopes. Colonel Desmond, who was fond of +children, had been already attracted by the boy's singularly handsome +face, and having a certain turn for mechanics himself, he was disposed +to be sympathetic over Harold's futile efforts to construct organs out +of cardboard and to model engines from blocks of wood. More than this, +it pleased the colonel to see his little daughter and her small friend +together. They had, indeed, an excellent effect upon one another. Both +naturally wilful and wayward with others, they seemed to have but one +will when together. Harold, who was accustomed to be alternately teased +and bullied by his sisters, to be wept over by his mother, and to be +treated as a dangerous if beloved animal by his father, looked upon +Helen as a superior being, on whose sympathy he could always count, who, +in some curious way, understood that it was not the object of his life +to outrage the feelings of those around him, and to whom he could safely +confide his dearest and most secret projects without fear of ridicule. +As for Helen, her feelings for her new friend partook of a motherly as +well as of a sisterly character. Her added years and her larger +experience, so far from giving her any desire to domineer over Harold, +aroused in her heart a sort of tenderness for him, which his sister's +treatment of him and the want of sympathy which he experienced at home +tended to foster. With regard to Harold's talents Helen had no +misgivings; and she was ready to listen patiently for hours whilst he +unfolded his schemes to her, ascribing to her own dullness and want of +comprehension the seeming vagueness of some of these schemes, promising +eagerly to help him in the working out of certain dull yet necessary +details of the sort which aspiring geniuses of all ages have been +disposed to shirk. + +It must not be supposed that this happy friendship was recognized at +once by the children's respective belongings. Indeed, had it not been +for the colonel's unwonted firmness, the probability is that Harold and +Helen, after their first meeting, would have been kept resolutely apart. + +"The colonel seems to have taken a fancy to Harold," said Mr. Bayden to +his wife one day when Colonel Desmond and Helen had called and invited +the boy to accompany them on some distant expedition. + +"Such a pity that it was not Agatha!" sighed Mrs. Bayden, taking up a +fresh stocking from her heaped-up basket. + +Mrs. Bayden was not the only person who considered it a pity that the +colonel's fancy had been taken by Harold. + +"I could have endured Agatha, but why you choose to annoy me by having +that rough boy continually here I cannot understand," observed Mrs. +Desmond to her husband. + +"My dear wife, why should Harold annoy you? He is scarcely ever in the +house, and he can't do much harm in the garden." + +"He is the most unsatisfactory of my sister's children. Everyone knows +that he is a bad boy. Even Richard, who is a perfect idiot about his +children, acknowledges that he can do nothing with Harold." + +"All I can say is that Bayden is--well, I must not abuse your +relations, Margaret. But, believe me, that boy has some good stuff in +him. Besides, he is a fine, handsome little chap, and his resemblance to +you is quite astonishing. Surely that ought to recommend him to me." + +The colonel's speech, although exceedingly diplomatic, was justified by +facts. Harold's face, notwithstanding its rounded outlines, did bear a +resemblance to his aunt's. She smiled. + +"You may say what you like, John, but I can't believe that Harold and +Helen can be good companions for one another. If she had taken a fancy +even to Grace I should have made no objection." + +"Let the children be," returned the colonel a little testily. "Helen +looks better already for young companionship, and we cannot force +children's likes and dislikes any more than we can our own." + +"That, I suppose, you learnt from Mary Macleod," said Mrs. Desmond, the +smile fading from her face. "However, I shall say no more. If any harm +comes of your foolish indulgence remember that I warned you." + +The colonel did not reply. Why his wife had yielded so readily rather +puzzled him. But Mrs. Desmond had her own reasons. Helen had long been a +thorn in her side, and the pricking of this poor little thorn was fast +becoming unendurable to her. She had resolved, therefore, that her +stepdaughter must be sent away, and, like a wise woman, she was +husbanding all her forces towards the gaining of this important end, and +she was well aware that a little complaisance in an unimportant matter +of this kind would make her future task easier. + +Helen was even more surprised than her father to find that after her +unlucky day at the Rectory no embargo was put upon her intercourse with +Harold. How it came about neither they nor their elders exactly knew, +but through the long June days the two children were constantly +together, either working in a rough workshop which the colonel had +extemporized for them in an outbuilding, or rambling about the country +in search of flowers and butterflies. Notwithstanding Mrs. Desmond's +determination about Helen's future, it is scarcely likely that she could +have witnessed her stepdaughter leading a life so opposed to her own +preconceived notions without remonstrance had she not been really +suffering from the effects of her long anxiety in the spring, and +disposed for the first time in her life to let things take their course. + +It was a very happy time for Helen, the happiest, perhaps, that she had +ever known. In the old days, when all her desires were gratified, her +waywardness and wilfulness had thrown a cloud over everything. Now she +was honestly trying to do what was right and to keep her temper under +due control, whilst healthy, sympathetic companionship kept her mind +occupied and prevented her from dwelling upon morbid fancies. + +"If only mamma would like me a little," she used to think sometimes as +she went off to bed chilled by Mrs. Desmond's frigid good-night, but +full of happy plans for the morrow. But even of gaining "mamma's liking" +Helen did not altogether despair. She meant to be so good, so obedient, +she felt quite sure that she must win her stepmother at last. + +"What is it that you wish for most in all the world?" she asked Harold +suddenly one evening. + +Mrs. Desmond had kept her room all day, and Helen and Harold, having +drunk tea in the school-room, with the colonel as their guest, were +sitting under an apple-tree in the orchard. The setting sun flooded the +fair June landscape, and threw a glory round their young heads, showing +to their half-bewildered childish eyes strange visions and "lights that +never were on sea or land." + +"What do I wish for most!" repeated Harold. "To do something great, I +think. What is the good of living if one is only to be just like +everyone else. I should like people to point me out as I went by, and to +say, 'That is Harold Bayden. He did--' I wonder what I should like them +to say, there are so many things it would be nice to be famous for." + +"I don't think that I should care to be famous," said Helen gravely. "I +should like everyone to like me. It is dreadful not to be liked." + +"You can't expect everyone to like you. It is much better to have one or +two people who like you very much." + +"Yes. But people don't like me. I don't know why it is." + +"Oh, Helen! doesn't your father like you? And I think that you are +awfully jolly." + +"Of course my