The Legacy of Cain.............................................................................................................................................1

Permit me to add your name to my name, in publishing this novel. The pen which has written my books

cannot be more agreeably employed than in acknowledging what I owe to the pen which has skillfully and

AT the request of a person who has claims on me that I must not disown, I consent to look back through a

long interval of years and to describe events which took place within the walls of an English prison during the

Viewing my task by the light which later experience casts on it, I think I shall act wisely by exercising some

I propose to pass over in silence the name of the town in which is situated the prison once confided to my

care. I shall observe a similar discretion in alluding to individualssome dead, some living, at the present

Being obliged to write of a woman who deservedly suffered the extreme penalty of the law, I think she will

be sufficiently identified if I call her The Prisoner. Of the four persons present on the evening before her

execution three may be distinguished one from the other by allusion to their vocations in life. I here introduce

them as The Chaplain, The Minister, and The Doctor. The fourth was a young woman. She has no claim on

my consideration; and, when she is mentioned, her name may appear. If these reserves excite suspicion, I

declare beforehand that they influence in no way the sense of responsibility which commands an honest man

THE first of the events which I must now relate was the conviction of The Prisoner for the murder of her

They had lived together in matrimony for little more than two years. The husband, a gentleman by birth and

education, had mortally offended his relations in marrying a woman of an inferior rank of life. He was fast

declining into a state of poverty, through his own reckless extravagance, at the time when he met with his

Without attempting to excuse him, he deserved, to my mind, some tribute of regret. It is not to be denied that

he was profligate in his habits and violent in his temper. But it is equally true that he was affectionate in the

domestic circle, and, when moved by wisely applied remonstrance, sincerely penitent for sins committed

under temptation that overpowered him. If his wife had killed him in a fit of jealous rageunder

provocation, be it remembered, which the witnesses provedshe might have been convicted of

manslaughter, and might have received a light sentence. But the evidence so undeniably revealed deliberate

and merciless premeditation, that the only defense attempted by her counsel was madness, and the only

alternative left to a righteous jury was a verdict which condemned the woman to death. Those mischievous

members of the community, whose topsyturvy sympathies feel for the living criminal and forget the dead

victim, attempted to save her by means of highflown petitions and contemptible correspondence in the

newspapers. But the Judge held firm; and the Home Secretary held firm. They were entirely right; and the

Our Chaplain endeavored to offer the consolations of religion to the condemned wretch. She refused to accept

On the evening before the execution, the reverend gentleman laid on my table his own written report of a

"I see some hope, sir," he said, "of inclining the heart of this woman to religious belief, before it is too late.

"At his last interview with the Prisoner, the Chaplain asked her if she had ever entered a place of public

worship. She replied that she had occasionally attended the services at a Congregational Church in this town;

attracted by the reputation of the Minister as a preacher. 'He entirely failed to make a Christian of me,' she

said; 'but I was struck by his eloquence. Besides, he interested me personallyhe was a fine man.'

"In the dreadful situation in which the woman was placed, such language as this shocked the Chaplain; he

appealed in vain to the Prisoner's sense of propriety. 'You don't understand women,' she answered. 'The

greatest saint of my sex that ever lived likes to look at a preacher as well as to hear him. If he is an agreeable

man, he has all the greater effect on her. This preacher's voice told me he was kindhearted; and I had only to

"It was useless to repeat a protest which had already failed. Recklessly and flippantly as she had described it,

an impression had been produced on her. It occurred to the Chaplain that he might at least make the attempt

to turn this result to her own religious advantage. He asked whether she would receive the Minister, if the

reverend gentleman came to the prison. 'That will depend,' she said, 'on whether you answer some questions

which I want to put to you first.' The Chaplain consented; provided always that he could reply with propriety

"She said: 'The women who watch me tell me that you are a widower, and have a family of children. Is that

"She alluded next to a report, current in the town, that the Minister had resigned the pastorate. Being

personally acquainted with him, the Chaplain was able to inform her that his resignation had not yet been

accepted. On hearing this, she seemed to gather confidence. Her next inquiries succeeded each other rapidly,

"After that reply, the Prisoner's curiosity appeared to be satisfied. She said, 'Bring your friend the preacher to

"What her object could have been in putting these questions, it seems to be impossible to guess. Having

accurately reported all that took place, the Chaplain declares, with heartfelt regret, that he can exert no

religious influence over this obdurate woman. He leaves it to the Governor to decide whether the Minister of

the Congregational Church may not succeed, where the Chaplain of the Jail has failed. Herein is the one last

In those serious words the Memorandum ended. Although not personally acquainted with the Minister I had

heard of him, on all sides, as an excellent man. In the emergency that confronted us he had, as it seemed to

me, his own sacred right to enter the prison; assuming that he was willing to accept, what I myself felt to be, a

very serious responsibility. The first necessity was to discover whether we might hope to obtain his services.

With my full approval the Chaplain left me, to state the circumstances to his reverend colleague.

DURING my friend's absence, my attention was claimed by a sad incidentnot unforeseen.

It is, I suppose, generally known that near relatives are admitted to take their leave of criminals condemned to

death. In the case of the Prisoner now waiting for execution, no person a pplied to the authorities for

permission to see her. I myself inquired if she had any relations living, and if she would like to see them. She

answered: "None that I care to see, or that care to see meexcept the nearest relation of all."

In those last words the miserable creature alluded to her only child, a little girl (an infant, I should say), who

had passed her first year's birthday by a few months. The farewell interview was to take place on the mother's

last evening on earth; and the child was now brought into my rooms, in charge of her nurse.

I had seldom seen a brighter or prettier little girl. She was just able to walk alone, and to enjoy the first

delight of moving from one place to another. Quite of her own accord she came to me, attracted I daresay by

the glitter of my watchchain. Helping her to climb on my knee, I showed the wonders of the watch, and held

it to her ear. At that past time, death had taken my good wife from me; my two boys were away at Harrow

School; my domestic life was the life of a lonely man. Whether I was reminded of the bygone days when my

sons were infants on my knee, listening to the ticking of my watchor whether the friendless position of the

poor little creature, who had lost one parent and was soon to lose the other by a violent death, moved me in

depths of pity not easily reached in my later experienceI am not able to say. This only I know: my heart

ached for the child while she was laughing and listening; and something fell from me on the watch which I

don't deny might have been a tear. A few of the toys, mostly broken now, which my two children used to play

with are still in my possession; kept, like my poor wife's favorite jewels, for old remembrance' sake. These I

took from their repository when the attraction of my watch showed signs of failing. The child pounced on

them with her chubby hands, and screamed with pleasure. And the hangman was waiting for her

My duty required me to let the Prisoner know that her little daughter had arrived. Did that heart of iron melt

at last? It might have been so, or it might not; the message sent back kept her secret. All that it said to me

The Minister had consented to help us. On his arrival at the prison, I received him privately in my study.

I had only to look at his facepitiably pale and agitatedto see that he was a sensitive man, not always able

to control his nerves on occasions which tried his moral courage. A kind, I might almost say a noble face, and

a voice unaffectedly persuasive, at once prepossessed me in his favor. The few words of welcome that I

spoke were intended to compose him. They failed to produce the impression on which I had counted.

"My experience," he said, "has included many melancholy duties, and has tried my composure in terrible

scenes; but I have never yet found myself in the presence of an unrepentant criminal, sentenced to

deathand that criminal a woman and a mother. I own, sir, that I am shaken by the prospect before me."

I suggested that he should wait a while, in the hope that time and quiet might help him. He thanked me, and

"If I have any knowledge of myself," he said, "terrors of anticipation lose their hold when I am face to face

with a serious call on me. The longer I remain here, the less worthy I shall appear of the trust that has been

My own observation of human nature told me that this was wisely said. I led the way at once to the cell.

THE Prisoner was seated on her bed, quietly talking with the woman appointed to watch her. When she rose

to receive us, I saw the Minister start. The face that confronted him would, in my opinion, have taken any

man by surprise, if he had first happened to see it within the walls of a prison.

Visitors to the picturegalleries of Italy, growing weary of Holy Families in endless succession, observe that

the idea of the Madonna, among the rank and file of Italian Painters, is limited to one changeless and familiar

type. I can hardly hope to be believed when I say that the personal appearance of the murderess recalled that

type. She presented the delicate light hair, the quiet eyes, the finelyshaped lower features and the correctly

oval form of face, repeated in hundreds on hundreds of the conventional works of Art to which I have

ventured to allude. To those who doubt me, I can only declare that what I have here written is undisguised

and absolute truth. Let me add that daily observation of all classes of criminals, extending over many years,

has considerably diminished my faith in physiognomy as a safe guide to the discovery of character. Nervous

trepidation looks like guilt. Guilt, firmly sustained by insensibility, looks like innocence. One of the vilest

wretches ever placed under my charge won the sympathies (while he was waiting for his trial) of every

person who saw him, including even the persons employed in the prison. Only the other day, ladies and

gentlemen coming to visit me passed a body of men at work on the road. Judges of physiognomy among

them were horrified at the criminal atrocity betrayed in every face that they noticed. They condoled with me

on the near neighborhood of so many convicts to my official place of residence. I looked out of the window

and saw a group of honest laborers (whose only crime was poverty) employed by the parish!

Having instructed the female warder to leave the roombut to take care that she waited within callI

Confronted by the serious responsibility that he had undertaken, he justified what he had said to me. Still

pale, still distressed, he was now nevertheless master of himself. I turned to the door to leave him alone with

"Before this gentleman tries to convert me," she said, "I want you to wait here and be a witness."

Finding that we were both willing to comply with this request, she addressed herself directly to the Minister.

"Suppose I promise to listen to your exhortations," she began, "what do you promise to do for me in return?"

The voice in which she spoke to him was steady and clear; a marked contrast to the tremulous earnestness

"I promise to urge you to repentance and the confession of your crime. I promise to implore the divine

She looked at him, and listened to him, as if he was speaking to her in an unknown tongue, and went on with

"When I am hanged tomorrow, suppose I die without confessing, without repentingare you one of those

"Answer my question, if you please. Is an impenitent sinner eternally punished? Do you believe that?"

She paused for a while, evidently considering with special attention what she was about to say next.

"As a religious man," she resumed, "would you be willing to make some sacrifice, rather than let a

"I know of no sacrifice in my power," he said, fervently, "to which I would not rather submit than let you die

It was plain that she had been leading the way to the delivery of that message, whatever it might be, in all that

she had said up to the present time. So far my poor powers of penetration helped me, and no further.

The warder appeared, and received her message. "Tell the woman who has come here with my little girl that I

Taken completely by surprise, I signed to the attendant to wait for further instructions.

In a moment more I had sufficiently recovered myself to see the impropriety of permitting any obstacle to

interp ose between the Minister and his errand of mercy. I gently reminded the Prisoner that she would have a

later opportunity of seeing her child. "Your first duty," I told her, "is to hear and to take to heart what the

For the second time I attempted to leave the cell. For the second time this impenetrable woman called me

The patient Minister yielded, and appealed to me to follow his example. I reluctantly sanctioned the delivery

After a brief interval the child was brought to us, tired and sleepy. For a while the nurse roused her by setting

her on her feet. She happened to notice the Minister first. Her bright eyes rested on him, gravely wondering.

He kissed her, and, after a momentary hesitation, gave her to her mother. The horror of the situation

overpowered him: he turned his face away from us. I understood what he felt; he almost overthrew my own

The nurse turned to me, ostentatiously ignoring the words that had been addressed to her. "Am I to go, sir, or

to stay?" I suggested that she should return to the waitingroom. She returned at once in silence. The Prisoner

looked after her as she went out, with such an expression of hatred in her eyes that the Minister noticed it.

"She is the last person in the whole world whom I should have chosen to take care of my child, if the power

of choosing had been mine. But I have been in prison, without a living creature to represent me or to take my

part. No more of that; my troubles will be over in a few hours more. I want you to look at my little girl,

whose troubles are all to come. Do you call her pretty? Do you feel interested in her?"

Quietly sleeping, the poor baby rested on her mother's bosom. Was the heart of the murderess softened by the

divine influence of maternal love? The hands that held the child trembled a little. For the first time it seemed

to cost her an effort to compose herself, before she could speak to the Minister again.

"When I die tomorrow," she said, "I leave my child helpless and friendlessdisgraced by her mother's

shameful death. The workhouse may take heror a charitable asylum may take her." She paused; a first

tinge of color rose on her pale face; she broke into an outburst of rage. "Think of my daughter being brought

up by charity! She may suffer poverty, she may be treated with contempt, she may be employed by brutal

people in menial work. I can't endure it; it maddens me. If she is not saved from that wretched fate, I shall die

The Minister sternly stopped her before she could say the next word. To my astonishment she appeared to be

humbled, to be even ashamed: she asked his pardon: "Forgive me; I won't forget myself again. They tell me

Her altered tone touched him. He answered sadly and kindly: "It is the one sorrow of our lives."

The purpose which she had been keeping in view from the moment when the Minister entered her cell was no

mystery now. Ought I to have interfered? Let me confess a weakness, unworthy perhaps of my office. I was

My silence encouraged the mother. She advanced to the Minister with the sleeping infant in her arms.

"I daresay you have sometimes thought of adopting a child?" she said. "Perhaps you can guess now what I

had in my mind, when I asked if you would consent to a sacrifice? Will you take this wretched innocent little

creature home with you?" She lost her selfpossession once more. "A motherless creature tomorrow," she

God knows how I still shrunk from it! But there was no alternative now; I was bound to remember my duty to

the excellent man, whose critical position at that moment was, in some degree at least, due to my hesitation in

asserting my authority. Could I allow the Prisoner to presume on his compassionate nature, and to hurry him

into a decision which, in his calmer moments, he might find reason to regret? I spoke to him. Does the man

"I am sorry to have allowed this to go on," I said. "In justice to yourself, sir, don't answer!"

I saw, or thought I saw, signs of yielding in his face. "Take time," I persisted"take time to consider before

"Take time?" she repeated. "Are you inhuman enough to talk of time, in my presence?"

She laid the sleeping child on her bed, and fell on her knees before the Minister: "I promise to hear your

exhortationsI promise to do all a woman can to believe and repent. Oh, I know myself! My heart, once

hardened, is a heart that no human creature can touch. The one way to my better natureif I have a better

natureis through that poor babe. Save her from the workhouse! Don't let them make a pauper of her!" She

sank prostrate at his feet, and beat her hands in frenzy on the floor. "You want to save my guilty soul," she

He raised her. Her fierce tearless eyes questioned his face in a mute expectation dreadful to see. Suddenly, a

foretaste of deaththe death that was so near now!struck her with a shivering fit: her head dropped on the

Minister's shoulder. Other men might have shrunk from the contact of it. That true Christian let it rest.

Under the maddening sting of suspense, her sinking energies rallied for an instant. In a whisper, she was just

A faint breath of relief, just audible in the silence, told me that she had heard him. It was her last effort. He

laid her, insensible, on the bed, by the side of her sleeping child. "Look at them," was all he said to me; "how

THE services of our medical officer were required, in order to hasten the recovery of the Prisoner's senses.

When the Doctor and I left the cell together, she was composed, and ready (in the performance of her

promise) to listen to the exhortations of the Minister. The sleeping child was left undisturbed, by the mother's

desire. If the Minister felt tempted to regret what he had done, there was the artless influence which would

check him! As we stepped into the corridor, I gave the female warder her instructions to remain on the watch,

Possessed of ability and experience within the limits of his profession, he was in other respects a man with a

crotchety mind; bold to the verge of recklessness in the expression of his opinion; and possessed of a

command of language that carried everything before it. Let me add that he was just and merciful in his

intercourse with others, and I shall have summed him up fairly enough. When I joined him he seemed to be

"Thinking of what is going on, at this moment, in the condemned cell," he answered, "and wondering if any

The Doctor disagreed with me. "I don't believe in that woman's penitence," he remarked; "and I look upon the

There was no reason for concealing from one of my colleagues the benevolent decision, on the part of the

good Minister, of which I had been a witness. The Doctor listened to me with the first appearance of

downright astonishment that I had ever observed in his face. When I had done, he made an extraordinary

"Governor, I retract what I said of the parson just now. He is one of the boldest men that ever stepped into a

Was the doctor in e arnest? Strongly in earnest; there could be no doubt of it. Before I could ask him what he

meant, he was called away to a patient on the other side of the prison. When we parted at the door of my

room, I made it a request that my medical friend would return to me and explain what he had just said.

"Considering that you are the governor of a prison," he replied, "you are a singularly rash man. If I come

"Tell me something, before I allow you to run your risk," he said. "Are you one of those people who think

that the tempers of children are formed by the accidental influences which happen to be about them? Or do

you agree with me that the tempers of children are inherited from their parents?"

The Doctor (as I concluded) was still strongly impressed by the Minister's resolution to adopt a child whose

wicked mother had committed the most atrocious of all crimes. Was some serious foreboding in secret

possession of his mind? My curiosity to hear him was now increased tenfold. I replied without hesitation:

He looked at me with his sense of humor twinkling in his eyes. "Do you know I rather expected that answer?"

My attention wandered; my thoughts were in the cell with the Minister and the Prisoner. How would it end?

Sometimes, I was inclined to doubt with the Doctor. Sometimes, I took refuge in my own more hopeful view.

These idle reflections were agreeably interrupted by the appearance of my friend, the Chaplain.

"You are always welcome," I said; "and doubly welcome just now. I am feeling a little worried and anxious."

"And you are naturally," the Chaplain added, not at all disposed to receive a stranger?"

"Oh, no! Having occasion, just now, to go into the waitingroom, I found a young woman there, who asked

me if she could see you. She thinks you have forgotten her, and she is tired of waiting. I merely undertook, of

The nurse having been in this way recalled to my memory, I felt some little interest in seeing her, after what

had passed in the cell. In plainer words, I was desirous of judging for myself whether she deserved the hostile

feeling which the Prisoner had shown toward her. I thanked the Chaplain before he left me, and gave the

servant the necessary instructions. When she entered the room, I looked at the woman attentively for the first

Youth and a fine complexion, a wellmade figure and a natural grace of movementthese were her personal

attractions, so far as I could see. Her defects were, to my mind, equally noticeable. Under a heavy forehead,

her piercing eyes looked out at persons and things with an expression which was not to my taste. Her large

mouthanother defect, in my opinionwould have been recommended to mercy, in the estimation of many

men, by her magnificent teeth; white, wellshaped, cruelly regular. Believers in physiognomy might perhaps

have seen the betrayal of an obstinate nature in the lengthy firmness of her chin. While I am trying to describe

her, let me not forget her dress. A woman's dress is the mirror in which we may see the reflection of a

woman's nature. Bearing in mind the melancholy and impressive circumstances under which she had brought

the child to the prison, the gayety of color in her gown and her bonnet implied either a total want of feeling,

or a total want of tact. As to her position in life, let me confess that I felt, after a closer examination, at a loss

to determine it. She was certainly not a lady. The Prisoner had spoken of her as if she was a domestic servant

who had forfeited her right to consideration and respect. And she had entered the prison, as a nurse might

have entered it, in charge of a child. I did what we all do when we are not clever enough to find the answer to

"Perhaps you can tell me," she answered, "how much longer I am to be kept waiting in this prison."

The Minister had undoubtedly acquired the sole right of deciding. It was for him to say whether this woman

should, or should not, remain in attendance on the child whom he had adopted. In the meanwhile, the feeling

of distrust which was gaining on my mind warned me to remember the value of reserve in holding intercourse

She seemed to be irritated by my silence. "If the decision doesn't rest with you," she asked, "why did you tell

"You brought the little girl into the prison," I said; "was it not natural to suppose that your mistress might

"No person on the face of the earth," she declared, loftily, "has ever had the right to call herself my mistress.

It was unwise on my partI protested. "Hate a baby little more than a year old!" I said.

She said it with the air of a woman who had produced an unanswerable reason. "I am accountable to

nobody," she went on. "If I consented to trouble myself with the child, it was in remembrance of my

Putting together what I had just heard, and what I had seen in the cell, I drew the right conclusion at last. The

woman, whose position in life had been thus far an impenetrable mystery to me, now stood revealed as one,

among other objects of the Prisoner's jealousy, during her disastrous married life. A serious doubt occurred to

me as to the authority under which the husband's mistress might be acting, after the husband's death. I

"Claim?" she repeated. "I know no more of the child than you do. I heard for the first time that such a

creature was in existence, when her murdered father sent for me in his dying moments. At his entreaty I

promised to take care of her, while her vile mother was out of the house and in the hands of the law. My

promise has been performed. If I am expected (having brought her to the prison) to take her away again,

understand this: I am under no obligation (even if I could afford it) to burden myself with that child; I shall

"Leave the room," I said. "Your unworthy hands will not touch the poor baby again. She is provided for."

We both looked round and saw the Minister standing in the open doorway, with the child in his arms. The

ordeal that he had gone through in the condemned cell was visible in his face; he looked miserably haggard

and broken. I was eager to know if his merciful interest in the Prisoner had purified her guilty soulbut at

the same time I was afraid, after what he had but too plainly suffered, to ask him to enter into details.

"God's mercy has helped me," he answered. "I have not spoken in vain. She believes; she repents; she has

After handing the written and signed confession to me, he approached the venomous creature, still lingering

in the room to hear what passed between us. Before I could stop him, he spoke to her, under a natural

"I am afraid you will be disappointed," he said, "when I tell you that your services will no longer be required.

I have reasons for placing the child under the care of a nurse of my own choosing."

"I know who furnished you with your reasons," she answered. "Apologies are quite needless, so far as I am

concerned. If you had proposed to me t o look after the new member of your family there, I should have felt it

my duty to myself to have refused. I am not a nurseI am an independent single lady. I see by your dress

that you are a clergyman. Allow me to present myself as a mark of respect to your cloth. I am Miss Elizabeth

Too weary and too preoccupied to notice the insolence of her manner, the Minister mentioned his name. "I

am anxious," he said, "to know if the child has been baptized. Perhaps you can enlighten me?"

Still insolent, Miss Elizabeth Chance shook her head carelessly. "I never heardand, to tell you the truth, I

never cared to hearwhether she was christened or not. Call her by what name you like, I can tell you

"I will try to tell you," Miss Chance interposed. "Being a clergyman, you know who Deborah was? Very

well. I am Deborah now; and I prophesy." She pointed to the child. "Remember what I say, reverend sir! You

THE Minister looked at me in an absent manner; his attention seemed to have been wandering. "What was it

Before I could speak, a friend's voice at the door interrupted us. The Doctor, returning to me as he had

"I must have passed the person you mean, sir, as I was coming in here; and I heard her say: 'You will find the

tigresscub take after its mother.' If she had known how to put her meaning into good English, Miss

Chancethat is the name you mentioned, I thinkmight have told you that the vices of the parents are

inherited by the children. And the one particular parent she had in her mind," the Doctor continued, gently

patting the child's cheek, "was no doubt the mother of this unfortunate little creaturewho may, or may not,

I was on the point of protesting against my friend's interpretation, when the Minister stopped me.

"Let me thank you, sir, for your explanation," he said to the Doctor. "As soon as my mind is free, I will

reflect on what you have said. Forgive me, Mr. Governor," he went on, "if I leave you, now that I have placed

the Prisoner's confession in your hands. It has been an effort to me to say the little I have said, since I first

entered this room. I can think of nothing but that unhappy criminal, and the death that she must die

"She positively forbids it. 'After what you have done for me,' she said, 'the least I can do in return is to

prevent your being needlessly distressed.' She took leave of me; she kissed the little girl for the last

timeoh, don't ask me to tell you about it! I shall break down if I try. Come, my darling!" He kissed the

"That man is a strange compound of strength and weakness," the Doctor remarked. "Did you notice his face,

just now? Nine men out of ten, suffering as he suffered, would have failed to control themselves. Such

It was a trial of my temper to hear my clever colleague justifying, in this way, the ignorant prediction of an

"There are exceptions to all rules," I insisted. "And why are the virtues of the parents not just as likely to

descend to the children as the vices? There was a fund of good, I can tell you, in that poor baby's

fatherthough I don't deny that he was a profligate man. And even the horrible motheras you heard just

nowhas virtue enough left in her to feel grateful to the man who has taken care of her child. These are

The Doctor took out his pipe. "Do you mind my smoking?" he asked. "Tobacco helps me to arrange my

I gave him the means of arranging his ideas; that is to say, I gave him the matchbox. He blew some

"For twenty years past, my friend, I have been studying the question of hereditary transmission of qualities;

and I have found vices and diseases descending more frequently to children than virtue and health. I don't

stop to ask why: there is no end to that sort of curiosity. What I have observed is what I tell you; no more and

no less. You will say this is a horribly discouraging result of experience, for it tends to show that children

come into the world at a disadvantage on the day of their birth. Of course they do. Children are born

deformed; children are born deaf, dumb, or blind; children are born with the seeds in them of deadly diseases.

Who can account for the cruelties of creation? Why are we endowed with lifeonly to end in death? And

does it ever strike you, when you are cutting your mutton at dinner, and your cat is catching its mouse, and

your spider is suffocating its fly, that we are all, big and little together, born to one certain inheritancethe

"Quite sure, thank God! And it would be better for you if you felt about it as I do."

"We won't dispute, my dear Governor. I don't scoff at comforting hopes; I don't deny the existence of

occasional compensations. But I do see, nevertheless, that Evil has got the upper hand among us, on this

curious little planet. Judging by my observation and experience, that illfated baby's chance of inheriting the

virtues of her parents is not to be compared with her chances of inheriting their vices; especially if she

happens to take after her mother. There the virtue is not conspicuous, and the vice is one enormous fact.

When I think of the growth of that poisonous hereditary taint, which may come with timewhen I think of

passions let loose and temptations lying in ambushI see the smooth surface of the Minister's domestic life

with dangers lurking under it which make me shake in my shoes. God! what a life I should lead, if I happened

to be in his place, some years hence. Suppose I said or did something (in the just exercise of my parental

authority) which offended my adopted daughter. What figure would rise from the dead in my memory, when

the girl bounced out of the room in a rage? The image of her mother would be the image I should see. I

should remember what her mother did when she was provoked; I should lock my bedroom door, in my own

house, at night. I should come down to breakfast with suspicions in my cup of tea, if I discovered that my

adopted daughter had poured it out. Oh, yes; it's quite true that I might be doing the girl a cruel injustice all

the time; but how am I to be sure of that? I am only sure that her mother was hanged for one of the most

merciless murders committed in our time. Pass the matchbox. My pipe's out, and my confession of faith has

It was useless to dispute with a man who possessed his command of language. At the same time, there was a

bright side to the poor Minister's prospects which the Doctor had failed to see. It was barely possible that I

might succeed in putting my positive friend in the wrong. I tried the experiment, at any rate.

"You seem to have forgotten," I reminded him, "that the child will have every advantage that education can

offer to her, and will be accustomed from her earliest years to restraining and purifying influences, in a

Now that he was enjoying the fumes of tobacco, the Doctor was as placid and sweettempered as a man

I had not expected this extraordinary docility. The Doctor had got the upper hand of me againa state of

thing s that I might have found it hard to endure, but for a call of duty which put an end to our sitting. One of

the female warders appeared with a message from the condemned cell. The Prisoner wished to see the

THERE was a considerate side to my friend's character, which showed itself when the warder had left us.

He was especially anxious to be careful of what he said to a woman in the Prisoner's terrible situation;

especially in the event of her having been really subjected to the influence of religious belief. On the

Minister's own authority, I declared that there was every reason to adopt this conclusion; and in support of

what I had said I showed him the confession. It only contained a few lines, acknowledging that she had

committed the murder and that she deserved her sentence. "From the planning of the crime to the commission

of the crime, I was in my right senses throughout. I knew what I was doing." With that remarkable disavowal

My colleague read the paper, and handed it back to me without making any remark. I asked if he suspected

It would not be true to say that the Doctor's obstinacy had shaken my belief in the good result of the

Minister's interference. I may, however, acknowledge that I felt some misgivings, which were not dispelled

I had expected to see her employed in reading the Bible. The good book was closed and was not even placed

within her reach. The occupation to which she was devoting herself astonished and repelled me.

Some carelessness on the part of the attendant had left on the table the writing materials that had been needed

for her confession. She was using them nowwhen death on the scaffold was literally within a few hours of

herto sketch a portrait of the female warder, who was on the watch! The Doctor and I looked at each other;

and now the sincerity of her repentance was something that I began to question, too.

"Even the little time that is left to me proves to be a weary time to get through," she said. "I am making a last

use of the talent for drawing and catching a likeness, which has been one of my gifts since I was a girl. You

look as if you didn't approve of such employment as this for a woman who is going to be hanged. Well, sir, I

have no doubt you are right." She paused, and tore up the portrait. "If I have misbehaved myself," she

resumed, "I make amends. To find you in an indulgent frame of mind is of importance to me just now. I have

Giving the woman permission to withdraw for a while, I waited with some anxiety to hear what the Prisoner

"I have something to say to you," she proceeded, "on the subject of executions. The face of a person who is

going to be hanged is hidden, as I have been told, by a white cap drawn over it. Is that true?"

How another man might have felt, in my place, I cannot, of course, say. To my mind, such a questionon

I could remain silent no longer. "Is there no human feeling left in you?" I burst out. "What do these horrid

"Don't be angry with me, sir; you shall hear directly. I want to know first if I am to be buried in the prison?"

"Now," she said, "I may tell you what I mean. In the autumn of last year I was taken to see some waxworks.

Portraits of criminals were among them. There was one portrait" She hesitated; her infernal

selfpossession failed her at last. The color left her face; she was no longer able to look at me firmly. "There

was one portrait," she resumed, "that had been taken after the execution. The face was so hideous; it was

swollen to such a size in its frightful deformityoh, sir, don't let me be seen in that state, even by the

strangers who bury me! Use your influenceforbid them to take the cap off my face when I am deadorder

them to bury me in it, and I swear to you I'll meet death tomorrow as coolly as the boldest man that ever

mounted the scaffold!" Before I could stop her, she seized me by the hand, and wrung it with a furious power

that left the mark of her grasp on me, in a bruise, for days afterward. "Will you do it?" she cried. "You're an

The relief to her tortured spirit expressed itself horribly in a burst of frantic laughter. "I can't help it," she

My enemies said of me, when I got my appointment, that I was too excitable a man to be governor of a

prison. Perhaps they were not altogether wrong. Anyhow, the quickwitted Doctor saw some change in me,

which I was not aware of myself. He took my arm and led me out of the cell. "Leave her to me," he

"I gave her time to recover," he told me; "and, except that she looked a little paler than usual, there was no

trace left of the frenzy that you remember. 'I ought to apologize for troubling you,' she said; 'but it is perhaps

natural that I should think, now and then, of what is to happen to me tomorrow morning. As a medical man,

you will be able to enlighten me. Is death by hanging a painful death?' She had put it so politely that I felt

bound to answer her. 'If the neck happens to be broken,' I said, 'hanging is a sudden death; fright and pain (if

there is any pain) are both over in an instant. As to the other form of death which is also possible (I mean

death by suffocation), I must own as an honest man that I know no more about it than you do.' After

considering a little, she made a sensible remark, and followed it by an embarrassing request. 'A great deal,'

she said, 'must depend on the executioner. I am not afraid of death, Doctor. Why should I be? My anxiety

about my little girl is set at rest; I have nothing left to live for. But I don't like pain. Would you mind telling

the executioner to be careful? Or would it be better if I spoke to him myself?' I said I thought it would come

with a better grace from herself. She understood me directly; and we dropped the subject. Are you surprised

"Think a little," the Doctor said. "The one sensitive place in that woman's nature is the place occupied by her

"The maternal instinct," he said. "A cat is fond of her kittens; a cow is fond of her calf. No, sir, the one cause

of that outbreak of passion which so shocked youa genuine outbreak, beyond all doubtis to be found in

the vanity of a fine feminine creature, overpowered by a horror of looking hideous, even after her death. Do

"I know as well as you do," he answered, that this is neither a time nor a place for jesting. The fact is, the

Prisoner carries out an idea of mine. It is my positive conviction that the worst murdersI mean murders

deliberately plannedare committed by persons absolutely deficient in that part of the moral organization

which feels. The night before they are hanged they sleep. On their last morning they eat a breakfast. Incapable

of realizing the horror of murder, they are incapable of realizing the horror of death. Do you remember the

last murderer who was hanged herea gentleman's coachman who killed his wife? He had but two anxieties

while he was waiting for execution. One was to get his allowance of beer doubled, and the other was to be

hanged in his coachman's livery. No! no! these wretches are all alike; they are human creatures born with the

temperaments of tigers. Take my word for it, we need feel no anxiety about tomorrow. The Prisoner will

face the crowd round the scaffold with composure; and the people will say, 'She died game.' "

THE Capital Punishment of the Prisoner is in no respect connected with my purpose in writing the present

narrative. Neither do I desire to darken these pages by describing in detail an act of righteous retribution

which must present, by the nature of it, a scene of horror. For these reasons I ask to be excused, if I limit what

The one selfpossessed person among us was the miserable woman who suffered the penalty of death.

Not very discreetly, as I think, the Chaplain asked her if she had truly repented. She answered: "I have

confessed the crime, sir. What more do you want?" To my mindstill hesitating between the view that

believes with the Minister, and the view that doubts with the Doctorthis reply leaves a way open to hope of

her salvation. Her last words to me, as she mounted the steps of the scaffold, were: "Remember your

promise." It was easy for me to be true to my word. At that bygone time, no difficulties were placed in my

way by such precautions as are now observed in the conduct of executions within the walls of the prison.

From the time of her death to the time of her burial, no living creature saw her face. She rests, veiled in her

Let me now turn to living interests, and to scenes removed from the thunderclouds of crime.

His first words entreated me not to allude to the terrible event of the previous day. "I cannot escape thinking

of it," he said, "but I may avoid speaking of it." This seemed to me to be the misplaced confidence of a weak

man in the refuge of silence. By way of changing the subject, I spoke of the child. There would be serious

difficulties to contend with (as I ventured to suggest), if he remained in the town, and allowed his new

His reply to this agreeably surprised me. There were no difficulties to be feared.

The state of his wife's health had obliged him (acting under medical advice) to try the influence of her native

air. An interval of some months might elapse before the good effect of the change had sufficiently declared

itself; and a return to the peculiar climate of the town might bring on a relapse. There had consequently been

no alternative to but resign his charge. Only on that day the resignation had been acceptedwith expressions

of regret sincerely reciprocated by himself. He proposed to leave the town immediately; and one of the

"The next place I live in," he said, "will be more than a hundred miles away. At that distance I may hope to

keep events concealed which must be known only to ourselves. So far as I can see, there are no risks of

discovery lurking in this place. My servants (only two in number) have both been born here, and have both

told my wife that they have no wish to go away. As to the person who introduced herself to me by the name

of Miss Chance, she was traced to the railway station yesterday afternoon, and took her ticket for London."

I congratulated the Minister on the good fortune which had befriended him, so far.

"You will understand how carefully I have provided against being deceived," he continued, "when I tell you

what my plans are. The persons among whom my future lot is castand the child herself, of coursemust

never suspect that the new member of my family is other than my own daughter. This is deceit, I admit; but it

If the child was described as adopted, there would be curiosity about the circumstances, and inquiries relating

to the parents. Prevaricating replies lead to suspicion, and suspicion to discovery. But for the wise course

which the Minister had decided on taking, the poor child's life might have been darkened by the horror of the

Having quieted my friend's needless scruples by this perfectly sincere expression of opinion, I ventured to

approach the central figure in his domestic circle, by means of a question relating to his wife. How had that

lady received the unfortunate little creature, for whose appearance on the homescene she must have been

The Minister's manner showed some embarrassment; he prefaced what he had to tell me with praises of his

wife, equally creditable no doubt to both of them. The beauty of the child, the pretty ways of the child, he

said, fascinated the admirable woman at first sight. It was not to be denied that she had felt, and had

expressed, misgivings, on being informed of the circumstances under which the Minister's act of mercy had

been performed. But her mind was too well balanced to incline to this state of feeling, when her husband had

addressed her in defense of his conduct. She then understood that the true merit of a good action consisted in

patiently facing the sacrifices involved. Her interest in the new daughter being, in this way, ennobled by a

sense of Christian duty, there had been no further difference of opinion between the married pair.

I listened to this plausible explanation with interest, but, at the same time, with doubts of the lasting nature of

the lady's submission to circumstances; suggested, perhaps, by the constraint in the Minister's manner. It was

well for both of us when we changed the subject. He reminded me of the discouraging view which the Doctor

"I will not attempt to decide whether your friend is right or wrong," he said. "Trusting, as I do, in the mercy

of God, I look hopefully to a future time when all that is brightest and best in the nature of my adopted child

will be developed under my fostering care. If evil tendencies show themselves, my reliance will be

confidently placed on pious example, on religious instruction, and, above all, on intercession by prayer.

Repeat to your friend," he concluded, "what you have just heard me say. Let him ask himself if he could

confront the uncertain future with my cheerful submission and my steadfast hope."

I agreed with him, I admired him; but my faith seemed to want sustaining power, as compared with his faith.

On his own showing (as it appeared to me), there would be two forces in a state of conflict in the child's

nature as she grew upinherited evil against inculcated good. Try as I might, I failed to feel the Minister's

A FEW days after the good man had left us, I met with a serious accident, caused by a false step on the stone

The long illness which followed this misfortune, and my removal afterward (in the interests of my recovery)

to a milder climate than the climate of England, obliged me to confide the duties of governor of the prison to

a representative. I was absent from my post for rather more than a year. During this interval no news reached

Having returned to the duties of my office, I thought of writing to the Minister. While the proposed letter was

still in contemplation, I was informed that a lady wished to see me. She sent in her card. My visitor proved to

Her dress was simple; her scanty light hair, so far as I could see it under her bonnet, was dressed with taste.

Th e paleness of her lips, and the faded color in her face, suggested that she was certainly not in good health.

Two peculiarities struck me in her personal appearance. I never remembered having seen any other person

with such a singularly narrow and slanting forehead as this lady presented; and I was impressed, not at all

agreeably, by the flashing shifting expression in her eyes. On the other hand, let me own that I was

powerfully attracted and interested by the beauty of her voice. Its fine variety of compass, and its musical

resonance of tone, fell with such enchantment on the ear, that I should have liked to put a book of poetry into

her hand, and to have heard her read it in summertime, accompanied by the music of a rocky stream.

The object of her visitso far as she explained it at the outsetappeared to be to offer her congratulations

on my recovery, and to tell me that her husband had assumed the charge of a church in a large town not far

Even those commonplace words were made interesting by her delicious voice. But however sensitive to

sweet sounds a man may be, there are limits to his capacity for deceiving himselfespecially when he

happens to be enlightened by experience of humanity within the walls of a prison. I had, it may be

remembered, already doubted the lady's good temper, judging from her husband's overwrought description

of her virtues. Her eyes looked at me furtively; and her manner, gracefully selfpossessed as it was,

suggested that she had something of a delicate, or disagreeable, nature to say to me, and that she was at a loss

how to approach the subject so as to produce the right impression on my mind at the outset. There was a

momentary silence between us. For the sake of saying something, I asked how she and the Minister liked

"Our new place of residence," she answered, "has been made interesting by a very unexpected eventan

event (how shall I describe it?) which has increased our happiness and enlarged our family circle."

There she stopped: expecting me, as I fancied, to guess what she meant. A woman, and that woman a mother,

might have fulfilled her anticipations. A man, and that man not listening attentively, was simply puzzled.

The lady's temper looked at me out of the lady's shifting eyes, and hid itself again in a moment. She set

herself right in my estimation by taking the whole blame of our little misunderstanding on her own innocent

"I ought to have spoken more plainly," she said. "Let me try what I can do now. After many years of

disappointment in my married life, it has pleased Providence to bestow on me the happinessthe

inexpressible happinessof being a mother. My baby is a sweet little girl; and my one regret is that I cannot

My languid interest in the Minister's wife was not stimulated by the announcement of this domestic event.

I felt no wish to see the "sweet little girl"; I was not even reminded of another example of longdeferred

maternity, which had occurred within the limits of my own family circle. All my sympathies attached

themselves to the sad little figure of the adopted child. I remembered the poor baby on my knee, enchanted by

the ticking of my watchI thought of her, peacefully and prettily asleep under the horrid shelter of the

condemned celland it is hardly too much to say that my heart was heavy, when I compared her prospects

with the prospects of her babyrival. Kind as he was, conscientious as he was, could the Minister be expected

to admit to an equal share in his love the child endeared to him as a father, and the child who merely

reminded him of an act of mercy? As for his wife, it seemed the merest waste of time to put her state of

feeling (placed between the two children) to the test of inquiry. I tried the useless experiment, nevertheless.

She interrupted me, with the utmost gentleness: "Do you mean the child that my husband was foolish enough

"Say rather fortunate enough to adopt," I persisted. "As your own little girl grows up, she will want a

playfellow. And she will find a playfellow in that other child, whom the good Minister has taken for his

The contrast between the cruelty of her intention, and the musical beauty of the voice which politely

expressed it in those words, really startled me. I was at a loss how to answer her, at the very time when I

"You must surely understand," she went on, "that we don't want another person's child, now we have a little

"Oh dear, no! He said what you said just now, and (oddly enough) almost in the same words. But I don't at all

She made that audacious assertion with such an appearance of feeling perfectly sure of me, that my politeness

Not in the least impressed by my change of manner, she took from the pocket of her dress a printed paper.

It was an appeal to the charitable public, occasioned by the enlargement of an orphanasylum, with which I

had been connected for many years. What she meant was plain enough now. I said nothing: I only looked at

Pleased to find that I was clever enough to guess what she meant, on this occasion, the Minister's wife

informed me that the circumstances were all in our favor. She still persisted in taking me into

"In two years more," she explained, "the child of that detestable creature who was hangeddo you know, I

cannot even look at the little wretch without thinking of the gallows?will be old enough (with your interest

to help us) to be received into the asylum. What a relief it will be to get rid of that child! And how hard I shall

work at canvassing for subscribers' votes! Your name will be a tower of strength when I use it as a reference.

Pardon meyou are not looking so pleasantly as usual. Do you see some obstacles in our way?"

For the second time, my politeness gave way under the strain laid on it. "You know perfectly well," I said,

"Am I to understand that you contemplate any serious resistance on the part of my husband?"

"Then your experience ought to tell you that I know every weak point in the Minister's character. I can tell

him, on your authority, that the hateful child will be placed in competent and kindly handsand I have my

own sweet baby to plead for me. With these advantages in my favor, do you actually suppose I can fail to

make my way of thinking his way of thinking? You must have forgotten your own married life! Suppose we

go on to the second of your two obstacles. I hope it will be better worth considering than the first."

"The second obstacle will not disappoint you," I answered; "I am the obstacle, this time."

"What sort of enemy have I made of you?" she asked. "A passive enemy who is content with refusing to help

"It depends entirely," I told her, "on what your husband does. If he questions me about you, I shall tell him

In making this reply I was guiltless of any malicious intention. What evil interpretation she placed on my

words it is impossible for me to say; I can only declare that some intolerable sense of injury hurried her into

an outbreak of rage. Her voice, strained for the first time, lost its tuneful beauty of tone.

"Come and see us in two years' time," she burst out"and discover the orphan of the gallows in our house if

you can! If your Asylum won't take her, some other Charity will. Ha, Mr. Governor, I deserve my

disappointment! I ought to have remembered that you are only a jailer after all. And what is a jailer?

Her strength suddenly failed her. She dropped back into the chair from which she had risen, with a faint cry

of pain. A ghastly pallor stole over her face. There was wine on the sideboard; I filled a glass. She refused to

take it. At that time in the day, the Doctor's duties required his attendance in the prison. I instantly sent for

him. After a moment's look at her, he took the wine out of my hand, and held the glass to her lips.

"Drink it," he said. She still refused. "Drink it," he reiterated, "or you will die."

That frightened her; she drank the wine. The Doctor waited for a while with his fingers on her pulse. "She

I asked the Doctor, when we were alone, what made him tell her not to go upstairs in a hurry.

"What I felt," he answered, "when I had my fingers on her pulse. You heard her say that she understood me."

A WEEK had passed, since the Minister's wife had left me, when I received a letter from the Minister

After surprising me, as he innocently supposed, by announcing the birth of his child, he mentioned some

"Within an easy journey of the populous scene of my present labors," he wrote, "there is a secluded country

village called Low Lanes. The rector of the place is my wife's brother. Before the birth of our infant, he had

asked his sister to stay for a while at his house; and the doctor thought she might safely be allowed to accept

the invitation. Through some error in the customary calculations, as I suppose, the child was born

unexpectedly at the rectory; and the ceremony of baptism was performed at the church, under circumstances

which I am not able to relate within the limits of a letter: Let me only say that I allude to this incident without

any sectarian bitterness of feelingfor I am no enemy to the Church of England. You have no idea what

treasures of virtue and treasures of beauty maternity has revealed in my wife's sweet nature. Other mothers, in

her proud position, might find their love cooling toward the poor child whom we have adopted. But my

household is irradiated by the presence of an angel, who gives an equal share in her affections to the two little

In this semihysterical style of writing, the poor man unconsciously told me how cunningly and how cruelly

I longed to exhibit that wicked woman in her true characterbut what could I do? She must have been so

favored by circumstances as to be able to account for her absence from home, without exciting the slightest

suspicion of the journey which she had really taken, if I declared in my reply to the Minister's letter that I had

received her in my rooms, and if I repeated the conversation that had taken place, what would the result be?

She would find an easy refuge in positive denial of the truthand, in that case, which of us would her

The one part of the letter which I read with some satisfaction was the end of it.

I was here informed that the Minister's plans for concealing the parentage of his adopted daughter had proved

to be entirely successful. The members of the new domestic household believed the two children to be

infantsisters. Neither was there any danger of the adopted child being identified (as the oldest child of the

Before he left our town, the Minister had seen for himself that no baptismal name had been added, after the

birth of the daughter of the murderess had been registered, and that no entry of baptism existed in the

registers kept in places of worship. He drew the inferencein all probability a true inference, considering the

characters of the parentsthat the child had never been baptized; and he performed the ceremony privately,

abstaining, for obvious reasons, from adding her Christian name to the imperfect register of her birth. "I am

not aware," he wrote, "whether I have, or have not, committed an offense against the Law. In any case, I may

His second letter presented a marked contrast to the first. It was written in sorrow and anxiety, to inform me

of an alarming change for the worse in his wife's health. I showed the letter to my medical colleague. After

reading it he predicted the event that might be expected, in two words:Sudden death.

On the next occasion when I heard from the Minister, the Doctor's grim reply proved to be a prophecy

When we address expressions of condolence to bereaved friends, the principles of popular hypocrisy sanction

indiscriminate lying as a duty which we owe to the deadno matter what their lives may have

beenbecause they are dead. Within my own little sphere, I have always been silent, when I could not offer

to afflicted persons expressions of sympathy which I honestly felt. To have condoled with the Minister on the

loss that he had sustained by the death of a woman, selfbetrayed to me as shamelessly deceitful, and

pitilessly determined to reach her own cruel ends, would have been to degrade myself by telling a deliberate

lie. I expressed in my answer all that an honest man naturally feels, when he is writing to a friend in distress;

carefully abstaining from any allusion to the memory of his wife, or to the place which her death had left

vacant in his household. My letter, I am sorry to say, disappointed and offended him. He wrote to me no

more, until years had passed, and time had exerted its influence in producing a more indulgent frame of mind.

These letters of a later date have been preserved, and will probably be used, at the right time, for purposes of

The correspondent whom I had now lost was succeeded by a gentleman entirely unknown to me.

Those reasons which induced me to conceal the names of persons, while I was relating events in the prison,

do not apply to correspondence with a stranger writing from another place. I may, therefore, mention that Mr.

Dunboyne, of Fairmount, on the west coast of Ireland, was the writer of the letter now addressed to me. He

proved, to my surprise, to be one of the relations whom the Prisoner under sentence of death had not cared to

see, when I offered her the opportunity of saying farewell. Mr. Dunboyne was a brotherinlaw of the

His wife, he informed me, had died in childbirth, leaving him but one consolationa boy, who already

recalled all that was brightest and best in his lost mother. The father was naturally anxious that the son should

"I heard yesterday, for the first time, by means of an old newspapercutting sent to me by a friend, that the

miserable woman who suffered the ignominy of public execution has left an infant child. Can you tell me

what has become of the orphan? If this little girl is, as I fear, not well provided for, I only do what my wife

would have done if she had lived, by offering to make the child's welfare my especial care. I am willing to

place her in an establishment well known to me, in which she will be kindly treated, well educated, and fitted

"If you feel some surprise at finding that my good intentions toward this illfated niece of mine do not go to

the length of receiving her as a member of my own family, I beg to submit some considerations which may

"In the first place, there is at least a possibilityhowever carefully I might try to conceal itthat the child's

parentage would sooner or later be discovered. In the second place (and assuming that the parentage had been

successfully concealed), if this girl and my boy grew up together, there is another possibility to be reckoned

with: they might become attached to each other. Does the father live who would allow his son ignorantly to

marry the daughter of a convicted murderess? I should have no alternative but to part them cruelly by

revealing the truth." The letter ended with some complimentary expressions addressed to myself. And the

My correspondent had strongly impressed me in his favor; I could not doubt that he was an honorable man.

But the interest of the Minister in keeping his own benevolent action secure from the risk of

discoveryincreased as that interest was by the filial relations of the two children toward him, now publicly

establishedhad, as I could not doubt, the paramount claim on me. The absolutely safe course to take was to

admit no one, friend or stranger, to our confidence. I replied, expressing sincere admiration of Mr.

Dunboyne's motives, and merely informing him that the child was already provided for.

It is perhaps hardly necessary to add that I kept the Minister in ignorance of my correspondence with Mr.

Dunboyne. I was too well acquainted with my friend's sensitive and selftormenting nature to let him know

that a relative of the murderess was living, and was aware that she had left a child.

During the year of which I am now writing, our Chaplain added one more to the many examples that I have

seen of his generous readiness to serve his friends. He had arranged to devote his annual leave of absence to a

tour among the English Lakes, when he received a letter from a clergyman resident in London, whom he had

known from the time when they had been schoolfellows. This old friend wrote under circumstances of the

severest domestic distress, which made it absolutely necessary that he should leave London for a while.