father likes me, because he is my father. But you know +that Grace and Agatha can't bear me. Perhaps you wouldn't like me, +Harold, if you knew how wicked I have been." + +"Nonsense, Helen!" + +"It isn't nonsense, Harold. Shall I tell you? I hardly like to speak of +it. It makes me shudder when I think of what might have been." + +"Helen, what on earth do you mean?" + +Harold's big eyes were fixed in amazement on his companion's face. She +went on speaking more to herself than to him. + +"And yet it is true, quite true, though I can scarcely believe it +sometimes. And when you say that I am so much nicer and jollier than +Grace and Agatha I feel like a hypocrite." + +"Helen!" + +"They never did what I have done. Just think, Harold, I was so angry and +so wicked one day that I tried to run away. Father followed me and +brought me back, and he didn't scold me a bit, but he was so sorry that +he cried--actually _cried_. Did you know that a man could cry?" + +"I am not sure," said Harold meditatively. Mr. Bayden's manner when he +was unduly annoyed by parochial matters, or provoked by his son's +iniquities, was often suggestive of tears, consequently the idea of a +man's crying presented nothing very tragic to Harold's imagination. +Besides, he was a little puzzled by the intensity of Helen's manner, and +scarcely understood her. + +"I don't see that there was anything very wicked in running away. Of +course you would have gone back. What else could you have done? And I +daresay you were provoked." Harold spoke soothingly. He knew what it was +to be provoked himself, and had had his own dreams of running away to +sea, dreams which, it must be allowed, had never shaped themselves very +distinctly in his brain. Still, in virtue of them he could sympathize +most fully with Helen in her small escapade. + +"Yes; but, Harold, you don't understand," she went on. "It was coming +out after me on that bitter night that nearly killed my father. Just +think: if--if he had died I should have killed him." Helen's voice +broke, and she buried her face in her hands. + +"Don't, Helen," said Harold after a moment's perplexed pause. "You +didn't, you see. It is all right. Very likely your father would have +been ill anyway. And besides--" + +"No, Harold, it is no good saying those things," burst out Helen. "As +long as I live I shall always see father lying on his bed, too feeble +almost to speak, and I shall have the feeling that it was for me. I try +to forget it, but it always comes back. I should like to be able to do +something very hard for him or for--mamma, just to prove how sorry I +am." + +"Did he really look as if he were going to die?" asked Harold rather +irrelevantly. + +Helen nodded. To speak the words again hurt her. + +"I wonder what dying is like?" went on Harold. + +Suddenly, and almost as he spoke, the sun dropped behind a bank of red +clouds. A little breeze sprang up and murmured in the trees overhead. + +Helen shuddered and drew closer to her companion. + +"It must be very awful," he went on. "And to think that the world will +go on just the same when we are gone. The sun will shine and the birds +will sing, and we shall be lying in the dreadful cold earth. It is +horrible." + +"I used to think just like that once, Harold," whispered Helen +half-shyly. "I was dreadfully afraid of all sorts of things. I used to +think after I had been naughty that perhaps I should go to sleep and +wake up in hell. One day I told Cousin Mary--you don't know Cousin Mary, +do you? It is so easy to talk to her; one can tell her _anything_. She +thinks that dying will be only like going to sleep in the dark. We shall +be a little frightened, perhaps, but we shall know all the time that +nothing bad can really happen to us. And if any pain comes to us +afterwards it will be quite different from the pain that we suffer +now--pain that will never make us impatient or angry, because we shall +be able then to understand that it is bringing us nearer to God and +heaven. Cousin Mary says that is the end of all pain, only we are not +able to understand it quite now." + +"Cousin Mary must say very odd things," observed Harold, who had been +trying to fathom Helen's meaning, and who felt hopelessly puzzled. +"Mother says that she is odd, and father says that some of her notions +are not--I forget the word; but they never ask her to stay with us. Is +she really very nice?" + +"Very," answered Helen emphatically. + +There was a pause. Both children were busy with their own thoughts. They +made a striking picture as they sat close together beneath the gnarled +apple-tree, the dying sunset lights lingering on their fair young +heads--a picture that was not without its pathos, because life must pass +that way, life--and death. + +"I expect that it is getting late, and I ought to be going home," said +Harold after a few minutes, wearying of silence, and beginning to feel +that even Agatha's teasing would have a refreshingly every-day sound +after such serious thoughts. + +Helen rose rather reluctantly. + +"Very well," she said. "Let us go in and say good-night to father, and +afterwards I will walk with you as far as the gate." + +"And I say, Helen, you won't forget to cut out those wheels for me +to-morrow morning, will you? They must match exactly, remember. And if +you could pull out and stretch that wire----" + +"I sha'n't forget, Harold. You needn't fear. But, by the way, you never +told me about Jim Hunt." + +"I heard father saying that he was very ill indeed. Mother stopped him +from saying more when she saw that I was there. I was thinking about him +just now. I used to hate him sometimes when he sat in the choir and +screamed in my ear. But I'm sorry for him now. I wish I hadn't hated +him. Father spoke as if he thought he was going to die." + +"Couldn't we do something for him?" suggested practical Helen. + +"I have sixpence," returned Harold, "if that would do." + +Helen shook her head. + +"You can't give people money when they are ill. I'll tell you what I +might do. I'll ask father if I may gather some strawberries and take +them to a sick boy in the village. If you come to-morrow morning +directly your lessons are over we might take them together." + +"It won't do for Agatha to know. I should never hear the end of it. And, +besides, she hates poor people." + +"No one need know. Father never asks any questions. He will just say, +'Do as you like.' He is sure to say nothing." + +Harold was silent for a moment. A little struggle was going on his mind. +He knew that his mother would have disapproved of the project, and that +he was never allowed to go near any cottage where sickness was. But he +was sorry for Jim Hunt, who had done him many a rough kindness, +kindnesses which Harold was conscious of having often ill requited, and +he really longed to do the village lad this small service. + +"Don't you care to come, Harold?" asked Helen in surprised tones. She +was a little annoyed that her plan had not immediately approved itself +to Harold, never guessing the reason for his hesitation. "I can go by +myself if you are afraid of Agatha." + +"I am not afraid of Agatha, and of course I will go too. The +strawberries won't be my present, but I will tell Jim that I will give +him the engine I am making now when it is finished. And I say, Helen, we +might call it 'Jim,' mightn't we? I daresay that would please him." + +"I'm sure it would. Then it is settled. I shall be waiting for you in +the orchard to-morrow. If we walk fast across the fields