Having failed to find a representative who could relieve him of his clerical duties, he applied to the Chaplain

to recommend a clergyman who might be in a position to help him. My excellent colleague gave up his

On his return, I asked if he had seen anything of some acquaintances of his and of mine, who were then

"I have a card to deliver from an acquaintance whom you have not mentioned," he said; "and I rather think it

It simply puzzled me. When he gave me the card, this is what I found printed on it:

"Well," I answered; "I never even heard of Mrs. Tenbruggen, of South Beveland. Who is she?"

"I married the lady to a foreign gentleman, only last week, at my friend's church," the Chaplain replied.

He mentioned the name of the dangerous creature who had first presented herself to me, in charge of the

Prisoner's childotherwise Miss Elizabeth Chance. The reappearance of this woman on the scenealthough

she was only represented by her cardcaused me a feeling of vague uneasiness, so contemptibly

superstitious in its nature that I now remember it with shame. I asked a stupid question:

"In the ordinary course of such things," my friend said. "They were married by license, in their parish church.

The bridegroom was a fine tall man, with a bold eye and a dashing manner. The bride and I recognized each

other directly. When Miss Chance had become Mrs. Tenbruggen, she took me aside, and gave me her card.

'Ask the Governor to accept it,' she said, 'in remembrance of the time when he took me for a nursemaid. Tell

him I am married to a Dutch gentleman of high family. If he ever comes to Holland, we shall be glad to see

him in our residence at South Beveland.' There is her message to you, repeated word for word."

My pen is laid aside, and my many pages of writing have been sent to their destination. What I undertook to

do, is now done. To take a metaphor from the stagethe curtain falls here on the Governor and the Prison.

WE both said goodnight, and went up to our room with a new object in view. By our father's advice we had

resolved on keeping diaries, for the first time in our lives, and had pledged ourselves to begin before we went

Slowly and silently and lazily, my sister sauntered to her end of the room and seated herself at her

writingtable. On the desk lay a nicely bound book, full of blank pages. The word "Journal" was printed on it

in gold letters, and there was fitted to the covers a bright brass lock and key. A second journal, exactly similar

in every respect to the first, was placed on the writingtable at my end of the room. I opened my book. The

sight of the blank leaves irritated me; they were so smooth, so spotless, so entirely ready to do their duty. I

took too deep a dip of ink, and began the first entry in my diary by making a blot. This was discouraging. I

My sister's voice could hardly have addressed me in a more weary tone, if her pen had been at work all night,

I showed her the blot. My sister Eunice (the strangest as well as the dearest of girls) always blurts out what

she has in her mind at the time. She fixed her eyes gravely on my spoiled page, and said: "That comforts me."

I crossed the room, and looked at her book. She had not even summoned energy enough to make a blot.

"Why not begin," I suggested, "by writing down what he said, when he gave us our journals? Those wise

words of advice will be in their proper place on the first page of the new books."

Not at all a demonstrative girl naturally; not ready with her tears, not liberal with her caresses, not fluent in

her talk, Eunice was affected by my proposal in a manner wonderful to see. She suddenly developed into an

excitable personI declare she kissed me. "Oh," she burst out, "how clever you are! The very thing to write

She really did it directly; without once stopping to consider, without once waiting to ask my advice. Line

after line, I heard her noisy pen hurrying to the bottom of a first page, and getting threeparts of the way

toward the end of a second page, before she closed her diary. I reminded her that she had not turned the key,

"It's not worth while," she answered. "Anybody who cares to do it may read what I write. Goodnight."

The singular change which I had noticed in her began to disappear, when she set about her preparations for

bed. I noticed the old easy indolent movements again, and that regular and deliberate method of brushing her

hair, which I can never contemplate without feeling a stupefying influence that has helped me to many a deli

cious night's sleep. She said her prayers in her favorite corner of the room, and laid her head on the pillow

with the luxurious little sigh which announces that she is falling asleep. This reappearance of her usual habits

was really a relief to me. Eunice in a state of excitement is Eunice exhibiting an unnatural spectacle.

The next thing I did was to take the liberty which she had already sanctionedI mean the liberty of reading

"I am not half so fond of anybody as I am of papa. He is always kind, he is always right. I love him, I love

"But this is not how I meant to begin. I must tell how he talked to us; I wish he was here to tell it himself.

"He said to me: 'You are getting lazier than ever, Eunice.' He said to Helena: 'You are feeling the influence of

Eunice's example.' He said to both of us: 'You are too ready, my dear children, to sit with your hands on your

laps, looking at nothing and thinking of nothing; I want to try a new way of employing your leisure time.'

"He opened a parcel on the table. He made each of us a present of a beautiful book, called 'Journal.' He said:

'When you have nothing to do, my dears, in the evening, employ yourselves in keeping a diary of the events

of the day. It will be a useful record in many ways, and a good moral discipline for young girls.' Helena said:

"The truth is, I feel out of spirits now if I think of papa; I am not easy in my mind about him. When he is very

much interested, there is a quivering in his face which I don't remember in past times. He seems to have got

older and thinner, all on a sudden. He shouts (which he never used to do) when he threatens sinners at

sermontime. Being in dreadful earnest about our souls, he is of course obliged to speak of the devil; but he

never used to hit the harmless pulpit cushion with his fist as he does now. Nobody seems to have seen these

things but me; and now I have noticed them what ought I to do? I don't know; I am certain of nothing, except

There this very curious entry ended. It was easy enough to discover the influence which had made my

slowminded sister so ready with her. memory and her penso ready, in short, to do anything and

I, too, have seen the sad change in my father; but I happen to know that he dislikes having it spoken of at

home, and I have kept my painful discoveries to myself. Unhappily, the best medical advice is beyond our

reach. The one really competent doctor in this place is known to be an infidel. But for that shocking obstacle I

might have persuaded my father to see him. As for the other two doctors whom he has consulted, at different

times, one talked about suppressed gout, and the other told him to take a year's holiday and enjoy himself on

The clock has just struck twelve. I have been writing and copying till my eyes are heavy, and I want to follow

Eunice's example and sleep as soundly as she does. We have made a strange beginning of this journalizing

I begin to be afraid that I am as stupidno; that is not a nice word to uselet me say as simple as dear

Eunice. A diary means a record of the events of the day; and not one of the events of yesterday appears in my

sister's journal or in mine. Well, it is easy to set that mistake right. Our lives are so dull (but I would not say

so in my father's hearing for the world) that the record of one day will be much the same as the record of

After family prayers and breakfast I suffer my customary persecution at the hands of the cook. That is to say,

I am obliged, being the housekeeper, to order what we have to eat. Oh, how I hate inventing dinners! and how

I admire the enviable slowness of mind and laziness of body which have saved Eunice from undertaking the

worries of housekeeping in her turn! She can go and work in her garden, while I am racking my invention to

discover variety in dishes without overstepping the limits of economy. I suppose I may confess it privately to

My next employment leads me to my father's study, to write under his dictation. I don't complain of this; it

flatters my pride to feel that I am helping so great a man. At the same time, I do notice that here again

Eunice's little defects have relieved her of another responsibility. She can neither keep dictated words in her

After the dictation, I have an hour's time left for practicing music. My sister comes in from the garden, with

her pencil and paintbox, and practices drawing. Then we go out for a walka delightful walk, if my father

goes too. He has something always new to tell us, suggested by what we pass on the way. Then, dinnertime

comesnot always a pleasant part of the day to me. Sometimes I hear paternal complaints (always gentle

complaints) of my housekeeping; sometimes my sister (I won't say the greedy sister) tells me I have not given

Dinner having reached its end, we stroll in the garden when the weather is fine. When it rains, we make

flannel petticoats for poor old women. What a horrid thing old age is to look at! To be ugly, to be helpless, to

be miserably unfit for all the pleasures of lifeI hope I shall not live to be an old woman. What would my

father say if he saw this? For his sake, to say nothing of my own feelings, I shall do well if I make it a custom

Our next occupation is to join the Scripture class for girls, and to help the teacher. This is a good discipline

for Eunice's temper, andoh, I don't deny it!for my temper, too. I may long to box the ears of the whole

class, but it is my duty to keep a smiling face and to be a model of patience. From the Scripture class we

sometimes go to my father's lecture. At other times, we may amuse ourselves as well as we can till the tea is

ready. After tea, we read books which instruct us, poetry and novels being forbidden. When we are tired of

the books we talk. When supper is over, we have prayers again, and we go to bed. There is our day. Oh, dear

And how has Eunice succeeded in her second attempt at keeping a diary? Here is what she has written. It has

Over and over again I have tried to point out to my sister the absurdity of calling her father by the infantile

nickname of papa. I have reminded her that she is (in years, at least) no longer a child. "Why don't you call

And she actually answered: "Yes it does." What a strange state of mind! And what a charming girl, in spite of

The morning post has brought with it a promise of some little variety in our livesor, to speak more

Our new and nice friends, the Staveleys, have written to invite Eunice to pay them a visit at their house in

London. I don't complain at being left at home. It would be unfilial, indeed, if we both of us forsook our

father; and last year it was my turn to receive the first invitation, and to enjoy the change of scene. The

Staveleys are excellent peoplestrictly pious members of the Methodist Connectionand exceedingly kind

to my sister and me. But it was just as well for my moral welfare that I ended my visit to our friends when I

did. With my fondness for music, I felt the temptation of the Evil One trying me, when I saw placards in the

street announcing that the Italian Opera was open. I had no wish to be a witness of the shameful and sinful

dancing which goes on (I am told) at the opera; but I did feel my principles shaken when I thought of the

wonderful singers and the entrancing music. And this, when I knew what an atmosphere of wickedness

people breathe who enter a theater! I reflect with horror on what might have happened if I had remained a

"You will find something to write about now," I told her. "While I record everything that happens at home,

you will keep your diary of all that you do in London, and when you come back we will show each other

what we have written." My sister is a dear creature. "I don't feel sure of being able to do it," she answered;

THE air of London feels very heavy. There is a nasty smell of smoke in London. There are too many people

in London. They seem to be mostly people in a hurry. The head of a country girl, when she goes into the

I do hope that it is London that has put me out of temper. Otherwise, it must be I myself who am

illtempered. I have not yet been one whole day in the Staveleys' house, and they have offended me already. I

don't want Helena to hear of this from other people, and then to ask me why I concealed it from her. We are

to read each other's journals when we are both at home again. Let her see what I have to say for myself here.

There are seven Staveleys in all: Mr. and Mrs. (two); three young Masters (five); two young Misses (seven).

An eldest miss and the second young Master are the only ones at home at the present time.

Mr., Mrs., and Miss kissed me when I arrived. Young Master only shook hands. He looked as if he would

have liked to kiss me too. Why shouldn't he? It wouldn't have mattered. I don't myself like kissing. What is

Mrs. was so glad to see me; she took hold of me by both hands. She said: "My dear child, you are improving.

You were wretchedly thin when I saw you last. Now you are almost as welldeveloped as your sister. I think

you are prettier than your sister." Mr. didn't agree to that. He and his wife began to dispute about me before

Mr. opened his great big mouth, and asked a question: "Which of you two sisters is the oldest? I forget."

Mrs. answered for me: "Helena is the oldest; she told us so when she was here last."

"Then Helena was mistaken." I was unwilling to say of my sister that she had been deceiving them, though it

Mr. and Mrs. looked at each other. Mrs. said: "You seem to be very positive, Eunice. Surely, Helena ought to

I said: "Helena knows a good deal; but she doesn't know which of us is the oldest of the two."

Mrs. took the next question out of her husband's mouth: "Come, come, my dear! you must know how old you

"He said he had added our two ages together, and he meant to divide the product between us. It's so long

since, I don't remember what the product was then. But I'll tell you what the product is now. Our two ages

come to thirtysix. Half thirtysix is eighteen. I get one half, and Helena gets the other. When we ask what it

means, and when friends ask what it means, papa has got the same answer for everybody, 'I have my reasons.'

I had no intention of making Mr. angry, but he did get angry. He left off speaking to me by my Christian

name; he called me by my surname. He said: "Let me tell you, Miss Gracedieu, it is not becoming in a young

I had heard that it was respectful in a young lady to call an old gentleman, Sir, and to say, If you please. I

took care to be respectful now. "If you please, sir, write to papa. You will find that I have spoken the truth."

A woman opened the door, and said to Mrs. Staveley: "Dinner, ma'am." That stopped this nasty exhibition of

The next day I wrote to Helena, asking her what she had really said to the Staveleys about her age and mine,

and telling her what I had said. I found it too great a trial of my patience to wait till she could see what I had

written about the dispute in my journal. The days, since then, have passed, and I have been too lazy and

Today it is different. My head is like a dark room with the light let into it. I remember things; I think I can

We have religious exercises in this house, morning and evening, just as we do at home. (Not to be compared

with papa's religious exercises.) Two days ago his answer came to Mr. Staveley's letter. He did just what I

had expectedsaid I had spoken truly, and disappointed the family by asking to be excused if he refrained

from entering into explanations. Mr. said: "Very odd;" and Mrs. agreed with him. Young Miss is not quite as

friendly now as she was at first. And young Master was impudent enough to ask me if "I had got religion." To

conclude the list of my worries, I received an angry answer from Helena. "Nobody but a simpleton," she

wrote, "would have contradicted me as you did. Who but you could have failed to see that papa's strange

objection to let it be known which of us is the elder makes us ridiculous before other people? My presence of

mind prevented that. You ought to have been grateful, and held your tongue." Perhaps Helena is rightbut I

On Sunday we went to chapel twice. We also had a sermon read at home, and a cold dinner. In the evening, a

hot dispute on religion between Mr. Staveley and his son. I don't blame them. After being pious all day long

There is something pleasant in prospect for tomorrow. All London is going just now to the exhibition of

I don't know what is the matter with me tonight. I have positively been to bed, without going to sleep! After

tossing and twisting and trying all sorts of positions, I am so angry with myself that I have got up again.

Rather than do nothing, I have opened my inkbottle, and I mean to go on with my journal.

Now I think of it, it seems likely that the exhibition of works of art may have upset me.

I found a dreadfully large number of pictures, matched by a dreadfully large number of people to look at

them. It is not possible for me to write about what I saw: there was too much of it. Besides, the show

disappointed me. I would rather write about a disagreement (oh, dear, another dispute!) I had with Mrs.

Staveley. The cause of it was a famous artist; not himself, but his works. He exhibited four pictureswhat

they call figure subjects. Mrs. Staveley had a pencil. At every one of the great man's four pictures, she made a

big mark of admiration on her catalogue. At the fourth one, she spoke to me: "Perfectly beautiful, Eunice,

It would have been rude not to have given the best answer I could find. I said: "I never saw the flesh of any

person's face like the flesh in the faces which that man paints. He reminds me of waxwork. Why does he

paint the same waxy flesh in all four of his pictures? I don't see the same colored flesh in all the faces about

us." Mrs. Staveley held up her hand, by way of stopping me. She said: "Don't speak so loud, Eunice; you are

A voice behind us joined in. The voice said: "Excuse me, Mrs. Staveley, if I expose my ignorance. I entirely

I felt grateful to the person who took my part, just when I was at a loss what to say for myself, and I looked

He wore a beautiful blue frockcoat, buttoned up. I like a frockcoat to be buttoned up. He had lightcolored

trousers and gray gloves and a pretty cane. I like lightcolored trousers and gray gloves and a pretty cane.

What color his eyes were is more than I can say; I only know they made me hot when they looked at me. Not

that I mind being made hot; it is surely better than being made cold. He and Mrs. Staveley shook hands.

They seemed to be old friends. I wished I had been an old friendnot for any bad reason, I hope. I only

wanted to shake hands, too. What Mrs. Staveley said to him escaped me, somehow. I think the picture

escaped me also; I don't remember noticing anything except the young gentleman, especially when he took

off his hat to me. He looked at me twice before he went away. I got hot again. I said to Mrs. Staveley: "Who

She laughed at me. I said again: "Who is he?" She said: "He is young Mr. Dunboyne." I said: "Does he live in

London?" She laughed again. I said again: "Does he live in London?" She said: "He is here for a holiday; he

Young Mr. Dunboynehere for a holidaylives with his father at Fairmount, in Ireland. I have said that to

myself fifty times over. And here it is, saying itself for the fiftyfirst time in my Journal. I must indeed be a

NOT long before I left home, I heard one of our two servants telling the other about a person who had been

"bewitched." Are you bewitched when you don't understand your own self? That has been my curious case,

since I returned from the picture show. This morning I took my drawing materials out of my box, and tried to

make a portrait of young Mr. Dunboyne from recollection. I succeeded pretty well with his frockcoat and

cane; but, try as I might, his face was beyond me. I have never drawn anything so badly since I was a little

This morning I received a letter from papait was in reply to a letter that I had written to himso kind, so

beautifully expressed, so like himself, that I felt inclined to send him a confession of the strange state of

feeling that has come over me, and to ask him to comfort and advise me. On second thoughts, I was afraid to

I thought I would have a good look at him; so as to know his face better than I had known it yet. Another

disappointment was in store for me. Without intending it, I am sure, he did what no other young man has ever

donehe made me feel confused. Instead of looking at him, I sat with my head down, and listened to his

talk. His voicethis is high praisereminded me of papa's voice. It seemed to persuade me as papa

persuades his congregation. I felt quite at ease again. When he went away, we shook hands. He gave my hand

a little squeeze. I gave him back the squeezewithout knowing why. When he was gone, I wished I had not

I heard his Christian name for the first time today. Mrs. Staveley said to me: "We are going to have a

She is an old woman; her eyes are dim. At times, she can look mischievous. She looked at me mischievously

A fear has come to me that I may have degraded myself. My spirits are depressed. This, as papa tells us in his

sermons, is a miserable world. I am sorry I accepted the Staveleys' invitation. I am sorry I went to see the

pictures. When that young man comes to dinner, I shall say I have got a headache, and shall stop upstairs by

myself. I don't think I like his Christian name. I hate London. I hate everybody.

What I wrote up above, yesterday, is nonsense. I think his Christian name is perfect. I like London. I love

He came to dinner today. I sat next to him. How beautiful a dresscoat is, and a white cravat! We talked. He

wanted to know what my Christian name was. I was so pleased when I found he was one of the few people

who like it. His hair curls naturally. In color, it is something between my hair and Helena's. He wears his

beard. How manly! It curls naturally, like his hair; it smells deliciously of some perfume which is new to me.

He has white hands; his nails look as if he polished them; I should like to polish my nails if I knew how.

Whatever I said, he agreed with me; I felt satisfied with my own conversation, for the first time in my life.

Helena won't find me a simpleton when I go home. What exquisite things dinnerparties are!

My sister told me (when we said goodby) to be particular in writing down my true opinion of the Staveleys.

My opinion of Mr. Staveley isI don't like him. My opinion of Miss Staveley isI can't endure her. As for

Master Staveley, my clever sister will understand that he is beneath notice. But, oh, what a wonderful woman

Mrs. Staveley is! We went out together, after luncheon today, for a walk in Kensington Gardens. Never have

I heard any conversation to compare with Mrs. Staveley's. Helena shall enjoy it here, at second hand. I am

quite changed in two things. First: I think more of myself than I ever did before. Second: writing is no longer

a difficulty to me. I could fill a hundred journals, without once stopping to think.

Mrs. Staveley began nicely; "I suppose, Eunice, you have often been told that you have a good figure, and

I said: "Helena thinks my figure is better than my face. But do I really walk well? Nobody ever told me that."

She answered: "Philip Dunboyne thinks so. He said to me, 'I resist the temptation because I might be wanting

in respect if I gave way to it. But I should like to follow her when she goes outmerely for the pleasure of

I stood stockstill. I said nothing. When you are as proud as a peacock (which never happened to me before), I

Kind Mrs. Staveley had more things to tell me. She said: "I am interested in Philip. I lived near Fairmount in

the time before I was married; and in those days he was a child. I want him to marry a charming girl, and be

What made me think directly of Miss Staveley? What made me mad to know if she was the charming girl? I

was bold enough to ask the question. Mrs. Staveley turned to me with that mischievous look which I have

noticed already. I felt as if I had been running at the top of my speed, and had not got my breath again, yet.

But this good motherly friend set me at my ease. She explained herself: "Philip is not much liked, poor

fellow, in our house. My husband considers him to be weak and vain and fickle. And my daughter agrees

with her father. There are times when she is barely civil to Philip. He is too goodnatured to complain, but

"Of course I do!" Out it came in those words, before I could stop it. Was there something unbecoming to a

young lady in saying what I had just said? Mrs. Staveley seemed to be more amused than angry with me. She

took my arm kindly, and led me along with her. "My dear, you are as clear as crystal, and as true as steel.

What a delightful woman! as I said just now. I asked if she really liked me as well as she liked my sister.

I didn't expect that, and didn't want it. Helena is my superior. She is prettier than I am, cleverer than I am,

better worth liking than I am. Mrs. Staveley shifted the talk back to Philip. I ought to have said Mr. Philip.

No, I won't; I shall call him Philip. If I had a heart of stone, I should feel interested in him, after what Mrs.

Such a sad story, in some respects. Mother dead; no brothers or sisters. Only the father left; he lives a dismal

life on a lonely stormy coast. Not a severe old gentleman, for all that. His reasons for taking to retirement are

reasons (so Mrs. Staveley says) which nobody knows. He buries himself among his books, in an immense

library; and he appears to like it. His son has not been brought up. like other young men, at school and

college. He is a great scholar, educated at home by his father. To hear this account of his learning depressed

me. It seemed to put such a distance between us. I asked Mrs. Staveley if he thought me ignorant. As long as

Any other girl would have been satisfied with this. I am the miserable creature who is always making

mistakes. My stupid curiosity spoiled the charm of Mrs. Staveley's conversation. And yet it seemed to be a

harmless question; I only said I should like to know what profession Philip belonged to.

Mrs. Staveley laughed. "My dear, he is an only sonand his father is a rich man."

We have enough to live on in comfort at homeno more. Papa has told us himself that he is not (and can

never hope to be) a rich man. This is not the worst of it. Last year, he refused to marry a young couple, both

belonging to our congregation. This was very unlike his usual kind self. Helena and I asked him for his

reasons. They were reasons that did not take long to give. The young gentleman's father was a rich man. He

The best thing I can do is to wipe my pen, and shut up my Journal, and go home by the next train.

I have a great mind to burn my Journal. It tells me that I had better not think of Philip any more.

On second thoughts, I won't destroy my Journal; I will only put it away. If I live to be an old woman, it may

amuse me to open my book again, and see how foolish the poor wretch was when she was young.

I don't remember it at any other time in my life. Is it trouble? How can I tell?I have had so little trouble. It

must be many years since I was wretched enough to cry. I don't even understand why I am crying now. My

last sorrow, so far as I can remember, was the toothache. Other girls' mothers comfort them when they are

wretched. If my mother had livedit's useless to think about that. We lost her, while I and my sister were too

This seems an ungrateful wish. Seeing him at the pictureshow was a new enjoyment. Sitting next to him at

dinner was a happiness that I don't recollect feeling, even when Papa has been most sweet and kind to me. I

ought to be ashamed of myself to confess this. Shall I write to my sister? But how should she know what is

the matter with me, when I don't know it myself? Besides, Helena is angry; she wrote unkindly to me when

There is a dreadful loneliness in this great house at night. I had better say my prayers, and try to sleep. If it

doesn't make me feel happier, it will prevent me spoiling my Journal by dropping tears on it.

What an evening of evenings this has been! Last night it was crying that kept me awake. Tonight I can't

Philip called on us again today. He brought with him tickets for the performance of an Oratorio. Sacred

music is not forbidden music among our people. Mrs. Staveley and Miss Staveley went to the concert with

My sister is a musicianI am nothing. That sounds bitter; but I don't mean it so. All I mean is, that I like

simple little songs, which I can sing to myself by remembering the tune. There, my musical enjoyment ends.

When voices and instruments burst out together by hundreds, I feel bewildered. I also get attacked by fidgets.

This last misfortune is sure to overtake me when choruses are being performed. The unfortunate people

employed are made to keep singing the same words, over and over and over again, till I find it a perfect

misery to listen to them. The choruses were unendurable in the performance tonight. This is one of them:

"Here we are all alone in the wildernessalone in the wildernessin the wilderness alone, alone,

alonehere we are in the wildernessalone in the wildernessall all alone in the wilderness," and soon,

till I felt inclined to call for the learned person who writes Oratorios, and beg him to give the poor music a

Whenever I looked at Philip, I found him looking at me. Perhaps he saw from the first that the music was

wearying music to my ignorant ears. With his usual delicacy he said nothing for some time. But when he

caught me yawning (though I did my best to hide it, for it looked like being ungrateful for the tickets), then

He meant, of course, talk in whispers. We were a good deal annoyedespecially when the characters were

all alone in the wildernessby bursts of singing and playing which interrupted us at the most interesting

moments. Philip persevered with a manly firmness. What could I do but follow his exampleat a distance?

He said: "Is it really true that your visit to Mrs. Staveley is coming to an end?"

What I might have said if he had made that inquiry a day earlier, when I was the most miserable creature

living, I would rather not try to guess. Being quite happy as things were, I could honestly tell him I was sorry.

"You can't possibly be as sorry as I am, Eunice. May I call you by your pretty name?"

There another chorus stopped him, just as I was eager for more. It was such a delightfully new sensation to

hear a young gentleman telling me that I had left a blank in his life. The next change in the Oratorio brought

up a young lady, singing alone. Some people behind us grumbled at the smallness of her voice. We thought

He said: "Will you help me to think of you while you are away? I want to imagine what your life is at home.

I told him the name of our town. When we give a person information, I have always heard that we ought to

make it complete. So I mentioned our address in the town. But I was troubled by a doubt. Perhaps he

preferred the country. Being anxious about this, I said: "Would you rather have heard that I live in the

"Live where you may, Eunice, the place will be a favorite place of mine. Besides, your town is famous. It has

I made another of those mistakes which no sensible girl, in my position, would have committed. I asked if he

He set me right in the sweetest manner: "I alluded to a building hundreds of years older than your

Fancy my not having thought of the cathedral! This is what comes of being a Congregationalist. If I had

belonged to the Church of England, I should have forgotten the marketplace, and remembered the cathedral.

Not that I want to belong to the Church of England. Papa's chapel is good enough for me.

The song sung by the lady with the small voice was so pretty that the audience encored it. Didn't Philip and I

help them! With the sweetest smiles the lady sang it all over again. The people behind us left the concert.

He said: "Do you know, I take the greatest interest in cathedrals. I propose to enjoy the privilege and pleasure

I had only to look at him to see that I was the cathedral. It was no surprise to hear next that he thought of

"paying his respects to Mr. Gracedieu." He begged me to tell him what sort of reception he might hope to

meet with when he called at our house. I got so excited in doing justice to papa that I quite forgot to whisper

when the next question came. Philip wanted to know if Mr. Gracedieu disliked strangers. When I answered,

"Oh dear, no!" I said it out loud, so that the people heard me. Cruel, cruel people! They all turned round and

stared. One hideous old woman actually said, "Silence!" Miss Staveley looked disgusted. Even kind Mrs.

He held my hand devotedly till the end of the performance. When he put us into the carriage, I was last. He

whispered in my ear: "Expect me next week." Miss Staveley might be as illnatured as she pleased, on the

way home. It didn't matter what she said. The Eunice of yesterday might have been mortified and offended.

The Eunice of today was indifferent to the sharpest things that could be said to her.

All through yesterday's delightful evening, I never once thought of Philip's father. When I woke this morning,

I remembered that old Mr. Dunboyne was a rich man. I could eat no breakfast for thinking of the poor girl

Mrs. Staveley waited to speak to me till the rest of them had left us together. I had expected her to notice that

I looked dull and dismal. No! her cleverness got at my secret in quite another way.

She said: "How do you feel after the concert? You must be hard to please indeed if you were not satisfied

I suppose I ought to have laughed. In my miserable state of mind, it was not to be done. I said: "I hope Mr.

"And Philip's papa is a rich man," says Mrs. Staveley, putting my own thought into words for me. "Where do

"Clear your head, child, of the nonsense that has got into itI can't think how. Rich Mr. Dunboyne has

taught his heir to despise the base act of marrying for money. He knows that Philip will meet young ladies at

my house; and he has written to me on the subject of his son's choice of a wife. 'Let Philip find good

principles, good temper, and good looks; and I promise beforehand to find the money.' There is what he says.

I jumped up in a state of ecstasy. Just as I had thrown my arms round Mrs. Staveley's neck, the servant came

Helena had written again, on this last day of my visit. Her letter was full of instructions for buying things that

she wants, before I leave London. I read on quietly enough until I came to the postscript. The effect of it on

me may be told in two words: I screamed. Mrs. Staveley was naturally alarmed. "Bad news?" she asked.

Being quite unable to offer an opinion, I read the postscript out loud, and left her to judge for herself.

"I must prepare you for a surprise, before your return. You will find a strange lady established at home. Don't

suppose there is any prospect of her bidding us goodby, if we only wait long enough. She is already (with

father's full approval) as much a member of the family as we are. You shall form your own unbiased opinion

I asked Mrs. Staveley what she thought of my news from home. She said: "Your father approves of the lady,

But Mrs. Staveley did not look as if she believed in the good news, for all that.

TODAY I went as usual to the Scriptureclass for girls. It was harder work than ever, teaching without

Eunice to help me. Indeed, I felt lonely all day without my sister. When I got home, I rather hoped that some

friend might have come to see us, and have been asked to stay to tea. The housemaid opened the door to me. I

"Never saw her before, miss, in all my life." I put no more questions. Many ladies visit my father. They call it

consulting the Minister. He advises them in their troubles, and guides them in their religious difficulties, and

so on. They come and go in a sort of secrecy. So far as I know, they are mostly old maids, and they waste the

When my father came in to tea, I began to feel some curiosity about the lady who had called on him. Visitors

of that sort, in general, never appear to dwell on his mind after they have gone away; he sees too many of

them, and is too well accustomed to what they have to say. On this particular evening, however, I perceived

He drank his tea and went back to his study, instead of staying a while, and talking pleasantly as usual. My

respect submitted to his want of confidence in me; but my curiosity was in a state of revolt. I sent for Maria,

No other person had called at the house. Nothing had happened, except the visit of the mysterious lady. "She

looked between young and old. And, oh dear me, she was certainly not pretty. Not dressed nicely, to my

Try as I might, I could get no more than that out of our stupid young housemaid.

Later in the evening, the cook had occasion to consult me about supper. This was a person possessing the

advantages of age and experience. I asked if she had seen the lady. The cook's reply promised something

Is a lie told by a look as bad as a lie told by words? I looked shocked at the bare idea of suspecting a

respectable person of listening. The cook's sense of honor was satisfied; she readily explained herself: "I was

Here my discoveries came to an end. It was certainly possible that an afflicted member of my father's

congregation might have called on him to be comforted. But he sees plenty of afflicted ladies, without

looking worried and anxious after they leave him. Still suspecting something out of the ordinary course of

events, I waited hopefully for our next meeting at suppertime. Nothing came of it. My father left me by

myself again, when the meal was over. He is always courteous to his daughters; and he made an apology :

I went to bed in a vile humor, and slept badly; wondering, in the long wakeful hours, what new rebuff I

At breakfast this morning I was agreeably surprised. No signs of anxiety showed themselves in my father's

face. Instead of retiring to his study when we rose from the table, he proposed taking a turn in the garden:

"You are looking pale, Helena, and you will be the better for a little fresh air. Besides, I have something to

Excitement, I am sure, is good for young women. I saw in his face, I heard in his last words, that the mystery

of the lady was at last to be revealed. The sensation of languor and fatigue which follows a disturbed night

"When that lady called on me yesterday," he began, "you wanted to know who she was, and you were

surprised and disappointed when I refused to gratify your curiosity. My silence was not a selfish silence,

Helena. I was thinking of you and your sister; and I was at a loss how to act for the best. You shall hear why

my children were in my mind, presently. I must tell you first that I have arrived at a decision; I hope and

believe on reasonable grounds. Ask me any questions you please; my silence will be no longer an obstacle in

This was so very encouraging that I said at once: "I should like to know who the lady is."

Here was a disclosure that I had not anticipated. In the little that I have seen of the world, I have observed

that cousinswhen they happen to be brought together under interesting circumstancescan remember

their relationship, and forget their relationship, just as it suits them. "Is your cousin a married lady?" I

Short as it was, that reply might perhaps mean more than appeared on the surface. The cook had heard the

lady crying. What sort of tender agitation was answerable for those tears? Was it possible, barely possible,

that Eunice and I might go to bed, one night, a widower's daughters, and wake up the next day to discover a

"Never. She has been living abroad; and I have not seen her myself since we were both young people."

My excellent innocent father! Not the faintest idea of what I had been thinking of was in his mind. Little did

he suspect how welcome was the relief that he had afforded to his daughter's wicked doubts of him. But he

had not said a word yet about his cousin's personal appearance. There might be remains of good looks which

"After the long interval that has passed since you met," I said, "I suppose she has become an old woman?"

He smiled. "I am afraid, Helena, that would never have been a very accurate description of her."

I now knew all that I wanted to know about this alarming person, excepting one last morsel of information

"We have been talking about the lady for some time," I said; "and you have not yet told me her name."

Father looked a little embarrassed "It's not a very pretty name," he answered. "My cousin, my unfortunate

I burst out with such a loud "Oh!" that he laughed. I caught the infection, and laughed louder still. Bless Miss

Jillgall! The interview promised to become an easy one for both of us, thanks to her name. I was in good

spirits, and I made no attempt to restrain them. "The next time Miss Jillgall honors you with a visit," I said,

He made a strange reply: "You may find your opportunity, Helena, sooner than you anticipate."

Did this mean that she was going to call again in a day or two? I am afraid I spoke flippantly. I said: "Oh,

The garden chairs were near us. He signed to me gravely to be seated by his side, and said to himself: "This is

"I have left you in ignorance, my dear, of my cousin's sad story. It is soon told; and, if it checks your

merriment, it will make amends by deserving your sympathy. I was indebted to her father, when I was a boy,

for acts of kindness which I can never forget. He was twice married. The death of his first wife left him with

one childonce my playfellow; now the lady whose visit has excited your curiosity. His second wife was a

Belgian. She persuaded him to sell his business in London, and to invest the money in a partnership with a

brother of hers, established as a sugarrefiner at Antwerp. The little daughter accompanied her father to

I was waiting for the interesting part of the story, and was wondering when he would get to it.

"As time went on," he resumed, "the new partner found that the value of the business at Antwerp had been

greatly overrated. After a long struggle with adverse circumstances, he decided on withdrawing from the

partnership before the whole of his capital was lost in a failing commercial speculation. The end of it was that

he retired, with his daughter, to a small town in East Flanders; the wreck of his property having left him with

I showed my father that I was attending to him now, by inquiring what had become of the Belgian wife.

Those nervous quiverings, which Eunice has mentioned in her diary, began to appear in his face.

"It is too shameful a story," he said, "to be told to a young girl. The marriage was dissolved by law; and the

wife was the person to blame. I am sure, Helena, you don't wish to hear any more of this part of the story."

"The father and daughter," he went on, "never so much as thought of returning to their own country. They

were too poor to live comfortably in England. In Belgium their income was sufficient for their wants. On the

father's death, the daughter remained in the town. She had friends there, and friends nowhere else; and she

might have lived abroad to the end of her days, but for a calamity to which we are all liable. A long and

serious illness completely prostrated her. Skilled medical attendance, costing large sums of money for the

doctors' traveling expenses, was imperatively required. Experienced nurses, summoned from a distant

hospital, were in attendance night and day. Luxuries, far beyond the reach of her little income, were

absolutely required to support her wasted strength at the time of her tedious recovery. In one word, her

resources were sadly diminished, when the poor creature had paid her debts, and had regained her hold on

It was getting interesting at last. "Ruined her?" I repeated. "Do you mean that he robbed her?"

"That, Helena, is exactly what I meanand many and many a helpless woman has been robbed in the same

way. The man of whom I am now speaking was a lawyer in large practice. He bore an excellent character,

and was highly respected for his exemplary life. My cousin (not at all a discreet person, I am bound to admit)

was induced to consult him on her pecuniary affairs. He expressed the most generous sympathyoffered to

employ her little capital in his businessand pledged himself to pay her double the interest for her money,

which she had been in the habit of receiving from the sound investment chosen by her father."

"And of course he got the money, and never paid the interest?" Eager to hear the end, I interrupted the story

"He died a bankrupt; the secret profligacy of his life was at last exposed. Nothing, actually nothing, was left

for his creditors. The unfortunate creature, whose ugly name has amused you, must get help somewhere, or

If I had been in a state of mind to attend to trifles, this would have explained the reason why the cook had

heard Miss Jillgall crying. But the prospect before methe unendurable prospect of having a strange woman

in the househad showed itself too plainly to be mistaken. I could think of nothing else. With infinite

difficulty I assumed a momentary appearance of composure, and suggested that Miss Jillgall's foreign friends

My father defended her foreign friends. "My dear, they were poor people, and did all they could afford to do.

But for their kindness, my cousin might not have been able to return to England."

"And to cast herself on your mercy," I added, "in the character of a helpless woman."

"No, Helena! Not to cast herself on my mercybut to find my house open to her, as her father's house was

open to me in the bygone time. I am her only surviving relative; and, while I live, she shall not be a helpless

I began to wish that I had not spoken out so plainly. My father's sweet temperI do so sincerely wish I had

"I understand the momentary bitterness of feeling that has escaped you," he said; "I may almost say that I

expected it. My only hesitation in this matter has been caused by my sense of what I owe to my children. It

was putting your endurance, and your sister's endurance, to a trial to expect you to receive a stranger (and that

stranger not a young girl like yourselves) as one of the household, living with you in the closest intimacy of

family life. The consideration which has decided me does justice, I hope, to you and Eunice, as well as to

myself. I think that some allowance is due from my daughters to the father who has always made loving

allowance for them. Am I wrong in believing that my good children have not forgotten this, and have only

It was beautifully put. There was but one thing to be doneI kissed him. And there was but one thing to be

"She is staying, Helena, at a small hotel in the town. I have already sent to say that we are waiting to see her.

I ran into the house; I rushed upstairs into the room that is Eunice's and mine; I locked the door, and then I

gave way to my rage, before it stifled me. I stamped on the floor, I clinched my fists, I cast myself on the bed,

I reviled that hateful woman by every hard word that I could throw at her. Oh, the luxury of it! the luxury of

As for the spare room, it looked a great deal too comfortable for an incubus from foreign parts. The one

improvement that I could have made, if a friend of mine had been expected, was suggested by the

windowcurtains. I was looking at a torn place in one of them, and determined to leave it unrepaired, when I

felt an arm slipped round my waist from behind. A voice, so close that it tickled my neck, said: "Dear girl,

IF I am not a good girl, where is a good girl to be found? This is in Eunice's style. It sometimes amuses me to

I have just torn three pages out of my diary, in deference to the expression of my father's wishes. He took the

first opportunity which his cousin permitted him to enjoy of speaking to me privately; and his object was to

caution me against hastily relying on first impressions of anybodyespecially of Miss Jillgall. "Wait for a

day or two," he said; "and then form your estimate of the new member of our household."

The stormy state of my temper had passed away, and had left my atmosphere calm again. I could feel that I

I had formed my estimate of Miss Jillgall, and had put it in writing for my own satisfaction, at least an hour

before my father found himself at liberty to speak to me. I don't agree with him in distrusting first

impressions; and I had proposed to put my opinion to the test, by referring to what I had written about his

cousin at a later time. However, after what he had said to me, I felt bound in filial duty to take the pages out

of my book, and to let two days pass before I presumed to enjoy the luxury of hating Miss Jillgall.

On one thing I am determined: Eunice shall not form a hasty opinion, either. She shall undergo the same

severe discipline of selfrestraint to which her sister is obliged to submit. Let us be just, as somebody says,

I open my diary againafter the prescribed interval has elapsed. The first impression produced on me by the

Have I already made the remark that, when one removes a page from a book, it does not necessarily follow

that one destroys the page afterward? or did I leave this to be inferred? In either case, my course of

proceeding was the same. I ordered some paste to be made. Then I unlocked a drawer, and found my poor

illused leaves, and put them back in my Journal. An act of justice is surely not the less praiseworthy because

My father has often told me that he revises his writings on religious subjects. I may harmlessly imitate that

good example, by revising my restored entry. It is now a sufficiently remarkable performance to be

My first impression was a strong oneit was produced by the state of this lady's breath. In other words, I

was obliged to let her kiss me. It is a duty to be considerate toward human infirmity. I will only say that I

Figure, little and leanhair of a dirty drab color which we see in stringsmall light gray eyes, sly and

restless, and deeply sunk in the headprominent cheekbones, and a florid complexionan inquisitive nose,

turning up at the enda large mouth and a servile smilerawlooking hands, decorated with black

mittensa misfitting white jacket and a limp skirtmanners familiartemper cleverly hiddenvoice too

irritating to be mentioned. Whose portrait is this? It is the portrait of Miss Jillgall, taken in words.

Her true character is not easy to discover; I suspect that it will only show itself little by little. That she is a

born meddler in other people's affairs, I think I can see already. I also found out that she trusted to flattery as

the easiest means of making herself agreeable. She tried her first experiment on myself.

"You charming girl," she began, "your bright face encourages me to ask a favor. Pray make me useful! The

one aspiration of my life is to be useful. Unless you employ me in that way, I have no right to intrude myself

into your family circle. Yes, yes, I know that your father has opened his house and his heart to me. But I dare

not found any claimyour name is Helena, isn't it? Dear Helena, I dare not found any claim on what I owe

"An angel," Miss Jillgall answered, solemnly. "A destitute earthly creature like me must not look up as high

This was rather more than I could endure patiently. "Let us try," I suggested, "if we can't understand each

Miss Jillgall's little eyes twinkled in their bony caverns. "The very thing I was going to propose!" she burst

"Very well," I went on; "then, let me tell you plainly that flattery is not relished in this house."

"Flattery?" She put her hand to her head as she repeated the word, and looked quite bewildered. "Dear

Helena, I have lived all my life in East Flande rs, and my own language is occasionally strange to me. Can

"How very provoking! You don't understand Flemish, and I don't understand Flattery. I should so like to

know what it means. Ah, I see books in this lovely room. Is there a dictionary among them?" She darted to

the bookcase, and discovered a dictionary. "Now I shall understand Flattery," she remarked"and then we

shall understand each other. Oh, let me find it for myself!" She ran her raw red finger along the alphabetical

headings at the top of each page. " 'FAD.' That won't do. 'FIE.' Further on still. 'FLE.' Too far the other way.

'FLA.' Here we are! 'Flattery: False praise. Commendation bestowed for the purpose of gaining favor and

influence.' Oh, Helena, how cruel of you!" She dropped the book, and sank into a chairthe picture, if such

I should most assuredly have taken the opportunity of leaving her to her own devices, if I had been free to act

as I pleased. But my interests as a daughter forbade me to make an enemy of my father's cousin, on the first

She jumped uplet me do her justice; Miss Jillgall is as nimble as a monkeyand (Faugh!) she kissed me

for the second time. If I had been a man, I am afraid I should have called for that deadly poison (we are all

"If you will make me love you," Miss Jillgall explained, "you must expect to be kissed. Dear girl, let us go

back to my poor little petition. Oh, do make me useful! There are so many things I can do: you will find me a

treasure in the house. I write a good hand; I understand polishing furniture; I can dress hair (look at my own

hair); I play and sing a little when people want to be amused; I can mix a salad and knit stockingswho is

this?" The cook came in, at the moment, to consult me; I introduced her. "And, oh," cried Miss Jillgall, in

The cook's face turned red. She had come to me to make a confession; and she had not (as she afterward said)

bargained for the presence of a stranger. For the first time in her life she took the liberty of whispering to me:

"I must ask you, miss, to let me send up the cauliflower plain boiled; I don't understand the directions in the

Miss Jillgall's earsperhaps because they are so largepossess a quickness of hearing quite unparalleled in

"Here," she declared, "is an opportunity of making myself useful! What is the cook's name? Hannah? Take

me downstairs, Hannah, and I'll show you how to do the cauliflower in the foreign way. She seems to

hesitate. Is it possible that she doesn't believe me? Listen, Hannah, and judge for yourself if I am deceiving

you. Have you boiled the cauliflower? Very well; this is what you must do next. Take four ounces of grated

cheese, two ounces of best butter, the yolks of four eggs, a little bit of glaze, lemonjuice, nutmegdear,

The cook passed over the lady who had presumed to instruct her, as if no such person had been present, and

addressed herself to me: "If I am to be interfered with in my own kitchen, miss, I will ask you to suit yourself

"I meant so kindly," she said; "and I seem to have made mischief. With the best intentions, Helena, I have set

you and your servant at variance. I really didn't know you had such a temper, Hannah," she declared,

following the cook to the door. "I'm sure there's nothing I am not ready to do to make it up with you. Perhaps

you have not got the cheese downstairs? I'm ready to go out and buy it for you. I could show you how to keep

eggs sweet and fresh for weeks together. Your gown doesn't fit very well; I shall be glad to improve it, if you

will leave it out for me after you have gone to bed. There!" cried Miss Jillgall, as the cook majestically left

the room, without even looking at her, "I have done my best to make it up, and you see how my advances are

received. What more could I have done? I really ask you, dear, as a friend, what more could I have done?"

I had it on the tip of my tongue to say: "The cook doesn't ask you to buy cheese for her, or to teach her how to

keep eggs, or to improve the fit of her gown; all she wants is to have her kitchen to herself." But here again it

"Pray don't distress yourself," I began; "I am sure you are not to blame, Miss Jillgall"

I had really not supposed it possible that she could be more unendurable than ever. When she mentioned her

Christian name, she succeeded nevertheless in producing that result. In the whole list of women's names, is

there any one to be found so absolutely sickening as "Selina"? I forced myself to pronounce it; I made

another neatlyexpressed apology; I said English servants were so very peculiar. Selina was more than

"Is that it, indeed? An explanation was all I wanted. How good of you! And now tell meis there no chance,

in the house or out of the house, of my making myself useful? Oh, what's that? Do I see a chance? I do! I do!"

Miss Jillgall's eyes are more than mortal. At one time, they are microscopes. At another time, they are

telescopes. She discovered (right across the room) the torn place in the windowcurtain. In an instant, she

snatched a dirty little leather case out of her pocket, threaded her needle and began darning the curtain. She

sang over her work. "My heart is light, my will is free" I can repeat no more of it. When I heard her

singing voice, I became reckless of consequences, and ran out of the room with my hands over my ears.

I found him at his writingtable, with such a heap of tornup paper in his wastebasket that it overflowed on

to the floor. He explained to me that he had been destroying a large accumulation of old letters, and had

ended (when his employment began to grow wearisome) in examining his correspondence rather carelessly.

The result was that he had torn up a letter, and a copy of the reply, which ought to have been set aside as

worthy of preservation. After collecting the fragments, he had heaped them on the table. If I could contrive to

put them together again on fair sheets of paper, and fasten them in their right places with gum, I should be

doing him a service, at a time when he was too busy to set his mistake right for himself.

Here was the best excuse that I could desire for keeping out of Miss Jillgall's way. I cheerfully set to work on

Having put the fragments togetherexcepting a few gaps caused by morsels that had been lostI was

unwilling to fasten them down with gum, until I could feel sure of not having made any mistakes; especially

in regard to some of the lost words which I had been obliged to restore by guesswork. So I copied the

He praised me in the prettiest manner for the care that I had taken. But, when he began, after some hesitation,

to read my copy, I noticed a change. The smile left his face, and the nervous quiverings showed themselves

On returning to my side of the table, I expected to see him resume his writing. He crossed the room to the

When I had first discovered the sense of the letters, they failed to interest me. A tiresome woman, presuming

on the kindness of a goodnatured man to beg a favor which she had no right to ask, and r eceiving a refusal

which she had richly deserved, was no remarkable event in my experience as my father's secretary and

copyist. But the change in his face, while he read the correspondence, altered my opinion of the letters. There

was more in them evidently than I had discovered. I kept my manuscript copyhere it is:

"DEAR SIRYou have, I hope, not quite forgotten the interesting conversation that we had last year in the

Governor's rooms. I am afraid I spoke a little flippantly at the time; but I am sure you will believe me when I

say that this was out of no want of respect to yourself. My pecuniary position being far from prosperous, I am

endeavoring to obtain the vacant situation of housekeeper in a public institution the prospectus of which I

inclose. You will see it is a rule of the place that a candidate must be a single woman (which I am), and must

be recommended by a clergyman. You are the only reverend gentleman whom it is my good fortune to know,

and the thing is of course a mere formality. Pray excuse this application, and oblige me by acting as my

"P. S.Please address: Miss E. Chance, Poste Restante, St. Martin'sleGrand, London."

"MADAMThe brief conversation to which your letter alludes, took place at an accidental meeting between

us. I then saw you for the first time, and I have not seen you since. It is impossible for me to assert the claim

of a perfect stranger, like yourself, to fill a situation of trust. I must beg to decline acting as your reference.

In that idle position he could hardly complain of me for interrupting him, if I ventured to talk about the letters

which I had put together. If my curiosity displeased him, he had only to say so, and there would be an end to

any allusions of mine to the subject. My first idea was to join him at the window. On reflection, and still

perceiving that he kept his back turned on me, I thought it might be more prudent to remain at the table.

Here were three answers which Eunice herself would have been quick enough to interpret as three warnings

to say no more. I felt a little hurt by his keeping his back turned on me. At the same time, and naturally, I

think, I found my interest in Miss Chance (I don't say my friendly interest) considerably increased by my

father's unusually rude behavior. I was also animated by an irresistible desire to make him turn round and

"Miss Chance's letter was written many years ago," I resumed. "I wonder what has become of her since she

"Why don't you speak out?" he said. "Have I ever taught you to conceal your thoughts? Have I ever been a

hard father, who discouraged you when you wished to confide in him? What are you thinking about? Do

"Oh, father, what a question! I never even heard of her till I put the torn letters together. I begin to wish you

"So do I. It never struck me that you would feel such extraordinaryI had almost said, such

This roused my temper. When a young lady is told that she is vulgar, if she has any selfconceitI mean

selfrespectshe feels insulted. I said something sharp in my turn. It was in the way of argument. I do not

know how it may be with other young persons, I never reason so well myself as when I am angry.

"You call it a worthless letter," I said, "and yet you think it worth preserving."