we can stay a +little while with Jim and get back in plenty of time for lunch." + +No hitch occurred in the projected arrangements. Mrs. Desmond still kept +her room on the following day. Colonel Desmond gladly complied with his +little daughter's request, and Helen, basket in hand, was awaiting +Harold in the orchard some time before the appointed hour, which, +however, passed without bringing him. At last she saw him running across +the grass. + +"How late you are! I began to think you weren't coming," she cried. + +Harold's face was flushed, and did not wear its best expression. + +"I came as soon as I could," he said. "Of course, as I was in a hurry +everything went wrong. I _hate_ Latin. Why need one learn what one +doesn't like? And Agatha--" + +"Never mind Agatha," interrupted Helen soothingly. "You have come; that +is the great thing. Let us start at once. We can talk as we go." + +"How fast you are walking!" said Harold presently, a little note of +fretfulness in his voice as, beneath a blazing noonday sun, Helen +half-ran across the fields, her companion toiling after her. + +"Because we must make haste," returned Helen rather sharply, looking +round at Harold. Then she stopped short suddenly. "What is the matter?" +she asked in altered tones. "Aren't you well? Let me go alone, and you +can wait in the shade till I come back." + +"Nonsense, Helen!" said Harold, still fretfully. "I am quite well, only +I am hot, and you will walk so fast." + +Helen did not reply. She altered her pace and began to talk on other +subjects; but Harold was singularly quiet and unresponsive. + +In a few minutes the children arrived at a stile, and, leaving the +fields, passed into a narrow lane, from which, by a plank that crossed +a black, festering ditch, they reached a group of low thatched houses, +very picturesque in appearance, but telling a tale of age and decay. +Towards one of these, rather larger than the rest, and separated from +the road by a strip of garden, Harold now led the way, closely followed +by Helen. Harold knocked at the door, and a gruff voice cried "Come in!" +Harold walked in boldly; Helen followed timidly. These scenes were new +to her, and she felt terribly shy. + +The Hunt family was seated at dinner. The father, in his rough working +clothes, had already pushed an almost untasted plate of food away from +him, but several flaxen heads were busy over the table, whilst Mrs. +Hunt, a hard-featured woman, was bustling about and speaking in a sharp, +high-pitched key. + +"Lor'! be it you, Master Harold?" cried the man, whilst the woman +dropped a saucepan lid in her astonishment. + +"I--we came to ask about Jim," said Harold. + +"Well, he bean't no better as I can see," returned the man. "You can +tell the parson so." + +"I didn't come from my father, I came for myself," said Harold stoutly; +"and please we should like to see Jim if we may." + +Husband and wife exchanged glances. + +"Won't the young lady sit down?" asked Mrs. Hunt, after an instant's +pause, dusting a chair for Helen with her apron. + +"No, thank you," replied Helen, "we only came to see Jim, and we haven't +much time." + +"Let 'em go, then, if they wull," observed the man, answering his wife's +unspoken question. + +"He won't know you," said Mrs. Hunt, whose eyes were fixed on Helen's +basket; "and it's no good giving him things he can't swallow. But if +Master Harold and the young lady like to go upstairs they're welcome. +He's lying in the room right atop of the stairs. You'll find the door +open to keep the room cool." + +The visitors needed no second bidding. Stumbling up the dark rotten +staircase they soon found themselves in the room where, on a rough bed, +Jim, with wide open, blank eyes, lay tossing and tumbling. The +atmosphere here was less oppressive than that below, and through the +tiny window a little breeze came, and the sunlight made one golden patch +upon the rough, dirty floor. + +[Illustration: HELEN AND HAROLD AT JIM'S BEDSIDE] + +"Don't you know us, Jim?" asked Harold, going up to the sick boy and +bending over him. + +Jim only replied by an unmeaning stare, and began to mutter inaudibly. + +"See, Jim, we have brought you some strawberries," said Helen, advancing +and opening her basket. + +A glance of intelligence passed over the lad's face as he looked from +Helen to the strawberries, but it faded directly, and the low muttering +recommenced. + +"Can't we do anything for him?" asked Harold in a whisper. + +"I think that we might make him more comfortable," said Helen, beginning +with deft fingers to straighten the bed-clothes and raise the pillows. +"And see, his poor mouth is parched. We might moisten his lips." + +"Well, miss, you are kind, to be sure," said Mrs. Hunt's voice from the +doorway; "I can't do for him as I would. There's the children; they must +be seen to, and the fowls and the pigs. He was a good lad to me, though +he is not my own, and we never had a wrong word, never." + +"Won't he get better?" asked Harold. + +"I don't believe as he will," returned the woman. "The very night as he +was took I says to his father, he's took for death. And I believe my +words is coming true." + +"Water!" murmured Jim, a look of consciousness stealing into his +fever-stricken eyes. + +The woman hastened to his side and gave the water, not unkindly. + +"Who's that?" he asked, pointing at Harold. + +"Why, Jim, don't you know? That's Master Harold come to see you. And the +young lady from the Grange, she--" But Jim was already beginning to +wander again, and both Harold and Helen were almost due at home, and +dared not prolong their stay. + +"It is so dreadful for him to be alone," said Helen as they stumbled +down-stairs preceded by Mrs. Hunt. "May I come and sit with him this +afternoon?" + +Mrs. Hunt assented. She did not want the young lady "bothering about," +but it would never do to risk falling out with the Grange. So it was +arranged that Helen should return, and then she and Harold started off +homewards at a rapid pace. It did occur to Helen to ask her father's +permission for this second visit, but when she arrived at home she found +that he was out and not expected back until late in the afternoon. Mrs. +Desmond was still upstairs, and Helen lunched alone, and afterwards, her +head still full of poor Jim, took a few restless turns up and down the +garden walks, and then set out for the village. + +Upon the village a sort of afternoon calm seemed to have fallen. The +children were in school, the men at work in the fields, a few of the +women were straw-plaiting and gossiping idly at their doors, and these +stared and whispered one to another as Helen passed them on her way to +the Hunts' cottage. Here all was silent, save that through the open +window overhead a sound of Jim's unintelligible muttering could be heard +occasionally. + +"It's you, miss, is it?" said Mrs. Hunt, appearing at last in answer to +Helen's timid knocking; "go up if you like. Nobody can do any good, I'm +afeard. But it's kind of you to come." + +Helen made no answer, but climbed the narrow staircase and entered the +sick boy's room. There was no change since her last visit, although she +fancied that Jim's face brightened a little as she went in. Very gently +she attended to his comfort, and she even succeeded in making him +swallow some milk that stood by his bedside. Then he closed his eyes, +and she went and sat down by the window, wondering whether a sense of +human companionship was the comfort to Jim that she fancied it