He changed again. After having looked unaccountably angry, he now looked unaccountably relieved.

"I will soon satisfy you," he said, "that I have a good reason for preserving a worthless letter. Miss Chance,

my dear, is not a woman to be trusted. If she saw her advantage in making a bad use of my reply, I am afraid

she would not hesitate to do it. Even if she is no longer living, I don't know into what vile hands my letter

may not have fallen, or how it might be falsified for some wicked purpose. Do you see now how a

correspondence may become accidentally important, though it is of no value in itself?"

But there were some perplexities still left in my mind. It seemed strange that Miss Chance should

(apparently) have submitted to the severity of my father's reply. "I should have thought," I said to him, "that

she would have sent you another impudent letteror perhaps have insisted on seeing you, and using her

"She could do neither the one nor the other, Helena. Miss Chance will never find out my address again; I

He spoke in a loud voice, with a flushed faceas if it was quite a triumph to have prevented this woman

from discovering his address. What reason could he have for being so anxious to keep her away from him?

Could I venture to conclude that there was a mystery in the life of a man so blameless, so truly pious? It

There was a silence between us, to which the housemaid offered a welcome interruption. Dinner was ready.

He kissed me before we left the room. "One word more, Helena," he said, "and I have done. Let there be no

MISS JILLGALL joined us at the dinnertable, in a state of excitement, carrying a book in her hand.

I am inclined, on reflection, to suspect that she is quite clever enough to have discovered that I hate herand

that many of the aggravating things she says and does are assumed, out of retaliation, for the purpose of

To return to the dinnertable, Miss Jillgall addressed herself, with an air of playful penitence, to my father.

"Dear cousin, I hope I have not done wrong. Helena left me all by myself. When I had finished darning the

curtain, I really didn't know what to do. So I opened all the bedroom doors upstairs and looked into the

rooms. In the big room with two bedsoh, I am so ashamedI found this book. Please look at the first

My father looked at the titlepage: "Doctor Watts's Hymns. Well, Selina, what is there to be ashamed of in

"Oh, no! no! It's the wrong page. Do look at the other pagethe one that comes first before that one."

"Ah," he said quietly, "my other daughter's name is written in itthe daughter whom you have not seen.

Miss Jillgall clasped her hands distractedly. "It's my ignorance I'm so ashamed of. Dear cousin, forgive me,

enlighten me. I don't know how to pronounce your other daughter's name. Do you call her Euneece?"

She had evidently not forgiven me for leaving her by herself. "Pardon me, Helena, when I want information I

don't apply to you: I sit, as it were, at the feet of your learned father. Dear cousin, is it"

Even my father declined to wait for his dinner any longer. "Pronounce it as you like, Selina. Here we say

Euni'cewith the accent on the 'i' and with the final 'e' sounded: Euni'see. Let me give you some soup."

Miss Jillgall groaned. "Oh, how difficult it seems to be! Quite beyond my poor brains! I shall ask the dear

girl's leave to call her Euneece. What very strong soup! Isn't it rather a waste of meat? Give me a little more,

I discovered another of Miss Jillgall's peculiarities. Her appetite was enormous , and her ways were greedy.

You heard her eat her soup. She devoured the food on her plate with her eyes before she put it into her mouth;

and she criticised our English cookery in the most impudent manner, under pretense of asking humbly how it

was done. There was, however, some temporary compensation for this. We had less of her talk while she was

With the removal of the cloth, she recovered the use of her tongue; and she hit on the one subject of all others

"And now, dear cousin, let us talk of your other daughter, our absent Euneece. I do so long to see her. When

"Oh, my head! my head! This is even worse than the accent on the 'i' and the final 'e.' Stop! I am cleverer than

I thought I was. You mean that the girls are twins. Are they both so exactly like each other that I shan't know

When the subject of our ages was unluckily started at Mrs. Staveley's, I had slipped out of the difficulty

easily by assuming the character of the eldest sisteran example of ready tact which my dear stupid Eunice

doesn't understand. In my father's presence, it is needless to say that I kept silence, and left it to him. I was

sorry to be obliged to do this. Owing to his sad state of health, he is easily irritatedespecially by inquisitive

"I must leave you," he answered, without taking the slightest notice of what Miss Jillgall had said to him.

Miss Jillgall's demonstrative hands flew up into the air again, and expressed the climax of astonishment by

quivering over her head. "This is positively maddening," she declared. "What does it mean?"

He left the room. Miss Jillgall appealed to me. I imitated my father's wise brevity of expression: "Sorry to

Every step of the way up to the drawingroom was marked by a protest or an inquiry. Did I expect her to

believe that I couldn't say which of us was the elder of the two? that I didn't really know what my father's

motive was for this extraordinary mystification? that my sister and I had submitted to be robbed, as it were, of

our own ages, and had not insisted on discovering which of us had come into the world first? that our friends

had not put an end to this sort of thing by comparing us personally, and discovering which was the elder

sister by investigation of our faces? To all this I replied: First, that I did certainly expect her to believe

whatever I might say: Secondly, that what she was pleased to call the "mystification" had begun when we

were both children; that habit had made it familiar to us in the course of years; and above all, that we were

too fond of our good father to ask for explanations which we knew by experience would distress him:

Thirdly, that friends did try to discover, by personal examination, which was the elder sister, and differed

perpetually in their conclusions; also that we had amused ourselves by trying the same experiment before our

lookingglasses, and that Eunice thought Helena was the oldest, and Helena thought Eunice was the oldest:

Fourthly (and finally), that the Reverend Mr. Gracedieu's cousin had better drop the subject, unless she was

bent on making her presence in the house unendurable to the Reverend Mr. Gracedieu himself.

I write it with a sense of humiliation; Miss Jillgall listened attentively to all I had to sayand then took me

completely by surprise. This inquisitive, meddlesome, restless, impudent woman suddenly transformed

herself into a perfect model of amiability and decorum. She actually said she agreed with me, and was much

A stupid young woman, in my place, would have discovered that this was not natural, and that Miss Jillgall

was presenting herself to me in disguise, to reach some secret end of her own. I am not a stupid young

woman; I ought to have had at my service penetration enough to see through and through Cousin Selina.

The one thing to be done was to watch her. I was at least sly enough to take up a book, and pretend to be

She looked round the room, and discovered our pretty writingtable; a present to my father from his

I mentioned the hour; and she began her letter. Before she could have written more than the first two or three

"Only a few friends, Helena, but those few worthy to be loved? My own case exactly. Has your father told

you of my troubles? Ah, I am glad of that. It spares me the sad necessity of confessing what I have suffered.

Oh, how good my friends, my new friends, were to me in that dull little Belgian town! One of them was

generosity personifiedah, she had suffered, too! A vile husband who had deceived and deserted her. Oh,

the men! When she heard of the loss of my little fortune, that noble creature got up a subscription for me, and

went round herself to collect. Think of what I owe to her! Ought I to let another day pass without writing to

my benefactress? Am I not bound in gratitude to make her happy in the knowledge of my happinessI mean

She twisted herself back again to the writingtable, and went on with her letter.

I have not attempted to conceal my stupidity. Let me now record a partial recovery of my intelligence.

It was not to be denied that Miss Jillgall had discovered a good reason for writing to her friend; but I was at a

loss to understand why she should have been so anxious to mention the reason. Was it possibleafter the

talk which had passed between usthat she had something mischievous to say in her letter, relating to my

father or to me? Was she afraid I might suspect this? And had she been so communicative for the purpose of

leading my suspicions astray? These were vague guesses; but, try as I might, I could arrive at no clearer view

of what was passing in Miss Jillgall's mind. What would I not have given to be able to look over her shoulder,

She finished her letter, and put the address, and closed the envelope. Then she turned round toward me again.

If I could look at nothing else, I was resolved to look at her envelope. It was only necessary to go to the

study, and to apply to my father. I returned with the foreign stamp, and I stuck it on the envelope with my

There was nothing to interest me in the address, as I ought to have foreseen, if I had not been too much

excited for the exercise of a little common sense. Miss Jillgall's wonderful friend was only remarkable by her

HERE I am, writing my history of myself, once more, by my own bedside. Some unexpected events have

Helena has left home on a visit to a northern town by the seaside. She is staying in the house of a minister

(one of papa's friends), and is occupying a position of dignity in which I should certainly lose my head. The

minister and his wife and daughters propose to set up a Girls' Scripture Class, on the plan devised by papa;

and they are at a loss, poor helpless people, to know how to begin. Helena has volunteered to set the thing

going. And there she is now, advising everybody, governing everybody, encouraging everybodyissuing

directions, f inding fault, rewarding meritoh, dear, let me put it all in one word, and say: thoroughly

Another event has happened, relating to papa. It so distressed me that I even forgot to think of Philipfor a

Traveling by railway (I suppose because I am not used to it) gives me the headache. When I got to our station

here, I thought it would do me more good to walk home than to ride in the noisy omnibus. Halfway between

the railway and the town, I met one of the doctors. He is a member of our congregation; and he it was who

recommended papa, some time since, to give up his work as a minister and take a long holiday in foreign

"I am glad to have met with you," the doctor said. "Your sister, I find, is away on a visit; and I want to speak

It seemed that he had been observing papa, in chapel, from what he called his own medical point of view. He

did not conceal from me that he had drawn conclusions which made him feel uneasy. "It may be anxiety," he

said, "or it may be overwork. In either case, your father is in a state of nervous derangement, which is likely

to lead to serious resultsunless he takes the advice that I gave him when he last consulted me. There must

be no more hesitation about it. Be careful not to irritate himbut remember that he must rest. You and your

Poor dear papa! I did see a change in him for the worsethough I had only been away for so short a time.

When I put my arms round his neck, and kissed him, he turned pale, and then flushed up suddenly: the tears

came into his eyes. Oh, it was hard to follow the doctor's advice, and not to cry, too; but I succeeded in

controlling myself. I sat on his knee, and made him tell me all that I have written here about Helena. This led

to our talking next of the new lady, who is to live with us as a member of the family. I began to feel less

uneasy at the prospect of being introduced to this stranger, when I heard that she was papa's cousin. And

when he mentioned her name, and saw how it amused me, his poor worn face brightened into a smile. "Go

and find her," he said, "and introduce yourself. I want to hear, Eunice, if you and my cousin are likely to get

I searched here, there, and everywhere, and failed to find her. The place was so quiet, it looked so deliciously

pure and bright, after smoky dreary London, that I sat down at the further end of the garden and let my mind

take me back to Philip. What was he doing at that moment, while I was thinking of him? Perhaps he was in

the company of other young ladies, who drew all his thoughts away to themselves? Or perhaps he was writing

to his father in Ireland, and saying something kindly and prettily about me? Or perhaps he was looking

On the railway journey, I thought I would tell papa at once of the new happiness which seems to have put a

new life into me. It would have been delightful to make my confession to that first and best and dearest of

friends; but my meeting with the doctor spoiled it all. After what he had said to me, I discovered a risk. If I

ventured to tell papa that my heart was set on a young gentleman who was a stranger to him, could I be sure

that he would receive my confession favorably? There was a chance that it might irritate himand the fault

would then be mine of doing what I had been warned to avoid. It might be safer in every way to wait till

Philip paid his visit, and he and papa had been introduced to each other and charmed with each other. Could

Helena herself have arrived at a wiser conclusion? I declare I felt proud of my own discretion.

In this enjoyable frame of mind I was disturbed by a woman's voice. The tone was a tone of distress, and the

A shrubbery marks the limit of our little bit of pleasureground. On the other side of it there is a cottage

standing on the edge of the common. The most goodnatured woman in the world lives here. She is our

laundressmarried to a stupid young fellow named Molly, and blessed with a plump baby as

sweettempered at herself. Thinking it likely that the piteous voice which had disturbed me might be the

voice of Mrs. Molly, I was astonished to hear her appealing to anybody (perhaps to me?) to "let her in." So I

passed through the shrubbery, wondering whether the gate had been locked during my absence in London.

I saw our amiable laundress in the passage, on her knees, trying to open an inner door which seemed to be

locked. She had her eye at the keyhole; and, once again, she called out: "Please, miss, let me in." I waited to

see if the door would be openednothing happened. I waited again, to hear if some person inside would

answernobody spoke. But somebody, or something, made a sound of splashing water on the other side of

Mrs. Molly got on her feet, and whispered in my ear: "You know he's a fine child?"

The poor woman still pointed to the door: "I'm beginning to doubt, miss, whether it is my baby."

Her puzzled face made this singular reply more funny still. The splashing of water on the other side of the

"Washing the baby, miss. A week ago, she came in here, one morning; very pleasant and kind, I must own.

She found me putting on the baby's things. She says: 'What a cherub!' which I took as a compliment. She

says: 'I shall call again tomorrow.' She called again so early that she found the baby in his crib. 'You be a

good soul,' she says, 'and go about your work, and leave the child to me.' I says: 'Yes, miss, but please to wait

till I've made him fit to be seen.' She says: 'That's just what I mean to do myself.' I stared; and I think any

other person would have done the same in my place. 'If there's one thing more than another I enjoy,' she says,

'it's making myself useful. Mrs. Molly, I've taken a fancy to your boybaby,' she says, 'and I mean to make

myself useful to him.' If you will believe me, Miss Jillgall has only let me have one opportunity of putting my

own child tidy. She was late this morning, and I got my chance, and had the boy on my lap, drying

himwhen in she burst like a blast of wind, and snatched the baby away from me. 'This is your nasty

temper,' she says; 'I declare I'm ashamed of you!' And there she is, with the door locked against me, washing

the child all over again herself. Twice I've knocked, and asked her to let me in, and can't even get an answer.

They do say there's luck in odd numbers; suppose I try again?" Mrs. Molly knocked, and the proverb proved

to be true; she got an answer from Miss Jillgall at last: "If you don't be quiet and go away, you shan't have the

baby back at all." Who could help it?I burst out laughing. Miss Jillgall (as I supposed from the tone of her

voice) took severe notice of this act of impropriety. "Who's that laughing?" she called out; "give yourself a

name." I gave my name. The door was instantly thrown open with a bang. Papa's cousin appeared, in a

disheveled state, with splashes of soap and water all over her. She held the child in one arm, and she threw

the other arm round my neck. "Dearest Euneece, I have been longing to see you. How do you like Our baby?"

To the curious story of my introduction to Miss Jillgall, I ought perhaps to add that I have got to be friends

with her al ready. I am the friend of anybody who amuses me. What will Helena say when she reads this?

WHEN people are interested in some event that is coming, do they find the dull days, passed in waiting for it,

days which they are not able to remember when they look back? This is my unfortunate case. Night after

night, I have gone to bed without so much as opening my Journal. There was nothing worth writing about,

nothing that I could recollect, until the postman came today. I ran downstairs, when I heard his ring at the

bell, and stopped Maria on her way to the study. There, among papa's usual handful of letters, was a letter for

I quote the passages in Philip's letter which most deeply interested meI am his dear miss; and he is mine

ever truly. The other part of the letter told me that he had been detained in London, and he lamented it. At the

end was a delightful announcement that he was coming to me by the afternoon train. I ran upstairs to see how

My first feeling was regret. For the thousandth time, I was obliged to acknowledge that I was not as pretty as

Helena. But this passed off. A cheering reflection occurred to me. Philip would not have found, in my sister's

face, what seems to have interested him in my face. Besides, there is my figure.

The pity of it is that I am so ignorant about some things. If I had been allowed to read novels, I might

(judging by what papa said against them in one of his sermons) have felt sure of my own attractions; I might

even have understood what Philip really thought of me. However, my mind was quite unexpectedly set at

ease on the subject of my figure. The manner in which it happened was so amusingat least, so amusing to

My sister and I are forbidden to read newspapers, as well as novels. But the teachers at the Girls' Scripture

Class are too old to be treated in this way. When the morning lessons were over, one of them was reading the

newspaper to the other, in the empty schoolroom; I being in the passage outside, putting on my cloak.

It was a report of "an application made to the magistrates by the lady of his worship the Mayor." Hearing this,

I stopped to listen. The lady of his worship (what a funny way of describing a man's wife!) is reported to be a

little too fond of notoriety, and to like hearing the sound of her own voice on public occasions. But this is

only my writing; I had better get back to the report. "In her address to the magistrates, the Mayoress stated

that she had seen a disgusting photograph in the shop window of a stationer, lately established in the town.

She desired to bring this person within reach of the law, and to have all his copies of the shameless

photograph destroyed. The usher of the court was thereupon sent to purchase the photograph."On second

thoughts, I prefer going back to my own writing again; it is so uninteresting to copy other people's writing.

Two of the magistrates were doing justice. They looked at the photographand what did it represent? The

famous statue called the Venus de' Medici! One of the magistrates took this discovery indignantly. He was

shocked at the gross ignorance which could call the classic ideal of beauty and grace a disgusting work. The

other one made polite allowances. He thought the lady was much to be pitied; she was evidently the innocent

victim of a neglected education. Mrs. Mayor left the court in a rage, telling the justices she knew where to get

When the Scripture Class had broken up for the day, duty ought to have taken me home. Curiosity led me

There I found our two teachers, absorbed in the photograph; having got to the shop first by a short cut. They

seemed to think I had taken a liberty whom I joined them. "We are here," they were careful to explain, "to get

a lesson in the ideal of beauty and grace." There was quite a little crowd of townsfolk collected before the

window. Some of them giggled; and some of them wondered whether it was taken from the life. For my own

part, gratitude to Venus obliges me to own that she effected a great improvement in the state of my mind. She

encouraged me. If that stumpy little creaturewith no waist, and oh, such uncertain legs!represented the

ideal of beauty and grace, I had reason indeed to be satisfied with my own figure, and to think it quite

Quite at the far end of the road, I discovered him. He was on foot; he walked like a king. Not that I ever saw a

king, but I have my ideal. Ah, what a smile he gave me, when I made him look up by waving my

handkerchief out of the window! "Ask for papa," I whispered as he ascended the housesteps.

The next thing to do was to wait, as patiently as I could, to be sent for downstairs. Maria came to me in a state

of excitement. "Oh, miss, what a handsome young gentleman, and how beautifully dressed! Is he?" Instead

of finishing what she had to say, she looked at me with a sly smile. I looked at her with a sly smile. We were

My enjoyment of that delightful time was checked when I went into the drawingroom.

I had expected to see papa's face made beautiful by his winning smile. He was not only serious; he actually

seemed to be ill at ease when he looked at me. At the same time, I saw nothing to make me conclude that

Philip had produced an unfavorable impression. The truth is, we were all three on our best behavior, and we

showed it. Philip had brought with him a letter from Mrs. Staveley, introducing him to papa. We spoke of the

Staveleys, of the weather, of the Cathedraland then there seemed to be nothing more left to talk about.

In the silence that followedwhat a dreadful thing silence is!papa was sent for to see somebody who had

called on business. He made his excuses in the sweetest manner, but still seriously. When he and Philip had

shaken hands, would he leave us together? No; he waited. Poor Philip had no choice but to take leave of me.

I had hoped so much from that first meetingand where were my hopes now? A profane wish that I had

never been born was finding its way into my mind, when the door of the room was opened softly, from the

side of the passage. Maria, dear Maria, the best friend I have, peeped in. She whispered: "Go into the garden,

miss, and you will find somebody there who is dying to see you. Mind you let him out by the shrubbery

gate." I squeezed her hand; I asked if she had tried the shrubbery gate with a sweetheart of her own.

Was it wrong for me to go to Philip, in the garden? Oh, there is no end to objections! Perhaps I did it

because it was wrong. Perhaps I had been kept on my best behavior too long for human endurance.

How sadly disappointed he looked! And how rashly he had placed himself just where he could be seen from

the back windows! I took his arm and led him to the end of the garden. There we were out of the reach of

Those were his first words. In justice to papa (and a little for my own sake too) I told him he was quite

He made no reply. His silence was sufficiently expressive; he looked at me fondly.

I may be wrong, but fond looks surely require an acknowledgment of some kind? Is a young woman guilty of

boldness who only follows her impulses? I slipped my hand into his hand. Philip seemed to like it. We

"Sometimes by himself. Sometimes with me. Do you want to meet him when he goes out?"

Was it possible to tell me more plainly that I was not wanted? I did my best to express indignation by

Up to that moment I had been leaning against the back of a garden chair. Something else now got between me

and my chair. It stole round my waistit held me gentlyit strengthened its holdit improved my

"I want to ask your father to do me the greatest of all favorsand there is no time to lose. Every day, I

My heart sank at this horrid prospect; and in some mysterious way my head must have felt it too. I mean that

"How am I to get my opportunity of speaking to Mr. Gracedieu? I mustn't call on him again as soon as

tomorrow or next day. But I might meet him, out walking alone, if you will tell me how to do it. A note to

my hotel is all I want. Don't tremble, my sweet. If you are not present at the time, do you see any objection to

I felt his delicate consideration for meI did indeed feel it gratefully. If he only spoke first, how well I

should get on with papa afterward! The prospect before me was exquisitely encouraging. I agreed with Philip

in everything; and I waited (how eagerly was only known to myself) to hear what he would say to me next.

"When I have told your father that I love you, he will expect me to tell him something else. Can you guess

If I had not been confused, perhaps I might have found the answer to this. As it was, I left him to reply to

"Dearest Eunice, when your father has heard my confession, he will suspect that there is another confession

to follow ithe will want to know if you love me. My angel, will my hopes be your hopes too, when I

What there was in this to make my heart beat so violently that I felt as if I was being stifled, is more than I

can tell. He leaned so close to me, so tenderly, so delightfully close, that our faces nearly touched. He

His lips touched my lips, pressed them, dwelt on themoh, how can I tell of it! Some new enchantment of

feeling ran deliciously through and through me. I forgot my own self; I only knew of one person in the world.

He was master of my lips; he was master of my heart. When he whispered, "kiss me," I kissed. What a

moment it was! A faintness stole over me; I felt as if I was going to die some exquisite death; I laid myself

back away from himI was not able to speak. There was no need for it; my thoughts and his thoughts were

onehe knew that I was quite overcome; he saw that he must leave me to recover myself alone. I pointed to

the shrubbery gate. We took one long last look at each other for that day; the trees hid him; I was left by

How long a time passed before my composure came back to me, I cannot remember now. It seemed as if I

was waiting through some interval of my life that was a mystery to myself. I was content to wait, and feel the

light evening air in the garden wafting happiness over me. And all this had come from a kiss! I can call the

I had been indebted to Maria for my first taste of Paradise. I was recalled by Maria to the world that I had

been accustomed to live in; the world that was beginning to fade away in my memory already. She had been

sent to the garden in search of me; and she had a word of advice to offer, after noticing my face when I

stepped out of the shadow of the tree: "Try to look more like yourself, miss, before you let them see you at

Papa and Miss Jillgall were sitting together talking, when I opened the door. They left off when they saw me;

and I supposed, quite correctly as it turned out, that I had been one of the subjects in their course of

conversation. My poor father seemed to be sadly anxious and out of sorts. Miss Jillgall, if I had been in the

humor to enjoy it, would have been more amusing than ever. One of her funny little eyes persisted in winking

at me; and her heavy foot had something to say to my foot, under the table, which meant a great deal perhaps,

"I know, dearest Euneece, that we have only been acquainted for a day or two and that I ought not perhaps to

have expected you to confide in me so soon. Can I trust you not to betray me if I set an example of

confidence? Ah, I see I can trust you! And, my dear, I do so enjoy telling secrets to a friend. Hush! Your

father, your excellent father, has been talking to me about young Mr. Dunboyne."

She provokingly stopped there. I entreated her to go on. She invited me to sit on her knee. "I want to

whisper," she said. It was too ridiculousbut I did it. Miss Jillgall's whisper told me serious news.

"The minister has some reason, Euneece, for disapproving of Mr. Dunboyne; but, mind this, I don't think he

has a bad opinion of the young man himself. He is going to return Mr. Dunboyne's call. Oh, I do so hate

formality; I really can't go on talking of Mr. Dunboyne. Tell me his Christian name. Ah, what a noble name!

How I long to be useful to him! Tomorrow, my dear, after the one o'clock dinner, your papa will call on

I resolved to prevent that unlucky accident by writing to Philip. If Miss Jillgall would have allowed it, I

should have begun my letter at once. But she had more to say; and she was stronger than I was, and still kept

"It all looks bright enough so far, doesn't it, dear sister? Will you let me be your second sister? I do so love

you, Euneece. Thank you! thank you! But the gloomy side of the picture is to come next! The ministerno!

now I am your sister I must call him papa; it makes me feel so young again! Well, then, papa has asked me to

be your companion whenever you go out. 'Euneece is too young and too attractive to be walking about this

great town (in Helena's absence) by herself.' That was how he put it. Slyly enough, if one may say so of so

good a man. And he used your sister (didn't he?) as a kind of excuse. I wish your sister was as nice as you

are. However, the point is, why am I to be your companion? Because, dear child, you and your young

gentleman are not to make appointments and to meet each other alone. Oh, yesthat's it! Your father is quite

willing to return Philip's call; he proposes (as a matter of civility to Mrs. Staveley) to ask Philip to dinner;

I jumped off her lap; it was horrible to hear her. "Oh," I said, "can you be right about it?" Miss Jillgall jumped

up too. She has foreign ways of shrugging her shoulders and making signs with her hands. On this occasion

she laid both hands on the upper part of her dress, just below her throat, and mysteriously shook her head.

"When my views are directed by my affections," she assured me, "I never see wrong. My bosom is my strong

She has no bosom, poor soulbut I understood what she meant. It failed to have any soothing effect on my

feelings. I felt grieved and angry and puzzled, all in one. Miss Jillgall stood looking at me, with her hands

still on the place where her bosom was supposed to be. She made my temper hotter than ever.

"If my father does really object to my marriage," I went on, "it must be because he dislikes Philip. There can

The post of this morning brought a letter from my sister. We were to expect her return by the next day's train.

This was good news. Philip and I might stand in need of clever Helena's help, and we might be sure of getting

In writing to Philip, I had asked him to let me hear how papa and he had got on at the hotel.

I won't say how often I consulted my watch, or how often I looked out of the window for a man with a letter

in his hand. It will be better to get on at once to the discouraging end of it, when the report of the interview

reached me at last. Twice Philip had attempted to ask for my hand in marriageand twice my father had

"deliberately, obstinately" (Philip's own words) changed the subject. Even this was not all. As if he was

determined to show that Miss Jillgall was perfectly right, and I perfectly wrong, papa (civil to Philip as long

as he did not talk of Me) had asked him to dine with us, and Philip had accepted the invitation!

I wrote back to my dear love (so cruelly used) to tell him that Helena was expected to return on the next day,

and that her opinion would be of the greatest value to both of us. In a postscript I mentioned the hour at which

we were going to the station to meet my sister. When I say "we," I mean Miss Jillgall as well as myself.

We found him waiting for us at the railway. I am afraid he resented papa's incomprehensible resolution not to

give him a hearing. He was silent and sullen. I could not conceal that to see this state of feeling distressed me.

He showed how truly he deserved to be lovedhe begged my pardon, and he became his own sweet self

When the train entered the station, all the carriages were full. I went one way, thinking I had seen Helena.

Miss Jillgall went the other way, under the same impression. Philip was a little way behind me.

Not seeing my sister, I had just turned back, when a young man jumped out of a carriage, opposite Philip, and

recognized and shook hands with him. I was just near enough to hear the stranger say, "Look at the girl in our

carriage." Philip looked. "What a charming creature!" he said, and then checked himself for fear the young

lady should hear him. She had just handed her traveling bag and wraps to a porter, and was getting out. Philip

politely offered his hand to help her. She looked my way. The charming creature of my sweetheart's

THE day of my return marks an occasion which I am not likely to forget. Hours have passed since I came

As I sit at my desk I see Eunice in bed, sleeping peacefully, except when she is murmuring enjoyment in

some happy dream. To what end has my sister been advancing blindfold, and (who knows?) dragging me

with her, since that disastrous visit to our friends in London? Strange that there should be a leaven of

superstition in my nature! Strange that I should feel fear of somethingI hardly know what!

I have met somewhere (perhaps in my historical reading) with the expression: "A chain of events." Was I at

the beginning of that chain, when I entered the railway carriage on my journey home?

Among the other passengers there was a young gentleman, accompanied by a lady who proved to be his

sister. They were both wellbred people. The brother evidently admired me, and did his best to make himself

agreeable. Time passed quickly in pleasant talk, and my vanity was flatteredand that was all.

My fellowtravelers were going on to London. When the train reached our station the young lady sent her

brother to buy some fruit, which she saw in the window of the refreshmentroom. The first man whom he

encountered on the platform was one of his friends; to whom he said something which I failed to hear. When

I handed my traveling bag and my wraps to the porter, and showed myself at the carriage door, I heard the

friend say: "What a charming creature!" Having nothing to conceal in a journal which I protect by a lock, I

may own that the stranger's personal appearance struck me, and that what I felt this time was not flattered

vanity, but gratified pride. He was young, he was remarkably handsome, he was a distinguishedlooking

All this happened in one moment. In the moment that followed, I found myself in Eunice's arms. That odious

person, Miss Jillgall, insisted on embracing me next. And then I was conscious of an indescribable feeling of

surprise. Eunice presented the distinguishedlooking gentleman to me as a friend of hersMr. Philip

"I had the honor of meeting your sister," he said, "in London, at Mr. Staveley's house." He went on to speak

easily and gracefully of the journey I had taken, and of his friend who had been my fellowtraveler; and he

attended us to the railway omnibus before he took his leave. I observed that Eunice had something to say to

him confidentially, before they parted. This was another example of my sister's childish character; she is

instantly familiar with new acquaintances, if she happens to like them. I anticipated some amusement from

hearing how she had contrived to establish confidential relations with a highlycultivated man like Mr.

Dunboyne. But, while Miss Jillgall was with us, it was just as well to keep within the limits of commonplace

Before we got out of the omnibus I had, however, observed one undesirable result of my absence from home.

Eunice and Miss Jillgallthe latter having, no doubt, finely flattered the formerappeared to have taken a

Two curious circumstances also caught my attention. I saw a change to, what I call self assertion, in my

sister's manner; something seemed to have raised her in her own estimation. Then, again, Miss Jillgall was

not like her customary self. She had delightful moments of silence; and when Eunice asked how I liked Mr.

Dunboyne, she listened to my reply with an appearance of interest in her ugly face which was quite a new

These little discoveries (after what I had already observed at the railwaystation) ought perhaps to have

prepared me for what was to come, when my sister and I were alone in our room. But Eunice, whether she

meant to do it or not, baffled my customary penetration. She looked as if she had plenty of news to tell

mewith some obstacle in the way of doing it, which appeared to amuse instead of annoying her. If there is

one thing more than another that I hate, it is being puzzled. I asked at once if anything remarkable had

She smiled mischievously. "I have got a delicious surprise for you, my dear; and I do so enjoy prolonging it.

Tell me, Helena, what did you propose we should both do when we found ourselves at home again?"

My memory was at fault. Eunice's good spirits became absolutely boisterous. She called out: "Catch!" and

tossed her journal into my hands, across the whole length of the room. "We were to read each other's diaries,"

Innocent of any suspicion of the true state of affairs, I began the reading of Eunice's journal.

If I had not seen the familiar handwriting, nothing would have induced me to believe that a girl brought up in

a pious household, the wellbeloved daughter of a distinguished Congregational Minister, could have written

that shameless record of passions unknown to young ladies in respectable English life. What to say, what to

do, when I had closed the book, was more than I felt myself equal to decide. My wretched sister spared me

the anxiety which I might otherwise have felt. It was she who first opened her lips, after the silence that had

fal len on us while I was reading. These were literally the words that she said:

No argument could have persuaded me, as this persuaded me, that all sisterly remonstrance on my part would

There she interrupted meand, oh, in what an impudent manner! She took my chin between her finger and

thumb, and lifted my downcast face, and looked at me with an appearance of eager expectation which I was

"You have been away from home, too." she said. "Do I see in this serious face some astonishing news waiting

I only put her hand away from me, and advised her to return to her chair. This perfectly harmless proceeding

There was but one possible reply to this: I laughed at it. Is Eunice's head turned? She kissed me!

"Now you laugh," she said, "I begin to understand you again; I ought to have known that you are superior to

jealousy. But, do tell me, would it be so very wonderful if other girls found something to envy in my good

luck? Just think of it! Such a handsome man, such an agreeable man, such a clever man, such a rich

manand, not the least of his merits, bytheby, a man who admires You. Come! if you won't congratulate

Her head was turned. I drew the poor soul's attention compassionately to what I had said a moment since.

"Pardon me, dear, for reminding you that I have not yet refused to offer my congratulations. I only told you I

"Waiting, of course, to hear what my father thinks of your wonderful good luck."

This explanation, offered with the kindest intentions, produced another change in my very variable sister. I

had extinguished her good spirits as I might have extinguished a light. She sat down by me, and sighed in the

saddest manner. The heart must be hard indeed which can resist the distress of a person who is dear to us. I

put my arm round her; she was becoming once more the Eunice whom I so dearly loved.

"My poor child," I said. "don't distress yourself by speaking of it; I understand. Your father objects to your

She shook her head. "I can't exactly say, Helena, that papa does that. He only behaves very strangely."

"Am I indiscreet, dear, if I ask in what way father's behavior has surprised you?"

She was quite willing to enlighten me. It was a simple little story which, to my mind, sufficiently explained

There could indeed be no doubt that my father considered Eunice far too childish in character, as yet, to

undertake the duties of matrimony. But, with his customary delicacy, and dread of causing distress to others,

he had deferred the disagreeable duty of communicating his opinion to Mr. Dunboyne. The adverse decision

must, however, be sooner or later announced; and he had arranged to inflict disappointment, as tenderly as

Considerately leaving Eunice in the enjoyment of any vain hopes which she may have founded on the event

of the dinnerparty, I passed the evening until suppertime came in the study with my father.

Our talk was mainly devoted to the worthy people with whom I had been staying, and whose new schools I

had helped to found. Not a word was said relating to my sister, or to Mr. Dunboyne. Poor father looked so

sadly weary and ill that I ventured, after what the doctor had said to Eunice, to hint at the value of rest and

change of scene to an overworked man. Oh, dear me, he frowned, and waved the subject away from him

After supper, I made an unpleasant discovery. Not having completely finished the unpacking of my boxes, I

left Miss Jillgall and Eunice in the drawingroom, and went upstairs. In half an hour I returned, and found the

room empty. What had become of them? It was a fine moonlight night; I stepped into the back

drawingroom, and looked out of the window. There they were, walking arminarm with their heads close

together, deep in talk. With my knowledge of Miss Jillgall, I call this a bad sign.

An odd thought has just come to me. I wonder what might have happened, if I had been visiting at Mrs.

Absurd! if I was not too tired to do anything more, those last lines should be scratched out.

I SAID so to Miss Jillgall, and I say it again here. Nothing will induce me to think ill of Helena.

My sister is a good deal tired, and a little out of temper after the railway journey. This is exactly what

happened to me when I went to London. I attribute her refusal to let me read her journal, after she had read

mine, entirely to the disagreeable consequences of traveling by railway. Miss Jillgall accounted for it

otherwise, in her own funny manner: "My sweet child, your sister's diary is full of abuse of poor me." I

humored the joke: "Dearest Selina, keep a diary of your own, and fill it with abuse of my sister." This seemed

to be a droll saying at the time. But it doesn't look particularly amusing, now it is written down. We had

ginger wine at supper, to celebrate Helena's return. Although I only drank one glass, I daresay it may have got

However that may be, when the lovely moonlight tempted us into the garden, there was an end to our jokes.

"If I trust you, dearest Euneece, with my own precious secrets, shall I never, never, never live to repent it?"

I told my good little friend that she might depend on me, provided her secrets did no harm to any person

She clasped her hands and looked up at the moonI can only suppose that her sentiments overpowered her.

She said, very prettily, that her heart and my heart beat together in heavenly harmony. It is needless to add

Miss Jillgall's generous confidence in my discretion was, I am afraid, not rewarded as it ought to have been. I

She spoke of an excellent friend (a lady), who had helped her, at the time when she lost her little fortune, by

raising a subscription privately to pay the expenses of her return to England. Her friend's namenot very

attractive to English earswas Mrs. Tenbruggen; they had first become acquainted under interesting

circumstances. Miss Jillgall happened to mention that my father was her only living relative; and it turned out

that Mrs. Tenbruggen was familiar with his name, and reverenced his fame as a preacher. When he had

generously received his poor helpless cousin under his own roof, Miss Jillgall's gratitude and sense of duty

impelled her to write and tell Mrs. Tenbruggen how happy she was as a member of our family.

Let me confess that I began to listen more attentively when the narrative reached this point.

"I drew a little picture of our domestic circle here," Miss Jillgall said, describing her letter; "and I mentioned

the mystery in which Mr. Gracedieu conceals the ages of you two dear girls. Mrs. Tenbruggen shall we

shorten her ugly name and call her Mrs. T.? Very wellMrs. T. is a remarkably clever woman, and I looked

for interesting results, if she would give her opinion of the mysterious circumstance mentioned in my letter."

Miss Jillgall looked at me affectionately, and took the reply out of her pocket.

" 'Your letter, dear Selina, especially interests me by what it says about the two Miss Gracedieus. 'Look,

dear; she underlines the word Two. Why, I can't explain. Can you? Ah, I thought not. Well, let us get back to

" 'I can understand the surprise which you have felt at the strange course taken by their father, as a means of

concealing the difference which there must be in the ages of these young ladies. Many years since, I

happened to discover a romantic incident in the life of your popular preacher, which he has his reasons, as I

suspect, for keeping strictly to himself. If I may venture on a bold guess, I should say that any person who

could discover which was the oldest of the two daughters, would be also likely to discover the true nature of

the romance in Mr. Gracedieu's life.'Isn't that very remarkable, Euneece? You don't seem to see ityou

funny child! Pray pay particular attention to what comes next. These are the closing sentences in my friend's

" 'If you find anything new to tell me which relates to this interesting subject, direct your letter as

beforeprovided you write within a week from the present time. Afterward, my letters will be received by

the English physician whose card I inclose. You will be pleased to hear that my professional interests call me

to London at the earliest moment that I can spare.' There. dear child, the letter comes to an end. I daresay

No: I was not wondering about anything. It hurt me to hear of a strange woman exercising her ingenuity in

But Miss Jillgall was too eagerly bent on setting forth the merits of her friend to notice this. I now heard that

Mrs. T.'s marriage had turned out badly, and that she had been reduced to earn her own bread. Her manner of

doing this was something quite new to me. She went about, from one place to another, curing people of all

sorts of painful maladies, by a way she had of rubbing them with her hands. In Belgium she was called a

"Masseuse." When I asked what this meant in English, I was told, "Medical Rubber," and that the fame of

Mrs. T.'s wonderful cures had reached some of the medical newspapers published in London.

After listening (I must say for myself) very patiently, I was bold enough to own that my interest in what I had

Miss Jillgall looked shocked at my stupidity. She reminded me that there was a mystery in Mrs. Tenbruggen's

letter and a mystery in papa's strange conduct toward Philip. "Put two and two together, darling," she said;

If this meant anything, it meant that the reason which made papa keep Helena's age and my age unknown to

everybody but himself, was also the reason why he seemed to be so strangely unwilling to let me be Philip's

wife. I really could not endure to take such a view of it as that, and begged Miss Jillgall to drop the subject.

"With all my heart, dear. But don't deceive yourselfthe subject will turn up again when we least expect it."

ONLY two days now, before we give our little dinnerparty, and Philip finds his opportunity of speaking to

I try not to take gloomy views of things; but I am not quite so happy as I had expected to be when my dear

was in the same town with me. If papa had encouraged him to call again, we might have had some precious

time to ourselves. As it is, we can only meet in the different showplaces in the townwith Helena on one

side, and Miss Jillgall on the other, to take care of us. I do call it cruel not to let two young people love each

other, without setting third persons to watch them. If I was Queen of England, I would have pretty private

bowers made for lovers, in the summer, and nice warm little rooms to hold two, in the winter. Why not?

The cathedral is the place of meeting which we find most convenient, under the circumstances. There are

delightful nooks and corners about this celebrated building in which lovers can lag behind. If we had been in

papa's chapel I should have hesitated to turn it to such a profane use as this; the cathedral doesn't so much

Shall I own that I felt my inferiority to Helena a little keenly? She could tell Philip so many things that I

should have liked to tell him first. My clever sister taught him how to pronounce the name of the bishop who

began building the cathedral; she led him over the crypt, and told him how old it was. He was interested in

the crypt; he talked to Helena (not to me) of his ambition to write a work on cathedral architecture in

England; he made a rough little sketch in his book of our famous tomb of some king. Helena knew the late

royal personage's name, and Philip showed his sketch to her before he showed it to me. How can I blame

him, when I stood there the picture of stupidity, trying to recollect something that I might tell him, if it was

only the Dean's name? Helena might have whispered it to me, I think. She remembered it, not Iand

mentioned it to Philip, of course. I kept close by him all the time, and now and then he gave me a look which

raised my spirits. He might have given me something better than thatI mean a kisswhen we had left the

cathedral, and were by ourselves for a moment in a corner of the Dean's garden. But he missed the

opportunity. Perhaps he was afraid of the Dean himself coming that way, and happening to see us. However,

I am far from thinking the worse of Philip. I gave his arm a little squeezeand that was better than nothing.

He and I took a walk along the bank of the river today; my sister and Miss Jillgall looking after us as usual.

On our way through the town, Helena stopped to give an order at a shop. She asked us to wait for her. That

best of good creatures, Miss Jillgall, whispered in my ear: "Go on by yourselves, and leave me to wait for

her." Philip interpreted this act of kindness in a manner which would have vexed me, if I had not understood

that it was one of his jokes. He said to me: "Miss Jillgall sees a chance of annoying your sister, and enjoys the

Well, away we went together; it was just what I wanted; it gave me an opportunity of saying something to

I could now beg of him, in his interests and mine, to make the best of himself when he came to dinner. Clever

people, I told him, were people whom papa liked and admired. I said: "Let him see, dear, how clever you are,

and how many things you knowand you can't imagine what a high place you will have in his opinion. I

hope you don't think I am taking too much on myself in telling you how to behave."

He relieved that doubt in a manner which I despair of describing. His eyes rested on me with such a look of

exquisite sweetness and love that I was obliged to hold by his arm, I trembled so with the pleasure of feeling

"I do sincerely believe," he said, "that you are the most innocent girl, the sweetest, truest girl that ever lived. I

To hear him speak of himself in that way jarred on me. If such words had fallen from any other man's lips, I

should have been afraid that he had done something, or thought something, of which he had reason to feel

He was eager to walk on rapidly, and to turn a corner in the path, before we could be seen. "I want to be alone

I looked back. We were too late; Helena and Miss Jillgall had nearly overtaken us. My sister was on the point

of speaking to Philip, when she seemed to change her mind, and only looked at him. Instead of looking at her

in return, he kept his eyes cast down and drew figures on the pathway with his stick. I think Helena was out

Philip took her up sharply. "If Eunice likes seeing the river better than waiting in the street," he said, "isn't

Helena said nothing more; Philip walked on slowly by himself. Not knowing what to make of it, I turned to

Miss Jillgall answered in an odd offhand manner: "Not he! He is a great deal more likely to have quarreled

It was not to be thought of; it would have looked like prying into his thoughts. "Selina!" I said, "there is

"My poor dear, you will find yourself understanding me before long." I thought I saw something like pity in

Without another word, she left me. I turned to look for Philip, and saw that my sister had joined him while I

had been speaking to Miss Jillgall. It pleased me to find that they were talking in a friendly way when I

joined them. A quarrel between Helena and my husband that is to beno, my husband that shall bewould

Philip looked along the backward path, and asked what had become of Miss Jillgall. "Have you any objection

to follow her example?" he said to me, when I told him that Selina had returned to the town. "I don't care for

Helena, who used to like the river at other times, was as ready as Philip to leave it now. I fancy they had both

been kindly waiting to change our walk, till I came to them, and they could study my wishes too. Of course I

was ready to go where they pleased. I asked Philip if there was anything he would like to see, when we got

Clever Helena suggested what seemed to be a strange amusement to offer to Philip. "Let's take him to the

It appeared to be a matter of perfect indifference to him; he was, what they call, ironical. "Oh, yes, of course.

Deeply interesting! deeply interesting!" He suddenly broke into the wildest good spirits, and tucked my hand

under his arm with a gayety which it was impossible to resist. "What a boy you are!" Helena said, enjoying

ON entering the schoolroom we lost our gayety, all in a moment. Something unpleasant had evidently

Two of the eldest girls were sitting together in a corner, separated from the rest, and looking most wickedly

sulky. The teachers were at the other end of the room, appearing to be ill at ease. And there, standing in the

midst of them, with his face flushed and his eyes angrythere was papa, sadly unlike his gentle self in the

days of his health and happiness. On former occasions, when the exercise of his authority was required in the

school, his forbearing temper always set things right. When I saw him now, I thought of what the doctor had

He shook handscordially shook handswith Philip. It was delightful to see him, delightful to hear him

say: "Pray don't suppose, Mr. Dunboyne, that you are intruding; remain with us by all means if you like."

Then he spoke to Helena and to me, still excited, still not like himself: "You couldn't have come here, my

dears, at a time when your presence was more urgently needed." He turned to the teachers. "Tell my

daughters what has happened; tell them why they see me hereshocked and distressed, I don't deny it."

We now heard that the two girls in disgrace had broken the rules, and in such a manner as to deserve severe

One of them had been discovered hiding a novel in her desk. The other had misbehaved herself more

seriously stillshe had gone to the theater. Instead of expressing any regret, they had actually dared to

complain of having to learn papa's improved catechism. They had even accused him of treating them with

severity, because they were poor girls brought up on charity. "If we had been young ladies," they were

audacious enough to say, "more indulgence would have been shown to us; we should have been allowed to

All this time I had been asking myself what papa meant, when he told us we could not have come to the

schoolroom at a better time. His meaning now appeared. When he spoke to the offending girls, he pointed to

"Here are my daughters," he said. "You will not deny that they are young ladies. Now listen. They shall tell

you themselves whether my rules make any difference between them and you. Helena! Eunice! do I allow

We said, "No"and hoped it was over. But he had not done yet. He turned to Helena.

"Answer some of the questions," he went on, "from my Manual of Christian Obligation, which the girls call

my catechism." He asked one of the questions: "If you are told to do unto others as you would they should do

unto you, and if you find a difficulty in obeying that Divine Precept, what does your duty require?"

It is my belief that Helena has the materials in her for making another Joan of Arc. She rose, and answered

without the slightest sign of timidity: "My duty requires me to go to the minister, and to seek for advice and

"Then I am to remember that my pastor is my friend. He claims no priestly authority or priestly infallibility.

He is my fellowChristian who loves me. He will tell me how he has himself failed; how he has struggled

against himself; and what a blessed reward has followed his victorya purified heart, a peaceful mind."

Then papa released my sister, after she had only repeated two out of all the answers in Christian Obligation,

which we first began to learn when we were children. He then addressed himself again to the girls.

"Is what you have just heard a part of my catechism? Has my daughter been excused from repeating it

because she is a young lady? Where is the difference between the religious education which is given to my

The wretched girls still sat silent and obstinate, with their heads down. I tremble again as I write of what

happened next. Papa fixed his eyes on me. He said, out loud: "Eunice!"and waited for me to rise and

Philip had (innocently, I am sure) discouraged me; I saw displeasure, I saw contempt in his face. There was a

dead silence in the room. Everybody looked at me. My heart beat furiously, my hands turned cold, the

questions and answers in Christian Obligation all left my memory together. I looked imploringly at papa.

For the first time in his life, he was hard on me. His eyes were as angry as ever; they showed me no mercy.

Oh, what had come to me? what evil spirit possessed me? I felt resentment; horrid, undutiful resentment, at

being treated in this cruel way. My fists clinched themselves in my lap, my face felt as hot as fire. Instead of

asking my father to excuse me, I said: "I can't do it." He was astounded, as well he might be. I went on from

He stooped over me; he whispered: "I am going to ask you something; I insist on your answering, Yes or

"Have you been taught like your sister?" he asked. "Has the catechism that has been her religious lesson, for

I said: "Yes"and I was in such a rage that I said it out loud. If Philip had handed me his cane, and had

advised me to give the young hussies who were answerable for this dreadful state of things a good beating, I

believe I should have done it. Papa turned his back on me and offered the girls a last chance: "Do you feel

Neither the one nor the other answered him. He called across the room to the teachers: "Those two pupils are

Both the women looked horrified. The elder of the two approached him, and tried to plead for a milder

sentence. He answered in one stern w ord: "Silence!"and left the schoolroom, without even a passing bow

to Philip. And this, after he had cordially shaken hands with my poor dear, not half an hour before.

I ought to have made affectionate allowance for his nervous miseries; I ought to have run after him, and

begged his pardon. There must be something wrong, I am afraid, in girls loving anybody but their fathers.

When Helena led the way out by another door, I ran after Philip; and I asked him to forgive me.

I don't know what I said; it was all confusion. The fear of having forfeited his fondness must, I suppose, have

shaken my mind. I remember entreating Helena to say a kind word for me. She was so clever, she had

behaved so well, she had deserved that Philip should listen to her. "Oh," I cried out to him desperately, "what

"I will tell you what I think of you," he said. "It is your father who is in fault, Eunicenot you. Nothing

could have been in worse taste than his management of that trumpery affair in the schoolroom; it was a

complete mistake from beginning to end. Make your mind easy; I don't blame You."

Helena seemed to be hardly as much interested in this happy ending of my anxieties as I might have

anticipated. She walked on by herself. Perhaps she was thinking of poor papa's strange outbreak of

We had only a little way to walk, before we passed the door of Philip's hotel. He had not yet received the

expected letter from his father the cruel letter which might recall him to Ireland. It was then the hour of

delivery by our second post; he went to look at the letterrack in the hall. Helena saw that I was anxious. She

was as kind again as ever; she consented to wait with me for Philip, at the door.

"From my father, at last," he saidand gave me the letter to read. It only contained these few lines:

"Do not be alarmed, my dear boy, at the change for the worse in my handwriting. I am suffering for my

devotion to the studious habits of a lifetime: my right hand is attacked by the malady called Writer's Cramp.

The doctor here can do nothing. He tells me of some foreign woman, mentioned in his newspaper, who cures

nervous derangements of all kinds by handrubbing, and who is coming to London. When you next hear

But what does Miss Jillgall's friend matter to me? The one important thing is, that Philip has not been called

back to Ireland. Here is a fortunate circumstance, which perhaps means more good luck. I may be Mrs. Philip

THEY all notice at home that I am looking worn and haggard. That hideous old maid, Miss Jillgall, had her

malicious welcome ready for me when we met at breakfast this morning: "Dear Helena, what has become of

your beauty? One would think you had left it in your room!" Poor deluded Eunice showed her sisterly

But the recovery to my tranquillity will bring with it the recovery of my good looks. My fatal passion for

Philip promises to be the utter destruction of everything that is good in me. Well! what is good in me may not

be worth keeping. There is a fate in these things. If I am destined to rob Eunice of the one dear object of her

love and hopehow can I resist? The one kind thing I can do is to keep her in ignorance of what is coming,

Besides, if she suffers, I suffer too. In the length and breadth of England, I doubt if there is a much more

wicked young woman to be found than myself. Is it nothing to feel that, and to endure it as I do?

Is this sheer impudence? No; it is the bent of my nature. I have a tendency to selfexamination, accompanied

There are excuses for Eunice. She lives in a fools' paradise; and she sees in her lover a radiant creature,

shining in the halo thrown over him by her own selfdelusion, Nothing of this sort is to be said for me. I see

Philip as he is. My penetration looks into the lowest depths of his characterwhen I am not in his company.

There seems to be a foundation of good, somewhere in his nature. He despises and hates himself (he has

confessed it to me), when Eunice is with himstill believing in her false sweetheart. But how long do these

better influences last? I have only to show myself, in my sister's absence, and Philip is mine body and soul.

His vanity and his weakness take possession of him the moment he sees my face. He is one of those

meneven in my little experience I have met with themwho are born to be led by women. If Eunice had

Ought I not, in justice to myself, to have lifted my heart high above the reach of such a creature as this?

Certainly I ought! I know it, I feel it. And yet, there is some fascination in having him which I am absolutely

What, I ask myself, has fed the new flame which is burning in me? Did it begin with gratified pride? I might

well feel proud when I found myself admired by a man of his beauty, set off by such manners and such

accomplishments as his. Or, has the growth of this masterful feeling been encouraged by the envy and

jealousy stirred in me, when I found Eunice (my inferior in every respect) distinguished by the devotion of a

handsome lover, and having a brilliant marriage in viewwhile I was left neglected, with no prospect of

changing my title from Miss to Mrs.? Vain inquiries! My wicked heart seems to have secrets of its own, and

What has become of my excellent education? I don't care to inquire; I have got beyond the reach of good

books and religious examples. Among my other blamable actions there may now be reckoned disobedience to

At first I tried some of the famous English works, published at a price within the reach of small purses. Very

well written, no doubtbut with one unpardonable drawback, so far as I am concerned. Our celebrated

native authors address themselves to good people, or to penitent people who want to be made good; not to

Arriving at this conclusion, I tried another experiment. In a small bookseller's shop I discovered some cheap

translations of French novels. Here, I found what I wantedsympathy with sin. Here, there was opened to

me a new world inhabited entirely by unrepentant people; the magnificent women diabolically beautiful; the

satanic men dead to every sense of virtue, and aliveperhaps rather dirtily aliveto the splendid

fascinations of crime. I know now that Love is above everything but itself. Love is the one law that we are

bound to obey. How deep! how consoling! how admirably true! The novelists of England have reason indeed

to hide their heads before the novelists of France. All that I have felt, and have written here, is inspired by

I have relieved my mind, and may now return to the business of my diarythe record of domestic events.

An overwhelming disappointment has fallen on Eunice. Our dinnerparty has been put off.

The state of father's health is answerable for this change in our arrangements That wretched scene at the

school, complicated by my sister's undutiful behavior at the time, so seriously excited him that he passed a

sleepless night, and kept his bedroom throughout the day. Eunice's total want of discretion added, no doubt,

to his sufferings: she rudely intruded on him to express her regret and to ask his pardon. Having carried her

point, she was at leisure to come to me, and to ask (how amazingly simple of her!) what she and Philip were

"We had arranged it all so nicely," the poor wretch began. "Philip was to have been so clever and agreeable at

dinner, and was to have chosen his time so very discreetly, that papa would have been ready to listen to

anything he said. Oh, we should have succeeded; I haven't a doubt of it! Our only hope, Helena, is in you.

"Wait?" she repeated, hotly. "Is my heart to be broken? and, what is more cruel still, is Philip to be

disappointed? I expected something more sensible, my dear, from you. What possible reason can there be for

The reasonif I could only have mentioned itwas beyond dispute. I wanted time to quiet Philip's uneasy

conscience, and to harden his weak mind against outbursts of violence, on Eunice's part, which would

certainly exhibit themselves when she found that she had lost her lover, and lost him to me. In the meanwhile,

I had to produce my reason for advising her to wait. It was easily done. I reminded her of the irritable

condition of our father's nerves, and gave it as my opinion that he would certainly say No, if she was unwise

These unanswerable considerations seemed to produce the right effect on her. "I suppose you know best,"

I let her go without feeling any distrust of this act of submission on her part; it was such a common

experience, in my life, to find my sister guiding herself by my advice. But experience is not always to be

trusted. Events soon showed that I had failed to estimate Eunice's resources of obstinacy and cunning at their

Half an hour later I heard the street door closed, and looked out of the window. Miss Jillgall was leaving the

house; no one was with her. My dislike of this person led me astray once more. I ought to have suspected her

of being bent on some mischievous errand, and to have devised some means of putting my suspicions to the

test. I did nothing of the kind. In the moment when I turned my head away from the window, Miss Jillgall

THE event of today began with the delivery of a message summoning me to my father's study. He had

decidedtoo hastily, as I fearedthat he was sufficiently recovered to resume his usual employments. I was

writing to his dictation, when we were interrupted. Maria announced a visit from Mr. Dunboyne.

Hitherto Philip had been content to send one of the servants of the hotel to make inquiry after Mr. Gracedieu's

health. Why had he now called personally? Noticing that father seemed to be annoyed, I tried to make an

opportunity of receiving Philip myself. "Let me see him," I suggested; "I can easily say you are engaged."

Very unwillingly, as it was easy to see, my father declined to allow this. "Mr. Dunboyne's visit pays me a

compliment," he said; "and I must receive him." I made a show of leaving the room, and was called back to

Philip came inhandsomer than ever, beautifully dressedand paid his respects to my father with his

customary grace. He was too wellbred to allow any visible signs of embarrassment to escape him. But when

he shook hands with me, I felt a little trembling in his fingers, through the delicate gloves which fitted him

like a second skin. Was it the true object of his visit to try the experiment designed by Eunice and himself,

and deferred by the postponement of our dinnerparty? Impossible surely that my sister could have practiced

on his weakness, and persuaded him to return to his first love! I waited, in breathless interest, for his next

"I am glad, Mr. Gracedieu, to see that you are well enough to be in your study again," he said. The writing

materials on the table attracted his attention. "Am I one of the idle people," he asked, with his charming

He spoke to my father, and he was answered by my father. Not once had he addressed a word to meno, not

even when we shook hands. I was angry enough to force him into taking some notice of me, and to make an

It was the shortest reply that he could choose. Having flung it at me, he still persisted in looking at my father

and speaking to my father: "Do you think of trying change of air, Mr. Gracedieu, when you feel strong

"My duties keep me here," father answered; "and I cannot honestly say that I enjoy traveling. I dislike

manners and customs that are strange to me; I don't find that hotels reward me for giving up the comforts of

"I submit to the hotel, sir. They are sad savages in the kitchen; they put mushroom ketchup into their soup,

and mustard and cayenne pepper into their salads. I am halfstarved at dinnertime, but I don't complain."

Every word he said was an offense to me. With or without reason, I attacked him again.

"I have heard you acknowledge that the landlord and landlady are very obliging people," I said. "Why don't

I wondered whether I should succeed in attracting his notice, after this. Even in these private pages, my

selfesteem finds it hard to confess what happened. I succeeded in reminding Philip that he had his reasons

"Will you excuse me, Miss Helena," he said, "if I ask leave to speak to Mr. Gracedieu in private?"

The right thing for me to do was, let me hope, the thing that I did. I rose, and waited to see if my father would

interfere. He looked at Philip with suspicion in his face, as well as surprise. "May I ask," he said, coldly,

"Certainly," Philip answered, "when we are alone." This cool reply placed my father between two

alternatives; he must either give way, or be guilty of an act of rudeness to a guest in his own house. The

choice reserved for me was narrower stillI had to decide between being told to go, or going of my own

The door which communicated with the next room was pulled to, but not closed. On the other side of it, I

I was so indignant with Philip, and so seriously interested in what was going on in the study, that I yielded to

Eunice's base lover spoke first. Judging by the change in his voice, he must have seen something in my

father's face that daunted him. Eunice heard it, too. "He's getting nervous," she whispered; "he'll forget to say

Father interrupted him: "We are alone now, Mr. Dunboyne. I want to know why you consult me in private?"

Philip's voice suddenly became an angry voice. "Once for all, Mr. Gracedieu," he said, "will you let me

"No more of it, Mr. Dunboyne!" (My father was now as loud as Philip.) "I don't desire to hold a private

"If you have any personal objection to me, sir, be so good as to state it plainly."

Philip replied to this in a tone of savage irony. "You are a minister of religion, and you are an old man. Two

I drew back into a corner, just in time to escape discovery in the character of a listener. Eunice never moved.

When Philip dashed int o the room, banging the door after him, she threw herself impulsively on his breast:

"Yes, dear; but you ought to have controlled yourselfyou ought, indeed, for my sake."

Her arms were still round him. It struck me that he felt her influence. "If you wish me to recover myself," he

"Oh, how cruel, Philip, to leave me when I am so wretched! Why do you want to go?"

"You told me just now what I ought to do," he answered, still restraining himself. "If I am to get the better of

If ever a stupid girl deserved such an answer as this, the girl was my sister. I had hitherto (with some

difficulty) refrained from interfering. But when Eunice tried to follow Philip out of the house, I could hesitate

no longer; I held her back. "You fool," I said; "haven't you made mischief enough already?"

Before she could reply, or I could say anything more, the door that led to the landing was opened softly and

slyly, and Miss Jillgall peeped in. Eunice instantly left me, and ran to the meddling old maid. They whispered

to each other. Miss Jillgall's skinny arm encircled my sister's waist; they disappeared together.

I was only too glad to get rid of them both, and to take the opportunity of writing to Philip. I insisted on an

explanation of his conduct while I was in the studyto be given within an hour's time, at a place which I

appointed. "You are not to attempt to justify yourself in writing," I added in conclusion. "Let your reply

Philip's reply reached me without delay. It pledged him to justify himself as I had desired, and to keep the

appointment. My own belief is that the event of today will decide his future and mine.

INDEED, I am a most unfortunate creature; everything turns out badly with me. My good, true friend, my

dear Selina, has become the object of a hateful doubt in my secret mind. I am afraid she is keeping something

Talking with her about my troubles, I heard for the first time that she had written again to Mrs. Tenbruggen.

The object of her letter was to tell her friend of my engagement to young Mr. Dunboyne. I asked her why she

had done this. The answer informed me that there was no knowing, in the present state of my affairs, how

soon I might not want the help of a clever woman. I ought, I suppose, to have been satisfied with this. But

Then again, after telling Selina what I heard in the study, and how roughly Philip had spoken to me

afterward, I asked her what she thought of it. She made an incomprehensible reply: "My sweet child, I

It was impossible to make her explain what this meant. She began to talk of Philip; assuring me (which was

quite needless) that she had done her best to fortify and encourage him, before he called on papa. When I

asked her to help me in another waythat is to say, when I wanted to find out where Philip was at that

momentshe had no advice to give me. I told her that I should not enjoy a moment's ease of mind until I and

my dear one were reconciled. She only shook her head and declared that she was sorry for me. When I hit on

the idea of ringing for Maria, this little woman, so bright, and quick and eager to help me at other times, said

"I leave it to you, dear," and turned to the piano (close to which I was sitting), and played softly and badly

Nothing but illluck for me! If I had been left to my own devices, I should now have let the housemaid go.

But Selina contrived to give me a hint, on a strange plan of her own. Still at the piano, she began to confuse

talking to herself with playing to herself. The notes went tinkle, tinkleand the tongue mixed up words with

the notes in this way: "Perhaps they have been talking in the kitchen about Philip?"

The suggestion was not lost on me. I said to Mariawho was standing at the other end of the room, near the

Selina went on with her hints in the same way as before. "How does she knowah, how does she know?"

was the vocal part of the performance this time. My clever inquiries followed the vocal part as before:

There was no suggestion required this time. The one possible question was: "Who sent you?"

Maria replied, after first reserving a condition: "You won't tell upon me, miss?"

Selina looked round at me. Her little eyes seemed to have suddenly become big, they stared me so strangely

in the face. I don't know whether she was in a state of fright or of wonder. As for myself, I simply lost the use

of my tongue. Maria, having no more questions to answer, discreetly left us together.

Why should Helena write to Philip at alland especially without mentioning it to me? Here was a riddle

which was more than I could guess. I asked Selina to help me. She might at least have tried, I thought; but

I said: "Suppose I go to Helena, and ask her why she wrote to Philip?" And Selina said: "Suppose you do,

There was no help for it but to wait till she came back, and to get through the time in the interval as I best

might. But for one circumstance, I might not have known what to do. The truth is, there was a feeling of

shame in me when I remembered having listened at the study door. Curious notions come into one's

headone doesn't know how or why. It struck me that I might make a kind of atonement for having been

mean enough to listen, if I went to papa, and offered to keep him company in his solitude. If we fell into

pleasant talk, I had a sly idea of my ownI meant to put in a good word for poor Philip.

When I confided my design to Selina, she shut up the piano and ran across the room to me. But somehow she

"You good little soul, you are always right. Look at me again, Euneece. Are you beginning to doubt me? Oh,

my darling, don't do that! It isn't using me fairly. I can't bear itI can't bear it!"

I took her hand; I was on the point of speaking to her with the kindness she deserved from me. On a sudden

she snatched her hand away and ran back to the piano. When she was seated on the musicstool, her face was

hidden from me. At that moment she broke into a strange cryit began like a laugh, and it ended like a sob.

"Go away to papa! Don't mind meI'm a creature of impulseha! ha! ha! a little hystericalthe state of

the weatherI get rid of these weaknesses, my dear, by singing to myself. I have a favorite song: 'My heart

I had heard of hysterics, of course; knowing nothing about them, however, by my own experience. What

Had Helena's letter anything to do with it? Was my sister indignant with Philip for swearing in my presence;

and had she written him an angry letter, in her zeal on my behalf? But Selina could not possibly have seen the

letter and Helena (who is often hard on me when I do stupid th ings) showed little indulgence for me,

when I was so unfortunate as to irritate Philip. I gave up the hopeless attempt to get at the truth by guessing,

After knocking twice at the door of the study, and receiving no reply, I ventured to look in.

The sofa in this room stood opposite the door. Papa was resting on it, but not in comfort. There were

twitching movements in his feet, and he shifted his arms this way and that as if no restful posture could he

found for them. But what frightened me was this. His eyes, staring straight at the door by which I had gone

in, had an inquiring expression, as if he actually did not know me! I stood midway between the door and the

He said: "Who is it?" This to meto his own daughter. He said: "What do you want?"

I really could not bear it. I went up to him. I said: "Papa, have you forgotten Eunice?"

My name seemed (if one may say such a thing) to bring him to himself again. He sat upon the sofaand

"My dear child, what delusion has got into that pretty little head of yours? Fancy her thinking that I had

forgotten my own daughter! I was lost in thought, Eunice. For the moment, I was what they call an absent

man. Did I ever tell you the story of the absent man? He went to call upon some acquaintance of his; and

when the servant said, 'What name, sir?' He couldn't answer. He was obliged to confess that he had forgotten

his own name. The servant said, 'That's very strange.' The absent man at once recovered himself. 'That's it!' he

said: 'my name is Strange.' Droll, isn't it? If I had been calling on a friend today, I daresay I might have

Leaving the sofa with a sigh. as if he was tired of it, he began walking up and down. He seemed to be still in

He looked at some sheets of paper, strung together, and laid on the table. They were covered with writing

(from his dictation) in my sister's hand. "I ought to get on with my work," he said. "Where is Helena?"

I told him that she had gone out, and begged leave to try what I could do to supply her place.

The request seemed to please him; but he wanted time to think. I waited; noticing that his face grew gradually

worried and anxious. There came a vacant look into his eyes which it grieved me to see; he appeared to have

quite lost himself again. "Read the last page," he said, pointing to the manuscript on the table; "I don't

I turned to the last page. As well as I could tell, it related to some publication, which he was recommending

Before I had read halfway through it, he began to dictate, speaking so rapidly that my pen was not always

able to follow him. My handwriting is as bad as bad can be when I am hurried. To make matters worse still, I

was confused. What he was now saying seemed to have nothing to do with what I had been reading.

He began in the most strangely sudden way by asking: "Why should there be any fear of discovery, when

every possible care had been taken to prevent it? The danger from unexpected events was far more

disquieting. A man might find himself bound in honor to disclose what it had been the chief anxiety of his

life to conceal. For example, could he let an innocent person be the victim of deliberate suppression of the

truthno matter how justifiable that suppression might appear to be? On the other hand, dreadful

consequences might follow an honorable confession. There might be a cruel sacrifice of tender affection;

I remember those last words, just as he dictated them, because he suddenly stopped there; looking, poor dear,

distressed and confused. He put his hand to his head, and went back to the sofa.

In a few minutes he fell asleep. It was a deep repose that came to him now; and, though I don't think it lasted

much longer than half an hour, it produced a wonderful change in him for the better when he woke. He spoke

quietly and kindly; and when he returned to me at the table and looked at the page on which I had been

"Oh, my dear, what bad writing! I declare I can't read what I myself told you to write. No! no! don't be

downhearted about it. You are not used to writing from dictation; and I daresay I have been too quick for

you." He kissed me and encouraged me. "You know how fond I am of my little girl," he said; "I am afraid I

like my Eunice just the least in the world more than I like my Helena. Ah, you are beginning to look a little

He had filled me with such confidence and such pleasure that I could not help thinking of my sweetheart. Oh

dear, when shall I learn to be distrustful of my own feelings? The temptation to say a good word for Philip

I said to papa: "If you knew how to make me happier than I have ever been in all my life before, would you

"That man again!" he burst out. "Am I never to hear the last of him? Go away, Eunice. You are of no use

here." He took up my unfortunate page of writing and ridiculed it with a bitter laugh. "What is this fit for?"

I ran out of the room in such a state of mortification that I hardly knew what I was about. If some

hardhearted person had come to me with a cup of poison, and had said: "Eunice, you are not fit to live any

longer; take this," I do believe I should have taken it. If I thought of anything, I thought of going back to

Selina. My ill luck still pursued me; she had disappeared. I looked about in a helpless way, completely at a

loss what to do nextso stupefied, I may even say, that it was some time before I noticed a little

threecornered note on the table by which I was standing. The note was addressed to me:

"EVERDEAREST EUNEECEI have tried to make myself useful to you, and have failed. But how can I

see the sad sight of your wretchedness, and not feel the impulse to try again? I have gone to the hotel to find

Philip, and to bring him back to you a penitent and faithful man. Wait for me, and hope for great things. A.

Wait for her, after reading that note! How could she expect it? I had only to follow her, and to find Philip. In

LOOKING at the last entry in my Journal, I see myself anticipating that the event of today will decide

Philip's future and mine. This has proved prophetic. All further concealment is now at an end.

Forced to it by fate, or helped to it by chance, Eunice has made the discovery of her lover's infidelity. "In all

human probability" (as my father says in his sermons), we two sisters are enemies for life.

I am not suspected, as Eunice is, of making appointments with a sweetheart. So I am free to go out alone, and

to go where I please. Philip and I were punctual to our appointment this afternoon.

Our place of meeting was in a secluded corner of the town park. We found a rustic seat in our retirement, set

up (one would suppose) as a concession to the taste of visitors who are fond of solitude. The view in front of

us was bounded by the park wall and railings, and our seat was prettily approached on one side by a

plantation of young trees. No entrance gate was near; no carriage road crossed the grass. A more safe and

more solitary nook for conversation, between two persons desiring to be alone, it would be hard to find in

most public parks. Lovers are said to know it well, and to be especially fon d of it toward evening. We were

My memory of what passed between us is, in some degree, disturbed by the formidable interruption which

But among other things, I remember that I showed him no mercy at the outset. At one time I was indignant; at

another I was scornful. I declared, in regard to my object in meeting him, that I had changed my mind, And

had decided to shorten a disagreeable interview by waiving my right to an explanation, and bidding him

farewell. Eunice, as I pointed out, had the first claim to him; Eunice was much more likely to suit him, as a

companion for life, than I was. "In short," I said, in conclusion, "my inclination for once takes sides with my

duty, and leaves my sister in undisturbed possession of young Mr. Dunboyne." With this satirical

I had merely intended to irritate him. He showed a superiority to anger for which I was not prepared.

He took my letter from his pocket, and pointed to that part of it which alluded to his conduct, when we had

"You have offered me the opportunity of saying a word in my own defense," he went on. "I prize that

privilege far too highly to consent to your withdrawing it, merely because you have changed your mind. Let

me at least tell you what my errand was, when I called on your father. Loving you, and you only, I had forced

myself to make a last effort to be true to your sister. Remember that, Helena, and then sayis it wonderful if

"When you tell me you were beside yourself," I said, "do you mean, ashamed of yourself?"

That touched him. "I mean nothing of the kind," he burst out. "After the hell on earth in which I have been

living between you two sisters, a man hasn't virtue enough left in him to be ashamed. He's half madthat's

what he is. Look at my position! I had made up my mind never to see you again; I had made up my mind (if I

married Eunice) to rid myself of my own miserable life when I could endure it no longer. In that state of

feeling, when my sense of duty depended on my speaking with Mr. Gracedieu alone, whose was the first face

I saw when I entered the room? If I had dared to look at you, or to speak to you, what do you think would

It has been discovered by wiser heads than mine that weak people are always in extremes. So far, I had seen

Philip in the vain and violent extreme. He now shifted suddenly to the sad and submissive extreme. When I

asked him if he deserved to be forgiven, he made the humblest of all replieshe sighed and said nothing.

"If I did my duty to my sister," I reminded him, "I should refuse to forgive you, and send you back to

"Your father's language and your father's conduct," he answered, "have released me from that entanglement. I

can never go back to Eunice. If you refuse to forgive me, neither you nor she will see anything more of Philip

After holding out against him resolutely, I felt myself beginning to yield. When a man has once taken their

fancy, what helplessly weak creatures women are! I saw through his vacillating weaknessand yet I trusted

him, with both eyes open. My lookingglass is opposite to me while I write. It shows me a contemptible

It is absurd to put it on record. Of course, I forgave him. What a good Christian I am, after all!

He took my willing hand. "My lovely darling," he said, "our marriage rests with you. Whether your father

I must have been infatuated by his voice and his look; my heart must have been burning under the pressure of

his hand on mine. Was it my modesty or my selfcontrol that deserted me? I let him take me in his arms.

Again, and again, and again I kissed him. We were deaf to what we ought to have heard; we were blind to

what we ought to have seen. Before we were conscious of a movement among the trees, we were discovered.

My sister flew at me like a wild animal. Her furious hands fastened themselves on my throat. Philip started to

his feet. When he touched her, in the act of forcing her back from me, Eunice's raging strength became utter

weakness in an instant. Her arms fell helpless at her sidesher head droopedshe looked at him in silence

which was dreadful, at such a moment as that. He shrank from the unendurable reproach in those tearless

eyes. Meanly, he turned away from her. Meanly, I followed him. Looking back for an instant, I saw her step

forward; perhaps to stop him, perhaps to speak to him. The effort was too much for her strength; she

staggered back against the trunk of a tree. Like strangers, walking separate one from the other, we left her to

ON reaching the street which led to Philip's hotel, we spoke to each other for the first time.

To leave us (for a while), after what had happened, might be the wisest thing which a man, in Philip's critical

position, could do. But if I went with himunprovided as I was with any friend of my own sex, whose

character and presence might sanction the step I had takenI should be lost beyond redemption. Is any man

that ever lived worth that sacrifice? I thought of my father's house closed to me, and of our friends ashamed

of me. I have owned, in some earlier part of my Journal, that I am not very patient under domestic cares. But

the possibility of Eunice being appointed housekeeper, with my power, in my place, was more than I could

calmly contemplate. "No," I said to Philip. "Your absence, at such a time as this, may help us both; but, come

He yielded, without an attempt to make me alter my mind. There was a sullen submission in his manner

which it was not pleasant to see. Was he despairing already of himself and of me? Had Eunice aroused the

The only possible way out of our difficulty that I could see, now occurred to me. "Suppose my sister can be

prevailed on to give you up?" I suggested. "Would you come back to us in that case?"

"Suppose obstacles get in our way," I said"suppose time passes and tries your patiencewill you still

"And while you are away from me," I ventured to add, "we shall write to each other?"

I could ask no more, and he could concede no more. The impression evidently left on him by Eunice's terrible

outbreak, was far more serious than I had anticipated. I was myself depressed and ill at ease. No expressions

of tenderness were exchanged between us. There was something horrible in our barren farewell. We merely

There are some occasions when women set an example of courage to men. I was ready to endure whatever

might happen to me, when I got home. What a desperate wretch! some people might say, if they could look

Maria opened the door; she told me that my sister had already returned, accompanied by Miss Jillgall. There

had been apparently some difference of opinion between them, before they entered the house. Eunice had

attempted to go on to some other place; and Miss Jillgall had remonstrated. Maria had heard her say: "No,

you would degrade yourself"and, with that, she had led Eunice indoors. I understood, of course, that my

sister had been prevented from following Philip to the hotel. There was probably a serious quarrel in store for

me. I went straight to the bedroom, expecting to find Eunice there, and prepared to brave the storm that might

burst on me. There was a woman at Eunice's end of the room, removing dresses from the wardrobe. I could

She laid the dresses on Eunice's bed, without taking the slightest notice of me. In significant silence I pointed

to the door. She went on as coolly with her occupation as if the room had been, not mine but hers; I stepped

"You oblige me to remind you," I said, "that you are not in your own room." There, I waited a little, and

found that I had produced no effect. "With every disposition," I resumed, "to make allowance for the

disagreeable peculiarities of your character, I cannot consent to overlook an act of intrusion, committed by a

She looked round her. "I see no third person here," she said. "May I ask if you mean me?"

Moderation of language would have been thrown away on this woman. "You followed me to the park," I said.

"It was you who found me with Mr. Dunboyne, and betrayed me to my sister. You are a Spy, and you know

Her insolence forced its way out of her at last. Let me record itand repay it, when the time comes.

"Quite true," she replied. "If I ventured to look you in the face, I am afraid I might forget myself. I have

always been brought up like a lady, and I wish to show it even in the company of such a wretch as you are.

There is not one word of truth in what you have said of me. I went to the hotel to find Mr. Dunboyne. Ah,

you may sneer! I haven't got your good looksand a vile use you have made of them. My object was to

recall that base young man to his duty to my dear charming injured Euneece. The hotel servant told me that

Mr. Dunboyne had gone out. Oh, I had the means of persuasion in my pocket! The man directed me to the

park, as he had already directed Mr. Dunboyne. It was only when I had found the place, that I heard some one

behind me. Poor innocent Euneece had followed me to the hotel, and had got her directions, as I had got

mine. God knows how hard I tried to persuade her to go back, and how horribly frightened I wasNo! I

won't distress myself by saying a word more. It would be too humiliating to let you see an honest woman in

tears. Your sister has a spirit of her own, thank God! She won't inhabit the same room with you; she never

desires to see your false face again. I take the poor soul's dresses and things awayand as a religious person

She caught up the dresses all together; some of them were in her arms, some of them fell on her shoulders,

and one of them towered over her head. Smothered in gowns, she bounced out of the room like a walking

milliner's shop. I have to thank the wretched old creature for a moment of genuine amusement, at a time of

devouring anxiety. The meanest insect, they say, has its use in this worldand why not Miss Jillgall?

In half an hour more, an unexpected event raised my spirits. I heard from Philip.

On his return to the hotel he had found a telegram waiting for him. Mr. Dunboyne the elder had arrived in

London; and Philip had arranged to join his father by the next train. He sent me the address, and begged that I

Welcome, thrice welcome, to Mr. Dunboyne the elder! If Philip can manage, under my advice, to place me

favorably in the estimation of this rich old man, his presence and authority may do for us what we cannot do

for ourselves. Here is surely an influence to which my father must submit, no matter how unreasonable or

how angry he may be when he hears what has happened. I begin already to feel hopeful of the future.

THROUGH the day, and through the night, I feel a misery that never leaves meI mean the misery of fear.

I am trying to find out some harmless means of employing myself, which will keep evil remembrances from

me. If I don't succeed, my fear tells me what will happen. I shall be in danger of going mad.

I dare not confide in any living creature. I don't know what other persons might think of me, or how soon I

might find myself perhaps in an asylum. In this helpless condition, doubt and fright seem to be driving me

I have heard of old people losing their memories. What would I not give to be old! I remember! oh, how I

remember! One day after another I see Philip, I see Helena, as I first saw them when I was among the trees in

the park. My sweetheart's arms, that once held me, hold my sister now. She kisses him, kisses him, kisses

Is there no way of making myself see something else? I want to get back to remembrances that don't burn in

I have tried booksno! I have tried going out to look at the shopsno! I have tried saying my prayersno!

And now I am making my last effort; trying my pen. My black letters fall from it, and take their places on the

white paper. Will my black letters help me? Where can I find something consoling to write down? Where?

Selinapoor Selina, so fond of me, so sorry for me. When I was happy, she was happy, too. It was always

amusing to hear her talk. Oh, my memory, be good to me! Save me from Philip and Helena. I want to

remember the pleasant days when my kind little friend and I used to gossip in the garden.

The recollections that I try to encourage keep away from me. The other recollections that I dread, come

But Selina mixes herself up with them. Let me try again if I can think of Selina.

How delightfully good to me and patient with me she was, on our dismal way home from the park! And how

affectionately she excused herself for not having warned me of it, when she first suspected that my own sister

"I know I was wrong, my dear, to let my love and pity close my lips. But remember how happy you were at

the time. The thought of making you miserable was more than I could endureI am so fond of you! Yes; I

began to suspect them, on the day when they first met at the station. And, I am afraid, I thought it just likely

Oh, how ignorant she must have been of my true thoughts and feelings! How strangely people seem to

misunderstand their dearest friends! knowing, as I did, that I could never love any man but Philip, could I be

I explained to Selina how he had spoken to me, when we were walking together on the bank of the river.

Shall I ever forget those exquisite words? "I wish I was a better man, Eunice; I wish I was good enough to be

worthy of you." I asked Selina if she thought he was deceiving me when he said that. She comforted me by

owning that he must have been in earnest, at the timeand then she distressed me by giving the reason why.

"My love, you must have innocently said something to him, when you and he were alone, which touched his

conscience (when he had a conscience), and made him ashamed of himself. Ah, you were too fond of him to

see how he changed for the worse, when yo ur vile sister joined you, and took possession of him again. It

made my heart ache to see you so unsuspicious of them. You asked me, my poor dear, if they had

quarreledyou believed they were tired of walking by the river, when it was you they were tired ofand

you wondered why Helena took him to see the school. My child! she was the leading spirit at the school, and

you were nobody. Her vanity saw the chance of making him compare you at a disadvantage with your clever

sister. I declare, Euneece, I lose my head if I only think of it! All the strong points in my character seem to

slip away from me. Would you believe it?I have neglected that sweet infant at the cottage; I have even let

Mrs. Molly have her baby back again. If I had the making of the laws, Philip Dunboyne and Helena

Gracedieu should be hanged together on the same gallows. I see I shock you. Don't let us talk of it! Oh, don't

And here am I writing of it! What I had determined not to do, is what I have done. Am I losing my senses

already? The very names that I was most anxious to keep out of my memory stare me in the face in the lines

Another day, and something new that must and will be remembered, shrink from it as I may. This afternoon, I

She stopped, and eyed me with a wicked smile; she held out her hand. "We are likely to meet often, while we

are in the same house," she said; "hadn't we better consult appearances, and pretend to be as fond of each

I took no notice of her hand; I took no notice of her shameless proposal. She tried again: "After all, it isn't my

fault if Philip likes me better than he likes you. Don't you see that?" I still refused to speak to her. She still

persisted. "How black you look, Eunice! Are you sorry you didn't kill me, when you had your hands on my

She laughed, and left me. I was obliged to sit down on the stairI trembled so. My own reply frightened me.

I tried to find out why I had said Yes. I don't remember being conscious of meaning anything. It was as if

somebody else had said Yesnot I. Perhaps I was provoked, and the word escaped me before I could stop it.

Did I pass the miserable hours in writing letters to Philip and then tearing them up? Or did I only fancy that I

wrote to him? I have just looked at the fireplace. The torn paper in it tells me that I did write. Why did I

destroy my letters? I might have sent one of them to Philip. After what has happened? Oh, no! no!

Having been many days away from the Girls' Scripture Class, it seemed to be possible that going back to the

Nothing succeeds with me. I found it impossible to instruct the girls as usual; their stupidity soon reached the

limit of my patiencesuffocated me with rage. One of them, a poor, fat, feeble creature, began to cry when I

scolded her. I looked with envy at the tears rolling over her big round cheeks. If I could only cry, I might

I walked toward home by a roundabout way; feeling as if want of sleep was killing me by inches.

In the High Street, I saw Helena; she was posting a letter, and was not aware that I was near her. Leaving the

postoffice, she crossed the street, and narrowly escaped being run over. Suppose the threatened accident had

really taken placehow should I have felt, if it had ended fatally? What a fool I am to be putting questions to

Before I could ring the bell, the house door opened, and the doctor came out. He stopped to speak to me.

While I had been away (he said), something had happened at home (he neither knew nor wished to know

what) which had thrown my father into a state of violent agitation. The doctor had administered composing

medicine. "My patient is asleep now," he told me; "but remember what I said to you the last time we met; a

longer rest than any doctor's prescription can give him is what he wants. You are not looking well yourself,

I told him of my wretched restless nights; and asked if I might take some of the composing medicine which

he had given to my father. He forbade me to touch a drop of it. "What is physic for your father, you foolish

child, is not physic for a young creature like you," he said. "Count a thousand, if you can't sleep tonight, or

turn your pillow. I wish you pleasant dreams." He went away, amused at his own humor.

She had been startled on hearing his voice, loud in anger. In the fear that something serious had happened,

she left her room to make inquiries, and saw Helena on the landing of the flight of stairs beneath, leaving the

study. After waiting till my sister was out of the way, Selina ventured to present herself at the study door, and

to ask if she could be of any use. My father, walking excitedly up and down the room, declared that both his

daughters had behaved infamously, and that he would not suffer them to speak to him again until they had

come to their senses, on the subject of Mr. Dunboyne. He would enter into no further explanation; and he had

ordered, rather than requested, Selina to leave him. Having obeyed, she tried next to find me, and had just

looked into the diningroom to see if I was there, when she was frightened by the sound of a fall in the room

abovethat is to say, in the study. Running upstairs again, she had found him insensible on the floor and had

"And mind this," Selina continued, "the person who has done the mischief is the person whom I saw leaving

"That your unnatural sister will tell you herself," Helena's voice added. She had opened the door while we

Selina attempted to leave the room. I caught her by the hand, and held her back. I was afraid of what I might

do if she left me by myself. Never have I felt anything like the rage that tortured me, when I saw Helena

looking at us with the same wicked smile on her lips that had insulted me when we met on the stairs. Have

"You may be of some use, Miss Jillgall, if you stay," my sister suggested. "Eunice seems to be trembling. Is

The sting of this was in the tone of her voice. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my lifebut I did

"You are not very polite, my dear, but I can make allowances. Oh, come! come! putting up your hands to stop

your ears is too childish. You would do better to express regret for having misled your father. Yes! you did

mislead him. Only a few days since, you left him to suppose that you were engaged to Philip. It became my

duty, after that, to open his eyes to the truth; and if I unhappily provoked him, it was your fault. I was strictly

careful in the language I used. I said: 'Dear father, you have been misinformed on a very serious subject. The

only marriage engagement for which your kind sanction is requested, is my engagement. I have consented to

"Because I have something to say. You and I are looking at each other. Does my face tell you what is passing

"No," I said; "that is not all. The devil that possessed me, when I discovered you with Philip, is not cast out of

me yet. Silence the sneering devil that is in You, or we may both live to regret it."

Whether I did or did not frighten her, I cannot say. This only I knowshe turned away silently to the door,

I dropped on the sofa. That horrid hungering for revenge, which I felt for the firs t time when I knew how

Helena had wronged me, began to degrade and tempt me again. In the effort to get away from this new evil

self of mine, I tried to find sympathy in Selina, and called to her to come and sit by me. She seemed to be

startled when I looked at her, but she recovered herself, and came to me, and took my hand.

"Keep my hand in your hand," I told her; "I am drowning in dark waterand I have nothing to hold by but

"Good Selina! dear Selina! You shall talk to Me. Say something harmlesstell me a melancholy storytry

"I'm more likely to cry myself," she said. "This is so heartbreakingI almost wish I was back in the time,

before you came home, the time when your detestable sister first showed how she hated me. I was happy,

meanly happy, in the spiteful enjoyment of provoking her. Oh, Euneece, I shall never recover my spirits

again! All the pity in the world would not be pity enough for you. So hardly treated! so young! so forlorn!

I interrupted her; she had interested me in something better than my own wretched self. I asked directly if she

"Only once, when I asked him how long she had been dead. He told me you lost her while you were an

infant, and he told me no more. I was looking at her portrait in the study, only yesterday. I think it must be a

I had arrived at the same conclusion years since. But I shrank from confessing it.

"At any rate," Selina continued, "you are not like her. Nobody would ever guess that you were the child of

What Selina had said of me and my mother's portrait, other friends had said. There was nothing that I know

of to interest me in hearing it repeatedand yet it set me pondering on the want of resemblance between my

mother's face and mine, and wondering (not for the first time) what sort of woman my mother was. When my

father speaks of her, no words of praise that he can utter seem to be good enough for her. Oh, me, I wish I

It began to get dark; Maria brought in the lamp. The sudden brightness of the flame struck my aching eyes, as

if it had been a blow from a knife. I was obliged to hide my face in my handkerchief. Compassionate Selina

entreated me to go to bed. "Rest your poor eyes, my child, and your weary headand try at least to get some

sleep." She found me very docile; I kissed her, and said goodnight. I had my own idea.

When all was quiet in the house, I stole out into the passage and listened at the door of my father's room.

I heard his regular breathing, and opened the door and went in. The composing medicine, of which I was in

search, was not on the table by his bedside. I found it in the cupboardperhaps placed purposely out of his

reach. They say that some physic is poison, if you take too much of it. The label on the bottle told me what

the dose was. I dropped it into the medicine glass, and swallowed it, and went back to my father.

Very gently, so as not to wake him, I touched poor papa's forehead with my lips. "I must have some of your

Her bed remains near the window. My bed has been placed opposite, near the door. Our nightlight is hidden

in a corner, so that the faint glow of it is all that we see. What trifles these are to write about! But they mix

themselves up with what I am determined to set down in my Journal, and then to close the book for good and

I had not disturbed my little friend's enviable repose, either when I left our bedchamber, or when I returned

to it. The night was quiet, and the stars were out. Nothing moved but the throbbing at my temples. The lights

and shadows in our halfdarkened room, which at other times suggest strange resemblances to my fancy,

failed to disturb me now. I was in a darkness of my own making, having bound a handkerchief, cooled with

water, over my hot eyes. There was nothing to interfere with the soothing influence of the dose that I had

I began badly. The clock in the hall struck the quarter past the hour, the halfpast, the threequarters past, the

It was such a trial to my patience that I thought of going back to my father's room, and taking a second dose

of the medicine, no matter what the risk might be. On attempting to get up, I became aware of a change in

me. There was a dull sensation in my limbs which seemed to bind them down on the bed. It was the strangest

I lay quite still, thinking desperate thoughts, and getting nearer and nearer to the end that I had been dreading

for so many days past. Having been as well educated as most girls, my lessons in history had made me

acquainted with assassination and murder. Horrors which I had recoiled from reading in past happy days,

now returned to my memory; and, this time, they interested instead of revolting me. I counted the three first

ways of killing as I happened to remember them, in my books of instruction:a way by stabbing; a way by

poison; a way in a bed, by suffocation with a pillow. On that dreadful night, I never once called to mind what

I find myself remembering nowthe harmless past time, when our friends used to say: "Eunice is a good

girl; we are all fond of Eunice." Shall I ever be the same lovable creature again?

While I lay thinking, a strange thing happened. Philip, who had haunted me for days and nights together,

vanished out of my thoughts. My memory of the love which had begun so brightly, and had ended so

miserably, became a blank. Nothing was left but my own horrid visions of vengeance and death.

For a while, the strokes of the clock still reached my ears. But it was an effort to count them; I ended in

letting them pass unheeded. Soon afterward, the round of my thoughts began to circle slowly and more

All this time, my eyes were still covered by the handkerchief which I had laid over them.

The darkness began to weigh on my spirits, and to fill me with distrust. I found myself suspecting that there

was some changeperhaps an unearthly changepassing over the room. To remain blindfolded any longer

was more than I could endure. I lifted my handwithout being conscious of the heavy sensation which,

some time before, had laid my limbs helpless on the bedI lifted my hand, and drew the handkerchief away

But the room was not quite dark. There was a ghastly light trembling over it; like nothing that I have ever

seen by day; like nothing that I have ever seen by night. I dimly discerned Selina's bed, and the frame of the

window, and the curtains on either side of itbut not the starlight, and not the shadowy tops of the trees in

The light grew fainter and fainter; the objects in the room faded slowly away. Darkness came.

It may be a saying hard to believebut, when I declare that I was not frightened, I am telling the truth.

Whether the room was lighted by awful light, or sunk in awful dark, I was equally interested in the

expectation of what might happen next. I listened calmly for what I might hear: I waited calmly for what I

A touch came first. I feel it creeping on my facelike a little fluttering breeze. The sensation pleased me for

It was the sound of a whisper on my pillow, close to my ear. My strange insensibility to fear remained

"My face was hidden when I passed from life to death. My face no mortal creature may see."

The sense of fear began to come to me now. I moved my head away on the pillow. The whisper followed my

"I come to harden your heart. Daughter of mine, whose blood is cool; daughter of mine, who tamely

"A woman has lured him away to herself. A woman has had no mercy on you, or on him. Is it true?"

There was a sudden silence. I was still left in the darkness; feeling nothing, hearing nothing. Even the

consciousness that I was lying on my bed deserted me. I had no idea that I was in the bedroom; I had no

The ghastly light that I had seen already dawned on me once more. I was no longer in my bed, no longer in

my room, no longer in the house. Without wonder, without even a feeling of surprise, I looked round. The

The light flowed along in front of me. I followed, from room to room in the Museum, where the light led.

First, through the picturegallery, hung with the works of modern masters; then, through the room filled with

specimens of stuffed animals. The lion and the tiger, the vulture of the Alps and the great albatross, looked

like living creatures threatening me, in the supernatural light. I entered the third room, devoted to the

exhibition of ancient armor, and the weapons of all nations. Here the light rose higher, and, leaving me in

darkness where I stood, showed a collection of swords, daggers, and knives arranged on the wall in imitation

The whisper sounded again, close at my ear. It echoed my own thought, when I called to mind the ways of

No. My heart failed me when I thought of the blood. I hid the dreadful weapons from my view. I cried out:

Again, I was lost in darkness. Again, I had no knowledge in me of where I was. Again, after an interval, the

I was alone in the burialground of our parish church. The light led me on, among the graves, to the lonely

corner in which the great yew tree stands; and, rising higher, revealed the solemn foliage, brightened by the

The whisper tempted me again. It followed again the train of my own thought. It said: "Kill her by poison."

No. Revenge by poison steals its way to its end. The base deceitfulness of Helena's crime against me seemed

to call for a day of reckoning that hid itself under no disguise. I raised my cry to be delivered from the sight

of the deadly tree, The changes which I have tried to describe followed once more the confession of what I

She was quite still now; but she must have been restless at some earlier time. The bedclothes were disordered,

her head had sunk so low that the pillow rose high and vacant above her. There, colored by a tender flush of

sleep, was the face whose beauty put my poor face to shame. There, was the sister who had committed the

worst of murdersthe wretch who had killed in me all that made life worth having. While that thought was

in my mind, I heard the whisper again. "Kill her openly," the tempter mother said. "Kill her daringly. Faint

heart, do you still want courage? Rouse your spirit; look! see yourself in the act!"

As if a mirror had reflected the scene, I saw myself standing by the bedside, with the pillow that was to

smother the sleeper in my hands. I heard the whispering voice telling me how to speak the words that warned

and condemned her: "Wake! you who have taken him from me! Wake! and meet your doom."

I saw her start up in bed. The sudden movement disordered the nightdress over her bosom and showed the

So dear, so lovelythose eyes that had once been the light of my heart, mourned for me and judged me now.

They saw the guilty thought that polluted me; they brought me to my knees, imploring him to help me back

to my better self: "One last mercy, dear, to comfort me under the loss of you. Let the love that was once my

life, be my good angel still. Save me, Philip, even though you forsake mesave me from myself!"

The agony of it pierced my braindrove away the ghastly lightsilenced the tempting whispers. I came to

Helena had started up in her bed. That cry of terror, at the sight of me in her room at night, had burst from her

lips. The miniature of Philip hung round her neck, a visible reality. Though my head was dizzy, though my

heart was sinking, I had not lost my senses yet. All that the night lamp could show me, I still saw; and I heard

the sound, faintly, when the door of the bedchamber was opened. Alarmed by that piercing cry, my father

Not a word passed between us three. The whispers that I had heard were wicked; the thoughts that had been

in my mind were vile. Had they left some poison in the air of the room, which killed the words on our lips?

My father looked at Helena. With a trembling hand she pointed to me. He put his arm round me and held me

My last words are written. I lock up this journal of miserynever, I hope and pray, to open it again.

IN the year 1870 I found myself compelled to submit to the demands of two hard taskmasters.

Advancing age and failing health reminded the Governor of the Prison of his duty to his successor, in one

When they have employed us and interested us, for the greater part of our lives, we bid farewell to our

dutieseven to the gloomy duties of a prisonwith a sense of regret. My view of the future presented a

vacant prospect indeed, when I looked at my idle life to come, and wondered what I should do with it. Loose

on the worldat my age!I drifted into domestic refuge, under the care of my two dear and good sons.

After a while (never mind how long a while) I began to grow restless under the heavy burden of idleness.

Having nothing else to complain of, I complained of my health, and consulted a doctor. That sagacious man

The instincts of age recoil from making new acquaintances, contemplating new places, and adopting new

habits. Besides, I hate railway traveling. However, I contrived to get as far as Italy, and stopped to rest at

Florence. Here, I found pictures by the old masters that I could really enjoy, a public park that I could

honestly admire, and an excellent friend and colleague of former days; once chaplain to the prison, now

clergyman in charge of the English Church. We met in the gallery of the Pitti Palace; and he recognized me

immediately. I was pleased to find that the lapse of years had made so little difference in my personal

The traveler who advances as far as Florence, and does not go on to Rome, must be regardless indeed of the

opinions of his friends. Let me not attempt to conceal itI am that insensible traveler. Over and over again, I

said to myself: "Rome must be done"; and over and over again I put off doing it. To own the truth, the

fascinations of Florence, aided by the society of my friend, laid so strong a hold on me that I believe I should

have ended my days in the delightful Italian city, but for the dangerous illness of one of my sons. This

misfortune hurried me back to England, in dread, every step of the way, of finding that I had arrived too late.

The journey (thank God!) proved to have been taken without need. My son was no longer in danger, when I

At that date I was near enough to the customary limit of human life to feel the necessity of rest and quiet. In

Having established myself in my own country, I did not forget to let old friends know where they might find

me. Among those to whom I wrote was another colleague of past years, who still held his medical

appointment in the prison. When I received the doctor's reply, it inclosed a letter directed to me at my old

quarters in the Governor's rooms. Who could possibly have sent a letter to an address which I had left five

years since? My correspondent proved to be no less a person than the Congregational Ministerthe friend

whom I had estranged from me by the tone in which I had written to him, on the longpast occasion of his

It was a distressing letter to read. I beg permission to give only the substance of it in this place.

Entreating me, with touching expressions of humility and sorrow, to forgive his long silence, the writer

appealed to my friendly remembrance of him. He was in sore need of counsel, under serious difficulties; and

I was the only person to whom he could apply for help. In the disordered state of his health at that time, he

ventured to hope that I would visit him at his present place of abode, and would let him have the happiness of

seeing me as speedily as possible. He concluded with this extraordinary postscript:

"When you see my daughters, say nothing to either of them which relates, in any way, to the subject of their

The reading of this letter naturally reminded me of the claims which my friend's noble conduct had

established on my admiration and respect, at the past time when we met in the prison. I could not hesitate to

grant his requeststrangely as it was expressed, and doubtful as the prospect appeared to be of my

answering the expectations which he had founded on the renewal of our intercourse. Answering his letter by

On arriving at the station, I found that I was the only traveler, by a firstclass carriage, who left the train. A

young lady, remarkable by her good looks and good dressing, seemed to have noticed this trifling

circumstance. She approached me with a ready smile. "I believe I am speaking to my father's friend," she

Here was one of the Minister's two "daughters"; and that one of the twoas I discovered the moment I shook

hands with herwho was my friend's own child. Miss Helena recalled to me her mother's face, infinitely

improved by youth and health, and by a natural beauty which that cruel and deceitful woman could never

have possessed. The slanting forehead and the shifting, flashing eyes, that I recollected in the parent, were

reproduced (slightly reproduced, I ought to say) in the child. As for the other features, I had never seen a

more beautiful nose and mouth, or a more delicatelyshaped outline, than was presented by the lower part of

the face. But Miss Helena somehow failed to charm me. I doubt if I should have fallen in love with her, even

The first question that I put, as we drove from the station to the house, related naturally to her father.