would be +to herself under similar circumstances. Very slowly the afternoon wore +on. Every now and then the sick boy stirred and recommenced his confused +talk. Such strange talk it seemed to Helen to come from dying lips. It +was his work that troubled him. The fowls that would lay away, the cows +that he could not milk, the sheep that would stray. And he was always +late, and father would come home and be angry. + +"Poor Jim! perhaps his work is all done. Perhaps no one will ever be +angry with him any more," thought Helen, tears rising to her eyes. Seen +in this light it did occur to her that dying was not such a very sad +thing after all. Here was Jim, whose life had been a hard one, who had +known no pleasures, who was stupid, every one said, and whom no one had +cared for much. That very night, perhaps, he would know more than the +wisest man living; he might be seeing more beautiful things than we can +even picture, and be making the most wonderful discoveries about that +undying love which Cousin Mary had said was always about us from the +moment we were born. And on earth no one would speak his name save +gently, no one would remember that he was plain and silly, but he would +be thought of tenderly, and even those who had not loved him would have +a sigh to give to his memory. + +"Was dying so very sad after all?" Helen was still asking herself this +question, when from below there came a sound of merry laughter, and of +trampling childish feet. The children were coming out from school, and +simultaneously the whole village seemed to wake up. Boys shouted and +played; lowing cows were brought in to be milked; the women began their +preparations for the evening meal, and, from their open doorways, called +loudly upon their respective children. Life was there; and here was +death. Poor Jim! never to mingle with his fellows again; never to feel +the warm sun and the soft air; to go away from the cheerful day into the +dark unknown. Yes; it was dreadful, dreadful, and Helen buried her face +in her hands to shut out the sad picture. + +Just then she heard a sound of voices below. Mrs. Hunt was talking +volubly, but who was she addressing? Not her husband certainly. Perhaps +it was the doctor. Helen felt a little shamefaced at the idea of being +caught watching beside the sick boy, and she advanced to the door to see +if there was any chance of escape. Then she felt still more perturbed, +for she recognized Mr. Bayden's voice speaking in quick nervous tones. + +"Of course, Mrs. Hunt," he was saying, "if I could do the poor lad any +good, I would see him directly. But you say that he knows nobody." + +"Well, I can't say that exactly. He seemed to brighten up like when +Master Harold came in this morning. Not that--" + +"Master Harold!" + +The words were gasped out in quick, agitated accents. + +"Yes, sir; why, bless me! I thought you sent him, him and the young lady +from the Grange. They come just as we was sittin' at dinner, and I says +to Hunt, says I, I do take it kind like--" + +"Do you mean that Master Harold was here this morning? That he saw +Jim?" + +"I do, sir; and the young lady--" + +But there was no need for any more of Mrs. Hunt's roundabout statements. +Helen had already guessed from Mr. Bayden's agitated tones that +something was wrong, and she now appeared upon the scene. + +"What are you doing here?" cried the clergyman, catching sight of her. + +"I--I only came to see Jim, he seemed so lonely," faltered Helen. "I am +very sorry if I did wrong. Please don't blame Harold. It was all my +doing that we came." + +"Oh! what have you done! what have you done!" cried Mr. Bayden, wringing +his hands. "Come home with me directly. I must see your father." + +"Well, I never!" ejaculated Mrs. Hunt in some indignation; whilst Helen, +still bewildered, prepared to obey. + +"My good woman, don't attempt to interfere," said Mr. Bayden testily, +trying to control himself. "Anything that I can do for the poor lad, of +course, as a clergyman, I am prepared to do. But I cannot risk my +children. Here is money. Get anything that is needed for Jim." + +"A pretty clergyman!" muttered Mrs. Hunt, looking sullenly at the money +that still lay upon the table, as though half inclined to throw it after +its donor, who was by this time half-way down the village street, +followed by Helen. "Well, it's lucky for him Jim is none o' mine, or I'd +have given him a piece of my mind. A pretty clergyman!" + +Mr. Bayden meanwhile, who would have been the last person in the world +to wound Mrs. Hunt's feelings wilfully, and who was quite unconscious +that in his terror and excitement he had omitted to explain to her the +cause of his perturbation at Harold's visit, was half-way across the +fields leading to the Grange before he had sufficiently recovered +himself even to address Helen. + +"Am I walking too fast for you?" he said then. + +"Oh, no!" answered Helen, who was nearly out of breath with her efforts +to keep up with her companion. "I hope you won't be angry with Harold," +she added timidly. "I am quite sure my father won't mind my having +gone." + +"Not mind your having gone!" repeated Mr. Bayden. "It was a most wicked, +thoughtless act. And to lead Harold into mischief too! My poor Harold!" + +"Oh, Mr. Bayden, is anything the matter with Harold?" + +Helen's agonized tones touched the clergyman, preoccupied as he was. + +"I don't know," he returned more gently. "He ate no lunch, and he +complained of headache this afternoon. It may be nothing." + +"But why--why?" began Helen, when, to her joy, she saw her father a +little ahead of them. + +"There is father!" she cried joyfully, running after him. Her tale was +nearly told before Mr. Bayden came up to them. + +"What has my little girl been doing?" asked the colonel, smiling. +"Interfering with your sick folk? No harm done, I hope." + +"I hope not," answered Mr. Bayden tremulously. "But--shall I speak +before her?" + +"Run on, Helen," said the colonel. "Now," he went on as Helen obeyed, an +anxious look gathering on his face, "what is it?" + +"Just this. I met the doctor this afternoon, and he fears an epidemic in +the village. Jim Hunt is dying, may be dead already. He ought to have +been isolated from the first. But our regular doctor is away, and this +one has no sense. As for that silly Mrs. Hunt--" + +"Has the doctor pronounced the disease infectious?" interrupted the +colonel impatiently. + +"He doesn't know what to make of it. Two more children in the village +are down with it." + +"And our children have been exposed to it?" + +Mr. Bayden nodded. + +"I am sorry, Bayden," resumed the colonel. "Let us hope that no harm +will come of it. Helen has been thoughtless. I will speak to her. The +less said to anyone else the better. I daresay it would only +unnecessarily alarm your wife. Come in now and have some tea." + +"Don't ask me," cried the clergyman, his excitement rising again. +"Harold was not well when I left home. Nothing but duty would have taken +me out. Good-bye, good-bye!" + +Mr. Bayden hurried away a good deal annoyed with Colonel Desmond for his +apparent unconcern, and resolved to impart the whole affair to his wife +as soon as possible. + +Helen rejoined her father. + +"Oh, Helen!" said the latter gravely, "this is a bad business. What +could have induced you to go to the Hunts' cottage, and to take Harold +with you? I am really vexed with you." + +"Indeed, father," faltered Helen, "I did not think that I was doing +anything wrong." + +"Didn't you know