"He is very ill," she began; "I am afraid you must prepare yourself to see a sad change. Nerves. The mischief

first showed itself, the doctor tells us, in derangement of his nervous system. He has been, I regret to tell you,

obstinate in refusing to give up his preaching and pastoral work. He ought to have tried rest at the seaside.

Things have gone on from bad to worse. Last Sunday, at the beginning of his sermon, he broke down. Very,

very sad, is it not? The doctor says that precious time has been lost, and he must make up his mind to resign

his charge. He won't hear of it. You are his old friend. Please try to persuade him."

Fluently spoken; the words well chosen; the melodious voice reminding me of the late Mrs. Gracedieu's

advantages in that respect; little sighs judiciously thrown in here and there, just at the right places;

everything, let me own, that could present a dutiful daughter as a pattern of proprietyand nothing, let me

add, that could produce an impression on my insensible temperament. If I had not been too discreet to rush at

a hasty conclusion, I might have been inclined to say: her mother's child, every inch of her!

The interest which I was still able to feel in my friend's domestic affairs centered in the daughter whom he

In her infancy I had seen the child, and liked her; I was the one person living (since the death of Mrs.

Gracedieu) who knew how the Minister had concealed the sad secret of her parentage; and I wanted to

discover if the hereditary taint had begun to show itself in the innocent offspring of the murderess. Just as I

was considering how I might harmlessly speak of Miss Helena's "sister," Miss Helena herself introduced the

"May I ask," she resumed, "if you were disappointed when you found nobody but me to meet you at our

Here was an opportunity of paying her a compliment, if I had been a younger man, or if she had produced a

favorable impression on me. As it was, I hitif I may praise myselfon an ingenious compromise.

"Well, I hear you are an official personageI ought to say, perhaps, a retired official personage. We might

have received you more respectfully, if both my father's daughters had been present at the station. It's not my

The tone in which she said this strengthened my prejudice against her. It told me that the two girls were

living together on no very friendly terms; and it suggestedjustly or unjustly I could not then decidethat

"I beg your pardonit is a bad reason. She has been sent away for the recovery of her healthand the loss

What did this matter to me? I decided on dropping the subject. My memory reverted, however, to past

occasions on which the loss of my health had been entirely my own fault. There was something in these

personal recollections, which encouraged my perverse tendency to sympathize with a young lady to whom I

had not yet been introduced. The young lady's sister appeared to be discouraged by my silence. She said: "I

"Perhaps you will fail to see any need of my speaking of my sister at all? Will you kindly listen, if I try to

"Thank you," she said. "The fact is, my father (I can't imagine why) wishes you to see my sister as well as

me. He has written to the fa rmhouse at which she is now staying, to tell her to come home tomorrow. It is

possibleif your kindness offers me an opportunitythat I may ask to be guided by your experience, in a

little matter which interests me. My sister is rash, and reckless, and has a terrible temper. I should be very

sorry indeed if you were induced to form an unfavorable opinion of me, from anything you might notice if

To set me against her sister, in her own private intereststhere, as I felt sure, was the motive under which

she was acting. As hard as her mother, as selfish as her mother, and, judging from those two bad qualities,

probably as cruel as her mother. That was how I understood Miss Helena Gracedieu, when our carriage drew

A middleaged lady was on the doorstep, when we arrived, just ringing the bell. She looked round at us both;

being evidently as complete a stranger to my fair companion as she was to me. When the servant opened the

At the sound of that odd name, Miss Helena tossed her head disdainfully. She took no sort of notice of the

strangerlady who was at the door of her father's house. This young person's contempt for Miss Jillgall

The lady had no doubt looked at me twice. If this meant that my face was familiar to her, I could only repeat

Leading the way upstairs, Miss Helena apologized for taking me into her father's bedroom. "He is able to sit

up in an armchair," she said; "and he might do more, as I think, if he would exert himself. He won't exert

himself. Very sad. Would you like to look at your room, before you see my father? It is quite ready for you.

We hope"she favored me with a fascinating smile, devoted to winning my heart when her interests

required it"we hope you will pay us a long visit; we look on you as one of ourselves."

I thanked her, and said I would shake hands with my old friend before I went to my room. We parted at the

It is out of my power to describe the shock that overpowered me when I first saw the Minister again, after the

long interval of time that had separated us. Nothing that his daughter said, nothing that I myself anticipated,

had prepared me for that lamentable change. For the moment, I was not sufficiently master of myself to be

able to speak to him. He added to my embarrassment by the humility of his manner, and the formal

"I feel painfully that I have taken a liberty with you," he said, "after the long estrangement between usfor

which my want of Christian forbearance is to blame. Forgive it, sir, and forget it. I hope to show that

necessity justifies my presumption, in subjecting you to a wearisome journey for my sake."

Beginning to recover myself, I begged that he would make no more excuses. My interruption seemed to

"I wished to say," he went on, "that you are the one man who can understand me. There is my only reason for

asking to see you, and looking forward as I do to your advice. You remember the nightor was it the

day?before that miserable woman was hanged? You were the only person present when I agreed to adopt

the poor little creature, stained already (one may say) by its mother's infamy. I think your wisdom foresaw

what a terrible responsibility I was undertaking; you tried to prevent it. Well! well! you have been in my

confidenceyou only. Mind! nobody in this house knows that one of the two girls is not really my daughter.

Pray stop me, if you find me wandering from the point. My wish is to show that you are the only man I can

open my heart to. She" He paused, as if in search of a lost idea, and left the sentence uncompleted. "Yes,"

he went on, "I was thinking of my adopted child. Did I ever tell you that I baptized her myself? and by a good

Scripture name tooEunice. Ah, sir, that little helpless baby is a grownup girl now; of an age to inspire

love, and to feel love. I blush to acknowledge it; I have behaved with a want of selfcontrol, with a cowardly

weakness.No! I am, indeed, wandering this time. I ought to have told you first that I have been brought

face to face with the possibility of Eunice's marriage. And, to make it worse still, I can't help liking the young

man. He comes of a good familyexcellent manners, highly educated, plenty of money, a gentleman in

every sense of the word. And poor little Eunice is so fond of him! Isn't it dreadful to be obliged to check her

dearlyloved Philip? The young gentleman's name is Philip. Do you like the name? I say I am obliged to

cheek her sweetheart in the rudest manner, when all he wants to do is to ask me modestly for my sweet

Eunice's hand. Oh, what have I not suffered, without a word of sympathy to comfort me, before I had courage

enough to write to you! Shall I make a dreadful confession? If my religious convictions had not stood in my

way, I believe I should have committed suicide. Put yourself in my place. Try to see yourself shrinking from

a necessary explanation, when the happiness of a harmless girlso dutiful, so affectionatedepended on a

word of kindness from your lips. And that word you are afraid to speak! Don't take offense, sir; I mean

myself, not you. Why don't you say something?" he burst out fiercely, incapable of perceiving that he had

allowed me no opportunity of speaking to him. "Good God! don't you understand me, after all?"

The signs of mental confusion in his talk had so distressed me, that I had not been composed enough to feel

sure of what he really meant, until he described himself as "shrinking from a necessary explanation." Hearing

those words, my knowledge of the circumstances helped me; I realized what his situation really was.

"Prove it," he muttered, with a furtive look at me. "I want to be satisfied that you understand my position."

"This is your position," I told him. "You are placed between two deplorable alternatives. If you tell this

young gentleman that Miss Eunice's mother was a criminal hanged for murder, his familyeven if he

himself doesn't recoil from itwill unquestionably forbid the marriage; and your adopted daughter's

"If, on the other hand, you sanction the marriage, and conceal the truth, you commit a deliberate act of deceit;

and you leave the lives of the young couple at the mercy of a possible discovery, which might part husband

"No more to say?" he replied. "You have not told me yet what I most want to know."

"Can't you see it for yourself?" he demanded indignantly. "Suppose you were put between those two

"What would you do, sir, in my place? Would you own the disgraceful truthbefore the marriageor run

He threatened me with his poor feeble hand. It was only the anger of a moment; his humor changed to

supplication. He reminded me piteously of bygone days: "You used to be a kindhearted man. Has age

hardened you? Have you no pity left for your old friend? My poor heart is sadly in want of a word of wisdom,

Who could have resisted this? I took his hand: "Be at ease, dear Minister. In your place I should run the risk,

He sank back gently in his chair. "Oh, the relief of it!" he said. "How can I thank you as I ought for quieting

I seized the opportunity of quieting his mind to good purpose by suggesting a change of subject. "Let us have

done with serious talk for the present," I proposed. "I have been an idle man for the last five years, and I want

His attention began to wander, he evidently felt no interest in my travels. "Are you sure," he asked anxiously,

"that we have said all we ought to say? No!" he cried, answering his own question. "I believe I have forgotten

somethingI am certain I have forgotten something. Perhaps I mentioned it in the letter I wrote to you. Have

I showed it to him. He read the letter, and gave it back to me with a heavy sigh. "Not there!" he said

"Is the lost remembrance connected with anybody in the house?" I asked, trying to help him. "Does it relate,

"You wonderful man! Nothing escapes you. Yes; the thing I have forgotten concerns one of the girls. Stop!

Let me get at it by myself. Surely it relates to Helena?" He hesitated; his face clouded over with an

expression of anxious thought. "Yes; it relates to Helena," he repeated "but how?" His eyes filled with tears.

"I am ashamed of my weakness," he said faintly. "You don't know how dreadful it is to forget things in this

The injury that his mind had sustained now assumed an aspect that was serious indeed. The subtle machinery,

which stimulates the memory, by means of the association of ideas, appeared to have lost its working power

in the intellect of this unhappy man. I made the first suggestion that occurred to me, rather than add to his

"If we talk of your daughter," I said, "the merest accidenta word spoken at random by. you or memay be

He agreed eagerly to this: "Yes! Yes! Let me begin. Helena met you, I think, at the station. Of course, I

remember that; it only happened a few hours since. Well?" he went on, with a change in his manner to

parental pride, which it was pleasant to see, "did you think my daughter a fine girl? I hope Helena didn't

"Quite the contrary." Having made that necessary reply, I saw my way to keeping his mind occupied by a

harmless subject. "It must, however, be owned," I went on, "that your daughter surprised me."

"When she mentioned her name. Who could have supposed that youan inveterate enemy to the Roman

Catholic Churchwould have christened your daughter by the name of a Roman Catholic Saint?"

He listened to this with a smile. Had I happily blundered on some association which his mind was still able to

"You happen to be wrong this time," he said pleasantly. "I never gave my girl the name of Helena; and, what

is more, I never baptized her. You ought to know that. Years and years ago, I wrote to tell you that my poor

wife had made me a proud and happy father. And surely I said that the child was born while she was on a

visit to her brother's rectory. Do you remember the name of the place? I told you it was a remote little village,

called Suppose we put your memory to a test? Can you remember the name?" he asked, with a momentary

After the time that had elapsed, the name had slipped my memory. When I confessed this, he exulted over

"Your memory is failing you now," he said. "The name is Long Lanes. And what do you think my wife

didthis is so characteristic of her!when I presented myself at her bedside. Instead of speaking of our

own baby, she reminded me of the name that I had given to our adopted daughter when I baptized the child.

'You chose the ugliest name that a girl can have,' she said. I begged her to remember that 'Eunice' was a name

in Scripture. She persisted in spite of me. (What firmness of character!) 'I detest the name of Eunice!' she

said; 'and now that I have a girl of my own, it's my turn to choose the name; I claim it as my right.' She was

beginning to get excited; I allowed her to have her own way, of course. 'Only let me know,' I said, 'what the

name is to be when you have thought of it.' My dear sir, she had the name ready, without thinking about it:

'My baby shall be called by the name that is sweetest in my ears, the name of my dear lost mother.' We

hadwhat shall I call it?a slight difference of opinion when I heard that the name was to be Helena. I

really could not reconcile it to my conscience to baptize a child of mine by the name of a Popish saint. My

wife's brother set things right between us. A worthy good man; he died not very long agoI forget the date.

Not to detain you any longer, the rector of Long Lanes baptized our daughter. That is how she comes by her

unEnglish name; and so it happens that her birth is registered in a village which her father has never

He was not fifty years old yet; and he had just exhibited one of the sad symptoms which mark the broken

memory of old age. Lead him back to the events of many years ago, and (as he had just proved to me) he

could remember well and relate coherently. But let him attempt to recall circumstances which had only taken

place a short time since, and forgetfulness and confusion presented the lamentable result, just as I have

The effort that he had made, the agitation that he had undergone in talking to me, had confirmed my fears that

he would overtask his wasted strength. He lay back in his chair. "Let us go on with our conversation," he

murmured. "We haven't recovered what I had forgotten, yet." His eyes closed, and opened again languidly.

"There was something I wanted to recall" he resumed, "and you were helping me." His weak voice died

away; his weary eyes closed again. After waiting until there could be no doubt that he was resting peacefully

A PERFECT stranger to the interior of the house (seeing that my experience began and ended with the

Minister's bedchamber), I descended the stairs, in the character of a guest in search of domestic information.

On my way down, I heard the door of a room on the ground floor opened, and a woman' s voice below,

speaking in a hurry: "My dear, I have not a moment to spare; my patients are waiting for me." This was

followed by a confidential communication, judging by the tone. "Mind! not a word about me to that old

gentleman!" Her patients were waiting for herhad I discovered a female doctor? And there was some old

gentleman whom she was not willing to trustsurely I was not that muchinjured man?

Reaching the hall just as the lady said her last words, I caught a glimpse of her face, and discovered the

middleaged stranger who had called on "Miss Jillgall," and had promised to repeat her visit. A second lady

was at the door, with her back to me, taking leave of her friend. Having said goodby, she turned

I found her to be a little person, wiry and active; past the prime of life, and ugly enough to encourage

prejudice, in persons who take a superficial view of their fellowcreatures. Looking impartially at the little

sunken eyes which rested on me with a comical expression of embarrassment, I saw signs that said: There is

She saluted me with a carefullyperformed curtsey, and threw open the door of a room on the ground floor.

"Pray walk in, sir, and permit me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Gracedieu's cousinMiss Jillgall. Proud

indeed to make the acquaintance of a gentleman distinguished in the service of his countryor perhaps I

ought to say, in the service of the Law. The Governor offers hospitality to prisoners. And who introduces

prisoners to board and lodging with the Governor?the Law. Beautiful weather for the time of year, is it

The embarrassment which I had already noticed had extended by this time to her voice and her manner. She

was evidently trying to talk herself into a state of confidence. It seemed but too probable that I was indeed the

Having acknowledged that I had not seen my room yet, my politeness attempted to add that there was no

hurry. The wiry little lady was of the contrary opinion; she jumped out of her chair as if she had been shot out

of it. "Pray let me make myself useful. The dream of my life is to make myself useful to others; and to such a

man as youI consider myself honored. Besides, I do enjoy running up and down stairs. This way, dear sir;

She skipped up the stairs, and stopped on the first landing. "Do you know, I am a timid person, though I may

not look like it. Sometimes, curiosity gets the better of meand then I grow bold. Did you notice a lady who

I replied that I had seen the lady for a moment, but not for the first time. "Just as I arrived here from the

"Yesand do tell me one thing more." My readiness in answering seemed to have inspired Miss Jillgall with

confidence. I heard no more confessions of overpowering curiosity. "Am I right," she proceeded, "in

"Did she say anything particular, when she saw the lady asking for me at the door?"

"Miss Helena thought," I said, "that the lady recognized me as a person whom she had seen before."

"Very extraordinary!" With that remark, Miss Jillgall dropped the subject. The meaning of her reiterated

inquiries was now, as it seemed to me, clear enough. She was eager to discover how I could have inspired the

"I believe many years have passed," she said, "since you last saw Mr. Gracedieu. I am afraid you have found

him a sadly changed man? You won't be angry with me, I hope, for asking more questions? I owe Mr.

Gracedieu a debt of gratitude which no devotion, on my part, can ever repay. You don't know what a favor I

shall consider it, if you will tell me what you think of him. Did it seem to you that he was not quite himself? I

There was true sorrow and sympathy in her face. I believe I should hardly have thought her ugly, if we had

first met at that moment. Thus far, she had only amused me. I began really to like Miss Jillgall now.

"I must not conceal from you," I replied, "that the state of Mr. Gracedieu's mind surprised and distressed me.

But I ought also to tell you that I saw him perhaps at his worst. The subject on which he wished to speak with

me would have agitated any man, in his state of health. He consulted me about his daughter's marriage."

She seemed to find some difficulty in expressing herself. "I hardly know how to put it, sir. You will excuse

me (won't you?) if I say what I feel. You have influencenot the sort of influence that finds places for

people who don't deserve them, and gets mentioned in the newspapersI only mean influence over Mr.

Gracedieu. That's what frightens me. How do I know? Oh, dear, I'm asking another question! Allow me,

for once, to be plain and positive. I'm afraid, sir, you have encouraged the Minister to consent to Helena's

I heard her. "This is what I mean," I asserted, in my most positive manner. "The only subject on which the

My tone left her no alternative but to believe me. She looked not only bewildered, but alarmed. "Oh, poor

man, has he lost himself in such a dreadful way as that?" she said to herself. "I daren't believe it!" She turned

to me. "You have been talking with him for some time. Please try to remember. While Mr. Gracedieu was

speaking of Euneece, did he say nothing of Helena's infamous conduct to her sister?"

"Then," she cried, "I can tell you what he has forgotten! We kept as much of that miserable story to ourselves

as we could, in mercy to him. Besides, he was always fondest of Euneece; she would live in his memory

when he had forgotten the otherthe wretch, the traitress, the plotter, the fiend!" Miss Jillgall's good

manners slipped, as it were, from under her; she clinched her fists as a final means of expressing her

sentiments. "The wretched English language isn't half strong enough for me," she declared with a look of

"May you ask? Oh, Heavens! you must ask, you shall ask. Mr. Governor, if your eyes are not opened to

Helena's true character, I can tell you what she will do; she will deceive you into taking her part. Do you

think she went to the station out of regard for the great man? Pooh! she went with an eye to her own interests;

She checked herself there, and looked suspiciously at the door of Mr. Gracedieu's room.

"In the interest of our conversation," she whispered, "we have not given a thought to the place we have been

Miss Jillgall shook her head ominously. "The safe way is this way," she said. "Come with me."

MY everhelpful guide led me to my roomwell out of Mr. Gracedieu's hearing, if he happened to be

awakeat the other end of the passage. Having opened the door, she paused on the threshold. The decrees of

that merciless English despot, Propriety, claimed her for their own. "Oh, dear!" she said to herself, "ought I to

My interest as a man (and, what is more, an old man) in the coming disclosure was too serious to be trifled

with in this way. I took her arm, and led her into my room as if I was at a dinnerparty, leading her to the

table. Is it the good or the evil fortune of mortals that the comic side of life, and the serious side of life, are

perpetually in collision with each other? We burst out laughing, at a moment of grave importance to us both.

Perfectly inappropriate, and perfectly natural. But we were neither of us philosophers, and we were ashamed

"When you hear what I have to tell you," Miss Jillgall began, "I hope you will think as I do. What has slipped

Mr. Gracedieu' s memory, it may be safer to sayfor he is sometimes irritable, poor dearwhere he won't

In silence I listened, from first to last. How could I trust myself to speak, as I must have spoken, in the

presence of a woman? The cruel injury inflicted on the poor girl, who had interested and touched me in the

first innocent year of her lifewho had grown to womanhood to be the victim of two wretches, both trusted

by her, both bound to her by the sacred debt of loveso fired my temper that I longed to be within reach of

the man, with a horsewhip in my hand. Seeing in my face, as I suppose, what was passing in my mind, Miss

Jillgall expressed sympathy and admiration in her own quaint way: "Ah, I like to see you so angry! It's grand

to know that a man who has governed prisoners has got such a pitying heart. Let me tell you one thing, sir.

You will be more angry than ever, when you see my sweet girl tomorrow. And mind thisit is Helena's

devouring vanity, Helena's wicked jealousy of her sister's good fortune, that has done the mischief. Don't be

too hard on Philip? I do believe, if the truth was told, he is ashamed of himself."

Miss Jillgall started. "Oh, Mr. Governor, don't show the severe side of yourself, after the pretty compliment I

have just paid to you! What a masterful voice! and what eyes, dear sir; what terrifying eyes! I feel as if I was

I repeated my question with improvement, I hope, in my looks and tones: "Don't think me obstinate, my dear

Miss Jillgall seemed to take a curious pleasure in disappointing me; she had not forgotten my unfortunate

In a moment more it recalled to my memory a remarkable letter, addressed to me many years ago, which will

be found in my introductory narrative. The writeran Irish gentleman, named Dunboyne confided to me that

his marriage had associated him with the murderess, who had then been recently executed, as brotherinlaw

to that infamous woman. This circumstance he had naturally kept a secret from every one, including his son,

then a boy. I alone was made an exception to the general rule, because I alone could tell him what had

become of the poor little girl, who in spite of the disgraceful end of her mother was still his niece. If the child

had not been provided for, he felt it his duty to take charge of her education, and to watch over her prospects

in the future. Such had been his object in writing to me; and such was the substance of his letter. I had merely

informed him, in reply, that his kind intentions had been anticipated, and that the child's prosperous future

Miss Jillgall's keen observation noticed the impression that had been produced upon me. "Mr. Dunboyne's

She looked as if she could hardly believe me. "Surely you must have heard the name," she said, "when I told

"At any rate," she said, sharply, "you appeared to know Mr. Dunboyne's name, just now."

"And yet," she persisted, "the name seemed to come upon you as a surprise. I don't understand it. If I have

We were completely at crosspurposes. She had taken something for granted which was an unfathomable

"Well," I objected, "if you did mention his name a dozen timesexcuse me for asking the questionwhat

"Good heavens!" cried Miss Jillgall, "do you mean to say you never guessed that Philip was Mr. Dunboyne's

At a later time only, the good little creature who had so innocently deceived me, remembered that the

mischief might have been wrought by the force of habit. While he had still a claim on their regard the family

had always spoken of Eunice's unworthy lover by his Christian name; and what had been familiar in their

mouths felt the influence of custom, before time enough had elapsed to make them think as readily of the

But I was ignorant of this: and the disclosure by which I found myself suddenly confronted was more than I

What a position that young man had occupied, unsuspected by his father, unknown to himself! kept in

ignorance of the family disgrace, he had been a guest in the house of the man who had consoled his infamous

aunt on the eve of her executionwho had saved his unhappy cousin from poverty, from sorrow, from

"Do you know anything bad of Philip?" she asked eagerly. "If it's something that will prevent Helena from

I knew no more of "Philip" (whom she still called by his Christian name!) than she had told me herself: there

was no help for it but to disappoint her. At the same time I was unable to conceal that I was ill at ease, and

that it might be well to leave me by myself. After a look round the bedchamber to see that nothing was

wanting to my comfort, she made her quaint curtsey, and left me with her own inimitable form of farewell.

"Oh, indeed, I have been here too long! And I'm afraid I have been guilty, once or twice, of vulgar

familiarity. You will excuse me, I hope. This has been an exciting interviewI think I am going to cry."

She ran out of the room; and carried away with her some of my kindliest feelings, short as the time of our

acquaintance had been. What a wife and what a mother was lost thereand all for want of a pretty face!

Left alone, my thoughts inevitably reverted to Dunboyne the elder, and to all that had happened in Mr.

The terrible choice of responsibilities which had preyed on the Minister's mind had been foreseen by Mr.

Dunboyne, when he first thought of adopting his infant niece, and had warned him to dread what might

happen in the future, if he brought her up as a member of the family with his own boy, and if the two young

people became at a later period attached to each other. How had the wise foresight, which offered such a

contrast to the poor Minister's impulsive act of mercy, met with its reward? Fate or Providence (call it which

we may) had brought Dunboyne's son and the daughter of the murderess together; had inspired those two

strangers with love; and had emboldened them to plight their troth by a marriage engagement. Was the man's

betrayal of the trust placed in him by the faithful girl to be esteemed a fortunate circumstance by the two

persons who knew the true story of her parentage, the Minister and myself? Could we rejoice in an act of

infidelity which had embittered and darkened the gentle harmless life of the victim? Or could we, on the other

hand, encourage the ruthless deceit, the hateful treachery, which had put the wicked Helenawith no

exposure to dread if she marriedinto her wronged sister's place? Impossible! In the one case as in the other,

Equally hopeless did the prospect appear, when I tried to determine what my own individual course of action

In my calmer moments, the idea had occurred to my mind of going to Dunboyne the younger, and, if he had

any sense of shame left, exerting my influence to lead him back to his betrothed wife. How could I now do

this, consistently with my duty to the young man's father; knowing what I knew, and not forgetting that I had

myself advised Mr. Gracedieu to keep the truth concealed, when I was equally ignorant of Philip Dunboyne's

Even if events so ordered it that the marriage of Eunice might yet take placewithout any interference

exerted to produce that result, one way or the other, on my partit would be just as impossible for me to

speak out now, as it had been in the longpast years when I had so cautiously answered Mr. Dunboyne's

letter. But what would he think of me if accident led, sooner or later, to the disclosure which I had felt bound

to conceal? The more I tried to forecast the chances of the future, the darker and the darker was the view that

To my sinking heart and wearied mind, good Dame Nature presented a more acceptable prospect, when I

happened to look out of the window of my room. There I saw the trees and flowerbeds of a garden, tempting

me irresistibly under the cloudless sunshine of a fine day. I was on my way out, to recover heart and hope,

Had Miss Jillgall returned? When I said "Come in," Mr. Gracedieu opened the door, and entered the room.

He was so weak that he staggered as he approached me. Leading him to a chair, I noticed a wild look in his

"When you were with me in my room," he began, "did I not tell you that I had forgotten something?"

"Well, I have found the lost remembrance. My misfortuneI ought to call it the punishment for my sins, is

recalled to me now. The worst curse that can fall on a father is the curse that has come to me. I have a wicked

Had he been awake, while Miss Jillgall and I had been talking outside his door? Had he heard her ask me if

Mr. Gracedieu had said nothing of Helena's infamous conduct to her sister, while he was speaking of Eunice?

The way to the lost remembrance had perhaps been found there. In any case, after that bitter allusion to his

"wicked daughter" some result must follow. Helena Gracedieu and a day of reckoning might be nearer to

Without speaking, without even looking up, he took out his pocketbook, and began to write in it. Constantly

interrupted either by a trembling in the hand that held the pencil, or by a difficulty (as I imagined) in

expressing thoughts imperfectly realizedhis patience gave way; he dashed the book on the floor.

"My mind is gone!" he burst out. "Oh, Father in Heaven, let death deliver me from a body without a mind!"

Who could hear him, and be guilty of the cruelty of preaching selfcontrol? I picked up the pocketbook, and

"Good fellow! What should I do without you? See now; here is my difficulty. I have got so many things to

say, I want to separate themor else they will all run into each other. Look at the book," my poor friend said

The entries proved to be nearly incomprehensible. Here and there I discovered some scattered words, which

showed themselves more or less distinctly in the midst of the surrounding confusion. The first word that I

could make out was "Education." Helped by that hint, I trusted to guesswork to guide me in speaking to

"Well," I answered, "you have something to say to me about the education which you have given to your

"Don't put them together!" he cried. "Dear, patient, sweet Eunice must not be confounded with that

"Hush, hush, Mr. Gracedieu! Badly as Miss Helena has behaved, she is your own child."

"I repudiate her, sir! Think for a moment of what she has doneand then think of the religious education

that I have given her. Heartless! Deceitful! The most ignorant creature in the lowest dens of this town could

have done nothing more basely cruel. And this, after years on years of patient Christian instruction on my

part! What is religion? What is education? I read a horrible book once (I forget who was the author); it called

religion superstition, and education empty form. I don't know; upon my word I don't know that the book may

notOh, my tongue! Why don't I keep a guard over my tongue? Are you a father, too? Don't interrupt me.

Put yourself in my place, and think of it. Heartless, deceitful, and my daughter. Give me the pocketbook; I

He had now wrought himself into a state of excitement, which relieved his spirits of the depression that had

weighed on them up to this time. His harmless vanity, always, as I suspect, a latent quality in his kindly

nature, had already restored his confidence. With a selfsufficient smile he consulted his own unintelligible

"Ah, yes; 'M' stands for Minister; I come first. Am I to blame? Am IGod forgive me my many sinsam I

"Thank you. Who comes next?" He consulted the book again. "Her mother, her sainted mother, comes next.

People say she is like her mother. Was my wife heartless? Was the angel of my life deceitful?"

("That," I thought to myself, "is exactly what your wife wasand exactly what reappears in your wife's

"Where does her wickedness come from?" he went on. "Not from her mother; not from me; not from a

neglected education." He suddenly stepped up to me and laid his hands on my shoulders; his voice dropped to

hoarse, moaning, awestruck tones. "Shall I tell you what it is? A possession of the devil."

It was so evidently desirable to prevent any continuation of such a train of thought as this, that I could feel no

His humor changed again; he made me a low bow, and went back to his chair. "I will hear you with

pleasure," he answered politely. "You are the most eloquent man I know, with one exceptionmyself. Of

"It is mere waste of time," I continued, "to regret the excellent education which your daughter has misused."

Making that reply, I was tempted to add another word of truth. All education is at the mercy of two powerful

counterinfluences: the influence of temperament, and the influence of circumstances. But this was

philosophy. How could I expect him to submit to philosophy? "What we know of Miss Helena," I went on,

"Just my idea!" he declared firmly. "I refuse my consent to that abominable marriage."

In the popular phrase, I struck while the iron was hot. "You must do more than that, sir," I told him.

His vanity suddenly took the alarmI was leading him rather too undisguisedly. He handed his book back to

I pretended to find it, and read an imaginary entry to this effect: "After what she has already done, Helena is

capable of marrying in defiance of my wishes and commands. This must be considered and provided

against." So far, I had succeeded in flattering him. But when (thinking of his paternal authority) I alluded next

What did he mean? It was useless to ask. I went on with the matter in handstill deliberately speaking to

him, as I might have spoken to a man with an intellect as clear as my own. In my experience, this practice

generally stimulates a weak intelligence to do its best. We all know how children receive talk that is lowered,

"I shall take it for granted," I continued, "that Miss Helena is still under your lawful authority. She can only

arrive at her ends by means of a runaway marriage. In that case, much depends on the man. You told me you

couldn't help liking him. This was, of course, before you knew of the infamous manner in which he has

He seemed to be at a loss how to reply. "I am afraid," he said, "the young man was drawn into it by Helena."

Here was Miss Jillgall's apology for Philip Dunboyne repeated in other words. Despising and detesting the

fellow as I did, I was forced to admit to myself that he must be recommended by personal attractions which it

would be necessary to reckon with. I tried to get s ome more information from Mr. Gracedieu.

"The excuse you have just made for him," I resumed, "implies that he is a weak man; easily persuaded, easily

"Such weakness as that," I persisted, "is a vice in itself. It has led already, sir, to the saddest results."

"I don't wish to shock you, Mr. Gracedieu; but I must recommend employing the means that present

themselves. You must practice on this man's weakness, for the sake of the good that may come of it. I hear he

is in London with his father. Try the strong influence, and write to his father. There is another reason besides

for doing this. It is quite possible that the truth has been concealed from Mr. Dunboyne the elder. Take care

that he is informed of what has really happened. Are you looking for pen, ink, and paper? Let me offer you

I placed them before him. He took up the pen; he arranged the paper; he was eager to begin.

After writing a few words, he stoppedreflectedtried againstopped againtore up the little that he had

doneand began a new letter, ending in the same miserable result. It was impossible to witness his

helplessness, to see how pitiably patient he was over his own incapacity, and to let the melancholy spectacle

go on. I proposed to write the letter; authenticating it, of course, by his signature. When he allowed me to

take the pen, he turned away his face, ashamed to let me see what he suffered. Was this the same man, whose

great nature had so nobly asserted itself in the condemned cell? Poor mortality!

I had only to inform Mr. Dunboyne of his son's conduct; repeating, in the plainest language that I could use,

what Miss Jillgall had related to me. Arrived at the conclusion, I contrived to make Mr. Gracedieu express

himself in these strong terms: "I protest against the marriage in justice to you, sir, as well as to myself. We

can neither of us content to be accomplices in an act of domestic treason of the basest kind."

In silence, the Minister read the letter, and attached his signature to it. In silence, he rose and took my arm. I

asked if he wished to go to his room. He only replied by a sign. I offered to sit with him, and try to cheer him.

Gratefully, he pressed my hand: gently, he put me back from the door. Crushed by the miserable discovery of

Miss Jillgall was in the drawingroom. With the necessary explanations, I showed her the letter. She read it

with breathless interest. "It terrifies one to think how much depends on old Mr. Dunboyne," she said. "You

I could only assure her (after what I remembered of his letter to me) that he was a man whom we could

Miss Jillgall possessed treasures of information to which I could lay no claim. Mr. Dunboyne, she told me,

was a scholar, and a writer, and a rich man. His views on marriage were liberal in the extreme. Let his son

find good principles, good temper, and good looks, in a wife, and he would promise to find the money.

"I get these particulars," said Miss Jillgall, "from dear Euneece. They are surely encouraging? That Helena

may carry out Mr. Dunboyne's views in her personal appearance is, I regret to say, what I can't deny. But as

to the other qualifications, how hopeful is the prospect! Good principles, and good temper? Ha! ha! Helena

After dashing off this striking sketch of character, the fair artist asked to look at my letter again, and observed

that the address was wanting. "I can set this right for you," she resumed, "thanks, as before, to my sweet

Euneece. And (don't be in a hurry) I can make myself useful in another way. Oh, how I do enjoy making

myself useful! If you trust your letter to the basket in the hall, Helena's lovely eyescapable of the meanest

conceivable actionsare sure to take a peep at the address. In that case, do you think your letter would get to

London? I am afraid you detect a faint infusion of spitefulness in that question. Oh, for shame! I'll post the

FOR some reason, which my unassisted penetration was unable to discover, Miss Helena Gracedieu kept out

At dinner, on the day of my arrival, and at breakfast on the next morning, she was present of course; ready to

make herself agreeable in a modest way, and provided with the necessary supply of cheerful smalltalk. But

the meal having come to an end, she had her domestic excuse ready, and unostentatiously disappeared like a

wellbred young lady. I never met her on the stairs, never found myself intruding on her in the

drawingroom, never caught her getting out of my way in the garden. As much at a loss for an explanation of

these mysteries as I was, Miss Jillgall's interest in my welfare led her to caution me in a vague and general

"Take my word for it, dear Mr. Governor, she has some design on you. Will you allow an insignificant old

maid to offer a suggestion? Oh, thank you; I will venture to advise. Please look back at your experience of the

very worst female prisoner you ever had to deal withand be guided accordingly if Helena catches you at a

In less than half an hour afterward, Helena caught me. I was writing in my room, when the maidservant came

in with a message: "Miss Helena's compliments, sir, and would you please spare her half an hour,

My first excuse was of course that I was engaged. This was disposed of by a second message, provided

beforehand, no doubt, for an anticipated refusal: "Miss Helena wished me to say, sir, that her time is your

time." I was still obstinate; I pleaded next that my day was filled up. A third message had evidently been

prepared, even for this emergency: "Miss Helena will regret, sir, having the pleasure deferred, but she will

leave you to make your own appointment for tomorrow." Persistency so inveterate as this led to a result

which Mr. Gracedieu's cautious daughter had not perhaps contemplated: it put me on my guard. There

seemed to be a chance, to say the least of it, that I might serve Eunice's interests if I discovered what the

enemy had to say. I locked up my writingdeclared myself incapable of putting Miss Helena to needless

If I had been told that a man lived there who was absolutely indifferent to appearances, I should have

concluded that his views were faithfully represented by his place of abode. The chairs and tables reminded

me of a railway waitingroom. The shabby little bookcase was the mute record of a life indifferent to

literature. The carpet was of that dreadful drab color, still the cherished favorite of the average English mind,

in spite of every protest that can be entered against it, on behalf of Art. The ceiling, recently whitewashed;

made my eyes ache when they looked at it. On either side of the window, flaccid green curtains hung

helplessly with nothing to loop them up. The writingdesk and the papercase, viewed as specimens of

woodwork, recalled the readymade bedrooms on show in cheap shops. The books, mostly in slatecolored

bindings, were devoted to the literature which is called religious; I only discovered three worldly publications

among themDomestic Cookery, Etiquette for Ladies, and Hints on the Breeding of Poultry. An ugly little

clock, ticking noisily in a black case, and two candlesticks of base metal placed on either side of it, completed

the ornaments on the chimneypiece. Neither pictures nor prints hid the barrenness of the walls. I saw no

needlework and no flowers. The one object in the place which showed any pretensions to beauty was a

lookingglass in an elegant gilt framesacred to vanity, and worthy of the office that it filled. Such was

She came in with a face perfectly adapted to the circumstancespleased and smiling; amiably deferential, in

consideration of the claims of her father's guestand, to my surprise, in some degree suggestive of one of

those incorrigible female prisoners, to whom Miss Jillgall had referred me when she offered a word of advice.

"How kind of you to come so soon! Excuse my receiving you in my housekeepingroom; we shall not be

interrupted here. Very plainly furnished, is it not? I dislike ostentation and display. Ornaments are out of

place in a room devoted to domestic necessities. I hate domestic necessities. You notice the lookingglass?

It's a present. I should never have put such a thing up. Perhaps my vanity excuses it."

She pointed the last remark by a look at herself in the glass; using it, while she despised it. Yes: there was a

handsome face, paying her its reflected complimentbut not so well matched as it might have been by a

handsome figure. Her feet were too large; her shoulders were too high; the graceful undulations of a

wellmade girl were absent when she walked; and her bosom was, to my mind, unduly developed for her

She sat down by me with her back to the light. Happening to be opposite to the window, I offered her the

advantage of a clear view of my face. She waited for me, and I waited for herand there was an awkward

"Isn't it curious?" she remarked. "When two people have something particular to say to each other, and

nothing to hinder them, they never seem to know how to say it. You are the oldest, sir. Why don't you

"Very well. I want to know whether I have given you (and Miss Jillgall, of course) as much time as you want,

She drew her chair a little further away from me. "I am sadly disappointed," she said. "I had such a high

opinion of your perfect candor. I thought to myself: There is such a striking expression of frankness in his

face. Another illusion gone! I hope you won't think I am offended, if I say a bold word. I am only a young

girl, to be sure; but I am not quite such a fool as you take me for. Do you really think I don't know that Miss

Jillgall has been telling you everything that is bad about me; putting every mistake that I have made, every

fault that I have committed, in the worst possible point of view? And you have listened to herquite

naturally! And you are prejudiced, strongly prejudiced, against mewhat else could you be, under the

circumstances? I don't complain; I have purposely kept out of your way, and out of Miss Jillgall's way; in

short, I have afforded you every facility, as the prospectuses say. I only want to know if my turn has come at

"Do you mean that you have made up your mind about me without stopping to think?"

"That is exactly what I mean. An act of treachery, Miss Helena, is an act of treachery; no honest person need

I got up to go. With an ironical gesture of remonstrance, she signed to me to sit down again.

"Must I remind you, dear sir, of our famous native virtue? Fair play is surely due to a young person who has

nobody to take her part. You talked of treachery just how. I deny the treachery. Please give me a hearing."

"Or would you prefer waiting," she went out, "till my sister comes here later in the day, and continues what

Miss Jillgall has begun, with the great advantage of being young and nicelooking?"

When the female mind gets into this state, no wise man answers the female questions.

We changed chairs; the light now fell full on her face. Had she deliberately challenged me to look into her

secret mind if I could? Anything like the stark insensibility of that young girl to every refinement of feeling,

to every becoming doubt of herself, to every customary timidity of her age and sex in the presence of a man

who had not disguised his unfavorable opinion of her, I never met with in all my experience of the world and

"I wish to be quite mistress of myself," she explained; "your face, for some reason which I really don't know,

irritates me. The fact is, I have great pride in keeping my temper. Please make allowances. Now about Miss

"Now we shall get on. When Philip came to our town here, and saw me for the first timeDo you object to

"In the case of any one else in your position, Miss Helena, I should venture to call it bad taste."

I was provoked into saying that. It failed entirely as a wellmeant effort in the way of implied reproof. Miss

"You grant me a liberty which you would not concede to another girl." That was how she viewed it. "We are

getting on better already. To return to what I was saying. When Philip first saw meI have it from himself,

mindhe felt that I should have been his choice, if he had met with me before he met with my sister. Do you

"If you will take my advice," I said, "you will not inquire too closely into my opinion of Mr. Philip

After that concession, she was amiability itself. "Oh, yes," she assured me, "that's easily done." And she went

on accordingly: "Philip having informed me of the state of his affections, I naturally followed his example. In

fact, we exchanged confessions. Our marriage engagement followed as a matter of course. Do you blame

She made that amazing reply with such perfect composure, that I began to fear there must have been some

misunderstanding between us. "Is that really all you have to say for yourself?" I persisted.

Her patience with me was most exemplary. She lowered herself to my level. Not trusting to words only on

this occasion, she (so to say) beat her meaning into my head by gesticulating on her fingers, as if she was

"Philip and I," she began, "are the victims of an accident, which kept us apart when we ought to have met

togetherwe are not responsible for an accident." She impressed this on me by touching her forefinger.

"Philip and I fell in love with each other at first sightwe are not responsible for the feelings implanted in

our natures by an allwise Providence." She assisted me in understanding this by touching her middle finger.

"Philip and I owe a duty to each other, and accept a responsibility under those circumstancesthe

responsibility of getting married." A touch on her third finger, and an indulgent bow, announced that the

lesson was ended. "I am not a clever man like you," she modestly acknowledged, "but I ask you to help us,

when you next see my father, with some confidence. You know exactly what to say to him, by this time.

"Ah, yes," she said; "I was afraid I might be obliged to trouble you for an explanationI see it now. You are

shocked (very properly) when feelings of enmity exist between near relations; and you wish to be assured that

I bear no malice toward Eunice. She is violent, she is sulky, she is stupid, she is selfish ; and she cruelly

refuses to live in the same house with me. Make your mind easy, sir, I forgive my sister."

Ordinary audacity is one of those forms of insolence which mature experience dismisses with contempt. This

girl's audacity struck down all resistance, for one shocking reason: it was unquestionably sincere. Strong

conviction of her own virtue stared at me in her proud and daring eyes. At that time, I was not aware of what

I have learned since. The horrid hardening of her moral sense had been accomplished by herself. In her diary,

there has been found the confession of a secret course of readingwith supplementary reflections flowing

A person capable of repentance and reform would, in her place, have seen that she had disgusted me. Not a

suspicion of this occurred to Miss Helena. "I see you are embarrassed," she remarked, "and I am at no loss to

account for it. You are too polite to acknowledge that I have not made a friend of you yet. Oh, I mean to do

"We shall see," she replied. "Sooner or later, you will find yourself saying a kind word to my father for Philip

and me." She rose, and took a turn in the roomand stopped, eying me attentively. "Are you thinking of

"I needn't ask how I stand in your estimation, after that. Pray express yourself freely. Your looks confess

The exasperating influences of her language, her looks, and her tones would, as I venture to think, have got to

the end of another man's selfcontrol before this. Anyway, she had at last irritated me into speaking as

strongly as I felt. What I said had been so plainly (perhaps so rudely) expressed, that misinterpretation of it

seemed to be impossible. She mistook me, nevertheless. The most merciless disclosure of the dreary side of

human destiny is surely to be found in the failure of words, spoken or written, so to answer their purpose that

we can trust them, in our attempts to communicate with each other. Even when he seems to be connected, by

the nearest and dearest relations, with his fellowmortals, what a solitary creature, tried by the test of

sympathy, the human being really is in the teeming world that he inhabits! Affording one more example of

the impotence of human language to speak for itself, my misinterpreted words had found their way to the one

sensitive place in Helena Gracedieu's impenetrable nature. She betrayed it in the quivering and flushing of

her hard face, and in the appeal to the lookingglass which escaped her eyes the next moment. My hasty

reply had roused the idea of a covert insult addressed to her handsome face. In other words, I had wounded

her vanity. Driven by resentment, out came the secret distrust of me which had been lurking in that cold

"I inspire you with horror, and Eunice inspires you with compassion," she said. "That, Mr. Governor, is not

"Take your explanation, then! You are not the stranger you are said to be to my sister and to me. Your

interest in Eunice is a personal interest of some kind. I don't pretend to guess what it is. As for myself, it is

plain that somebody else has been setting you against me, before Miss Jillgall got possession of your private

In alluding to Eunice, she had blundered, strangely enough, on something like the truth. But when she spoke

of herself, the headlong malignity of her suspicionsmaking every allowance for the anger that had hurried

her into themseemed to call for some little protest against a false assertion. I told her that she was

The reply was too ridiculous for the preservation of any control over my own sense of humor. It was wrong;

but it was inevitableI laughed. She looked at me with a fury, revealing a concentration of evil passion in

her which I had not seen yet. I asked her pardon; I begged her to think a little before she persisted in taking a

"Unjust to You!" she burst out. "Who are you? A man who has driven your trade has spies always at his

commandyes! and knows how to use them. You were primed with private informationyou had, for all I

know, a stolen photograph of me in your pocketbefore ever you came to our town. Do you still deny it?

No such outrage as this had ever been inflicted on me, at any time in my life. My forbearance must, I

suppose, have been more severely tried than I was aware of myself. With or without excuse for me, I was

weak enough to let a girl's spiteful tongue sting me, and, worse still, to let her see that I felt it.

"You shall have no second opportunity, Miss Gracedieu, of insulting me." With that foolish reply, I opened

She ran after me, triumphing in having roused the temper of a man old enough to have been her grandfather,

and caught me by the arm. "Your own conduct has exposed you." (That was literally how she expressed

herself.) "I saw it in your eyes when we met at the station. You, the strangeryou who allowed poor

I shook her hand off with an inconsiderable roughness, humiliating to remember. "It's false!" I cried. "I knew

The moment the words had passed my lips, I came to my senses again; I remembered what fatal words they

Heard only by his daughter, my reply seemed to cool the heat of her anger in an instant.

"So you knew my mother?" she said. "My father never told us that, when he spoke of your being such a very

I was wise enoughnow when wisdom had come too latenot to attempt to explain myself, and not to give

her an opportunity of saying more. "We are neither of us in a state of mind," I answered, "to allow this

interview to continue. I must try to recover my composure; and I leave you to do the same."

Mr. Gracedieu's wife had come to me, in the longpast time, without her husband's knowledge. Tempted to a

cruel resolve by the maternal triumph of having an infant of her own, she had resolved to rid herself of the

poor little rival in her husband's fatherly affection, by consigning the adopted child to the keeping of a

charitable asylum. She had dared to ask me to help her. I had kept the secret of her shameful visitI can

honestly say, for the Minister's sake. And now, long after time had doomed those events to oblivion, they

were revivedand revived by me. Thanks to my folly, Mr. Gracedieu's daughter knew what I had concealed

What course did respect for my friend, and respect for myself, counsel me to take?

I could only see before me a choice of two evils. To wait for eventswith the too certain prospect of a

vindictive betrayal of my indiscretion by Helena Gracedieu. Or to take the initiative into my own hands, and

risk consequences which I might regret to the end of my life, by making my confession to the Minister.

Before I had decided, somebody knocked at the door. It was the maidservant again. Was it possible she had

HAD the Minister's desire to see me been inspired by his daughter's betrayal of what I had unfortunately said

to her? Although he would certainly not consent to receive her personally, she would be at liberty to adopt a

written method of communication with him, and the letter might be addressed in such a manner as to pique

his curiosity. If Helena's vindictive purpose had been already accomplishedand if Mr. Gracedieu left me no

alternative but to present his unworthy wife in her true characterI can honestly say that I dreaded the

consequences, not as they might affect myself, but as they might affect my unhappy friend in his enfeebled

The bedcurtains were so drawn, on the side nearest to the window, as to keep the light from falling too

brightly on his weak eyes. In the shadow thus thrown on him, it was not possible to see his face plainly

enough, from the open side of the bed, to arrive at any definite conclusion as to what might be passing in his

mind. After having been awake for some hours during the earlier part of the night, he had enjoyed a long and

undisturbed sleep. "I feel stronger this morning," he said, "and I wish to speak to you while my mind is

If the quiet tone of his voice was not an assumed tone, he was surely ignorant of all that had passed between

"Eunice will be here soon," he proceeded, "and I ought to explain why I have sent for her to come and meet

you. I have reasons, serious reasons, mind, for wishing you to compare her personal appearance with Helena's

personal appearance, and then to tell me which of the two, on a fair comparison, looks the eldest. Pray bear in

mind that I attach the greatest importance to the conclusion at which you may arrive."

Here and there I detected hesitations and repetitions, which I have purposely passed over. The substance of

what he said to me is all that I shall present in this place. Careful as I have been to keep my record of events

within strict limits, I have written at a length which I was far indeed from contemplating when I accepted Mr.

Having promised to comply with the strange request which he had addressed to me, I ventured to remind him

of past occasions on which he had pointedly abstained, when the subject presented itself, from speaking of

the girls' ages. "You have left it to my discretion," I added, "to decide a question in which you are seriously

interested, relating to your daughters. Have I no excuse for regretting that I have not been admitted to your

"You have every excuse," he answered. "But you trouble me all the same. There was something else that I

He said this with a sullen emphasis. In my position, the worst of evils was suspense. I told him that my

curiosity could wait; and I begged that he would relieve his mind of what was pressing on it at the moment.

I waited anxiously for the decision at which he might arrive. Nothing came of it to justify my misgivings.