that Jim has a fever. And now Mr. Bayden says that +Harold has taken it." + +Helen gave a little cry and buried her face in her hands. She understood +it all now, Mr. Bayden's distress and her father's annoyance. And +Harold? Then her thoughts stopped, they dared not travel further. + +"Let this be a lesson to you, Helen," went on the colonel seriously, +still annoyed and a little anxious, although sorry for the child's +evident distress. "You are too heedless. That is at the root of all your +troubles. There, run in now and get yourself cool. We mustn't have you +laid up, and the heat to-day is quite Indian. Cheer up! I daresay Harold +will be well to-morrow." + +Thus dismissed, Helen went her way. She was very sad and downcast, and +her old morbid fancies returned in full force. Two days of terrible +suspense followed, during which even Mrs. Desmond remarked upon the +girl's altered looks. On the third day a hurried note from Mrs. Bayden +informed her sister that Harold was dangerously ill, and alluded to his +visit to Jim in Helen's company in terms that there was no mistaking. +Mrs. Desmond's annoyance at the reception of this information was not +lessened by the fact of its having been hitherto kept from her +knowledge. But Helen was too unhappy to suffer greatly from her +stepmother's reproaches, too down-hearted to take comfort even from her +father's assurances that Harold must have taken the fever before his +visit to Jim, as otherwise it would not have declared itself so +speedily. + +There was, in fact, no comfort for poor Helen, not even the comfort of +knowing from hour to hour how the sufferer fared. All communication +between the Rectory and the Grange was stopped, and Mrs. Desmond was +making hasty preparations for departure. Helen wandered about, a forlorn +little figure, generally alone, but occasionally accompanied by her +father. + +It was upon one of these latter occasions on the very last day of their +stay at the Grange, that the father and daughter, walking sadly through +the lanes, encountered Mr. Bayden. The clergyman tried to pass on, but +the colonel interposed. + +"We're not afraid of infection here, Bayden. How is the lad?" + +Mr. Bayden shook his head. "He is very, very ill," he answered brokenly. + +"Dear me! Such a fine little fellow! He is sure to pull through." + +"I dare not hope for it," returned the clergyman; "though I would give +my life for him." + +As he spoke he passed on, and the colonel and Helen continued their walk +in sad silence. Colonel Desmond was half surprised at his little girl's +silence. He even thought that she ought to have spoken, and hoped that +she was not growing hard-hearted. + +He did not look at her face, or its strained unchildlike expression +might have alarmed him. Neither could he see her when, finding herself +alone in her own room, she sat down and buried her face in her hands, +moaning, "I would give my life for him, my life for him," while tearless +sobs shook her slight frame. + +No one thought of Helen through those sad days, no one pitied her. Even +her father was vexed that through her thoughtlessness she had made it +possible for people to say that she was answerable for Harold's illness. +More and more the poor little head puzzled itself over questions that +can find no answer here; but strangest of all it seemed to her to think +of the days when Harold was the Rectory grievance, the bitterest drop in +his mother's cup, and to contrast them with the present, when love was +fighting its bitter battle over him with death. + +How miserable Agatha had looked in church last Sunday! Perhaps even +Agatha knew that she loved her brother now. How sad that love and +tenderness should come too late! Was it always so? + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +"IF I HAD BUT LOVED HER." + + +Dearly as Mrs. Desmond loved London and the comforts of her own home, +she had no desire to spend the last days of sultry July in Bloomsbury +Square. The Grange being no longer, in her eyes, a safe abode, the +difficult question now arose where next to go. Long and anxious were the +consultations that took place between husband and wife upon this +subject. At last Colonel Desmond, glancing over the _Times_ +advertisement sheet, read of a pleasure steamer which was to start for +the Baltic and St. Petersburg on the 1st of August. An idea struck him. +Mrs. Desmond owned some property in Russia. Would she not like to see +it? The short voyage would be agreeable. They might return by Vienna and +Germany. Should they go? The idea actually found favour in Mrs. +Desmond's eyes. She had had no experience of travelling by sea, and +fancied that a voyage would be pleasant enough. And if they returned by +Germany even the colonel might be brought to see the wisdom of placing +Helen at one of those excellent German schools of which Mrs. Desmond had +been wont to speak scornfully enough in times gone by. She did not +forget that she had done so; but the knowledge that Helen had forced her +to act in a manner contrary to her openly-expressed opinions added to +the bitterness of her feelings towards the girl. + +Rather to the colonel's surprise his wife raised no question about +Helen's accompanying them on the projected trip. Longford Grange was +deserted in all haste. Mrs. Desmond declared that the place had not +suited her, and that she was thankful to see the last of it. Neither was +the colonel sorry. Only Helen's heart ached as she drove with her +parents through the village on her way to the station, straining her +eyes to catch a last glimpse of the Rectory, where Harold lay, as they +had just heard, between life and death. + +"My poor sister!" sighed Mrs. Desmond, who was in a pleasant mood, +thankful to be getting safely away from the neighbourhood of the fever. +"My poor sister! No doubt she will feel the boy's loss; but, after all, +there will be one less to provide for. And Harold was the most +troublesome of them all. These trials are often blessings in disguise." + +"Nonsense!" said the colonel, with a quick glance at Helen. "Harold will +live to trouble them yet. You see if he doesn't. And as for his being +troublesome, it's my belief that parents like the tiresome children +best." + +Mrs. Desmond pursed up her thin lips, and glanced at Helen in her turn. + +"You speak without knowledge, John," she returned coldly. "To love a +child that is continually paining you is impossible. It is a piece of +modern cant to say that it is. Of course one must do one's _duty_ +towards a troublesome child. That is what you mean, I suppose." + +The colonel merely shrugged his shoulders and made no reply. He did not +find his wife charming when she took this tone. + +"I know some one who is sorry to leave Longford," he said after a pause, +looking kindly at Helen, who, white and silent, sat opposite to her +father. + +"Sorry!" began Helen half-stupidly. She was putting a strong restraint +upon herself, for she dreaded showing any feeling before her stepmother. + +"Surely Helen must be rather glad than sorry," interposed the latter. +"If I were in her place I should pray that I might never see Longford +again." + +Both the colonel and Helen understood Mrs. Desmond's meaning. But +although the former threw himself back with an impatient gesture, while +Helen's lips quivered and her cheeks flushed, they both took refuge in +silence, which remained unbroken until the station was reached. + +A fortnight later and the days at Longford seemed almost like a dream to +Helen, so changed were the outward surroundings of her life. + +The steamer in which our friends had embarked had reached the landlocked +Baltic. The lingering northern twilight was slowly, reluctantly giving +place to night, such night as northern latitudes know even in late +summer, when a sort of delicate gray veil, through which every object is +distinctly visible, shrouds the earth for a few hours between sunset and +sunrise. These nights possess a poetical charm that almost defies +description, a charm that touches the most unimaginative with a vague +sense of the nearness of an intangible other-world. There is a darkening +and a hush. Nature, weary with the long day, rests; but rests, as it +were, awake, waiting for the quick-coming dawn. Helen, sitting a little +apart from a merry group of fellow-passengers on the steamer's deck, was +under the spell of this wonderful summer's night. There are certain +phases in nature which seem to work upon highly-strung people until they +experience a kind of spiritual quickening, some such quickening as we +imagine may come to us after death. It was this influence that was upon +Helen now. The day had passed pleasantly enough except for one incident. +Mrs. Desmond had not found the voyage come up to her expectations. In +crossing the North Sea she had been horribly sea-sick, and now, although +scarcely a ripple disturbed the surface of the Baltic, she found it hard +to forget her previous sufferings. Upon this day, however, she had +ventured up on deck for the first time. Helen, noticing her stepmother +shivering, had run unasked to fetch her a wrap. Heedlessly catching up +the first she could find, a white fleecy shawl, she ran up the companion +with it in her hand. Just as she reached the top a steward, carrying a +plate of soup, passed her. How it came about Helen scarcely knew, but +the ship lurched, and the contents of the plate were bestowed upon the +delicate white shawl. Mrs. Desmond from her chair watched the scene, and +gave a little cry of dismay as she saw the rich soup dyeing her +favourite shawl. + +Tears rushed to Helen's eyes. + +"I am very sorry," she stammered, going forward slowly and hanging her +head. + +Inwardly Mrs. Desmond felt convinced that Helen had acted from first to +last with the sole purpose of annoying her. A good many people, however, +were sitting and standing near her, and she controlled her anger. + +"Why did you fetch the shawl?" she asked coldly. + +"I--I thought it would make you more comfortable." + +There was a second's pause, during which Mrs. Desmond mentally decided +that Helen was lying deliberately. + +"Take the thing away, please," she said at last. "It is utterly ruined. +The very sight of it makes me feel ill." + +"What an unlucky little girl it is!" said Colonel Desmond, patting +Helen's shoulder as she turned silently away. + +"And what a pity to see such a lovely shawl ruined!" ejaculated a lady +who was sitting next to Mrs. Desmond, and who thought that that lady had +displayed remarkable forbearance. + +"What an unlucky little girl!" The words haunted Helen all day. They +rang in her ears persistently. Was she unlucky? Would she always be +unlucky? always doing things that hurt others? Would she never have a +chance of showing that she was not really wicked? that she longed to do +those sweet gracious actions that came so naturally from some people? +Would no one ever love her except her father, whom she was always +disappointing, whose chief trouble and anxiety she was, her stepmother +said? + +"I try, I try!" cried Helen to herself; "but I always do the wrong +thing. I am unlucky." + +Dusky night came on. No one noticed Helen as she sat alone in her quiet +corner. Mrs. Desmond had retired long ago. Colonel Desmond had gone his +own way, imagining his little girl safely in bed. Gradually the various +groups of passengers dispersed, calling out merry good-nights to one +another. Silence fell, broken only by the faint lapping of the sea +against the ship as she went swiftly through the water. + +With wide-open eyes, full of sad questionings, Helen looked out over the +still waters and watched a faint coast-line that showed itself far away +against the horizon. There was no moon visible, only that curious gray +shroud veiled sea and sky, making everything look unreal and ghost-like, +its effect heightened by the peculiar stillness of the sultry +atmosphere. + +Intensely wide awake, Helen sat and watched, while every incident in her +short life seemed to pass in review before her. More vividly than any +other, there came back to her the scene in Jim Hunt's dying chamber. She +could almost have fancied that she was sitting once more by the little +open window, listening to the sick boy's rambling talk, while the +children shouted and laughed below. + +Then the scene changed. What had happened? Where was the ship and the +gray waters and shadowy, distant land? Had she been dreaming? Where was +she? + +In a sick-room, not bare and comfortless like Jim Hunt's, but bright and +cheerful, lit with shaded lamps, and filled with tokens of thoughtful +love. On the bed someone was lying, but from where Helen stood only a +curly head was visible. At a small table by the bedside sat a lady, +busy, apparently, over a gaily-coloured scrap-book. Her back was turned +to Helen, but as the girl advanced timidly she raised her head and said: +"I think I have done enough to-night, Harold. I will put the rest in +to-morrow." "Not to-morrow;" and the little figure in its eagerness +tried, though vainly, to raise itself in bed. "Not to-morrow. Mother, +mother, do finish it to-night." + +Helen clasped her hands. This was Harold. She pressed forward and tried +to speak, but no words came. It was all curious, for Mrs. Bayden must +surely see her now, and yet she made no sign. Helen looked at Harold, +but his eyes were closed. + +Mrs. Bayden glanced anxiously at Harold and then bent once more over the +scrap-book. Helen stood quite still, gazing at Harold. His beautiful +rounded face had grown pale and pinched, and it was almost difficult to +recognize him, so changed was he. He lay quite still for what seemed to +Helen a long time, but at last he moved and opened his eyes. Then he saw +Helen standing at the foot of his bed, and he sat up and stretched out +his arms to her, his face beaming with joy. + +"Helen, Helen!" he cried. "Don't you see her, mother? I am coming. +Helen, wait for me." + +As the sound of his voice died away, the vision faded. Helen looked +round, and found herself upon the sea, and heard again the water lapping +against the ship. Only there was a change. The air was cold and charged +with moisture. The distant coast-line had disappeared from sight, and +the delicate gray veil had given place to a thick mist, through which +the pale dawn strove in vain to pierce. + +She sat quite still, trying to collect her thoughts. The impression +left upon her by her dream was so vivid that it was at first impossible +to believe that she had been asleep, and even when she succeeded in +persuading herself that this had been the case the conviction remained +that Harold lived, that he was waiting for her, and that they would meet +again. This conviction gave her neither pleasure nor pain, but was so +settled that it would have surprised her more to have seen her father +standing beside her than Harold. She was curiously tranquillized too. +All the vain longings and regrets that had troubled her so sorely of +late were stilled. She felt quite