"Leave what I have in my mind to ripen in my mind," he said. "The mystery about the girls' ages seems to

irritate you. If I put my good friend's temper to any further trial, he will be of no use to me. Never mind if my

Strange as the preface was, the explanation that followed was stranger yet. I offer a shortened and simplified

The Minister entered without reserve on the mysterious subject of the ages. Eunice, he informed me, was

nearly two years older than Helena. If she outwardly showed her superiority of age, any person acquainted

with the circumstances under which the adopted infant had been received into Mr. Gracedieu's childless

household, need only compare the socalled sisters in afterlife, and would thereupon identify the

eldestlooking young lady of the two as the offspring of the woman who had been hanged for murder. With

such a misfortune as this presenting itself as a possible prospect, the Minister was bound to prevent the girls

from ignorantly betraying each other by allusions to their ages and their birthdays. After much thought, he

had devised a desperate means of meeting the difficultyalready made known, as I am told, for the

information of strangers who may read the pages that have gone before mine. My friend's plan of proceeding

had, by the nature of it, exposed him to injurious comment, to embarrassing questions, and to doubts and

misconceptions, all patiently endured in consideration of the security that had been attained. Proud of his

explanation, Mr. Gracedieu's vanity called upon me to acknowledge that my curiosity had been satisfied, and

No: my obstinate common sense was not reduced to submission, even yet. Looking back over a lapse of

seventeen years, I asked what had happened, in that long interval, to justify the anxieties which still appeared

This time, my harmless curiosity could be gratified by a reply expressed in three wordsnothing had

Two of them actually proved to be the servants employed in Mr. Gracedieu's house, at the bygone time when

be had brought the child home with him from the prison! To point out the absurdity of the reasons that he

gave for fearing what female curiosity might yet attempt, if circumstances happened to encourage it, would

have been a mere waste of words. Dismissing the subject, I next ascertained that the Minister's doubts

extended even to the two female warders, who had been appointed to watch the murderess in turn, during her

last days in prison. I easily relieved his mind in this case. One of the warders was dead. The other had

married a farmer in Australia. Had we exhausted the list of suspected persons yet? No: there was one more

left; and the Minister declared that he had first met with her in my official residence, at the time when I was

"She presented herself to me by name," he said; "and she spoke rudely. A Miss" He paused to consult his

memory, and this time (thanks perhaps to his night's rest) his memory answered the appeal. "I have got it!" he

My friend had interested me in his imaginary perils at last. It was just possible that he might have a

During my residence at Florence, the Chaplain and I had taken many a retrospective look (as old men will) at

past events in our lives. My former colleague spoke of the time when he had performed clerical duty for his

friend, the rector of a parish church in London. Neither he nor I had heard again of the "Miss Chance" of our

disagreeable prison experience, whom he had married to the dashing Dutch gentleman, Mr. Tenbruggen. We

Mr. Gracedieu being undoubtedly ignorant of the woman's marriage, it was not easy to say what the

consequence might be, in his excitable state, if I informed him of it. He would, in all probability, conclude

that I knew more of the woman than he did. I decided on keeping my own counsel, for the present at least.

Passing at once, therefore, to the one consideration of any importance, I endeavored to find out whether Mr.

Gracedieu and Mrs. Tenbruggen had met, or had communicated with each other in any way, during the long

period of separation that had taken place between the Minister and myself. If he had been so unlucky as to

offend her, she was beyond all doubt an enemy to be dreaded. Apart, however, from a misfortune of this kind,

she would rank, in my opinion, with the other harmless objects of Mr. Gracedieu's distrust.

While he felt the renovating influence of the repose that he enjoyed, the Minister had been able to think and

to express himself with less difficulty than usual. But the reserves of strength, on which the useful exercise of

his memory depe nded, began to fail him as the interview proceeded. He distinctly recollected that

"something unpleasant had passed between that audacious woman and himself." But at what dateand

whether by word of mouth or by correspondencewas more than his memory could now recall. He believed

be was not mistaken in telling me that he "had been in two minds about her." At one time, he was satisfied

that he had taken wise measures for his own security, if she attempted to annoy him. But there was another

and a later time, when doubts and fears had laid hold of him again. If I wanted to know how this had

happened, he fancied it was through a dream; and if I asked what the dream was, he could only beg and pray

Unwilling even yet to submit unconditionally to defeat, it occurred to me to try a last experiment on my

friend, without calling for any mental effort on his own part. The "Miss Chance" of former days might, by a

bare possibility, have written to him. I asked accordingly if he was in the habit of keeping his letters, and if he

would allow me (when he had rested a little) to lay them open before him, so that he could look at the

signatures. "You might find the lost recollection in that way," I suggested, "at the bottom of one of your

He was in that state of weariness, poor fellow, in which a man will do anything for the sake of peace.

Pointing to a cabinet in his room, he gave me a key taken from a little basket on his bed. "Look for yourself,"

he said. After some hesitationfor I naturally recoiled from examining another man's correspondenceI

The lettersa large collectionwere, to my relief, all neatly folded, and indorsed with the names of the

writers. I could run harmlessly through bundle after bundle in search of the one name that I wanted, and still

respect the privacy of the letters. My perseverance deserved a rewardand failed to get it. The name I

wanted steadily eluded my search. Arriving at the upper shelf of the cabinet, I found it so high that I could

barely reach it with my hand. Instead of getting more letters to look over, I pulled down two newspapers.

One of them was an old copy of the Times, dating back as far as the 13th December, 1858. It was carefully

folded, longwise, with the titlepage uppermost. On the first column, at the lefthand side of the sheet,

appeared the customary announcements of Births. A mark with a blue pencil, against one of the

The second newspaper bore a later date, and contained nothing that interested me. I naturally assumed that

the advertisement in the Times had been inserted at the desire of Mrs. Gracedieu; and, after all that I had

heard, there was little difficulty in attributing the curious omission of the place in which the child had been

born to the caution of her husband. If Mrs. Tenbruggen (then Miss Chance) had happened to see the

advertisement in the great London newspaper, Mr. Gracedieu might yet have good reason to congratulate

I turned toward the bed and looked at him. His eyes were closed. Was he sleeping? Or was he trying to

remember what he had desired to say to me, when the demands which I made on his memory had obliged him

Either way, there was something that quickened my sympathies, in the spectacle of his helpless repose. It

suggested to me personal reasons for his anxieties, which he had not mentioned, and which I had not thought

of, up to this time. If the discovery that he dreaded took place, his household would be broken up, and his

position as pastor would suffer in the estimation of the flock. His own daughter would refuse to live under the

same roof with the daughter of an infamous woman. Popular opinion, among his congregation, judging a man

who had passed off the child of other parents as his own, would find that man guilty of an act of deliberate

Still oppressed by reflections which pointed to the future in this discouraging way, I was startled by a voice

Eunice passed me with the suddenness almost of a flash of light. When I turned toward the bed, her arms

were round her father's neck. "Oh, poor papa, how ill you look!" Commonplace expressions of fondness, and

no more; but the tone gave them a charm that subdued me. Never had I felt so indulgent toward Mr.

Gracedieu's unreasonable fears as when I saw him in the embrace of his adopted daughter. She had already

reminded me of the bygone day when a bright little child had sat on my knee and listened to the ticking of my

The Minister gently lifted her head from his breast. "My darling," he said, "you don't see my old friend. Love

She came to me and offered her cheek to be kissed. It was sadly pale, poor souland I could guess why. But

her heart was now full of her father. "Do you think he is seriously ill?" she whispered. What I ought to have

said I don't know. Her eyes, the sweetest, truest, loveliest eyes I ever saw in a human face, were pleading

with me. Let my enemies make the worst of it, if they likeI did certainly lie. And if I deserved my

punishment, I got it; the poor child believed me! "Now I am happier," she said, gratefully. "Only to hear your

voice seems to encourage me. On our way here, Selina did nothing but talk of you. She told me I shouldn't

have time to feel afraid of the great man; he would make me fond of him directly. I said, 'Are you fond of

him?' She said, 'Madly in love with him, my dear.' My little friend really thinks you like her, and is very

proud of it There are some people who call her ugly. I hope you don't agree with them?"

I believe I should have lied again, if Mr. Gracedieu had not called me to the bedside

"How does she strike you?" he whispered, eagerly. "Is it too soon to ask if she shows her age in her face?"

"Neither in her face nor her figure," I answered: "it astonishes me that you can ever have doubted it. No

stranger, judging by personal appearance, could fail to make the mistake of thinking Helena the oldest of the

He looked fondly at Eunice. "Her figure seems to bear out what you say," he went on. "Almost childish, isn't

I could not agree to that. Slim, supple, simply graceful in every movement, Eunice's figure, in the charm of

first youth, only waited its perfect development. Most men, looking at her as she stood at the other end of the

Finding that I failed to agree with him, Mr. Gracedieu's misgivings returned. "You speak very confidently,"

he said, "considering that you have not seen the girls together. Think what a dreadful blow it would be to me

I declared, with perfect sincerity, that there was no fear of a mistake. The bare idea of making the proposed

comparison was hateful to me. If Helena and I had happened to meet at that moment, I should have turned

The Minister signed to me to move a little nearer to him. "I must say it," he whispered, "and I am afraid of

her hearing me. Is there anything in her face that reminds you of her miserable mother?"

I had hardly patience to answer the question: it was simply preposterous. Her hair was by many shades darker

than her mother's hair; her eyes were of a different color. There was an exquisite tenderness and sincerity in

their expressionmade additionally beautiful, to my mind, by a gentle, uncomplaining sadness. It was

impossible even to think of the eyes of the murderess when I looked at her child. Eunice's lower features,

again, had none of her mother's regularity of p roportion. Her smile, simple and sweet, and soon passing

away, was certainly not an inherited smile on the maternal side. Whether she resembled her father, I was

unable to conjecturehaving never seen him. The one thing certain was, that not the faintest trace, in feature

or expression, of Eunice's mother was to be seen in Eunice herself. Of the two girls, Helenajudging by

something in the color of her hair, and by something in the shade of her complexionmight possibly have

suggested, in those particulars only, a purely accidental resemblance to my terrible prisoner of past times.

The revival of Mr. Gracedieu's spirits indicated a temporary change only, and was already beginning to pass

away. The eyes which had looked lovingly at Eunice began to look languidly now: his head sank on the

pillow with a sigh of weak content. "My pleasure has been almost too much for me," he said. "Leave me for a

WHEN we stepped out on the landing, I observed that my companion paused. She looked at the two flights of

stairs below us before she descended them. It occurred to me that there must be somebody in the house whom

Arrived at the lower hall, she paused again, and proposed in a whisper that we should go into the garden. As

we advanced along the backward division of the hall, I saw her eyes turn distrustfully toward the door of the

room in which Helena had received me. At last, my slow perceptions felt with her and understood her.

Eunice's sensitive nature recoiled from a chance meeting with the wretch who had laid waste all that had once

"Will you come with me to the part of the garden that I am fondest of?" she asked.

I offered her my arm. She led me in silence to a rustic seat, placed under the shade of a mulberry tree. I saw a

change in her face as we sat downa tender and beautiful change. At that moment the girl's heart was far

away from me. There was some association with this corner of the garden, on which I felt that I must not

"I was once very happy here," she said. "When the time of the heartache came soon after, I was afraid to look

at the old tree and the bench under it. But that is all over now. I like to remember the hours that were once

dear to me, and to see the place that recalls them. Do you know who I am thinking of? Don't be afraid of

"My dear child, I have heard your sad storybut I can't trust myself to speak of it."

"Oh, no! You mustn't say that. If you wish to be kind to meand I am sure you do wish itdon't think

When I remember that the first feeling she roused in me was nothing worthier of a professing Christian than

astonishment, I drop in my own estimation to the level of a savage. "Do you really mean," I was base enough

The man who could have been blessed with such love as this, and who could have cast it away from him, can

have been nothing but an idiot. On that groundthough I dared not confess it to EuniceI forgave him, too.

"Do I surprise you?" she asked simply. "Perhaps love will bear any humiliation. Or perhaps I am only a poor

weak creature. You don't know what a comfort it was to me to keep the few letters that I received from

Philip. When I heard that he had gone away, I gave his letters the kiss that bade him goodby. That was the

time, I think, when my poor bruised heart got used to the pain; I began to feel that there was one consolation

still left for meI might end in forgiving him. Why do I tell you all this? I think you must have bewitched

She put her little trembling hand into mine; I lifted it to my lips, and kissed it. Sorely was I tempted to own

that I had pitied and loved her in her infancy. It was almost on my lips to say: "I remember you an

easilypleased little creature, amusing yourself with the broken toys which were once the playthings of my

own children." I believe I should have said it, if I could have trusted myself to speak composedly to her. This

was not to be done. Old as I was, versed as I was in the hard knowledge of how to keep the mask on in the

Still trying to understand that I was little better than a stranger to her, and still bent on finding the secret of

"When you were young yourself," she said, "did you know what it was to love, and to be lovedand then to

It is not given to many men to marry the woman who has been the object of their first love. My early life had

been darkened by a sad story; never confided to any living creature; banished resolutely from my own

thoughts. For forty years past, that part of my buried self had lain quiet in its graveand the chance touch of

an innocent hand had raised the dead, and set us face to face again! Did I know what it was to love, and to be

That was all I could say to her. In the last days of my life, I shrank from speaking of it. When I had first felt

that calamity, and had felt it most keenly, I might have given an answer worthier of me, and worthier of her.

She dropped my hand, and sat by me in silence, thinking. Had Iwithout meaning it, God knows!had I

"Did you expect me to tell my own sad story," I said, "as frankly and as trustfully as you have told yours?"

"Oh, don't think that! I know what an effort it was to you to answer me at all. Yes, indeed! I wonder whether

I may ask something. The sorrow you have just told me of is not the only oneis it? You have had other

"There are times," she went on, "when one can't help thinking of one's own miserable self. I try to be

"You know who Selina is?" she resumed. "My friend! The only friend I had, till you came here."

I guessed that she was speaking of the quaint, kindly little woman, whose ugly surname had been hitherto the

"Selina has, I daresay, told you that I have been ill," she continued, "and that I am staying in the country for

It was plain that she had something to say to me, far more important than this, and that she was dwelling on

trifles to gain time and courage. Hoping to help her, I dwelt on trifles, too; asking commonplace questions

about the part of the country in which she was staying. She answered absentlythen, little by little,

impatiently. The one poor proof of kindness that I could offer, now, was to say no more.

"Do you know what a strange creature I am?" she broke out. "Shall I make you angry with me? or shall I

make you laugh at me? What I have shrunk from confessing to Selinawhat I dare not confess to my

There was a look of horror in her face that alarmed me. I drew her to me so that she could rest her head on

my shoulder. My own agitation threatened to get the better of me. For the first time since I had seen this

sweet girl, I found myself thinking of the blood that ran in her veins, and of the nature of the mother who had

"Did you notice how I behaved upstairs?" she said. "I mean when we left my father, and came out on the

"Before I went downstairs," she proceeded, "you saw me look and listen. Did you think I was afraid of

"No! You are not wicked enough to understand me. Will you do me a favor? I want you to lo ok at me."

It was said seriously. She lifted her head for a moment, so that I could examine her face.

"Do you see anything," she asked, "which makes you fear that I am not in my right mind?"

She laid her head back on my shoulder with a sad little sigh of resignation. "I ought to have known better,"

she said; "there is no such easy way out of it as that. Tell meis there one kind of wickedness more deceitful

than another? Can it be hid in a person for years together, and show itself when a time of sufferingno; I

mean when a sense of injury comes? Did you ever see that, when you were master in the prison?"

"I am one of them!" she said. "Pity me. If Helena looks at meif Helena speaks to meif I only see Helena

by accidentdo you know what she does? She tempts me! Tempts me to do dreadful things! Tempts me"

The poor child threw her arms round my neck, and whispered the next fatal words in my ear.

The mother! Prepared as I was for the accursed discovery, the horror of it shook me.

She left me, and started to her feet. The inherited energy showed itself in furious protest against the inherited

evil. "What does it mean?" she cried. "I'll submit to anything. I'll bear my hard lot patiently, if you will only

tell me what it means. Where does this horrid transformation of me out of myself come from? Look at my

good father. In all this world there is no man so perfect as he is. And oh, how he has taught me! there isn't a

single good thing that I have not learned from him since I was a little child. Did you ever hear him speak of

my mother? You must have heard him. My mother was an angel. I could never be worthy of her at my

bestbut I have tried! I have tried! The wickedest girl in the world doesn't have worse thoughts than the

thoughts that have come to me. Since when? Since Helenaoh, how can I call her by her name as if I still

loved her? Since my sistercan she be my sister, I ask myself sometimes! Since my enemythere's the

word for hersince my enemy took Philip away from me. What does it mean? I have asked in my

prayersand have got no answer. I ask you. What does it mean? You must tell me! You shall tell me! What

Why did I not try to calm her? I had vainly tried to calm herI who knew who her mother was, and what her

At last, she had forced the sense of my duty on me. The simplest way of calming her was to put her back in

the place by my side that she had left. It was useless to reason with her, it was impossible to answer her. I had

my own idea of the one way in which I might charm Eunice back to her sweeter self.

The fierce flush on her face softened, the swelling trouble of her bosom began to subside, as that

dearlyloved name passed my lips! But there was some influence left in her which resisted me.

I drew her nearer to me. If she had been my own child, I don't think I could have felt for her more truly than I

The love that was in her heart rose, and poured its tenderness into her eyes. I had longed to see the tears that

In the absence of physical resemblance between parent and child, is an unfavorable influence exercised on the

tendency to moral resemblance? Assuming the possibility of such a result as this, Eunice (entirely unlike her

mother) must, as I concluded, have been possessed of qualities formed to resist, as well as of qualities

doomed to undergo, the infection of evil. While, therefore, I resigned myself to recognize the existence of the

hereditary maternal taint, I firmly believed in the counterbalancing influences for good which had been part

of the girl's birthright. They had been derived, perhaps, from the better qualities in her father's nature; they

had been certainly developed by the tender care, the religious vigilance, which had guarded the adopted child

so lovingly in the Minister's household; and they had served their purpose until time brought with it the

change, for which the tranquil domestic influences were not prepared. With the great, the vital

transformation, which marks the ripening of the girl into the woman's maturity of thought and passion, a new

power for Good, strong enough to resist the latent power for Evil, sprang into being, and sheltered Eunice

under the supremacy of Love. Love illfated and illbestowedbut love that no profanation could stain, that

no hereditary evil could conquerthe True Love that had been, and was, and would be, the guardian angel of

If I am asked whether I have ventured to found this opinion on what I have observed in one instance only, I

reply that I have had other opportunities of investigation, and that my conclusions are derived from

No man in his senses can doubt that physical qualities are transmitted from parents to children. But

inheritance of moral qualities is less easy to trace. Here, the exploring mind finds its progress beset by

obstacles. That those obstacles have been sometimes overcome I do not deny. Moral resemblances have been

traced between parents and children. While, however, I admit this, I doubt the conclusion which sees, in

inheritance of moral qualities, a positive influence exercised on moral destiny. There are inherent emotional

forces in humanity to which the inherited influences must submit; they are essentially influences under

controlinfluences which can be encountered and forced back. That we, who inhabit this little planet, may

be the doomed creatures of fatality, from the cradle to the grave, I am not prepared to dispute. But I

absolutely refuse to believe that it is a fatality with no higher origin than can be found in our accidental

I looked up. Eunice's eyes were fixed on a shrubbery, at some little distance from us, which closed the view

of the garden on that side. I noticed that she was trembling. Nothing to alarm her was visible that I could

discover. I asked what she had seen to startle her. She pointed to the shrubbery.

This time I saw a woman's dress among the shruhs. The woman herself appeared in a moment more. It was

I LOOKED at Eunice. She had risen, startled by her first suspicion of the person who was approaching us

through the shrubbery; but she kept her place near me, only changing her position so as to avoid confronting

Helena. Her quickened breathing was all that told me of the effort she was making to preserve her

Entirely free from unbecoming signs of hurry and agitation, Helena opened her business with me by means of

"Pray excuse me for disturbing you. I am obliged to leave the house on one of my tiresome domestic errands.

If you will kindly permit it, I wish to express, before I go, my very sincere regret for what I was rude enough

to say, when I last had the honor of seeing you. May I hope to be forgiven? Howdoyoudo, Eunice? Have

Eunice neither moved nor answered. Having some doubt of what might happen if the two girls remained

together, I proposed to Helena to leave the garden and to let me hear what she had to say, in the house.

"Quite needless," she replied; "I shall not detain you for more than a minute. Please look at this."

She offered to me the portfolio that she had been carrying, and pointed to a morsel of paper attached to it,

"I have a favor to ask," she said, "and a proof of confidence in you to offer. Will you be so good as to look

over what you find in my portfolio? I am unwilling to give up the hopes that I had founded on our interview,

when I asked for it. The letters will, I venture to think, plead my cause more convincingly than I was able to

plead it for myself. I wish to forget what passed between us, to the last word. To the last word," she repeated

emphaticallywith a look which sufficiently informed me that I had not been betrayed to her father yet.

"Will you indulge me?" she asked, and offered her portfolio for the second time.

I was to read, and to be favorably impressed by, Mr. Philip Dunboyne's letters; and Miss Helena was to say

nothing of that unlucky slip of the tongue, relating to her mother, which she had discovered to be a serious act

of selfbetrayalthanks to my confusion at the time. If I had not thought of Eunice, and of the desolate and

loveless life to which the poor girl was so patiently resigned, I should have refused to read Miss Gracedieu's

But, as things were, I was influenced by the hope (innocently encouraged by Eunice herself) that Philip

Dunboyne might not be so wholly unworthy of the sweet girl whom he had injured as I had hitherto been too

hastily disposed to believe. To act on this view with the purpose of promoting a reconciliation was

impossible, unless I had the means of forming a correct estimate of the man's character. It seemed to me that I

had found the means. A fair chance of putting his sincerity to a trustworthy test, was surely offered by the

letters (the confidential letters) which I had been requested to read. To feel this as strongly as I felt it, brought

me at once to a decision. I consented to take the portfolioon my own conditions.

"Understand, Miss Helena," I said, "that I make no promises. I reserve my own opinion, and my own right of

"I am not afraid of your opinions or your actions," she answered confidently, "if you will only read the letters.

In the meantime, let me relieve my sister, there, of my presence. I hope you will soon recover, Eunice, in the

If the object of the wretch was to exasperate her victim, she had completely failed. Eunice remained as still as

a statue. To all appearance, she had not even heard what had been said to her. Helena looked at me, and

touched her forehead with a significant smile. "Sad, isn't it?" she saidand bowed, and went briskly away on

Still, Eunice never moved. I spoke to her, and produced no impression. Beginning to feel alarmed, I tried the

effect of touching her. With a wild cry, she started into a state of animation. Almost at the same moment, she

weakly swayed to and fro as if the pleasant breeze in the garden moved her at its will, like the flowers. I held

Eunice's eyes rested on me in vacant surprise. "How do you know?" she asked. "I hear her; but I never see

She answered: "Of no person. I am speaking of a Voice that whispers and tempts me, when Helena is near."

"The whispering Voice. It said to me, 'I am your mother;' it called me Daughter when I first heard it. My

father speaks of my mother, the angel. That good spirit has never come to me from the better world. It is a

mockmother who comes to mesome spirit of evil. Listen to this. I was awake in my bed. In the dark I

heard the mockmother whispering, close at my ear. Shall I tell you how she answered me, when I longed for

light to see her by, when I prayed to her to show herself to me? She said: 'My face was hidden when I passed

from life to death; my face no mortal creature may see.' I have never seen herhow can you have seen her?

But I heard her again, just now. She whispered to me when Helena was standing therewhere you are

standing. She freezes the life in me. Did she freeze the life in you? Did you hear her tempting me? Don't

A man who has governed a prison may say with Macbeth, "I have supped full with horrors." Hardened as I

wasor ought to have beenthe effect of what I had just heard turned me cold. If I had not known it to be

absolutely impossible, I might have believed that the crime and the death of the murderess were known to

Eunice, as being the crime and the death of her mother, and that the horrid discovery had turned her brain.

My sense of my own helplessness was the first sense in me that recovered. I thought of Eunice's devoted little

friend. A woman's sympathy seemed to be needed now. I rose to lead the way out of the garden.

"Because I don't feel sure of myself. I might tell Selina something which she must never know; I should be so

I gave her my hand. What composing influence this simple act may, or may not, have exercised, it is

impossible to say. She was quiet, she was silent. After an interval, I heard her breathe a longdrawn sigh of

"I am afraid I have surprised you," she said. "Helena brings the dreadful time back to me" She stopped and

"But I am afraid you will thinkbecause I have said strange thingsthat I have been talking at random,"

she insisted. "The doctor will say that, if you meet with him. He believes I am deluded by a dream. I tried to

I privately determined to watch for the doctor's arrival, and to consult with him. Eunice went on:

"I have the story of a terrible night to tell you; but I haven't the courage to tell it now. Why shouldn't you

come back with me to the place that I am staying at? A pleasant farmhouse, and such kind people. You

might read the account of that night in my journal. I shall not regret the misery of having written it, if it helps

you to find out how this hateful second self of mine has come to me. Hush! I want to ask you something. Do

She decided on going back to the farm, while Helena was out of the way. We left the garden together. For the

first time, my companion noticed the portfolio. I happened to be carrying it in the hand that was nearest to

"Carry it in your other hand," she said"the hand that's furthest away from me. I don't want to see it! Do you

mind waiting a moment while I find Selina? You will go to the farm with us, won't you?"

I had to look over the letters, in Eunice's own interests; and I begged her to let me defer my visit to the farm

until the next day. She consented, after making me promise to keep my appointment. It was of some

importance to her, she told me, that I should make acquaintance with the farmer and his wife and children,

and tell her how I liked them. Her plans for the future depended on what those good people might be willing

to do. When she had recovered her health, it was impossible for her to go home again while Helena remained

in the house. She had resolved to earn her own living, if she could get employment as a governess. The

farmer's children liked her; she had already helped their mother in teaching them; and there was reason to

hope that their father would see his way to employing her permanently. His house offered the great advantage

of being near enough to the town to enable her to hear news of the Minister's progress toward recovery, and

to see him herself when safe opportunities offered, from time to ti me. As for her salary, what did she care

about money? Anything would be acceptable, if the good man would only realize her hopes for the future.

It was disheartening to hear that hope, at her age, began and ended within such narrow limits as these. No

prudent man would have tried to persuade her, as I now did, that the idea of reconciliation offered the better

"Suppose I see Mr. Philip Dunboyne when I go back to London," I began, "what shall I say to him?"

"And suppose," I went on, "that the blame really rests, where you all believe it to rest, with Helena. If that

No person came to my room, and nothing happened to interrupt me while I was reading Mr. Philip

One of them, let me say at once, produced a very disagreeable impression on me. I have unexpectedly

discovered Mrs. Tenbruggenin a postscript. She is making a living as a Medical Rubber (or Masseuse),

and is in professional attendance on Mr. Dunboyne the elder. More of this, a little further on.

Having gone through the whole collection of young Dunboyne's letters, I set myself to review the differing

I call the papers submitted to me a correspondence, because the greater part of Philip's letters exhibit notes in

pencil, evidently added by Helena. These express, for the most part, the interpretation which she had placed

on passages that perplexed or displeased her; and they have, as Philip's rejoinders show, been employed as

On reflection, I find myself troubled by complexities and contradictions in the view presented of this young

man's character. To decide positively whether I can justify to myself and to my regard for Eunice, an attempt

to reunite the lovers, requires more time for consideration than I can reasonably expect that Helena's patience

will allow. Having a quiet hour or two still before me, I have determined to make extracts from the letters for

my own use; with the intention of referring to them while I am still in doubt which way my decision ought to

incline. I shall present them here, to speak for themselves. Is there any objection to this? None that I can see.

In the first place, those extracts have a value of their own. They add necessary information to the present

In the second place, I am under no obligation to Mr. Gracedieu's daughter which forbids me to make use of

her portfolio. I told her that I only consented to receive it, under reserve of my own right of actionand her

You blame me, dear Helena, for not having paid proper attention to the questions put to me in your last letter.

First question: Do I think it advisable that you should write to my father? No, my dear; I beg you will defer

Second question: Considering that he is still a stranger to you, is there any harm in your asking me what sort

of man my father is? No harm, my sweet one; but, as you will presently see, I am afraid you have addressed

My father is kind, in his own odd wayand learned, and richa more highminded and honorable man (as

I have every reason to believe) doesn't live. But if you ask me which he prefers, his books or his son, I hope I

do him no injustice when I answer, his books. His reading and his writing are obstacles between us which I

have never been able to overcome. This is the more to be regretted because he is charming, on the few

occasions when I find him disengaged. If you wish I knew more about my father, we are in complete

But there is a dear friend of yours and mine, who is just the person we want to help us. Need I say that I

I called on her yesterday, not long after she had paid a visit to my father. Luck had favored her. She arrived

just at the time when hunger had obliged him to shut up his books, and ring for something to eat. Mrs.

Staveley secured a favorable reception with her customary tact and delicacy. He had a fowl for his dinner.

If I can only repeat what this clever woman told me of their talk, you will have a portrait of Mr. Dunboyne

the eldernot perhaps a highlyfinished picture, but, as I hope and believe, a good likeness.

Mrs. Staveley began by complaining to him of the conduct of his son. I had promised to write to her, and I

had never kept my word. She had reasons for being especially interested in my plans and prospects, just then;

knowing me to be attached (please take notice that I am quoting her own language) to a charming friend of

hers, whom I had first met at her house. To aggravate the disappointment that I had inflicted, the young lady

had neglected her, too. No letters, no information. Perhaps my father would kindly enlighten her? Was the

My father held out his plate and asked for the other wing of the fowl. "It isn't a bad one for London," he said;

"What did you expect me to be interested in?" my father inquired. "I was absorbed in the fowl. Favor me by

Mrs. Staveley admits that she answered this rather sharply: "The subject, sir, was your son's admiration for a

My father is too wellbred to speak to a lady while his attention is absorbed by a fowl. He finished the

"But, Mr. Dunboyne, there is really no need to wait. I suppose your son comes here, now and then, to see

"My son is most attentive. In course of time he will contrive to hit on the right hour for his visit. At present,

This tried Mrs. Staveley's temper. You know what a perfectly candid person our friend is. She owned to me

that she felt inclined to make herself disagreeable. "That's thrown away upon me," she said: "I don't know

Let me pause for a moment, dear Helena. I have inexcusably forgotten to speak of my father's personal

appearance. It won't take long. I need only notice one interesting feature which, so to speak, lifts his face out

of the common. He has an eloquent nose. Persons possessing this rare advantage are blest with powers of

expression not granted to their ordinary fellowcreatures. My father's nose is a mine of information to friends

familiarly acquainted with it. It changes color like a modest young lady's cheek. It works flexibly from side to

side like the rudder of a ship. On the present occasion, Mrs. Staveley saw it shift toward the lefthand side of

his face. A sigh escaped the poor lady. Experience told her that my father was going to hold forth.

"You don't know what a philosopher is!" he repeated. "Be so kind as to look at Me. I am a philosopher."

"And a philosopher, my charming friend, is a man who has discovered a system of life. Some systems assert

themselves in volumesmy system asserts itself in two words: Never think of anything until you have first

asked yourself if there is an absolute necessity for doing it, at that particular moment. Thinking of things,

when things needn't be thought of, is offering an opportunity to Worry; and Worry is the favorite agent of

Death when the destroyer handles his work in a lingering way, and achieves premature results. Never look

back, and never look forward, as long as you can possibly help it. Looking back leads the way to sorrow. And

looking forward ends in the cruelest of all delusions: it encourages hope. The present time is the precious

time. Live for the passing day: the passing day is all that we can be sure of. You suggested, just now, that I

should ask my son if he was engaged to be married. How do we know what wear and tear of your nervous

texture I succeeded in saving when I said. 'Wait till Philip mentions it without asking?' There is the personal

application of my system. I have explained it in my time to every woman on the list of my acquaintance,

including the female servants. Not one of them has rewarded me by adopting my system. How do you feel

Mrs. Staveley declined to tell me whether she had offered a bright example of gratitude to the rest of the sex.

When I asked why, she declared that it was my turn now to tell her what I had been doing.

You will anticipate what followed. She objected to the mystery in which my prospects seemed to be

involved. In plain English, was I, or was I not, engaged to marry her dear Eunice? I said, No. What else could

I say? If I had told Mrs. Staveley the truth, when she insisted on my explaining myself, she would have gone

back to my father, and would have appealed to his sense of justice to forbid our marriage. Finding me

obstinately silent, she has decided on writing to Eunice. So we parted. But don't be disheartened. On my way

out of the house, I met Mr. Staveley coming in, and had a little talk with him. He and his wife and his family

are going to the seaside, next week. Mrs. Staveley once out of our way, I can tell my father of our

engagement without any fear of consequences. If she writes to him, the moment he sees my name mentioned,

and finds violent language associated with it, he will hand the letter to me. "Your business, Philip: don't

interrupt me." He will say that, and go back to his books. There is my father, painted to the life! Farewell, for

Remarks by H. G.Philip's grace and gayety of style might be envied by any professional Author. He

amuses me, but he rouses my suspicion at the same time. This slippery lover of mine tells me to defer writing

to his father, and gives no reason for offering that strange advice to the young lady who is soon to be a

member of the family. Is this merely one more instance of the weakness of his character? Or, now that he is

Added by the Governor.I too have my doubts. Is the flippant nonsense which Philip has written inspired by

the effervescent good spirits of a happy young man? Or is it assumed for a purpose? In this latter case, I

should gladly conclude that he was regarding his conduct to Eunice with becoming emotions of sorrow and

My next quotations will suffer a process of abridgment. I intend them to present the substance of three letters,

Weak as he may be, Mr. Philip Dunboyne shows (in his second letter) that he can feel resentment, and that he

can express his feelings, in replying to Miss Helena. He protests against suspicions which he has not

deserved. That he does sometimes think of Eunice he sees no reason to deny. He is conscious of errors and

misdeeds, whichtraceable as they are to Helena's irresistible fascinationsmay perhaps be considered

rather his misfortune than his fault. Be that as it may, he does indeed feel anxious to hear good accounts of

Eunice's health. If this honest avowal excites her sister's jealousy, he will be disappointed in Helena for the

The imperious young lady regrets that she has hurt his feelings, and is rewarded for the apology by receiving

news of the most gratifying kind. Faithful Philip has told his father that he is engaged to be married to Miss

Helena Gracedieu, daughter of the celebrated Congregational preacherand so on, and so on. Has Mr.

Dunboyne the elder expressed any objection to the young lady? Certainly not! He knows nothing of the other

engagement to Eunice; and he merely objects, on principle, to looking forward. "How do we know," says the

philosopher, "what accidents may happen, or what doubts and hesitations may yet turn up? I am not to burden

my mind in this matter, till I know that I must do it. Let me hear when she is ready to go to church, and I will

be ready with the settlements. My compliments to Miss and her papa, and let us wait a little." Dearest

In this there occurs the first startling reference to Mrs. Tenbruggen, by name. She is in London, finding her

way to lucrative celebrity by twisting, turning, and pinching the flesh of credulous persons, afflicted with

nervous disorders; and she has already paid a few medical visits to old Mr. Dunboyne. He persists in poring

over his books while Mrs. Tenbruggen operates, sometimes on his cramped right hand, sometimes (in the fear

that his brain may have something to do with it) on the back of his neck. One of them frowns over her

rubbing, and the other frowns over his reading. It would be delightfully ridiculous, but for a drawback; Mr.

Philip Dunboyne's first impressions of Mrs. Tenbruggen do not incline him to look at that lady from a

Helena's remarks follow, as usual. She has seen Mrs. Tenbruggen's name on the address of a letter written by

Miss Jillgallwhich is quite enough to condemn Mrs. Tenbruggen. As for Philip himself, she feels not quite

I have flown into a passion, dearest Helena; and I am afraid I shall make you fly into a passion, too. Blame

On the first occasion when I found my father under the hands of the Medical Rubber, she took no notice of

me. On the second occasionwhen she had been in daily attendance on him for a week, at an exorbitant

feeshe said in the coolest manner: "Who is this young gentleman?" My father laid down his book, for a

moment only: "Don't interrupt me again, ma'am. The young gentleman is my son Philip." Mrs. Tenbruggen

eyed me with an appearance of interest which I was at a loss to account for. I hate an impudent woman. My

I asked him how he got on with Mrs. Tenbruggen. As badly as possible, it appeared. "She takes liberties with

my neck; she interrupts me in my reading; and she does me no good. I shall end, Philip, in applying a medical

A few days later, I found the masterful "Masseuse" torturing the poor old gentleman's muscles again. She had

the audacity to say to me: "Well, Mr. Philip, when are you going to marry Miss Eunice Gracedieu?" My

father looked up. "Eunice?" he repeated. "When my son told me he was engaged to Miss Gracedieu, he said

'Helena'! Philip, what does this mean?" Mrs. Tenbruggen was so obliging as to answer for me. "Some

mistake, sir; it's Eunice he is engaged to." I confess I forgot myself. "How the devil do you know that?" I

burst out. Mrs. Tenbruggen ignored me and my language. "I am sorry to see, sir, that your son's education has

been neglected; he seems to be grossly ignorant of the laws of politeness." "Never mind the laws of

politeness," says my father. "You appear to be better acquainted with my son's matrimonial prospects than he

is himself. How is that?" Mrs. Tenbruggen favored him with another ready reply: "My authority is a letter,

addressed to me by a relative of Mr. Gracedieumy dear and intimate friend, Miss Jillgall." My father's

keen eyes traveled backward and forward between his female surgeon and his son. "Which am I to believ e?"

he inquired. "I am surprised at your asking the question," I said. Mrs. Tenbruggen pointed to me. "Look at

Mr. Philip, sirand you will allow him one merit. He is capable of showing it, when he knows he has

disgraced himself." Without intending it, I am sure, my father infuriated me; he looked as if he believed her.

Out came one of the smallest and strongest words in the English language before I could stop it: "Mrs.

Tenbruggen, you lie!" The illustrious Rubber dropped my father's handshe had been operating on him all

the timeand showed us that she could assert her dignity when circumstances called for the exertion: "Either

your son or I, sir, must leave the room. Which is it to be?" She met her match in my father. Walking quietly

to the door, he opened it for Mrs. Tenbruggen with a low bow. She stopped on her way out, and delivered her

parting words: "Messieurs Dunboyne, father and son, I keep my temper, and merely regard you as a couple of

When we were alone, there was but one course to take; I made my confession. It is impossible to tell you how

my father received itfor he sat down at his library table with his back to me. The first thing he did was to

That was all; not another word could I extract from him. I don't pretend to have discovered what he really has

in his mind. I only venture on a suggestion. If there is any old friend in your town, who has some influence

over your father, leave no means untried of getting that friend to say a kind word for us. And then ask your

There the letter ends. Helena's notes on it show that her pride is fiercely interested in securing Philip as a

husband. Her victory over poor Eunice will, as she plainly intimates, be only complete when she is married to

young Dunboyne. For the rest, her desperate resolution to win her way to my good graces is sufficiently

My own impressions vary. Philip rather gains upon me; he appears to have some capacity for feeling

ashamed of himself. On the other hand, I regard the discovery of an intimate friendship existing between Mrs.

Tenbruggen and Miss Jillgall with the gloomiest views. Is this formidable Masseuse likely to ply her trade in

the country towns? And is it possible that she may come to this town? God forbid!

Of the other letters in the collection, I need take no special notice. I returned the whole correspondence to

The one recent event in Mr. Gracedieu's family, worthy of record, is of a melancholy nature. After paying his

visit today, the doctor has left word that nobody but the nurse is to go near the Minister. This seems to

Helena has been away all the evening at the Girls' School. She left a little note, informing me of her wishes:

"I shall expect to be favored with your decision tomorrow morning, in my housekeeping room."

At breakfast time, the report of the poor Minister was still discouraging. I noticed that Helena was absent

from the table. Miss Jillgall suspected that the cause was bad news from Mr. Philip Dunboyne, arriving by

that morning's post. "If you will excuse the use of strong language by a lady," she said, "Helena looked

perfectly devilish when she opened the letter. She rushed away, and locked herself up in her own shabby

room. A serious obstacle, as I suspect, in the way of her marriage. Cheering, isn't it?" As usual, good Selina

I had to keep my appointment; and the sooner Helena Gracedieu and I understood each other the better.

I knocked at the door. It was loudly unlocked, and violently thrown open. Helena's temper had risen to

She took a crumpled letter from her pocket, opened it, and smoothed it out on the table with a blow of her

I looked. It was the letter addressed to Mr. Dunboyne the elder, which I had written for Mr. Gracedieuwith

"The signature to the letter, Mr. Governor, is written by my father. But the letter itself is in a different hand.

AFTER having identified my handwriting, I waited with some curiosity to see whether Helena would let her

anger honestly show itself, or whether she would keep it down. She kept it down.

"Allow me to return good for evil." (The evil was uppermost, nevertheless, when Miss Gracedieu expressed

herself in these selfdenying terms.) "You are no doubt anxious to know if Philip's father has been won over

to serve your purpose. Here is Philip's own account of it: the last of his letters that I shall trouble you to read."

An eccentric philosopher is as capable as the most commonplace human being in existence of behaving like

an honorable man. Mr. Dunboyne read the letter which bore the Minister's signature, and handed it to his son.

"Can you answer that?" was all he said. Philip's silence confessed that he was unable to answer itand

Philip himself, I may add, rose accordingly in my estimation. His father pointed to the writingdesk. "I must

spare my cramped hand," the philosopher resumed, "and I must answer Mr. Gracedieu's letter. Write, and

leave a place for my signature." He began to dictate his reply. "SirMy son Philip has seen your letter, and

has no defense to make. In this respect he has set an example of candor which I propose to follow. There is

no excuse for him. What I can do to show that I feel for you, and agree with you, shall be done. At the age

which this young man has reached, the laws of England abolish the authority of his father. If he is sufficiently

infatuated to place his honor and his happiness at the mercy of a lady, who has behaved to her sister as your

daughter has behaved to Miss Eunice, I warn the married couple not to expect a farthing of my money, either

during my lifetime or after my death. Your faithful servant, DUNBOYNE, SENIOR." Having performed his

duty as secretary, Philip received his dismissal: "You may send my reply to the post," his father said; "and

you may keep Mr. Gracedieu's letter. Morally speaking, I regard that last document as a species of mirror, in

which a young gentleman like yourself may see how ugly he looks." This, Philip declared, was his father's

I handed back the letter to Helena. Not a word passed between us. In sinister silence she opened the door and

That Mrs. Gracedieu and I had met in the bygone time, andthis was the only serious part of ithad met in

secret, would now be made known to the Minister. Was I to blame for having shrunk from distressing my

good friend, by telling him that his wife had privately consulted me on the means of removing his adopted

child from his house? And, even if I had been cruel enough to do this, would he have believed my statement

against the positive denial with which the woman whom he loved and trusted would have certainly met it?

No! let the consequences of the coming disclosure be what they might, I failed to see any valid reason for

Before I could tell her what had happened, there was a ring at the housebell. The visitor proved to be Mr.

Wellwood, the doctor. I was anxious to speak to him on the subject of Mr. Gracedieu's health. Miss Jillgall

introduced me, as an old and dear friend of the Minister, and left us together in the diningroom.

"What do I think of Mr. Gracedieu?" he said, repeating the first question that I put. "Well, sir, I think badly of

Entering into details, after that ominous reply, Mr. Wellwood did not hesitate to say that his patient's nerves

were completely shattered. Disease of the brain had, as he feared, been already set up. "As to the causes

which have produced this lamentable breakdown," the doctor continued, "Mr. Gracedieu has been in the

habit of preaching extempore twice a day on Sundays, and sometimes in the week as welland has

uniformly refused to spare himself when he was in most urgent need of rest. If you have ever attended his

chapel, you have seen a man in a state of fiery enthusiasm, feeling intensely every word that he utters. Think

of such exhaustion as that implies going on for years together, and accumulating its wasting influences on a

sensitively organized constitution. Add that he is tormented by personal anxieties, which he confesses to no

one, not even to his own children and the sum of it all is that a worse case of its kind, I am grieved to say, has

Before the doctor left me to go to his patient, I asked leave to occupy a minute more of his time. My object

The change of subject seemed to be agreeable to Mr. Wellwood. He smiled goodhumoredly.

"You need feel no alarm about the health of that interesting girl," he said. "When she complained to meat

her age!of not being able to sleep, I should have taken it more seriously if I had been told that she too had

her troubles, poor little soul. Lovetroubles, most likelybut don't forget that my professional limits keep

me in the dark! Have you heard that she took some composing medicine, which I had prescribed for her

father? The effect (certain, in any case, to be injurious to a young girl) was considerably aggravated by the

state of her mind at the time. A dream that frightened her, and something resembling delirium, seems to have

followed. And she made matters worse, poor child, by writing in her diary about the visions and supernatural

appearances that had terrified her. I was afraid of fever, on the day when they first sent for me. We escaped

that complication, and I was at liberty to try the best of all remediesquiet and change of air. I have no fears

All that I had found perplexing in Eunice was now made clear. I understood how her agony at the loss of her

lover, and her keen sense of the wrong that she had suffered, had been strengthened in their disastrous

influence by her experiment on the sleeping draught intended for her father. In mind and body, both, the poor

girl was in the condition which offered its opportunity to the lurking hereditary taint. It was terrible to think

of what might have happened, if the allpowerful counterinfluence had not been present to save her.

Before I had been long alone the servantmaid came in, and said the doctor wanted to see me.

Mr. Wellwood was waiting in the passage, outside the Minister's bedchamber. He asked if he could speak to

me without interruption, and without the fear of being overheard. I led him at once to the room which I

"At the very time when it is most important to keep Mr. Gracedieu quiet," he said, "something has happened

to exciteI might almost say to infuriate him. He has left his bed, and is walking up and down the room;

and, I don't scruple to say, he is on the verge of madness. He insists on seeing you. Being wholly unable to

control him in any other way, I have consented to this. But I must not allow you to place yourself in what

may be a disagreeable position, without a word of warning. Judging by his tones and his looks, he seems to

Knowing perfectly well what had happened, and being one of those impatient people who can never endure

suspenseI offered to go at once to Mr. Gracedieu's room. The doctor asked leave to say one word more.

"Pray be careful that you neither say nor do anything to thwart him," Mr. Wellwood resumed. "If he

expresses an opinion, agree with him. If he is insolent and overbearing, don't answer him. In the state of his

brain, the one hopeful course to take is to let him have his own way. Pray remember that. I will be within call,

Only two wordsbut the voice that uttered them, hoarse and peremptory, was altered almost beyond

recognition. If I had not known whose room it was, I might have doubted whether the Minister had really

At the instant when I answered him, I was allowed to pass in. Having admitted me, he closed the door, and

placed himself with his back against it. The customary pallor of his face had darkened to a deep red; there

was an expression of ferocious mockery in his eyes. Helena's vengeance had hurt her unhappy father far more

severely than it seemed likely to hurt me. The doctor had said he was on the verge of madness. To my

"My excellent friend! My admirable, honorable, welcome guest, you don't know how glad I am to see you.

"Ah, you were a handsome fellow when I first knew you," he said, "and you have some remains of it still left.

Do you remember the time when you were a favorite with the ladies? Oh, don't pretend to be modest; don't

turn your back, now you are old, on what you were in the prime of your life. Do you own that I am right?"

What his object might be in saying thisif, indeed, he had an objectit was impossible to guess. The

doctor's advice left me no alternative; I hastened to own that he was right. As I made that answer, I observed

that he held something in his hand which was half hidden up the sleeve of his dressinggown. What the

"And when I happened to speak of you somewhere," he went on, "I forget wherea member of my

congregationI don't recollect who it wastold me you were connected with the aristocracy. How were

He surprised me; but, however he had got his information, he had not been deceived. I told him that I was

"The aristocracy!" he repeated. "A race of people who are rich without earning their money, and noble

because their greatgrandfathers were noble before them. They live in idleness and luxuryprofligates who

gratify their passions without shame and without remorse. Deny, if you dare, that this is a true description of

"And don't suppose I forget that you are one of them. Do you hear me, my noble friend?"

"So far," he resumed, "I don't complain of you. You have not attempted to deceive meyet. Absolute silence

is what I require next. Though you may not suspect it, my mind is in a ferment; I must try to think."

To some extent at least, his thoughts betrayed themselves in his actions. He put the object that I had half seen

in his hand into the pocket of his dressinggown, and moved to the toilettable. Opening one of the drawers,

"A minister of the Gospel," he said, "is a sacred man, and has a horror of crime. You are safe, so

farprovided you obey me. I have a solemn and terrible duty to perform. This is not the right place for it.

He led the way out. The doctor, waiting in the passage, was not near the stairs, and so escaped notice. "What

is it?" Mr. W ellwood whispered. In the same guarded way, I said: "He has not told me yet; I have been

careful not to irritate him." When we descended the stairs, the doctor followed us at a safe distance. He

mended his pace when the Minister opened the door of the study, and when he saw us both pass in. Before he

could follow, the door was closed and locked in his face. Mr. Gracedieu took out the key and threw it through

Turning back into the room, he laid the folded sheet of paper on the table. That done, he spoke to me.

"I distrust my own weakness," he said. "A dreadful necessity confronts meI might shrink from the horrid

idea, and, if I could open the door, might try to get away. Escape is impossible now. We are prisoners

together. But don't suppose that we are alone. There is a third person present, who will judge between you

He pointed solemnly to the portrait of his wife. It was a small picture, very simply framed; representing the

face in a "threequarter" view, and part of the figure only. As a work of art it was contemptible; but, as a

likeness, it answered its purpose. My unhappy friend stood before it, in an attitude of dejection, covering his

In the interval of silence that followed, I was reminded that an unseen friend was keeping watch outside.

Alarmed by having heard the key turned in the lock, and realizing the embarrassment of the position in which

I was placed, the doctor had discovered a discreet way of communicating with me. He slipped one of his

visitingcards under the door, with these words written on it: "How can I help you?"

I took the pencil from my pocketbook, and wrote on the blank side of the card: "He has thrown the key into

the garden; look for it under the window." A glance at the Minister, before I returned my reply, showed that

his attitude was unchanged. Without being seen or suspected, I, in my turn, slipped the card under the door.

My anxiety to see how the doctor's search for the key was succeeding, tempted me to approach the window.

On my way to it, the tail of my coat threw down a little tray containing pens and pencils, which had been left

close to the edge of the table. Slight as the noise of the fall was, it disturbed Mr. Gracedieu. He looked round

"I have been comforted by prayer," he told me. "The weakness of poor humanity has found strength in the

Lord." He pointed to the portrait once more: "My hands must not presume to touch it, while I am still in

I removed the picture and placed it, by his directions, on a chair that stood midway between us. To my

surprise his tones faltered; I saw tears rising in his eyes. "You may think you see a picture there," he said.

"You are wrong. You see my wife herself. Stand here, and look at my wife with me."

Without anything said or done on my part to irritate him, he suddenly turned to me in a state of furious rage.