happy and at rest, and regardless of +the rolling mist which seemed to be closing in round the ship, she +curled herself up in her long chair and fell fast asleep. + +The child slept soundly, although the mist thickened and increased +rapidly, and the captain, hastily aroused, paced the deck anxiously. +Speed was reduced, all hands were on the alert, and discordant blasts on +the fog-horn disturbed the quiet. Still Helen did not stir, until, +suddenly, from the look-out there came a ringing cry, "Ship ahead!" Then +she started up and saw what looked through the mist like a phantom ship +bearing down upon the doomed vessel on which she stood. Half paralysed +by vague fear, although quite ignorant of the reality of the peril, +Helen remained rooted to the spot, whilst a few minutes of agonizing +suspense ensued, and the captain's voice rang out his orders and each +man went to his post. Then came a crash, a shock, under which the vessel +shuddered like a living thing, and, almost as it seemed the next moment, +the phantom-like ship, her deadly work done, was moving away, +disregarding the affrighted shrieks with which the air was suddenly +filled. + +The passengers, rudely awakened, rushed on deck. Cries and shrieks were +soon redoubled, for almost immediately after she was struck the ship +stopped, and it became known that water was pouring into the +engine-room, extinguishing the fires. There followed a few minutes of +indescribable confusion, during which the men held bravely to their +posts, until, once more, and for the last time, the captain's voice rang +out clear and calm from the bridge: + +"All hands clear away the boats! Save yourselves! To the boats!" + +Instantly there was a rush for the boats, one of which was lashed to the +ship close to where Helen was standing wringing her hands and calling +wildly for her father. + +Before the boat could be lowered it was filled, but a ship's officer, +compassionating the lonely, terrified child, was just about to place +Helen in the already heavily-weighted craft, when a woman, who, with a +child in her arms, had just managed to scramble in, started up, +screaming: + +"My boy, my boy! He is not here! Save him, oh, save him!" + +At sound of her voice a delicate, lame boy, between whom and Helen there +had been a sort of friendship, pressed forward, but was instantly borne +back by the excited crowd. + +"Help him, I can manage for myself," said Helen, disengaging herself +from her would-be deliverer's grasp and pointing to the boy. + +There was no time for parleying. Crying, "Make way for the women and +children," the officer, fancying that Helen also was safe, thrust the +lame boy over the ship's side, and the over-filled boat moved away. + +This half-instinctive act of generosity restored Helen to her presence +of mind. The frantic crowd that had surged round her melted away as the +boat passed out of sight. She rallied her courage and looked around her, +wondering how she could best set about finding her father. + +At this period the scene was a terrible one. The vessel was sinking +fast, and already, where Helen stood, the water was almost up to her +knees. Heart-rending cries and pitiful prayers filled the air. Mothers +were calling wildly on their children, husbands on their wives, for the +heavy mist and darkness added to the horror of the scene, making it +difficult for people to distinguish one another. + +Obtaining no answer to her repeated cries, Helen determined to advance +cautiously. Clinging to the bulwarks, stumbling at every step, half +drenched with water and benumbed with cold, she scrambled on for some +distance. Once or twice she fancied that she heard her father's voice +calling her, and replying as well as she was able, she struggled on in +the direction from which the sound came. To reach him was her one +absorbing desire. She felt certain that his strong arms would save her, +that he would not let her perish. + +Dawn came slowly. The mists lifted, but only to show a wild waste of +water ruffled by a rising wind, and the sea-horses moaning and fretting +round the doomed vessel, as though waiting for their prey. Helen +shivered, and her courage began to fail. The water was rising, and +people were climbing into the rigging. + +"Father! father!" she cried wildly; but there was no answer, only a +faint moan that sounded as though it came from someone quite close to +her. + +Helen paused. The sound was so pitiful it arrested her attention. She +looked about, and presently she descried a crouched-up figure close +beside her clinging to a hand-rail that had formed part of some steps +leading to the bridge. The girl put out her hand and touched the +recumbent figure. + +"Are you hurt?" she asked. "Can I help you?" + +Helen felt her hand clutched, and the figure raised itself. Then she +started back, for in the wild, terror-stricken face that met her gaze +she recognized her stepmother. + +"Mamma!" + +"Helen!" + +"Where is my father?" + +The words burst from Helen's lips in agonized entreaty. + +Mrs. Desmond shook her head. + +"I do not know," she answered feebly. "He left me safe, as he thought. I +only went back to fetch a few things that I was trying to preserve, and +that he had taken from me and thrown on the deck. There was plenty of +time, everyone said. And when I returned my place was taken. It was +wicked, cowardly. And I have been alone ever since." + +"But my father, my father?" repeated Helen impatiently. + +"How can I tell? He went in search of you. It was a terrible risk; I +told him so. You should have been with us." + +A pang smote Helen's heart. She had been unlucky again. But for that +profound sleep that had fallen upon her on deck she might easily have +found her father at the first alarm. + +"He cannot be far away. He would never forsake us," she said, wrenching +her hand from her stepmother's grasp. "I must find him." + +"O, Helen, do not leave me!" moaned Mrs. Desmond, raising herself and +clinging to the girl's drenched skirts, "it is so terrible to be alone, +and I am so weak. If any help came I might be passed over and forgotten. +I cannot scream as some people do. Stay with me, Helen, stay with me." + +Helen stood for a moment irresolute. If she remained here she must +abandon all hope of finding her father, almost, it seemed to her, all +hope of life. And the water was always mounting higher. She was not weak +like her stepmother. If no other help was at hand she might climb with +others into the rigging and wait for the aid that must surely come. And +there would be always that chance of finding her father. + +"If I find father he will be able to help you," she said, moving away a +little. + +"No, no, Helen; you must not leave me," cried Mrs. Desmond; and again +she clutched the girl's hand, those strong young fingers that had +closed so appealingly on hers once, but that were irresponsive now. Did +a recollection of that day, when Helen had appealed to her in vain, +return to Mrs. Desmond? Perhaps so, for there was a real ring of sorrow +in her voice as she said: + +"I daresay I have been hard upon you, Helen; but I meant to do my duty +by you. And if at first--" + +For once Mrs. Desmond had touched the right chord in Helen's breast. +There was no need for more words. The past flashed back upon the girl's +mind. Here was the chance for which she had longed, and she had been +going to throw it away. + +"Of course I will stay with you," she cried impulsively, flinging +herself down beside her stepmother. "Don't be so sad, mamma," she went +on soothingly. "Father is sure to come to us. We shall be saved, I am +sure." + +"Do you really think so, Helen?" moaned Mrs. Desmond. "I wish I could +believe it. Couldn't you say a prayer, child? I can't remember one, +although I have always said my prayers, night and morning; and I have +always tried to do my duty--always." + +Tenderly supporting her stepmother's head on her poor, drenched lap, +Helen whispered our Lord's prayer, and then Mrs. Desmond wandered on +again, wondering about this and that, and chiefly why such a terrible +crisis should have come into her tranquil life. + +"It has been all sorrow and trouble," she said, remembering the troubled +course of the past year. "I couldn't bear you, Helen. You must forgive +me. We must forgive everyone now." + +With tears in her eyes Helen gave the required forgiveness. How strange +it all seemed! She and her stepmother alone together, with an awful +death creeping close up to them, and the understanding that would have +sweetened both their lives coming too late. Presently Mrs. Desmond's +mind began to wander. Helen listened to her disjointed talk, soothing +her as well as she was able; raising her voice occasionally to call +imploringly on her father, little dreaming that he, having left his wife +as he believed in safety, and having received an assurance from a ship's +officer that Helen had been placed in the first boat that left the ship, +had provided himself with a life-buoy, and was now battling with the +waves, trusting to the chance of keeping himself afloat and of being +eventually picked up by a passing vessel. + +The desire of life was strong in Helen. It was terrible to her to remain +inactive and to watch the water gradually engulfing the ship. Sometimes +she felt almost unable to endure it longer; but at her least movement +Mrs. Desmond would start up, imploring her to remain. + +"I would come back," she said once or twice. "I only want to find +another place where we might be a little safer. The water is coming in +upon us so fast." + +But Mrs. Desmond was almost past fear itself now, and her only reply was +to cling yet more closely to the lithe young figure by her side; and +Helen could not steel her heart against such an appeal. + +Still the ordeal was a terrible one. Awful as the scene had been when +the vessel had first struck, it became more appalling now, as, +gradually, cries were hushed, those few left upon the wreck reserving +all their strength for their fight with death, and the cold dawn showed +still only that vast expanse of gray, seething waters, unbroken by even +a passing sail. Helen's heart sank within her. Must it come, this awful +death? Was there no help anywhere? The strong life within her rebelled +at the thought, and she looked round her, wondering whether her strength +would enable her to drag Mrs. Desmond with her to a place of greater +safety. Still holding her stepmother's hand, she managed to drag herself +to her feet, and as she did so she caught sight of a rude raft, composed +of a few planks hastily fastened together, on which two men were +standing, having apparently just put off from the wreck. + +"Help!" she cried. + +The raft drifted on and there came no answer. With the courage of +despair she repeated her cry, and the men looked round. Possibly the +sight of the forlorn childish figure standing, as it appeared, utterly +alone on the doomed vessel, touched them, for, notwithstanding the +danger of returning to the fast-submerging wreck, they altered their +course and came within hail. + +"You must jump!" shouted one, throwing a rope to Helen, who stood with +both hands outstretched, calling out words of encouragement to Mrs. +Desmond, who still clung to her, and who was too dazed with terror and +exhaustion to understand that help was at hand. + +"Quick!" shouted their deliverers. "Pass the rope round you and trust to +it. We can come no nearer." + +"Quick!" they cried again as they saw Helen stooping down and adjusting +the rope, not round herself, but round a figure that lay at her feet. + +"Courage, mamma, courage!" she said. "Hold fast to the rope! We are +saved, we are saved!" + +"Saved!" echoed Mrs. Desmond, clutching feebly at the rope. "Don't leave +me, Helen." + +"Come," shouted the men, "there is not a moment to lose." + +"Hold fast, dear, hold fast!" said Helen, beginning to attach herself +also to the rope. But it was too late. Crying "Ready?" the men pulled +the rope. With a faint scream Mrs. Desmond disappeared alone into the +swirling water. A minute or two later her dripping, senseless form lay +upon the raft, which was itself almost engulfed immediately afterwards +as, with an awful booming sound, the wreck settled down lower into the +water. A rising wave caught Helen and carried her off her feet. She +caught at some floating wreckage, which supported her for a moment, and +looked round her for the last time. The raft had disappeared from sight. +She was alone. + + * * * * * + +Day broke. The mist melted away as the sun rose sparkling on the water +that, swept by a light wind, danced gaily in the glad morning light. But +of the ship that had moved so gallantly over those same waters only a +few short hours before, no trace remained, save here and there some +floating wreckage. No trace either of the brave little soul whose +perplexities were all over now, who would never be unlucky any more, to +whom death had come gently and tenderly at last, and to whom it had been +given to offer the supremest sacrifice, even its own life, for another. + + * * * * * + +Colonel and Mrs. Desmond were amongst the survivors on that fatal night, +whose terrible events cost the latter a long and painful illness. On her +recovery she burst into tears when Helen's name was mentioned in her +presence for the first time. Whether she was fully conscious of her +stepdaughter's heroic behaviour towards her no one ever exactly knew. +Her husband learnt much of what had passed through her ravings during +her illness, but he dreaded recurring to so painful a subject. Very +sadly, after many months had elapsed, they returned to their home in +Bloomsbury Square, and from that day forward no untoward event occurred +to mar the outward calm of the lives of this middle-aged couple as they +went down into what seemed serene old age; but the colonel's hair +whitened rapidly, and Mrs. Desmond realized too late all that she had +missed. + +Spring was in the land once more when Colonel and Mrs. Desmond, aged and +saddened, stood again in sight of Longford Grange. Mrs. Desmond trembled +as she walked, and the colonel took her hand gently and led her towards +the churchyard. There, at the head of a little mound, bright with +spring flowers, a marble cross had been placed. On it was written-- + + IN MEMORY OF + HAROLD, + Who Died August 10th, 187--. + +And below-- + + On the same day and about the same hour, + + HELEN, + Drowned through the Foundering of the + "Empress" in the Baltic. + + "_Love is all and death is nought._" + +Mrs. Desmond knelt down and kissed the cold stone. "If I had but loved +her," she said. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Unlucky, by Caroline Austin + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNLUCKY *** + +***** This file should be named 35653.txt or 35653.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/6/5/35653/ + +Produced by Dave Morgan, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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