"Not a sign of sorrow!" he burst out. "Not a blush of shame! Wretch, you stand condemned by the atrocious

A first discovery of the odious suspicion of which I was the object, dawned on my mind at that moment. My

capacity for restraining myself completely failed me. I spoke to him as if he had been an accountable being.

"Once for all," I said, "tell me what I have a right to know. You suspect me of something. What is it?"

Instead of directly replying, he seized my arm and led me to the table. "Take up that paper," he said. "There is

writing on it. Readand let Her judge between us. Your life depends on how you answer me."

Was there a weapon concealed in the room? or had he got it in the pocket of his dressinggown? I listened

for the sound of the doctor's returning footsteps in the passage outside, and heard nothing. My life had once

depended, years since, on my success in heading the arrest of an escaped prisoner. I was not conscious, then,

of feeling my energies weakened by fear. But that man was not mad; and I was younger, in those days, by a

good twenty years or more. At my later time of life, I could show my old friend that I was not afraid of

I opened the paper. "Am I to read this to myself?" I asked. "Or am I to read it aloud?"

"I have been so unfortunate, dearest father, as to displease you, and I dare not hope that you will consent to

"Grieved as I am to distress you, in your present state of health, I must not hesitate to reveal what it has been

"But let me make sure, in such a serious matter as this is, that I am not mistaken.

"In those happy past days, when I was still dear to my father, you said you thought of writing to invite a

dearlyvalued friend to pay a visit to this house. You had first known him, as I understood, when my mother

was still living. Many interesting things you told me about this old friend, but you never mentioned that he

knew, or that he had even seen, my mother. I was left to suppose that those two had remained strangers to

"If there is any misinterpretation here of what you said, or perhaps of what you meant to say, pray destroy

what I have written without turning to the next page; and forgive me for having innocently startled you by a

"Put it down!" he cried; "I won't wait till you have got to the endI shall question you now. Give me the

He hesitatedand looked at the portrait once more. "Turn her away from me," he said; "I can't face my

He consulted the paper, reading it with but little of the confusion and hesitation which my experience of him

had induced me to anticipate. Had the mad excitement that possessed him exercised an influence in clearing

his mind, resembling in some degree the influence exercised by a storm in clearing the air? Whatever the

right explanation may be, I can only report what I saw. I could hardly have mastered what his daughter had

"Helena tells me," he began, "that you said you knew her by her likeness to her mother. Is that true?"

"And you made an excuse for leaving hersee! here it is, written down. You made an excuse, and left her

"My daughter saysNo! I won't be hurried and I won't be interruptedshe says you were confused. Is that

"It is so. Let your questions wait for a moment. I wish to tell you why I was confused."

"Haven't I said I won't be interrupted? Do you think you can shake my resolution?" He referred to the paper

The evidence which was intended to convict me was the evidence which I was expected to find! I pointed it

His natural courtesy asserted itself in spite of his anger. He said "Thank you," and questioned me the moment

after as fiercely as ever. "Go back to the time, sir, when we met in your rooms at the prison. Did you know

"Did you and she see each otherha! I've got it nowdid you see each other after I had left the town? No

prevarication! You own to telling Helena that you knew her by her likeness to her mother. You must have

I made another effort to defend myself. He again refused furiously to hear me. It was useless to persist.

Whatever the danger that threatened me might be, the sooner it showed itself the easier I should feel. I told

him that Mrs. Gracedieu had called on me, after he and his wife had left the town.

After that answer, he no longer required the paper to help him. He threw it from him on the floor.

"And you received her," he said, "without inquiring whether I knew of her visit or not? Guilty deception on

When his mad suspicion that I had been his wife's lover betrayed itself in this way, I made a last attempt, in

the face of my own conviction that it was hopeless, to place my conduct and his wife's conduct before him in

"Mrs. Gracedieu's object was to consult me" Before I could say the next words, I saw him put his hand into

"An innocent man," he sternly declared, "would have told me that my wife had been to see himyou kept it

a secret. An innocent woman would have given me a reason for wishing to go to youshe kept it a secret,

He drew from his pocket the thing that he had hidden from me. This time, there was no concealment; he let

me see that he was opening a razor. It was no time for asserting my innocence; I had to think of preserving

my life. When a man is without firearms, what defense can avail against a razor in the hands of a madman? A

chair was at my side; it offered the one poor means of guarding myself that I could see. I laid my hand on it,

"Which of them shall I kill first?" he said to himself. "The man who was my trusted friend? Or the woman

whom I believed to be an angel on earth?" He stopped once more, in a state of fierce selfconcentration,

debating what he should do. "The woman," he decided. "Wretch! Fiend! Harlot! How I loved her!!!"

With a yell of fury, he pounced on the pictureripped the canvas out of the frameand cut it malignantly

into fragments. As they dropped from the razor on the floor, he stamped on them, and ground them under his

foot. "Go, wife of my bosom," he cried, with a dreadful mockery of voice and look"go, and burn

everlastingly in the place of torment!" His eyes glared at me. "Your turn now," he saidand rushed at me

with his weapon ready in his hand. I hurled the chair at his right arm. The razor dropped on the floor. I caught

him by the wrist. Like a wild animal he tried to bite me. With my free handif I had known how to defend

myself in any other way, I would have taken that waywith my free hand I seized him by the throat; forced

him back; and held him against the wall. My grasp on his throat kept him quiet. But the dread of seriously

injuring him so completely overcame me, that I forgot I was a prisoner in the room, and was on the point of

I was still struggling to preserve my selfcontrol, when the sound of footsteps broke the silence outside. I

I CANNOT prevail upon myself to dwell at any length on the events that followed.

We secured my unhappy friend, and carried him to his bed. It was necessary to have men in attendance who

could perform the duty of watching him. The doctor sent for them, while I went downstairs to make the best I

All that I could do to spare Miss Jillgall, I did. I was obliged to acknowledge that there had been an outbreak

of violence, and that the portrait of the Minister's wife had been destroyed by the Minister himself. Of

Helena's revenge on me I said nothing. It had led to consequences which even her merciless malice could not

have contemplated. There were no obstacles in the way of keeping secret the attempt on my life. But I was

compelled to own that Mr. Gracedieu had taken a dislike to me, which rendered it necessary that my visit

should be brought to an end. I hastened to add that I should go to the hotel, and should wait there until the

Of the multitude of questions with which poor Miss Jillgall overwhelmed meof the wild words of sorrow

and alarm that escaped herof the desperate manner in which she held by my arm, and implored me not to

go away, when I must see for myself that "she was a person entirely destitute of presence of mind"I shall

say nothing. The undeserved suffering that is inflicted on innocent persons by the sins of others demands

silent sympathy; and, to that extent at least, I can say that I honestly felt for my quaint and pleasant little

In the evening the doctor called on me at the hotel. The medical treatment of his patient had succeeded in

calming the maddened brain under the influence of sleep. If the night passed quietly, better news might be

On the next day I had arranged to drive to the farm, being resolved not to disappoint Eunice. But I shrank

from the prospect of having to distress her as I had already distressed Miss Jillgall. The only alternative left

was to repeat the sad story in writing, subject to the concealments which I had already observed. This I did,

and sent the letter by messenger, overnight, so that Eunice might know when to expect me.

The medical report, in the morning, justified some hope. Mr. Gracedieu had slept well, and there had been no

reappearance of insane violence on his waking. But the doctor's opinion was far from encouraging when we

spoke of the future. He did not anticipate the cruel necessity of placing the Minister under restraintunless

some new provocation led to a new outbreak. The misfortune to be feared was imbecility.

I was just leaving the hotel to keep my appointment with Eunice, when the waiter announced the arrival of a

young lady who wished to speak with me. Before I could ask if she had mentioned her name, the young lady

She explained her object in calling on me, with the exasperating composure which was peculiarly her own.

"I don't wish to speak of what happened yesterday, so far as I know anything about it," she began. "It is quite

enough for me that you have been obliged to leave the house and to take refuge in this hotel. I have come to

I signed to her to go on. If I had answered in words, I should have told her to leave the room.

"At first," she resumed, "I thought of writing; but it occurred to me that you might keep my letter, and show it

to Philip, by way of lowering me in his good opinion, as you have lowered me in the good opinion of his

father. My object in coming here is to give you a word of warning. If you attempt to make mischief next

between Philip and myself, I shall hear of itand you know what to expect, when you have Me for an

enemy. It is not worth while to say any more. We understand each other, I hope?"

"Not quite yet," I said. "I have been hitherto, as becomes a gentleman, always mindful of a woman's claims to

forbearance. You will do well not to tempt me into forgetting that you are a woman, by prolonging your visit.

Now, Miss Helena Gracedieu, we understand each other." She made me a low curtsey, and answered in her

Even this failed to have the slightest effect on her. She sauntered to the door, as perfectly at her ease as if the

I had thought of driving to the farm. Shall I confess it? My temper was so completely upset that active

movement of some kind offered the one means of relief in which I could find refuge. The farm was not more

than five miles distant, and I had been a good walker all my life. After making the needful inquiries, I set

My way through the town led me past the, Minister's house. I had left the door some fifty yards behin d me,

when I saw two ladies approaching. They were walking, in the friendliest manner, arm in arm. As they came

nearer, I discovered Miss Jillgall. Her companion was the middleaged lady who had declined to give her

Hysterically impulsive, Miss Jillgall seized both my hands, and overwhelmed me with entreaties that I would

go back with her to the house. I listened rather absently. The middleaged lady happened to be nearer to me

now than on either of the former occasions on which I had seen her. There was something in the expression

of her eyes which seemed to be familiar to me. But the effort of my memory was not helped by what I

observed in the other parts of her face. The irongray hair, the baggy lower eyelids, the fat cheeks, the coarse

complexion, and the double chin, were features, and very disagreeable features, too, which I had never seen

"Do pray come back with us," Miss Jillgall pleaded. "We were just talking of you. I and my friend" There

she stopped, evidently on the point of blurting out the name which she had been forbidden to utter in my

The lady smiled; her provokingly familiar eyes rested on me with a humorous enjoyment of the scene.

"My dear," she said to Miss Jillgall, "caution ceases to be a virtue when it ceases to be of any use. The

Governor is beginning to remember me, and the inevitable recognitionwith his quickness of

perceptionis likely to be a matter of minutes now." She turned to me. "In more ways than one, sir, women

are hardly used by Nature. As they advance in years they lose more in personal appearance than the men do.

You are whitehaired, and (pray excuse me) you are too fat; and (allow me to take another liberty) you stoop

at the shouldersbut you have not entirely lost your good looks. I am no longer recognizable. Allow me to

As a man of the world, I ought to have been capable of concealing my astonishment and dismay. She struck

Mrs. Tenbruggen in the town! The one woman whose appearance Mr. Gracedieu had dreaded, and justly

dreaded, stood before mefree, as a friend of his kinswoman, to enter his house, at the very time when he

was a helpless man, guarded by watchers at his bedside. My first clear idea was to get away from both the

women, and consider what was to be done next. I bowedand begged to be excusedand said I was in a

Hearing this, the best of genial old maids was unable to restrain her curiosity. "Where are you going?" she

"To see my dear Euneece?" Miss Jillgall burst out. "Oh, we will go with you!" Mrs. Tenbruggen's politeness

MY first ungrateful impulse was to get rid of the two cumbersome ladies who had offered to be my

companions. It was needless to call upon my invention for an excuse; the truth, as I gladly perceived, would

serve my purpose. I had only to tell them that I had arranged to walk to the farm.

Lean, wiry, and impetuous, Miss Jillgall received my excuse with the sincerest approval of it, as a new idea.

"Nothing could be more agreeable to me," she declared; "I have been a wonderful walker all my life." She

Mrs. Tenbruggen's reception of this proposal inspired me with hope; she asked how far it was to the farm.

"Five miles!" she repeated. "And five miles back again, unless the farmer lends us a cart. My dear Selina, you

might as well ask me to walk to the North Pole. You have got rid of one of us, Mr. Governor," she added,

pleasantly; "and the other, if you only walk fast enough, you will leave behind you on the road. If I believed

But companionable Selina would not hear of a separation. She asked, in her most irresistible manner, if I

objected to driving instead of walking. Her heart's dearest wish, she said, was to make her bosom friend and

myself better acquainted with each other. To conclude, she reminded me that there was a cabstand in the

Perhaps I might have been influenced by my distrust of Mrs. Tenbruggen, or perhaps by my anxiety to

protect Eunice. It struck me that I might warn the defenseless girl to be on her guard with Mrs. Tenbruggen to

better purpose, if Eunice was in a position to recognize her in any future emergency that might occur. To my

mind, this dangerous woman was doubly formidableand for a good reason; she was the bosom friend of

So I amiably consented to forego my walk, yielding to the superior attraction of Mrs. Tenbruggen's company.

On that day the sunshine was tempered by a delightful breeze. If we had been in the biggest and

worstgoverned city on the civilised earth, we should have found no public vehicle, open to the air, which

could offer accommodation to three people. Being only in a country town, we had a light fourwheeled

No wise man expects to be mercifully treated, when he is shut into a carriage with a mature single lady,

inflamed by curiosity. I was not unprepared for Miss Jillgall when she alluded, for the second time, to the sad

events which had happened in the house on the previous dayand especially to the destruction by Mr.

"Why didn't he destroy something else?" she pleaded, piteously. "It is such a disappointment to Me. I never

liked that picture myself. Of course I ought to have admired the portrait of the wife of my benefactor. But

nothat disagreeable painted face was too much for me. I should have felt inexpressibly relieved, if I could

"Perhaps I saw it when I called on you," Mrs. Tenbruggen suggested. "Where did the picture hang?"

"My dear! I received you in the diningroom, and the portrait hung in Mr. Gracedieu's study."

What they said to each other next escaped my attention. Quite unconsciously, Miss Jillgall had revealed to me

a danger which neither the Minister nor I had discovered, though it had conspicuously threatened us both on

the wall of the study. The act of mad destruction which, if I had possessed the means of safely interfering, I

should certainly have endeavored to prevent, now assumed a new and startling aspect. If Mrs. Tenbruggen

really had some motive of her own for endeavoring to identify the adopted child, the preservation of the

picture must have led her straight to the end in view. The most casual opportunity of comparing Helena with

the portrait of Mrs. Gracedieu would have revealed the likeness between mother and daughterand, that

result attained, the identification of Eunice with the infant whom the "Miss Chance" of those days had

brought to the prison must inevitably have followed. It was perhaps natural that Mr. Gracedieu's infatuated

devotion to the memory of his wife should have blinded him to the betrayal of Helena's parentage, which met

his eyes every time he entered his study. But that I should have been too stupid to discover what he had failed

to see, was a wound dealt to my selfesteem which I was vain enough to feel acutely.

Mrs. Tenbruggen's voice, cheery and humorous, broke in on my reflections, with an odd question:

"It's not easy to say, Mrs. Tenbruggen, how grateful I am to the writers of novels."

"Ah! I read novels, too. But I blush to confessdo I blush?that I never thought of feeling grateful till you

mentioned it. Selina and I don't complain of your preferring your own reflections to our company. On the

contrary, you have reminded us agreeably of the heroes of fiction, when the author describes them as being

'absorbed in thought.' For some minutes, Mr. Governor, you have been a hero; absorbed, as I venture to

guess, in unpleasant remembrances of the time when I was a single lady. You have not forg otten how badly I

It is possible that I may have spoken a little too sharply. Anyway, faithful Selina interceded for her friend.

"Oh, dear sir, don't be hard on Elizabeth! She always means well." Mrs. Tenbruggen, as facetious as ever,

made a grateful return for a small compliment. She chucked Miss Jillgall under the chin, with the air of an

amorous old gentleman expressing his approval of a pretty servantgirl. It was impossible to look at the two,

in their relative situations, without laughing. But Mrs. Tenbruggen failed to cheat me into altering my opinion

of her. Innocent Miss Jillgall clapped her ugly hands, and said: "Isn't she good company?"

Mrs. Tenbruggen's social resources were not exhausted yet. She suddenly shifted to the serious side of her

"Perhaps I have improved a little," she said, "as I have advanced in years. The sorrows of an unhappy married

life may have had a purifying influence on my nature. My husband and I began badly. Mr. Tenbruggen

thought I had money; and I thought Mr. Tenbruggen had money. He was taken in by me; and I was taken in

by him. When he repeated the words of the marriage service (most impressively read by your friend the

Chaplain): 'With all my worldly goods I thee endow'his eloquent voice suggested one of the largest

incomes in Europe. When I promised and vowed, in my turn, the delightful prospect of squandering my rich

husband's money made quite a new woman of me. I declare solemnly, when I said I would love, honor, and

obey Mr. T., I looked as if I really meant it. Wherever he is now, poor dear, he is cheating somebody. Such a

Having described her husband in those terms, she got tired of the subject. We were now favored with another

"Ah, what a delicious breeze is blowing, out here in the country!" she said. "Will you excuse me if I take off

my gloves? I want to air my hands." She held up her hands to the breeze; firm, muscular, deadly white hands.

"In my professional occupation," she explained, "I am always rubbing, tickling, squeezing, tapping, kneading,

rolling, striking the muscles of patients. Selina, do you know the movements of your own joints? Flexion,

extension, abduction, adduction, rotation, circumduction, pronation, supination, and the lateral movements.

Be proud of those accomplishments, my dear, but beware of attempting to become a Masseuse. There are

drawbacks in that vocationand I am conscious of one of them at this moment." She lifted her hands to her

nose. "Pah! my hands smell of other people's flesh. The delicious country air will blow it awaythe luxury

of purification!" Her fingers twisted and quivered, and got crooked at one moment and straight again at

another, and showed themselves in succession singly, and flew into each other fiercely interlaced, and then

spread out again like the sticks of a fan, until it really made me giddy to look at them. As for Miss Jillgall, she

lifted her poor little sunken eyes rapturously to the sky, as if she called the homiest sunlight to witness that

But elderly female fascination offers its allurements in vain to the rough animal, man. Suspicion of Mrs.

Tenbruggen's motives had established itself firmly in my mind. Why had the Popular Masseuse abandoned

her brilliant career in London, and plunged into the obscurity of a country town? An opportunity of clearing

up the doubt thus suggested seemed to have presented itself now. "Is it indiscreet to ask," I said, "if you are

Her cunning seized its advantage and put a sly question to me. "Do you wish to be one of my patients

"That is, unfortunately, impossible," I replied "I have arranged to return to London."

Artful as she was, Mrs. Tenbruggen failed to conceal a momentary expression of relief which betrayed itself,

partly in her manner, partly in her face. She had ascertained, to her own complete satisfaction, that my speedy

"But I have not yet answered you," she resumed. "To tell the truth, I am eager to try my hands on you.

Massage, as I practice it, would lighten your weight, and restore your figure; I may even say would lengthen

your life. You will think of me, one of these days, won't you? In the meanwhileyes! I am here in my

professional capacity. Several interesting cases; and one very remarkable person, brought to death's door by

the doctors; a rich man who is liberal in paying his fees. There is my quarrel with London and Londoners.

Some of their papers, medical newspapers, of course, declare that my fees are exorbitant; and there is a

tendency among the patientsI mean the patients who are rolling in richesto follow the lead of the

newspapers. I am no worm to be trodden on, in that way. The London people shall wait for me, until they

miss meand, when I do go back, they will find the fees increased. My fingers and thumbs, Mr. Governor,

Miss Jillgall nodded her head at me. It was an eloquent nod. "Admire my spirited friend," was the

At the same time, my private sentiments suggested that Mrs. Tenbruggen's reply was too perfectly

satisfactory, viewed as an explanation. My suspicions were by no means set at rest; and I was resolved not to

let the subject drop yet. "Speaking of Mr. Gracedieu, and of the chances of his partial recovery," I said, "do

"There are some medical men who are honorable exceptions to the general rule; and he may be one of them,"

Mrs. Tenbruggen admitted. "Don't be too hopeful. As a doctor, he belongs to the most tyrannical

"I find something in your mannerpray don't suppose that I am angrywhich looks like distrust; I mean,

Miss Jillgall's ever ready kindness interfered in my defense: "Oh, no, Elizabeth! You are not often mistaken;

but indeed you are wrong now. Look at my distinguished friend. I remember my copy book, when I was a

small creature learning to write, in England. There were first lines that we copied, in big letters, and one of

them said, 'Distrust Is Mean.' I know a young person, whose name begins with H, who is one mass of

meanness. But"excellent Selina paused, and pointed to me with a gesture of triumph"no meanness

Mrs. Tenbruggen waited to hear what I had to say, scornfully insensible to Miss Jillgall's wellmeant

"You are not altogether mistaken," I told her. "I can't say that my mind is in a state of distrust, but I own that

"May I presume that you remember the occasion when we met at Mr. Gracedieu's housedoor? You saw that

I failed to recognize you, and you refused to give your name when the servant asked for it. A few days

afterward, I heard you (quite accidentally) forbid Miss Jillgall to mention your name in my hearing. I am at a

Before she could answer me, the chaise drew up at the gate of the farmhouse. Mrs. Tenbruggen carefully

promised to explain what had puzzled me, at the first opportunity. "If it escapes my memory," she said, "pray

I determined to remind her of it. Whether I could depend on her to tell me the truth, might be quite another

EUNICE ran out to meet us, and opened the gate. She was instantly folded in Miss Jillgall's arms. On her

release, she came to me, eager for news of her father's health. When I had communicated all that I thought it

right to tell her of the doctor's last report, she noticed Mrs. Tenbruggen. The appearance of a stranger seemed

"Darling Euneece, you remember Mrs. Tenbruggen's name, I am sure? Elizabeth, this is my sweet girl; I

"I hope she will be my sweet girl, when we know each other a little better. May I kiss you, dear? You have

lovely eyes; but I am sorry to see that they don't look like happy eyes. You want Mamma Tenbruggen to

She put her arm round Eunice's waist and led her to the house door. Her enjoyment of the creepers that

twined their way up the pillars of the porch was simply perfection as a piece of acting. When the farmer's

wife presented herself, Mrs. Tenbruggen was so irresistibly amiable, and took such flattering notice of the

children, that the harmless British matron actually blushed with pleasure. "I'm sure, ma'am, you must have

children of your own," she said. Mrs. Tenbruggen cast her eyes on the floor, and sighed with pathetic

resignation. A sweet little family, and all cruelly swept away by death. If the performance meant anything, it

"What wonderful selfpossession!" somebody whispered in my ear. The children in the room were healthy,

wellbehaved little creaturesbut the name of the innocent one among them was Selina.

The good woman of the house led the way, and Miss Jillgall and I accompanied her. The children ran on in

front of us. Still keeping possession of Eunice, Mrs. Tenbruggen followed at some distance behind. I looked

back, after no very long interval, and saw that a separation had taken place. Mrs. Tenbruggen passed me, not

looking so pleasantly as usual, joined the children, and walked with two of them, hand in hand, a pattern of

maternal amiability. I dropped back a little, and gave Eunice an opportunity of joining me; having purposely

left her to form her own opinion, without any adverse influence exercised on my part.

"Is that lady a friend of yours?" she asked. "No; only an acquaintance. What do you think of her?"

"I thought I should like her at first; she was so kind, and seemed to take such an interest in me. But she said

such strange thingsasked if I was reckoned like my mother, and which of us was the eldest, my sister or

myself, and whether we were my father's only two children, and if one of us was more his favorite than the

other. What I could tell her, I did tell. But when I said I didn't know which of us was the oldest, she gave me

an impudent tap on the cheek, and said, 'I don't believe you, child,' and left me. How can Selina be so fond of

"I will keep your secret, Eunice; and you must keep mine. I entirely agree with you."

We could say no more at that time. Our friends in advance were waiting for us. We joined them at once.

If I had felt any doubt of the purpose which had really induced Mrs. Tenbruggen to leave London, all further

uncertainty on my part was at an end. She had some vile interest of her own to serve by identifying Mr.

Gracedieu's adopted childbut what the nature of that interest might be, it was impossible to guess. The

future, when I thought of it now, filled me with dismay. A more utterly helpless position than mine it was not

easy to conceive. To warn the Minister, in his present critical state of health, was simply impossible. My

relations with Helena forbade me even to approach her. And, as for Selina, she was little less than a mere tool

Personally speaking, he presented a remarkable contrast to the typical British farmer. He was neither big nor

burly; he spoke English as well as I did; and there was nothing in his dress which would have made him a fit

subject for a picture of rustic life. When he spoke, he was able to talk on subjects unconnected with

agricultural pursuits; nor did I hear him grumble about the weather and the crops. It was pleasant to see that

his wife was proud of him, and that he was, what all fathers ought to be, his children's best and dearest friend.

Why do I dwell on these details, relating to a man whom I was not destined to see again? Only because I had

reason to feel grateful to him. When my spirits were depressed by anxiety, he made my mind easy about

The social arrangements, when our meal was over, fell of themselves into the right train.

Miss Jillgall went upstairs, with the mother and the children, to see the nursery and the bedrooms. Mrs.

Tenbruggen discovered a bond of union between the farmer and herself; they were both skilled players at

backgammon, and they sat down to try conclusions at their favorite game. Without any wearisome necessity

for excuses or stratagems, Eunice took my arm and led me to the welcome retirement of her own

I could honestly congratulate her, when I heard that she was established at the farm as a member of the

family. While she was governess to the children, she was safe from dangers that might have threatened her, if

The entry in her Journal, which she was anxious that I should read, was placed before me next.

I followed the poor child's account of the fearful night that she had passed, with an interest that held me

breathless to the end. A terrible dream, which had impressed a sense of its reality on the sleeper by reaching

its climax in somnambulismthis was the obvious explanation, no doubt; and a rational mind would not

hesitate to accept it. But a rational mind is not a universal gift, even in a country which prides itself on the

idolworship of Fact. Those good friends who are always better acquainted with our faults, failings, and

weaknesses than we can pretend to be ourselves, had long since discovered that my nature was superstitious,

and my imagination likely to mislead me in the presence of events which encouraged it. Well! I was weak

enough to recoil from the purely rational view of all that Eunice had suffered, and heard, and seen, on the

fateful night recorded in her Journal. Good and Evil walk the ways of this unintelligible world, on the same

free conditions. If we cling, as many of us do, to the comforting belief that departed spirits can minister to

earthly creatures for goodcan be felt moving in us, in a train of thought, and seen as visible manifestations,

in a dreamwith what pretense of reason can we deny that the same freedom of supernatural influence

which is conceded to the departed spirit, working for good, is also permitted to the departed spirit, working

for evil? If the grave cannot wholly part mother and child, when the mother's life has been good, does eternal

annihilation separate them, when the mother's life has been wicked? No! If the departed spirit can bring with

it a blessing, the departed spirit can bring with it a curse. I dared not confess to Eunice that the influence of

her murderessmother might, as I thought possible, have been supernaturally present when she heard

temptation whispering in her ear; but I dared not deny it to myself. All that I could say to satisfy and sustain

her, I did say. And when I declaredwith my whole heart declaredthat the noble passion which had

elevated her whole being, and had triumphed over the sorest trials that desertion could inflict, would still

triumph to the end, I saw hope, in that brave and true heart, showing its bright promise for the future in

She closed and locked her Journal. By common consent we sought the relief of changing the subject. Eunice

I shrank from telling her that I could be of no further use to her father, while he regarded me with an enmity

which I had not deserved. But I saw no reason for concealing that it was my purpose to see Philip Dunboyne.

"You told me yesterday," I reminded her, "that I was to say you had forgiven him. Do you still wish me to do

"Have you thought of it seriously? Are you sure of not having been hurried by a generous impulse into saying

"I have been thinking of it," she said, "through the wakeful hours of last nightand many things are plain to

me, which I was not sure of in the time when I was so happy. He has caused me the bitterest sorrow of my

life, but he can't undo the good that I owe to him. He has made a better girl of me, in the time when his love

Her voice trembled; the tears rose in her eyes. It was impossible for me to conceal the distress that I felt. The

noble creature saw it. "No," she said faintly; "I am not going to cry. Don't look so sorry for me." Her hand

pressed my hand gentlyshe pitied me. When I saw how she struggled to control herself, and did control

"Break it to him gentlybut don't let him deceive himself. In this world, he must never hope to see me

I triedvery gentlyto remonstrate. "At your age, and at his age," I said, "surely there is hope?"

"There is no hope." She pressed her hand on her heart. "I know it, I feel it, here."

"I will try to make it easier for you. Say that I have forgiven himand say no more."

AFTER leaving Eunice, my one desire was to be alone. I had much to think of, and I wanted an opportunity

of recovering myself. On my way out of the house, in search of the first solitary place that I could discover, I

passed the room in which we had dined. The door was ajar. Before I could get by it, Mrs. Tenbruggen

"Will you come in here for a moment?" she said. "The farmer has been called away, and I want to speak to

Very unwillinglybut how could I have refused without giving offense?I entered the room.

"When you noticed my keeping my name from you," Mrs. Tenbruggen began, "while Selina was with us, you

placed me in an awkward position. Our little friend is an excellent creature, but her tongue runs away with

her sometimes; I am obliged to be careful of taking her too readily into my confidence. For instance, I have

I had purposely remained standing as a hint to her not to prolong the interview. The hint was thrown away; I

"Selina's letters had informed me," she resumed, "that Mr. Gracedieu was a nervous invalid. When I came to

England, I had hoped to try what Massage might do to relieve him. The cure of their popular preacher might

have advertised me through the whole of the Congregational sect. It was essential to my success that I should

present myself as a stranger. I could trust time and change, and my married name (certainly not known to Mr.

Gracedieu) to keep up my incognito. He would have refused to see me if he had known that I was once Miss

Here was an opportunity, perhaps, of discovering what the Minister had failed to remember when he had been

speaking of this woman, and when I had asked if he had ever offended her. I was especially careful in making

"I remember how you spoke to Mr. Gracedieu," I said, "when you and he met, long ago, in my rooms. But

surely you don't think him capable of vindictively remembering some thoughtless words, which escaped you

"I am not quite such a fool as that, Mr. Governor. What I was thinking of was an unpleasant correspondence

between the Minister and myself. Before I was so unfortunate as to meet with Mr. Tenbruggen, I obtained a

chance of employment in a public Institution, on condition that I included a clergyman among my references.

Knowing nobody else whom I could apply to, I rashly wrote to Mr. Gracedieu, and received one of those cold

and cruel refusals which only the strictest religious principle can produce. I was mortally offended at the

time; and if your friend the Minister had been within my reach" She paused, and finished the sentence by a

"And out of his mind," she added. "Besides, one's sense of injury doesn't last (except in novels and plays)

through a series of years. I don't pity himand if an opportunity of shaking his high position among his

admiring congregation presented itself, I daresay I might make a mischievous return for his letter to me. In

the meanwhile, we may drop the subject. I suppose you understand, now, why I concealed my name from

It was plain enough, of course. If I had known her again, or had heard her name, I might have told the

Minister that Mrs. Tenbruggen and Miss Chance were one and the same. And if I had seen her and talked

with her in the house, my memory might have shown itself capable of improvement. Having politely

"One word more," she said, "while Selina is out of the way. I need hardly tell you that I have not trusted her

with the Minister's secret. You and I are, as I take it, the only people now living who know the truth about

"No more do I. Female folly, and a slip of the tongue; I am old and ugly, but I am still a woman. About Miss

Eunice. Somebody has told the pretty little fool never to trust strangers. You would have been amused, if you

had heard that sly young person prevaricating with me. In one respect, her appearance strikes me. She is not

like either the wretch who was hanged, or the poor victim who was murdered. Can she be the adopted child?

Or is it the other sister, whom I have not seen yet? Oh, come! come! Don't try to look as if you didn't know.

"You alluded just now," I answered, "to our 'advantage' in being the only persons who know the truth about

"In other words," she rejoined, "you leave me to make the discovery myself. Well, my friend, I mean to do

In the evening, my hotel offered to me the refuge of which I stood in need. I could think, for the first time that

Being resolved to see Philip, I prepared myself for the interview by consulting my extracts once more. The

letter, in which Mrs. Tenbruggen figures, inspired me with the hope of protection for Mr. Gracedieu,

To begin with, she would certainly share Philip's aversion to the Masseuse, and her dislike of Miss Jillgall

would, just as possibly, extend to Miss Jillgall's friend. The hostile feeling thus set up might be trusted to

keep watch on Mrs. Tenbruggen's proceedings, with a vigilance not attainable by the coarser observation of a

man. In the event, of an improvement in the Minister's health, I should hear of it both from the doctor and

from Miss Jillgall, and in that case I should instantly return to my unhappy friend and put him on his guard.

My way home from the terminus took me past the hotel at which the elder Mr. Dunboyne was staying. I

called on him. He was reported to be engaged; that is to say, immersed in his books. The address on one of

Philip's letters had informed me that he was staying at another hotel. Pursuing my inquiries in this direction, I

met with a severe disappointment. Mr. Philip Dunboyne had left the hotel that morning; for what destination

The next day's post brought with it the information which I had failed to obtain. Miss Jillgall wrote, infor

ming me in her strongest language that Philip Dunboyne had returned to Helena. Indignant Selina added:

"Helena means to make him marry her; and I promise you she shall fail, if I can stop it."

In taking leave of Eunice, I had given her my address; had warned her to be careful, if she and Mrs.

Tenbruggen happened to meet again, and had begged her to write to me, or to come to me, if anything

In two days more, I received a line from Eunice, written evidently in the greatest agitation.

"Philip has discovered me. He has been here, and has insisted on seeing me. I have refused. The good farmer

WHEN I next heard from Miss Jillgall, the introductory part of her letter merely reminded me that Philip

Dunboyne was established in the town, and that Helena was in daily communication with him. I shall do

"You will sympathize, I am sure" (she writes), "with the indignation which urged me to call on Philip, and

tell him the way to the farmhouse. Think of Helena being determined to marry him, whether he wants to or

not! I am afraid this is bad grammar. But there are occasions when even a cultivated lady fails in her

grammar, and almost envies the men their privilege of swearing when they are in a rage. My state of mind is

truly indescribable. Grief mingles with anger, when I tell you that my sweet Euneece has disappointed me,

for the first time since I had the happiness of knowing and admiring her. What can have been the motive of

her refusal to receive her penitent lover? Is it pride? We are told that Satan fell through pride. Euneece

satanic? Impossible! I feel inclined to go and ask her what has hardened her heart against a poor young man

who bitterly regrets his own folly. Do you think it was bad advice from the farmer or his wife? In that case, I

shall exert my influence, and take her away. You would do the same, wouldn't you?

"I am ashamed to mention the poor dear Minister in a postscript. The truth is, I don't very well know what I

am about. Mr. Gracedieu is quiet, sleeps better than he did, eats with a keener appetite, gives no trouble. But,

alas, that glorious intellect is in a state of eclipse! Do not suppose, because I write figuratively, that I am not

"You might come to us again, if you would only be so kind. It would make no difference now; the poor man

is so sadly altered. I must add, most reluctantly, that the doctor recommends your staying at home. Between

ourselves, he is little better than a coward. Fancy his saying; 'No; we must not run that risk yet.' I am barely

"In any other affair (excuse me for troubling you with a second postscript), my sympathy with Euneece

would have penetrated her motives; I should have felt with her feelings. But I have never been in love; no

gentleman gave me the opportunity when I was young. Now I am middleaged, neglect has done its dreary

workmy heart is an extinct crater. Figurative again! I had better put my pen away, and say farewell for the

Miss Jillgall may now give place to Eunice. The same day's post brought me both letters.

I should be unworthy indeed of the trust which this affectionate girl has placed in me, if I failed to receive her

explanation of her conduct toward Philip Dunboyne, as a sacred secret confided to my fatherly regard. In

those later portions of her letter, which are not addressed to me confidentially, Eunice writes as follows:

"I get newsand what heartbreaking news!of my father, by sending a messenger to Selina. It is more than

ever impossible that I can put myself in the way of seeing Helena again. She has written to me about Philip,

in a tone so shockingly insolent and cruel, that I have destroyed her letter. Philip's visit to the farm,

discovered I don't know how, seems to have infuriated her. She accuses me of doing all that she might herself

have done in my place, and threatens meNo! I am afraid of the wicked whisperings of that second self of

mine if I think of it. They were near to tempting me when I read Helena's letter. But I thought of what you

said, after I had shown you my Journal; and your words took my memory back to the days when I was happy

"Consolation has come to me from the best of good women. Mrs. Staveley writes as lovingly as my mother

might have written, if death had spared her. I have replied with all the gratitude that I really feel, but without

taking advantage of the services which she offers. Mrs. Staveley has it in her mind, as you had it in your

mind, to bring Philip back to me. Does she forget, do you forget, that Helena claims him? But you both mean

"The farmer's wifedear good soul!hardly understands me so well as her husband does. She confesses to

pitying Philip. 'He is so wretched,' she says. 'And, dear heart, how handsome, and what nice, winning

manners! I don't think I should have had your courage, in your place. To tell the truth, I should have jumped

for joy when I saw him at the door; and I should have run down to let him inand perhaps been sorry for it

afterward. If you really wish to forget him, my dear, I will do all I can to help you.'

"These are trifling things to mention, but I am afraid you may think I am unhappyand I want to prevent

"I have so much to be thankful for, and the children are so fond of me. Whether I teach them as well as I

might have done, if I had been a more learned girl, may perhaps be doubtful. They do more for their

governess, I am afraid, than their governess does for them. When they come into my room in the morning,

and rouse me with their kisses, the hour of waking, which used to be so hard to endure after Philip left me, is

With that reassuring view of her life as a governess, the poor child's letter comes to an end.

MISS JILLGALL appears again, after an interval, on the field of my extracts. My pleasant friend deserves

this time a serious reception. She informs me that Mrs. Tenbruggen has begun the inquiries which I have the

It was discouraging to find that circumstances had not justified my reliance on Helena's enmity as a

counterinfluence to Mrs. Tenbruggen. On the other hand, it was a relief to be assured that my return to

London would serve, rather than compromise, the interests which it was my chief anxiety to defend. I had

foreseen that Mrs. Tenbruggen would wait to set her enterprise on foot, until I was out of her way; and I had

calculated on my absence as an event which would at least put an end to suspense by encouraging her to

The first sentences in Miss Jillgall's letter explain the nature of her interest in the proceedings of her friend,

"Things are sadly changed for the worse" (Selina writes); "but I don't forget that Philip was once engaged to

Euneece, and that Mr. Gracedieu's extraordinary conduct toward him puzzled us all. The mode of discovery

which dear Elizabeth suggested by letter, at that time, appears to be the mode which she is following now.

When I asked why, she said: 'Philip may return to Euneece; the Minister may recoverand will be all the

more likely to do so if he tries Massage. In that case, he will probably repeat the conduct which surprised

you; and your natural curiosity will ask me again to find out what it means. Am I your friend, Selina, or am I

not?' This was so delightfully kind, and so irresistibly conclusive, that I kissed her in a transport of gratitude.

With what breathless interest I have watched her progress toward penetrating the mystery of the girls' ages, it

Mrs. Tenbruggen's method o f keeping Miss Jillgall in ignorance of what she was really about, and Miss

Jillgall's admirable confidence in the integrity of Mrs. Tenbruggen, being now set forth on the best authority,

an exact presentation of the state of affairs will be completed if I add a word more, relating to the positions

actually occupied toward Mrs. Tenbruggen's enterprise, by my correspondent and myself.

On her side, Miss Jillgall was entirely ignorant that one of the two girls was not Mr. Gracedieu's daughter, but

his adopted child. On my side, I was entirely ignorant of Mrs. Tenbruggen's purpose in endeavoring to

identify the daughter of the murderess. Speaking of myself, individually, let me add that I only waited the

event to protect the helpless onesmy poor demented friend, and the orphan whom his mercy received into

"Always desirous of making myself useful, I thought I would give my dear Elizabeth a hint which might save

time and trouble. 'Why not begin,' I suggested, 'by asking the Governor to help you?' That wonderful woman

"In my next attempt to be useful, I did violence to my most cherished convictions, by presenting the wretch

Helena to the admirable Elizabeth. That the former would be cold as ice, in her reception of any friend of

mine, was nothing wonderful. Mrs. Tenbruggen passed it over with the graceful composure of a woman of

the world. In the course of conversation with Helena, she slipped in a question: 'Might I ask if you are older

than your sister?' The answer was, of course: 'I don't know.' And here, for once, the most deceitful girl in

"When we were alone again, Elizabeth made a remark: 'If personal appearance could decide the question,' she

said, 'the disagreeable young woman is the oldest of the two. The next thing to be done is to discover if looks

"My friend's lawyer received confidential instructions (not shown to me, which seems rather hard) to trace

the two Miss Gracedieus' registers of birth. Elizabeth described this proceeding (not very intelligibly to my

mind) as a means of finding out which of the girls could be identified by name as the elder of the two.

"The report arrived this morning. I was only informed that the result, in one case, had entirely defeated the

inquiries. In the other case, Elizabeth had helped her agent by referring him to a Birth, advertised in the

customary columns of the Times newspaper. Even here, there was a fatal obstacle. The name of the place in

"I still tried to be useful. Had my friend known the Minister's wife? My friend had never even seen the

Minister's wife. And, as if by a fatality, her portrait was no longer in existence. I could only mention that

Helena was like her mother. But Elizabeth seemed to attach very little importance to my evidence, if I may

call it by so grand a name. 'People have such strange ideas about likenesses,' she said, 'and arrive at such

contradictory conclusions. One can only trust one's own eyes in a matter of that kind.'

"My friend next asked me about our domestic establishment. We had only a cook and a housemaid. If they

were old servants who had known the girls as children, they might be made of some use. Our luck was as

steadily against us as ever. They had both been engaged when Mr. Gracedieu assumed his new pastoral

"She deferred her answer, until I had first told her whether the visit of the doctor might be expected on that

day. I could reply to this in the negative. Elizabeth, thereupon, made a startling request; she begged me to

"I said: 'Surely, you have forgotten the sad state of his mind?' No; she knew perfectly well that he was

imbecile. 'I want to try,' she explained, 'if I can rouse him for a few minutes.'

"She burst out laughing. 'Massage, my dear, doesn't act in that way. It is an elaborate process, pursued

patiently for weeks together. But my hands have more than one accomplishment at their fingerends. Oh,

make your mind easy! I shall do no harm, if I do no good. Take me. Selina, to the Minister.'

"We went to his room. Don't blame me for giving way; I am too fond of Elizabeth to be able to disappoint

"It was a sad sight when we went in. He was quite happy, playing like a child, at cupandball. The attendant

retired at my request. I introduced Mrs. Tenbruggen. He smiled and shook hands with her. He said: 'Are you

a Christian or a Pagan? You are very pretty. How many times can you catch the ball in the cup?' The effort to

talk to her ended there. He went on with his game, and seemed to forget that there was anybody in the room.

"Elizabeth asked me if I had no confidence in her. I was ashamed of myself; I left them together.

"A long halfhour passed. Feeling a little uneasy, I went upstairs again and looked into the room. He was

leaning back in his chair; his plaything was on the floor, and he was looking vacantly at the light that came in

through the window. I found Mrs. Tenbruggen at the other end of the room, in the act of ringing the bell.

Nothing in the least out of the ordinary way seemed to have happened. When the attendant had answered the

" 'I tried, in every possible way, to get him to tell me which of his two daughters was the oldest.'

" 'He was only too ready to answer. First, he said Helena was the oldestthen he corrected himself, and

declared that Eunice was the oldestthen he said they were twinsthen he went back to Helena and

Eunice. Now one was the oldest, and now the other. He rang the changes on those two names, I can't tell you

"My heroic friend answered: 'I know when I am beaten, my dearI give it up.' She looked at her watch; it

was time to operate on the muscles of one of her patients. Away she went, on her glorious mission of

Massage, without a murmur of regret. What strength of mind! But, oh, dear, what a disappointment for poor

little me! On one thing I am determined. If I find myself getting puzzled or frightened, I shall instantly write

With that expression of confidence in me, Selina's narrative came to an end. I wish I could have believed, as

A few days later, Mrs. Tenbruggen honored me with a visit at my house in the neighborhood of London.

Thanks to this circumstance, I am able to add a postscript which will complete the revelations in Miss

The illustrious Masseuse, having much to conceal from her faithful Selina, was well aware that she had only

one thing to keep hidden from me; namely, the advantage which she would have gained if her inquiries had

"I thought I might have got at what I wanted," she told me, "by mesmerizing our reverend friend. He is as

weak as a woman; I threw him into hysterics, and had to give it up, and quiet him, or he would have alarmed

"You amusing old Tory! Shall I throw you into a state of trance? No! I'll give you a shock of another kinda

shock of surprise. I know as much as you do about Mr. Gracedieu's daughters. What do you think of that?"

Her manner was defiant, her tone was positive; I doubted both. Under the surface of her assumed confidence,

I saw something which told me that she was trying to read my thoughts in my face. Many other women had

tried to do that. They succeeded when I was young. When I had reached the wrong side of fifty, my face had

"How did you arrive at your discovery?" I asked. "I know of nobody who could have helped you."

"I helped myself, sir! I reasoned it out. A wonderful thing for a woman to do, isn't it? I wonder whether you

My reply to this was made by a bow. I was sure of my command over my face; but perfect control of the

voice is a rare power. Here and there, a great actor or a great criminal possesses it.

Mrs. Tenbruggen's vanity took me into her confidence. "In the first place," she said, "Helena is plainly the

wicked one of the two. I was not prejudiced by what Selina had told me of her: I saw it, and felt it, before I

had been five minutes in her company. If lying tongues ever provoke her as lying tongues provoked her

mother, she will follow her mother's example. Very well. Nowin the second placethough it is very

slight, there is a certain something in her hair and her complexion which reminds me of the murderess: there

is no other resemblance, I admit. In the third place, the girls' names point to the same conclusion. Mr.

Gracedieu is a Protestant and a Dissenter. Would he call a child of his own by the name of a Roman Catholic

saint? No! he would prefer a name in the Bible; Eunice is his child. And Helena was once the baby whom I

Only four words! But they were deceitfully spoken, and the deceitpracticed in Eunice's interest, it is

needless to saysucceeded. Mrs. Tenbruggen's object in visiting me was attained; I had confirmed her belief

She got up to take her leave. I asked if she proposed remaining in London. No; she was returning to her

As I attended her to the housedoor, she turned to me with her mischievous smile. "I have taken some trouble

in finding the clew to the Minister's mystery," she said. "Don't you wonder why?"

She laughed at the bare idea of it. "Another lesson," she said, "to assist a helpless man in studying the weaker

sex. I have already shown you that a woman can reason. Learn next that a woman can keep a secret.

Of the events which followed Mrs. Tenbruggen's visit it is not possible for me, I am thankful to say, to speak

from personal experience. Ought I to conclude with an expression of repentance for the act of deception to

which I have already pleaded guilty? I don't know. Yes! the force of circumstances does really compel me to

WHILE my father remains in his present helpless condition, somebody must assume a position of command

In my agitated state of mind, sometimes doubtful of Philip, sometimes hopeful of him, I find Mrs.

Tenbruggen simply unendurable. A female doctor is, under any circumstances, a creature whom I detest. She

is, at her very best, a bad imitation of a man. The Medical Rubber is worse than this; she is a bad imitation of

a mountebank. Her grinning goodhumor, adopted no doubt to please the fools who are her patients, and her

impudent enjoyment of hearing herself talk, make me regret for the first time in my life that I am a young

lady. If I belonged to the lowest order of the population, I might take the first stick I could find, and enjoy the

She literally haunts the house, encouraged, of course, by her wretched little dupe, Miss Jillgall. Only this

morning, I tried what a broad hint would do toward suggesting that her visits had better come to an end.

"Really, Mrs. Tenbruggen," I said, "I must request Miss Jillgall to moderate her selfish enjoyment of your

company, for your own sake. Your time is too valuable, in a professional sense, to be wasted on an idle

woman who has no sympathy with your patients, waiting for relief perhaps, and waiting in vain.

She listened to this, all smiles and goodhumor: "My dear, do you know how I might answer you, if I was an

"I might ask you," she persisted, "to allow me to mind my own business. But I am incapable of making an

ungrateful return for the interest which you take in my medical welfare. Let me venture to ask if you

"I am going to make a sensible remark, my child. If you feel tired, permit mehere is a chair. Father Time,

dear Miss Gracedieu, has always been a good friend of mine, because I know how to make the best use of

him. The author of the famous saying Tempus fugit (you understand Latin, of course) was, I take leave to

think, an idle man. The more I have to do, the readier Time is to wait for me. Let me impress this on your

mind by some interesting examples. The greatest conqueror of the centuryNapoleonhad time enough for

everything. The greatest novelist of the centurySir Walter Scotthad time enough for everything. At my

humble distance, I imitate those illustrious men, and my patients never complain of me."

"You are a clever woman, Mrs. Tenbruggen and you know it. You have an eloquent tongue, and you know it.

But you are something else, which you don't seem to be aware of. You are a Bore."

She burst out laughing, with the air of a woman who thoroughly enjoyed a good joke. I looked back when I

left the room, and saw the friend of Father Time in the easy chair opening our newspaper.

This is a specimen of the customary encounter of our wits. I place it on record in my Journal, to excuse

myself to myself. When she left us at last, later in the day, I sent a letter after her to the hotel. Not having kept

a copy of it, let me present the substance, like a sermon, under three heads: I begged to be excused for

speaking plainly; I declared that there was a total want of sympathy between us, on my side; and I proposed

that she should deprive me of future opportunities of receiving her in this house. The reply arrived

immediately in these terms: "Your letter received, dear girl. I am not in the least angry; partly because I am

very fond of you, partly because I know that you will ask me to come back again. P. SPhilip sends his

This last piece of insolence was unquestionably a lie. Philip detests her. They are both staying at the same

hotel. But I happen to know that he won't even look at her, if they meet by accident on the stairs.

People who can enjoy the melancholy spectacle of human nature in a state of degradation would be at a loss

which exhibition to preferan ugly old maid in a rage, or an ugly old maid in tears. Miss Jillgall presented

herself in both characters when she heard what had happened. To my mind, Mrs. Tenbruggen's bosomfriend

is a creature not fit to be seen or heard when she loses her temper. I only told her to leave the room. To my

great amusement, she shook her bony fist at me, and expressed a frantic wish: "Oh, if I was rich enough to

leave this wicked house!" I wonder whether there is insanity (as well as poverty) in Miss Jillgall's family?

Last night my mind was in a harassed state. Philip was, as usual, the cause of it.

Perhaps I acted indiscreetly when I insisted on his leaving London, and returning to this place. But what else

could I have done? It was not merely my interest, it was an act of downright necessity, to withdraw him from

the influence of his hateful fatherwhom I now regard as the one serious obstacle to my marriage. There is

no prospect of being rid of Mr. Dunboyne the elder by his returning to Ireland. He is trying a new remedy for

his crippled handelectricity. I wish it was lightning, to kill him! If I had given that wicked old man the

chance, I am firmly convinced he would not have let a day pass without doing his best to depreciate me in his

son's estimation. Besides, there was the risk, if I had allowed Philip to remain long away from me, of

losingno, while I keep my beauty I cannot be in such danger as thatlet me say, of permitting time and

absence to weaken my hold on him. However sullen and silent he may be, when we meetand I find him in

that condition far too oftenI can, sooner or later, recall him to his brighter self. My eyes preserve their

charm, my talk can still amuse him, and, better even than that, I feel the answering thrill in him, which tells

me how precious my kisses arenot too lavishly bestowed! But the time when I am obliged to leave him to

himself is the time that I dread. How do I know that his thoughts are not wandering away to Eunice? He

denies it; he declares that he only went to the farmhouse to express his regret for his own thoughtless

conduct, and to offer her the brotherly regard due to the sister of his promised wife. Can I believe it? Oh,

what would I not give to be able to believe it! How can I feel sure that her refusal to see him was not a

cunning device to make him long for another interview, and plan perhaps in private to go back and try again.

Marriage! Nothing will quiet these frightful doubts of mine, nothing will reward me for all that I have

suffered, nothing will warm my heart with the delightful sense of triumph over Eunice, but my marriage to

Philip. And what does he say, when I urge it on him?yes, I have fallen as low as that, in the despair which

sometimes possesses me. He has his answer, always the same, and always ready: "How are we to live? where

is the money?" The maddening part of it is that I cannot accuse him of raising objections that don't exist. We

are poorer than ever here, since my father's illnessand Philip's allowance is barely enough to suffice him as

It was useless to think of going to bed. How could I hope to sleep, with my head throbbing, and my thoughts

in this disturbed state? I put on my comfortable dressinggown, and sat down to try what reading would do to

I had borrowed the book from the Library, to which I have been a subscriber in secret for some time past. It

was an old volume, full of what we should now call Gossip; relating strange adventures, and scandalous

It was a strange case of intended poisoning, which had never been carried out. A young married lady of rank,

whose name was concealed under an initial letter, had suffered some unendurable wrong (which was not

mentioned) at the hands of her husband's mother. The wife was described as a woman of strong passions,

who had determined on a terrible revenge by taking the life of her motherinlaw. There were difficulties in

the way of her committing the crime without an accomplice to help her; and she decided on taking her maid,

an elderly woman, into her confidence. The poison was secretly obtained by this person; and the safest

manner of administering it was under discussion between the mistress and the maid, when the door of the

room was suddenly opened. The husband, accompanied by his brother, rushed in, and charged his wife with

plotting the murder of his mother. The young lady (she was only twentythree) must have been a person of

extraordinary courage and resolution. She saw at once that her maid had betrayed her, and, with astonishing

presence of mind, she turned on the traitress, and said to her husband: "There is the wretch who has been

trying to persuade me to poison your mother!" As it happened, the old lady's temper was violent and

overbearing; and the maid had complained of being illtreated by her, in the hearing of the other servants.

The circumstances made it impossible to decide which of the two was really the guilty woman. The servant

was sent away, and the husband and wife separated soon afterward, under the excuse of incompatibility of

temper. Years passed; and the truth was only discovered by the deathbed confession of the wife. A

remarkable story, which has made such an impression on me that I have written it in my Journal. I am not

For the last two days, I have been confined to my room with a bad feverish coldcaught, as I suppose, by

sitting at an open window reading my book till nearly three o'clock in the morning. I sent a note to Philip,

telling him of my illness. On the first day, he called to inquire after me. On the second day, no visit, and no

letter. Here is the third dayand no news of him as yet. I am better, but not fit to go out. Let me wait another

hour, and, if that exertion of patience meets with no reward, I shall send a note to the hotel.

No news of Philip. I have sent to the hotel. The servant has just returned, bringing me back my note. The

waiter informed her that Mr. Dunboyne had gone away to London by the morning train. No apology or

Can he have deserted me? I am in such a frenzy of doubt and rage that I can hardly write that horrible

question. Is it possibleoh, I feel it is possible that he has gone away with Eunice. Do I know where to find

AFTER the heat of my anger had cooled, I made two discoveries. One cost me a fee to a messenger, and the

other exposed me to the insolence of a servant. I pay willingly in my purse and my pride, when the gain is

peace of mind. Through my messenger I ascertained that Eunice had never left the farm. Through my own

inquiries, answered by the waiter with an impudent grin, I heard that Philip had left orders to have his room

kept for him. What misery our stupid housemaid might have spared me, if she had thought of putting that

The rest of the day passed in vain speculations on Philip's motive for this sudden departure. What poor weak

creatures we are! I persuaded myself to hope that anxiety for our marriage had urged him to make an effort to

touch the heart of his mean father. Shall I see him tomorrow? And shall I have reason to be fonder of him

When I asked what had been his object in going to London, I was told that it was "a matter of business." He

made that idiotic excuse as coolly as if he really thought I should believe it. I submitted in silence, rather than

mar his return to me by the disaster of a quarrel. But this was an unlucky day. A harder trial of my

selfcontrol was still to come. Without the slightest appearance of shame, Philip informed me that he was

charged with a message from Mrs. Tenbruggen! She wanted some Irish lace, and would I be so good as to tell

Was he really in earnest? "You," I said, "who distrusted and detested heryou are on friendly terms with

He remonstrated with me. "My dear Helena, don't speak in that way of Mrs. Tenbruggen. We have both been

mistaken about her. That good creature has forgiven the brutal manner in which I spoke to her, when she was

in attendance on my father. She was the first to propose that we should shake hands and forget it. My darling,

don't let all the good feeling be on one side. You have no idea how kindly she speaks of you, and how

anxious she is to help us to be married. Come! come! meet her halfway. Write down the name of the shop

Sheer amazement kept me silent: I let him go on. He was a mere child in the hands of Mrs. Tenbruggen: she

But why did she do it? What advantage had she to gain by insinuating herself in this way into his good

opinion, evidently with the intention of urging him to reconcile us to each other? How could we two poor

My silence began to irritate Philip. "I never knew before how obstinate you could be," he said; "you seem to

I held my tongue; I assumed my smile. It is all very well for men to talk about the deceitfulness of women.

What chance (I should like to ask somebody who knows about it) do the men give us of making our lives

with them endurable, except by deceit! I gave way, of course, and wrote down the address of the shop.

He was so pleased that he kissed me. Yes! the most fondly affectionate kiss that he had given me, for weeks

past, was my reward for submitting to Mrs. Tenbruggen. She is old enough to be his mother, and almost as

On the next day, I fully expected to receive a visit from Mrs. Tenbruggen. She knew better than that. I only

got a polite little note, thanking me for the address, and adding an artless concession: "I earn more money

The next day came, and still she was careful not to show herself too eager for a personal reconciliation. A

splendid nosegay was sent to me, with another little note: "A tribute, dear Helena, offered by one of my

grateful patients. Too beautiful a present for an old woman like me. I agree with the poet: 'Sweets to the

sweet.' A charming thought of Shakespeare's, is it not? I should like to verify the quotation. Would you mind

Well done, Mrs. Tenbruggen! She doesn't venture to intrude on Miss Gracedieu in the drawingroom; she

only wants to verify a quotation in the hall. Oh, goddess of Humility (if there is such a person), how

While this reflection was passing through my mind, Miss Jillgall came insaw the nosegay on the

tableand instantly pounced on it. "Oh, for me! for me!" she cried. "I noticed it this morning on Elizabeth's

table. How very kind of her!" She plunged her inquisitive nose into the poor flowers, and looked up

sentimentally at the ceiling. "The perfume of goodness," she remarked, "mingled with the perfume of

flowers!" "When you have quite done with it," I said, "perhaps you will be so good as to return my nosegay?"

"Your nosegay!" she exclaimed. "There is Mrs. Tenbruggen's letter," I replied, "if you would like to look at

it." She did look at it. All the bile in her body flew up into her eyes, and turned them green; she looked as if

she longed to scratch my face. I gave the flowers afterward to Maria; Miss Jillgall's nose had completely

It would have been too ridiculous to have allowed Mrs. Tenbruggen to consult Shakespeare in the hall. I had

the honor of receiving her in my own room. We accomplished a touching reconciliation, and we quite forgot

Having set herself entirely right with Philip, she is determined on performing the same miracle with me. Her

reform of herself is already complete. Her vulgar humor was kept under strict restraint; she was quiet and

wellbred, and readier to listen than to talk. This change was not presented abruptly. She contrived to express

her friendly interests in Philip and in me by hints dropped here and there, assisted in their effort by answers

on my part, into which I was tempted so skillfully that I only discovered the snare set for me, on reflection.

What is it, I ask again, that she has in view in taking all this trouble? Where is her motive for encouraging a

loveaffair, which Miss Jillgall must have denounced to her as an abominable wrong inflicted on Eunice?

Money (even if there was a prospect of such a thing, in our case) cannot be her object; it is quite true that her

success sets her above pecuniary anxiety. Spiteful feeling against Eunice is out of the question. They have

only met once; and her opinion was expressed to me with evident sincerity: "Your sister is a nice girl, but she

is like other nice girlsshe doesn't interest me." There is Eunice's character, drawn from the life in few

words. In what an irritating position do I find myself placed! Never before have I felt so interested in trying to

look into a person's secret mind; and never before have I been so completely baffled.

I had written as far as this, and was on the point of closing my Journal, when a third note arrived from Mrs.

She had been thinking about me at intervals (she wrote) all through the rest of the day; and, kindly as I had

received her, she was conscious of being the object of doubts on my part which her visit had failed to remove.

Might she ask leave to call on me, in the hope of improving her position in my estimation? An appointment

What can she have to say to me which she has not already said? Is it anything about Philip, I wonder?

AT our interview of the next day, Mrs. Tenbruggen's capacity for selfreform appeared under a new aspect.

She dropped all familiarity with me, and she stated the object of her visit without a superfluous word of

I thought this a remarkable effort for a woman; and I recognized the merit of it by leaving the lion's share of

"He made a commonplace excuse," I answered. "Business, he said, took him to London. I know no more."

"You have a fair prospect of happiness, Miss Helena, when you are marriedyour future husband is

evidently afraid of you. I am not afraid of you; and I shall confide to your private ear something which you

have an interest in knowing. The business which took young Mr. Dunboyne to London was to consult a

competent person, on a matter concerning himself. The competent person is the sagacious (not to say sly) old

"Have you ever heard or read, Miss Helena, of such a thing as 'an old man's fancy'?"

"Well, the Governor has taken an old man's fancy to your sister. They appeared to understand each other

"Excuse me, Mrs. Tenbruggen, that is what I know already. Why did Philip go to the Governor?"

She smiled. "If anybody is acquainted with the true state of your sister's feelings, the Governor is the man. I

This open avowal of her motives perplexed and offended me. After declaring herself to be interested in my

marriageengagement had she changed her mind, and resolved on favoring Philip's return to Eunice? What

right had he to consult anybody about the state of that girl's feelings? My feelings form the only subject of

inquiry that was properly open to him. I should have said something which I might have afterward regretted,

if Mrs. Tenbruggen had allowed me the opportunity. Fortunately for both of us, she went on with her

"Philip Dunboyne is an excellent fellow," she continued; "I really like himbut he has his faults. He sadly

wants strength of purpose; and, like weak men in general, he only knows his own mind when a resolute friend

takes him in hand and guides him. I am his resolute friend. I saw him veering about between you and Eunice;

and I decided for his sakemay I say for your sake also?on putting an end to that mischievous state of

indecision. You have the claim on him; you are the right wife for him, and the Governor was (as I thought

likely from what I had myself observed) the man to make him see it. I am not in anybody's secrets; it was

pure guesswork on my part, and it has succeeded. Th ere is no more doubt now about Miss Eunice's

"My dear Miss Gracedieu, the old wretch is a man of the world, and never makes mistakes of that sort.

Before he could open his lips, he had to satisfy himself that your lover deserved to be taken into his

confidence, on the delicate subject of Eunice's sentiments. He arrived at a favorable conclusion. I can repeat

Philip's questions and the Governor's answers after putting the young man through a stiff examination just as

they passed: 'May I inquire, sir, if she has spoken to you about me?' 'She has often spoken about you.' 'Did

she seem to be angry with me?' 'She is too good and too sweet to be angry with you.' 'Do you think she will

forgive me?' 'She has forgiven you.' 'Did she say so herself?' 'Yes, of her own free will.' 'Why did she refuse

to see me when I called at the farm?' 'She had her own reasonsgood reasons.' 'Has she regretted it since?'

'Certainly not.' 'Is it likely that she would consent, if I proposed a reconciliation?' 'I put that question to her

myself.' 'How did she take it, sir?' 'She declined to take it.' 'You mean that she declined a reconciliation?'

'Yes.' 'Are you sure she was in earnest?' 'I am positively sure.' That last answer seems, by young Dunboyne's

own confession, to have been enough, and more than enough for him. He got up to goand then an odd

thing happened. After giving him the most unfavorable answers, the Governor patted him paternally on the

shoulder, and encouraged him to hope. 'Before we say goodby, Mr. Philip, one word more. If I was as

young as you are, I should not despair.' There is a sudden change of front! Who can explain it?"

The Governor's mischievous resolution to reconcile Philip and Eunice explained it, of course. With the best

intentions (perhaps) Mrs. Tenbruggen had helped that design by bringing the two men together. "Go on," I

said; "I am prepared to hear next that Philip has paid another visit to my sister, and has been received this

"He has not been to the farm," she said, "but he has done something nearly as foolish. He has written to your

Any persons who have had a crushing burden lifted, unexpectedly and instantly, from off their minds, will

know what I felt when I read the reply. In the most positive language, Eunice refused to correspond with

Philip, or to speak with him. The concluding words proved that she was in earnest. "You are engaged to

Helena. Consider me as a stranger until you are married. After that time you will be my brotherinlaw, and

Nobody who knows Eunice would have supposed that she possessed those two valuable

qualitiescommonsense and proper pride. It is pleasant to feel that I can now send cards to my sister, when

I returned the letter to Mrs. Tenbruggen, with the sincerest expressions of regret for having doubted her. "I

have been unworthy of your generous interest in me," I said; "I am almost ashamed to offer you my hand."

"Are we friends?" she asked, in the simplest and prettiest manner. "Then let us be easy and pleasant again,"

she went on. "Will you call me Elizabeth; and shall I call you Helena? Very well. Now I have got something

else to say; another secret which must be kept from Philip (I call him by his name now, you see) for a few

days more. Your happiness, my dear, must not depend on his miserly old father. He must have a little income

of his own to marry on. Among the hundreds of unfortunate wretches whom I have relieved from torture of

mind and body, there is a grateful minority. Small! small! but there they are. I have influence among

powerful people; and I am trying to make Philip private secretary to a member of Parliament. When I have

What a vile humor I must have been in, at the time, not to have appreciated the delightful gayety of this good

creature; I went to the other extreme now, and behaved like a gushing young miss fresh from school. I kissed

She burst out laughing. "What a sacrifice!" she cried. "A kiss for me, which ought to have been kept for

Philip! Bytheby, do you know what I should do, Helena, in your place? I should take our handsome young

"And you will do well, my child. In the first place, the hotel is too expensive for Philip's small means. In the

second place, two of the chambermaids have audaciously presumed to be charming girls; and the men, my

dearwell! well! I will leave you to find that out for yourself. In the third place, you want to have Philip

under your own wing; domestic familiarity will make him fonder of you than ever. Keep him out of the sort

of company that he meets with in the billiardroom and the smokingroom. You have got a spare bed here, I

know, and your poor father is in no condition to use his authority. Make Philip one of the family."

This last piece of advice staggered me. I mentioned the Proprieties. Mrs. Tenbruggen laughed at the

"Make Selina of some use," she suggested. "While you have got her in the house, Propriety is rampant. Why

condemn poor helpless Philip to cheap lodgings? Time enough to cast him out to the featherbed and the

fleas on the night before your marriage. Besides, I shall be in and out constantlyfor I mean to cure your

father. The tongue of scandal is silent in my awful presence; an atmosphere of virtue surrounds Mamma

Let me hasten to add that the protest of Propriety was duly entered, on the day before my promised husband

arrived. Standing in the doorwaynothing would induce her to take a chair, or even to enter the

roomMiss Jillgall delivered her opinion on Philip's approaching visit. Mrs. Tenbruggen reported it in her

pocketbook, as if she was representing a newspaper at a public meeting. Here it is, copied from her notes:

"Miss Helena Gracedieu, my first impulse under the present disgusting circumstances was to leave the house,

and earn a bare crust in the cheapest garret I could find in the town. But my grateful heart remembers Mr.

Gracedieu. My poor afflicted cousin was good to me when I was helpless. I cannot forsake him when he is

helpless. At whatever sacrifice of my own selfrespect, I remain under this roof, so dear to me for the

Minister's sake. I notice, miss, that you smile. I see my once dear Elizabeth, the friend who has so bitterly

disappointed me" she stopped, and put her handkerchief to her eyes, and went on again"the friend who

has so bitterly disappointed me, taking satirical notes of what I say. I am not ashamed of what I say. The

virtue which will not stretch a little, where the motive is good, is feeble virtue indeed. I shall stay in the

house, and witness horrors, and rise superior to them. Goodmorning, Miss Gracedieu. Goodmorning,

Elizabeth." She performed a magnificent curtsey, and (as Mrs. Tenbruggen's experience of the stage informed

My days have glided away in one delicious flow of happiness. Philip has been delightfully devoted to me. His

fervent courtship, far exceeding any similar attentions which he may once have paid to Eunice, has shown

such variety and such steadfastness of worship, that I despair of describing it. My enjoyment of my new life

is to be feltnot to be coldly considered, and reduced to an imperfect statement in words.

For the first time I feel capable, if the circumstances encouraged me, of acts of exalted virtue. For instance, I

could save my co untry if my country was worth it. I could die a martyr to religion if I had a religion. In one

word, I am exceedingly well satisfied with myself. The little disappointments of life pass over me harmless. I

do not even regret the failure of good Mrs. Tenbruggen's efforts to find an employment for Philip, worthy of

his abilities and accomplishments. The member of Parliament to whom she had applied has chosen a

secretary possessed of political influence. That is the excuse put forward in his letter to Mrs. Tenbruggen.

Wretched corrupt creature! If he was worth a thought I should pity him. He has lost Philip's services.

Three days more have slipped by. The aspect of my heaven on earth is beginning to alter.

Perhaps the author of that wonderful French novel, "L'Ame Damne'e," is right when he tells us that human

happiness is misery in masquerade. It would be wrong to say that I am miserable. But I may be on the way to

Today, when he did not know that I was observing him, I discovered a preoccupied look in Philip's eyes. He

laughed when I asked if anything had happened to vex him. Was it a natural laugh? He put his arm round me

and kissed me. Was it done mechanically? I daresay I am out of humor myself. I think I had a little headache.

It has occurred to me this morning that he may dislike being left by himself, while I am engaged in my

household affairs. If this is the case, intensely as I hate her, utterly as I loathe the idea of putting her in

command over my domestic dominions, I shall ask Miss Jillgall to take my place as housekeeper.

I was away today in the kitchen regions rather longer than usual. When I had done with my worries, Philip

was not to be found. Maria, looking out of one of the bedroom windows instead of doing her work, had seen

Mr. Dunboyne leave the house. It was possible that he had charged Miss Jillgall with a message for me. I

asked if she was in her room. No; she, too, had gone out. It was a fine day, and Philip had no doubt taken a

strollbut he might have waited till I could join him. There were some orders to be given to the butcher and

the greengrocer. I, too, left the house, hoping to get rid of some little discontent, caused by thinking of what

had happened. Returning by the way of High StreetI declare I can hardly believe it even nowI did

The direction in which she turned prevented her from seeing me. She was quite unaware that I had discovered

her; and I have said nothing about it since. But I noticed something unusual in the manner in which her

watchchain was hanging, and I asked her what o'clock it was. She said, "You have got your own watch." I

told her my watch had stopped. "So has mine," she said. There is no doubt about it now; she has pawned her

watch. What for? She lives here for nothing, and she has not had a new dress since I have known her. Why

Philip had not returned when I got home. Another mysterious journey to London? No. After an absence of

Naturally enough, I asked what he had been about. He had been taking a long walk. For his health's sake? No:

to think. To think of what? Well, I might be surprised to hear it, but his idle life was beginning to weigh on

his spirits; he wanted employment. Had he thought of an employment? Not yet. Which way had he walked?

Anyway: he had not noticed where he went. These replies were all made in a tone that offended me. Besides,

I observed there was no dust on his boots (after a week of dry weather), and his walk of two hours did not

appear to have heated or tired him. I took an opportunity of consulting Mrs. Tenbruggen.

She had anticipated that I should appeal to her opinion, as a woman of the world.

I shall not set down in detail what she said. Some of it humiliated me; and from some of it I recoiled. The

expression of her opinion came to this. In the absence of experience, a certain fervor of temperament was

essential to success in the art of fascinating men. Either my temperament was deficient, or my intellect

overpowered it. It was natural that I should suppose myself to be as susceptible to the tender passion as the

most excitable woman living. Delusion, my Helena, amiable delusion! Had I ever observed or had any friend

told me that my pretty hands were cold hands? I had beautiful eyes, expressive of vivacity, of intelligence, of

every feminine charm, except the one inviting charm that finds favor in the eyes of a man. She then entered

into particulars, which I don't deny showed a true interest in helping me. I was ungrateful, sulky,

selfopinionated. Dating from that day's talk with Mrs. Tenbruggen, my new friendship began to show signs

It is perhaps true that my temperament is overpowered by my intellect. Or it is possibly truer still that the fire

in my heart, when it warms to love, is a fire that burns low. My belief is that I surprised Philip instead of

charming him. He responded to my advances, but I felt that it was not done in earnest, not spontaneously.

Had I any right to complain? Was I in earnest? Was I spontaneous? We were making love to each other under

A humiliating doubt has come to me suddenly. Has his heart been inclining to Eunice again? After such a

Three events since yesterday, which I consider, trifling as they may be, intimations of something wrong.

First, Miss Jillgall, who at one time was eager to take my place, has refused to relieve me of my

housekeeping duties. Secondly, Philip has been absent again, on another long walk. Thirdly, when Philip

returned, depressed and sulky, I caught Miss Jillgall looking at him with interest and pity visible in her skinny

I am beginning to doubt everybody. Not one of them, Philip included, cares for mebut I can frighten them,

at any rate. Yesterday evening, I dropped on the floor as suddenly as if I had been shot: a fit of some sort. The

doctor honestly declared that he was at a loss to account for it. He would have laid me under an eternal

As it is, I am more clever than the doctor. What brought the fit on is well known to me. Ragefurious,

overpowering, deadly ragewas the cause. I am now in the coldblooded state, which can look back at the

event as composedly as if it had happened to some other girl. Suppose that girl had let her sweetheart know

how she loved him as she had never let him know it before. Suppose she opened the door again the instant

after she had left the room, eager, poor wretch, to say once more, for the fiftieth time, "My angel, I love you!"

Suppose she found her angel standing with his back toward her, so that his face was reflected in the glass.

And suppose she discovered in that face, so smiling and so sweet when his head had rested on her bosom

only the moment before, the most hideous expression of disgust that features can betray. There could be no

doubt of it; I had made my poor offering of love to a man who secretly loathed me. I wonder that I survived

my sense of my own degradation. Well! I am alive; and I know him in his true character at last. Am I a

woman who submits when an outrage is offered to her? What will happen next? Who knows? I am in a fine

humor. What I have just written has set me laughing at myself. Helena Gracedieu has one merit at leastshe

This morning, I am strong again, calm, wickedly capable of deceiving Mr. Philip Dunboyne, as he has

deceived me. He has not the faintest suspicion that I have discovered him. I wish he had courage enough to

kill somebody. How I should enjoy hiring the nearest window to the scaffold, and seeing him hanged!

Miss Jillgall is in better spirits than ever. She is going to take a little holiday; and the cunning creature makes

a mystery of it. "Goodby, Miss Helen a. I am going to stay for a day or two with a friend." What friend?

Last night, I was wakeful. In the darkness a daring idea came to me. Today, I have carried out the idea.

I left the room at the usual hour for attending to my domestic affairs. The obstinate cook did me a service; she

was insolent; she wanted to have her own way. I gave her her own way. In less than five minutes I was on the

watch in the pantry, which has a view of the house door. My hat and my parasol were waiting for me on the

In a few minutes more, I heard the door opened. Mr. Philip Dunboyne stepped out. He was going to take

I followed him to the street in which the cabs stand. He hired the first one on the rank, an open chaise; while I

The moment he started on his drive, I hired a closed cab. "Double your fare," I said to the driver, "whatever it

WHEN we had left the town behind us, the coachman began to drive more slowly. In my ignorance, I asked

what this change in the pace meant. He pointed with his whip to the open road and to the chaise in the

"If we keep too near the gentleman, miss, he has only got to look back, and he'll see we are following him.

The safe thing to do is to let the chaise get on a bit. We can't lose sight of it, out here."

I had felt inclined to trust in the driver's experience, and he had already justified my confidence in him. This

encouraged me to consult his opinion on a matter of some importance to my present interests. I could see the

necessity of avoiding discovery when we had followed the chaise to its destination; but I was totally at a loss

to know how it could be done. My wily old man was ready with his advice the moment I asked for it.

"Wherever the chaise stops, miss, we must drive past it as if we were going somewhere else. I shall notice the

place while we go by; and you will please sit back in the corner of the cab so that the gentleman can't see

"Next, miss, I shall pull up, wherever it may be, out of sight of the driver of the chaise. He bears an excellent

character, I don't deny it; but I've known him for yearsand we had better not trust him. I shall tell you

where the gentleman stopped; and you will go back to the place (on foot, of course), and see for yourself

what's to be done, specially if there happens to be a lady in the case. No offense, miss; it's in my experience

that there's generally a lady in the case. Anyhow, you can judge for yourself, and you'll know where to find

"All very well, coachman; but I have only your word for it." In the irritable state of my mind, the man's

"Begging your pardon, my young lady, you've got (if I may say so) what they call a guarantee. When I was a

"I suppose you mean," I answered, "that you have learned deceit in the wicked ways of the great city."

After a long drive, or so it seemed to my impatience, we passed the chaise drawn up at a lonely house,

separated by a front garden from the road. In two or three minutes more, we stopped where the road took a

turn, and descended to lower ground. The farmhouse which we had left behind us was known to the driver.

"In your place, miss," he said slyly, "the private way back is the way I should wish to take. Try it by the

fields. Turn to the right when you have passed the barn, and you'll find yourself at the back of the house." He

stopped, and looked at his big silver watch. "Halfpast twelve," he said, "the ChawbaconsI mean the

farmhouse servants, misswill be at their dinner. All in your favor, so far. If the dog happens to be loose,

don't forget that his name's Grinder; call him by his name, and pat him before he has time enough to think,

and he'll let you be. When you want me, here you'll find me waiting for orders."

I looked back as I crossed the field. The driver was sitting on the gate, smoking his pipe, and the horse was

nibbling the grass at the roadside. Two happy animals, without a burden on their minds!

After passing the barn, I saw nothing of the dog. Far or near, no living creature appeared; the servants must

have been at dinner, as the coachman had foreseen. Arriving at a wooden fence, I opened a gate in it, and

found myself on a bit of waste ground. On my left, there was a large duckpond. On my right, I saw the

fowlhouse and the pigstyes. Before me was a high impenetrable hedge; and at some distance behind itan

orchard or a garden, as I supposed, filling the intermediate spacerose the back of the house. I made for the

shelter of the hedge, in the fear that some one might approach a window and see me. Once sheltered from

observation, I might consider what I should do next. It was impossible to doubt that this was the house in

which Eunice was living. Neither could I fail to conclude that Philip had tried to persuade her to see him, on

As I crouched behind the hedge, I heard voices approaching on the other side of it. At last fortune had

befriended me. The person speaking at the moment was Miss Jillgall; and the person who answered her was

"I am afraid, dear Mr. Philip, you don't quite understand my sweet Euneece. Honorable, high minded,

delicate in her feelings, and, oh, so unselfish! I don't want to alarm you, but when she hears you have been

"Upon my word, Miss Jillgall, you are so provoking! I have not been deceiving Helena. Haven't I told you

what discouraging answers I got, when I went to see the Governor? Haven't I shown you Eunice's reply to my

"Oh, yes, I have. Why should I remember it? Don't I know poor Euneece was in your mind, all the time?"

"You're wrong again! Eunice was not in my mind all the time. I was hurtI was offended by the cruel

manner in which she had treated me. And what was the consequence? So far was I from deceiving

"Oh, come, come, Mr. Philip! that won't do. Helena rising in anybody's estimation? Ha! ha! ha!"

"Laugh as much as you like, Miss Jillgall, you won't laugh away the facts. Helena loved me; Helena was true

to me. Don't be hard on a poor fellow who is half distracted. What a man finds he can do on one day, he finds

he can't do on another. Try to understand that a change does sometimes come over one's feelings."

"Bless my soul, Mr. Philip, that's just what I have been understanding all the time! I know your mind as well

"I tell you I tried to forget her! On my word of honor as a gentleman, I tried to forget her, in justice to Helena.

Is it my fault that I failed? Eunice was in my mind, as you said just now. Oh, my friendfor you are my

(Was there ever a man's mind in such a state of confusion as this! First, I rise in his precious estimation, and

Eunice drops. Then Eunice rises, and I drop. Idiot! Mischievous idiot! Even Selina seemed to be disgusted

"Mr. Philip, you are hard and unreasonable. I have tried to persuade her, and I have made my darling cry.

Nothing you can say will induce me to distress her again. Go back, you very undetermined mango back to

"I say too late. If I could have married Helena when I first went to stay in the house, I might have faced the

sacrifice. As it is, I can't endure her; and (I tell you this in confidence) she has herself to thank for what has

"Oh, don't talk of her! Persuade Eunice to see me. I shall come back again, and again, and again till you bring

"Please don't talk nonsense. If she changes her mind, I will bring her with pleasure. If she still shrinks from it,

I regard Euneece's feelings as sacred. Take my advice; don't press her. Leave her time to think of you, and to

"Go back to her? I would cut my throat if I thought myself capable of doing it!"

"It might have been better for both of us if she had done that. Oh, her fulsome endearments! What a contrast

to the charming modesty of Eunice! If I was rich, I would make it worth the while of the first poor fellow I

could find to rid me of Helena by marrying her. I don't like saying such a thing of a woman, but if you will

So it was all settled between them. Philip is to throw me away, like one of his bad cigars, for this

unanswerable reason: "Helena disgusts me." And he is to persuade Eunice to take my place, and be his wife.

I heard no more of their talk. With that last, worst outrage burning in my memory, I left the place.

On my way back to the carriage, the dog met me. Truly, a grand creature. I called him by his name, and

patted him. He licked my hand. Something made me speak to him. I said: "If I was to tell you to tear Mr.

Philip Dunboyne to pieces, would you do it?" The great goodnatured brute held out his paw to shake hands.

But the coachman was startled, when he saw me again. He said something, I did not know what it was; and

he produced a pocketflask, containing some spirits, I suppose. Perhaps he thought I was going to faint. He

little knew me. I told him to drive back to the place at which I had hired the cab, and earn his money. He

On getting home, I found Mrs. Tenbruggen walking up and down the diningroom, deep in thought. She was

startled when we first confronted each other. "You look dreadfully ill," she said.

I answered that I had been out for a little exercise, and had overfatigued myself; and then changed the

"Very far from it, my dear. I promised that I would try what Massage would do for him, and I find myself

"He has been talking wildly of events in his past life. His brain is in some condition which is beyond my

powers of investigation. He pointed to a cabinet in his room, and said his past life was locked up there. I

asked if I should unlock it. He shook with fear; he said I should let out the ghost of his dead brotherinlaw.

The cabinet was full of old letters. I could tell her thatand could tell her no more. I had never heard of his

brotherinlaw. Another of his delusions, no doubt. "Did you ever hear him speak," Mrs. Tenbruggen went

She waited for my reply to this last inquiry with an appearance of anxiety that surprised me. I had never heard

She went away to attend on a patient. I retired to my bedroom, and opened my Diary. Again and again, I read

that remarkable story of the intended poisoning, and of the manner in which it had ended. I sat thinking over

Mr. Philip Dunboyne had returned. In Miss Jillgall's absence we were alone at the table. My appetite was

gone. I made a pretense of eating, and another pretense of being glad to see my devoted lover. I talked to him

in the prettiest manner. As a hypocrite, he thoroughly matched me; he was gallant, he was amusing. If

baseness like ours had been punishable by the law, a prison was the right place for both of us.

Mrs. Tenbruggen came in again after dinner, still not quite easy about my health. "How flushed you are!" she

said. "Let me feel your pulse." I laughed, and left her with Mr. Philip Dunboyne.

Passing my father's door, I looked in, anxious to see if he was in the excitable state which Mrs. Tenbruggen

had described. Yes; the effect which she had produced on himhow, she knows besthad not passed away

yet: he was still talking. The attendant told me it had gone on for hours together. On my approaching his

chair, he called out: "Which are you? Eunice or Helena?" When I had answered him, he beckoned me to

come nearer. "I am getting stronger every minute," he said. "We will go traveling tomorrow, and see the

Where had I been born? He had never told me where. Had he mentioned the place in Mrs. Tenbruggen's

hearing? I asked the attendant if he had been present while she was in the room. Yes; he had remained at his

post; he had also heard the allusion to the place with the odd name. Had Mr. Gracedieu said anything more

about that place? Nothing more; the poor Minister's mind had wandered off to other things. He was

wandering now. Sometimes, he was addressing his congregation; sometimes, he wondered what they would

give him for supper; sometimes, he talked of the flowers in the garden. And then he looked at me, and

Was the poison of which that resolute young wife proposed to make use something that acted slowly, and

Would it be running too great a risk to show the story to the doctor, and try to get a little valuable information

in that way? It would be useless. He would make some feeble joke; he would say, girls and poisons are not fit

But I might discover what I want to know in another way. I might call on the doctor, after he has gone out on

his afternoon round of visits, and might tell the servant I would wait for his master's return. Nobody would be

in my way; I might get at the medical literature in the consultingroom, and find the information for myself.

A knock at my door interrupted me in the midst of my plans. Mrs. Tenbruggen again!still in a fidgety state

of feeling on the subject of my health. "Which is it?" she said. "Pain of body, my dear, or pain of mind? I am

"My dear Elizabeth, your sympathy is thrown away on me. As I have told you already, I am

She was relieved to hear that I had no mental troubles to complain of. "Fatigue," she remarked, "sets itself

"Beyond the limits of the town, of course? Philip has been taking a walk in the country, too. He doesn't say

These clever people sometimes overreach themselves. How she suggested it to me, I cannot pretend to have

discovered. But I did certainly suspect that she had led Philip, while they were together downstairs, into

saying to her what he had already said to Miss Jillgall. I was so angry that I tried to pump my excellent

friend, as she had been trying to pump mea vulgar expression, but vulgar writing is such a convenient way

of writing sometimes. My first attempt to entrap the Masseuse failed completely. She coolly changed the

"No; I was idling over what I have written alreadyan extraordinary story which I copied from a book."

I pushed the open Diary across the table. If I was the ob ject of any suspicions which she wanted to confirm,

it would be curious to see if the poisoning story helped her. "It's a piece of family history," I said; "I think you

She began to read. As she went on, not all her power of controlling herself could prevent her from turning

pale. This change of color (in such a woman) a little alarmed me. When a girl is devoured by deadly hatred of

a man, does the feeling show itself to other persons in her face? I must practice before the glass and train my

"Coarse melodrama!" Mrs. Tenbruggen declared. "Mere sensation. No analysis of character. A madeup

"I don't agree with you." Her voice was not quite so steady as usual. She asked suddenly if my clock was

rightand declared that she should be late for an appointment. On taking leave she pressed my hand

stronglyeyed me with distrustful attention and said, very emphatically: "Take care of yourself, Helena;

I am afraid I did a very foolish thing when I showed her the poisoning story. Has it helped the wily old

Today, Miss Jillgall returned, looking hideously healthy and spitefully cheerful. Although she tried to

conceal it, while I was present, I could see that Philip had recovered his place in her favor. After what he had

said to her behind the hedge at the farm, she would be relieved from all fear of my becoming his wife, and

would joyfully anticipate his marriage to Eunice. There are thoughts in me which I don't set down in my

This afternoon, I decided on visiting the doctor. The servant was quite sorry for me when he answered the

door. His master had just left the house for a round of visits. I said I would wait. The servant was afraid I

should find waiting very tedious. I reminded him that I could go away if I found it tedious. At last, the polite

I went into the consultingroom, and read the backs of the medical books ranged round the walls, and found

a volume that interested me. There was such curious information in it that I amused myself by making

extracts, using the first sheets of paper that I could find. They had printed directions at the top, which showed

that the doctor was accustomed to write his prescriptions on them. We had many, too many, of his

The servant's doubts of my patience proved to have been well founded. I got tired of waiting, and went home

From morning to night, nothing has been seen of Mrs. Tenbruggen today. Nor has any apology for her

neglect of us been received, fond as she is of writing little notes. Has that story in my Diary driven her away?

Today has brought forthnothing. Mrs. Tenbruggen still keeps away from us. It looks as if my Diary had

I am not in good spirits today. My nervesif I have such things, which is more than I know by my own

experiencehave been a little shaken by a horrid dream. The medical information, which my thirst for

knowledge absorbed in the doctor's consultingroom, turned traitorarmed itself with the grotesque horrors

of nightmareand so thoroughly frightened me that I was on the point of being foolish enough to destroy my

Mr. Philip Dunboyne is trying to pave the way for his flight from this house. He speaks of friends in London,

whose interest will help him to find the employment which is the object of his ambition. "In a few days

Instead of looking at me, his eyes wandered to the window; his fingers played restlessly with his watchchain

while he spoke. I thought I would give him a chance, a last chance, of making the atonement that he owes to

me. This shows shameful weakness, on my part. Does my own resolution startle me? Or does the wretch

appealto what? To my pity? It cannot be my love; I am positively sure that I hate him. Well, I am not the

"What other motive can there be?" he replied. I put what I had to say to him in plainer words still. "Tell me,

He still prevaricated. Was this because he is afraid of me, or because he is not quite brute enough to insult me

to my face? I tried again for the third and last time. I almost put the words into his mouth.

"I fancy you have been out of temper lately," I said. "You have not been your own kinder and better self. Is

There was no more to be said; I turned away to leave the room. He followed me to the door. After a

momentary hesitation, he made the attempt to kiss me. I only looked at himhe drew back from me in

silence. I left the new Judas, standing alone, while the shades of evening began to gather over the room.

"IF anything of importance happens, I trust to you to write an account of it, and to send the writing to me. I

will come to you at once, if I see reason to believe that my presence is required." Those lines, in your last

kind reply to me, rouse my courage, dear Mr. Governor, and sharpen the vigilance which has always been

one of the strong points in my character. Every suspicious circumstance which occurs in this house will be

(so to speak) seized on by my pen, and will find itself (so to speak again) placed on its trial, before your

Taking up my narrative where it came to an end when I last wrote, I have to say a word first on the subject of

The advertisement of a private inquiry office, which I read in a newspaper, put the thing into my head. I

provided myself with money to pay the expenses byI blush while I write itpawning my watch. This

humiliation of my poor self has been rewarded by success. Skilled investigation has proved that our young

man has come to his senses again, exactly as I supposed. On each occasion when he was suspiciously absent

from the house, he has been followed to the farm. I have been staying there myself for a day or two, in the

hope of persuading Eunice to relent. The hope has not yet been realized. But Philip's devotion, assisted by my

Whether Helena knows positively that she has lost her wicked hold on Philip I cannot say. It seems hardly

possible that she could have made the discovery just yet. The one thing of which I am certain is, that she

Philip has wisely taken my advice, and employed pious fraud. He will get away from the wretch, who has

tempted him once and may tempt him again, under pretense of using the interest of his friends in London to

find a place under Government. He has not been very well for the last day or two, and the execution of our

She has kept away from us in a most unaccountable manner. I called on her at the hotel, and heard she was

engaged with her lawyer. On the next day, she suddenly returned to her old habits, and paid the customary

visit. I observed a similar alteration in her state of feeling. She is now coldly civil to Helena; and she asks

after Eunice with a maternal interest touching to seeI said to her: "Elizabeth, you appear to have changed

your opinion of the two girls, since I saw you." She answered, with a delightful candor which reminded me of

old times: "Completely!" I said: "A woman of your intellectual caliber, dear, doesn't change her mind without

a good reason for it." Elizabeth cordially agreed with me. I ventured to be a little more explicit: "You have no

doubt made some interesting discovery." Elizabeth agreed again; and I ventured again: "I suppose I may not

This is curious; but it is nothing to what I have got to tell you next. Just as I was longing to take her to my

bosom again as my friend and confidante, Elizabeth has disappeared. And, alas! alas! there is a reason for it

I have just received some overwhelming news, in the form of a neat parcel, addressed to myself.

There has been a scandal at the hotel. That monster in human form, Elizabeth's husband, is aware of his wife's

professional fame, has heard of the large sums of money which she earns as the greatest living professor of

massage, has been long on the lookout for her, and has discovered her at last. He has not only forced his way

into her sittingroom at the hotel; he insists on her living with him again; her money being the attraction, it is

needless to say. If she refuses, he threatens her with the law, the barbarous law, which, to use his own coarse

All this I gather from the narrative of my unhappy friend, which forms one of the two inclosures in her

parcel. She has already made her escape. Ha! the man doesn't live who can circumvent Elizabeth. The

English Court of Law isn't built which can catch her when she roams the free and glorious Continent.

The vastness of this amazing woman's mind is what I must pause to admire. In the frightful catastrophe that

has befallen her, she can still think of Philip and Euneece. She is eager to hear of their marriage, and

renounces Helena with her whole heart. "I too was deceived by that cunning young Woman," she writes.

"Beware of her, Selina. Unless I am much mistaken, she is going to end badly. Take care of Philip, take care

of Euneece. If you want help, apply at once to my favorite hero in real life, The Governor." I don't presume to

The second inclosure contains, as I suppose, a wedding present. It is carefully sealedit feels no bigger than

an ordinary letterand it contains an inscription which your highlycultivated intelligence may be able to

"To be inclosed in another envelope, addressed to Mr. Dunboyne the elder, at Percy's Private Hotel, London,

and delivered by a trustworthy messenger, on the day when Mr. Philip Dunboyne is married to Miss Eunice

Why is this mysterious letter to be sent to Philip's father? I wonder whether that circumstance will puzzle you

I have kept my report back, so as to send you the last news relating to Philip's state of health. To my great

regret, his illness seems to have made a serious advance since yesterday. When I ask if he is in pain, he says:

"It isn't exactly pain; I feel as if I was sinking. Sometimes I am giddy; and sometimes I find myself feeling

thirsty and sick." I have no opportunity of looking after him as I could wish; for Helena insists on nursing

him, assisted by the housemaid. Maria is a very good girl in her way, but too stupid to be of much use. If he is

He is no better; and he wishes to have medical help. Helena doesn't seem to understand his illness. It was not

until Philip had insisted on seeing him that she consented to send for the doctor.

You had some talk with this experienced physician when you were here, and you know what a clever man he

is. When I tell you that he hesitates to say what is the matter with Philip, you will feel as much alarmed as I

do. I will wait to send this to the post until I can write in a more definite way.

He asked, first, if there was anybody staying with us besides the regular members of the household. I said we

had no visitor. He wanted to know, next, if Mr. Philip Dunboyne had made any enemies since he has been

living in our town. I said none that I knew ofand I took the liberty of asking what he meant. He answered

to this, that he has a few more inquiries to make, and that he will tell me what he means tomorrow.

For God's sake come here as soon as you possibly can. The whole burden is thrown on meand I am quite

I received the doctor today in the drawingroom. To my amazement, he begged leave to speak with me in

the garden. When I asked why, he answered: "I don't want to have a listener at the door. Come out on the

"Rouse your courage, Miss Jillgall," he said. "In the Minister's helpless state there is nobody whom I can

He looked as black as thunder when I mentioned her name. All he said was, "No!" But, oh, if you had heard

his voiceand he so gentle and sweettempered at other timesyou would have felt, as I did, that he had

"Now, listen to this," he went on. "Everything that my art can do for Mr. Philip Dunboyne, while I am at his

bedside, is undone while I am away by some other person. He is worse today than I have seen him yet."

"He will certainly die unless the right means are taken to save him, and taken at once. It is my duty not to

flinch from telling you the truth. I have made a discovery since yesterday which satisfies me that I am right.

Somebody is trying to poison Mr. Dunboyne; and somebody will succeed unless he is removed from this

I am a poor feeble creature. The doctor caught me, or I should have dropped on the grass. It was not a

faintingfit. I only shook and shivered so that I was too weak to stand up. Encouraged by the doctor, I

recovered sufficiently to be able to ask him where Philip was to be taken to. He said: "To the hospital. No

poisoner can follow my patient there. Persuade him to let me take him away, when I call again in an hour's

As soon as I could hold a pen, I sent a telegram to you. Pray, pray come by the earliest train. I also

It was impossible for me to face Helena; I own I was afraid. The cook kindly went upstairs to see who was in

Philip's room. It was the housemaid's turn to look after him for a while. I went instantly to his bedside.

There was no persuading him to allow himself to be taken to the hospital. "I am dying," he said. "If you have

any pity for me, send for Euneece. Let me see her once more, let me hear her say that she forgives me, before

I hesitated. It was too terrible to think of Euneece in the same house with her sister. Her life might be in

danger! Philip gave me a look, a dreadful ghastly look. "If you refuse," he said wildly, "the grave won't hold

"She shall hear that you are ill," I answeredand ran out of the room before he could speak again.

What I had promised to write, I did write. But, placed between Euneece's danger and Philip's danger, my

heart was all for Euneece. Would Helena spare her, if she came to Philip's bedside? In such terror as I never

felt before in my life, I added a word more, entreating her not to leave the farm. I promised to keep her

regularly informed on the subject of Philip's illness; and I mentioned that I expected the Governor to return to

us immediately. "Do nothing," I wrote, "without his advice." My letter having been completed, I sent the

cook away with it, in a chaise. She belonged to the neighborhood, and she knew the farmhouse well.

Nearly two hours afterward, I heard the chaise stop at the door, and ran out, impatient to hear how my sweet

girl had received my letter. God help us all! When I opened the door, the first person whom I saw was

When my fondness had excused her for setting the wellmeant advice in my letter at defiance, I was

conscious of expecting to see her in tears; eager, distressingly eager, to hear what hope there might be of

Philip's recovery. I saw no tears, I heard no inquiries. She was pale, and quiet, and silent. Not a word fell

from her when we met, not a word when she kissed me, not a word when she led the way into the nearest

Instead of wanting to know how he was, she desired to know where he was! I pointed toward the back

diningroom, which had been made into a bedroom for Philip. He had chosen it himself, when he first came

to stay with us, because the window opened into the garden. and he could slip out and smoke at any hour of

"Who is with him now?" was the next strange thing this sadlychanged girl said to me.

"Where is?" Euneece got no further than that. Her breath quickened, her color faded away. I had seen

people look as she was looking now, when they suffered under some sudden pain. Before I could offer to help

When I remind you, dear Mr. Governor, that my letter had carefully concealed from her the horrible

discovery made by the doctor, your imagination will picture my state of mind. She saw that I was

overpowered. Her sweet nature, so strangely frozen up thus far, melted at last. "You don't know what I have

heard," she said, "you don't know what thoughts have been roused in me." She left her chair, and sat on my

knee with the familiarity of the dear old times, and took the letter that I had written to her from her pocket.

"Look at it yourself," she said, "and tell me if anybody could read it, and not see that you were concealing

something. My dear, I have driven round by the doctor's houseI have seen himI have persuaded him, or

perhaps I ought to say surprised him, into telling me the truth. But the kind old man is obstinate. He wouldn't

believe me when I told him I was on my way here to save Philip's life. He said: 'My child, you will only put

your own life in jeopardy. If I had not seen that danger, I should never have told you of the dreadful state of

things at home. Go back to the good people at the farm, and leave the saving of Philip to me.' "

"No, dear, he was wrong. I begged him to come here, and judge for himself; and I ask you to do the same."

I have heard some insolent men say that women are like cats. If they mean that we do, figuratively speaking,

scratch at times, I am afraid they are not altogether wrong. An irresistible impulse made me say to poor

"Is there no change in the circumstances?" she asked sadly. "Isn't he ill and in danger?"

"I gave him up to my sister," she continued, "when I believed that his happiness depended, not on me, but on

her. I take him back to myself, when he is at the mercy of a demon who threatens his life. Come, Selina, let

She put her arm round me, and made me get up from my chair. I was so easily persuaded by her, that the fear

of what Helena's jealousy and Helena's anger might do was scarcely present in my thoughts. The door of

communication was locked on the side of the bedchamber. I went into the hall, to enter Philip's room by the

other door. She followed, waiting behind me. I heard what passed between them when Maria went out to her.

She joined me. I held the door open for her to go into Philip's room. It was not out of curiosity; the feeling

that urged me was sympathy, when I waited a moment to see their first meeting. She bent over the poor,

pallid, trembling, suffering man, and raised him in her arms, and laid his head on her bosom. "My Philip!"

She murmured those words in a kiss. I closed the door, I had a good cry; and, oh, how it comforted me!

There was only a minute to spare when she came out of the room. Maria was waiting for her. Euneece said,

The girl looked at her, and sawI don't know what. Maria became alarmed. But she went up the stairs, and

The faint rustling of Helena's dress as she left her room reached us in the silence. I remained at the open door

of the diningroom, and Maria approached and stood near me. We were both frightened. Euneece stepped

forward, and stood on the mat at the foot of the stairs, waiting. Her back was toward me; I could only see that

she was as still as a statue. The rustling of the dress came nearer. Oh, heavens! what was going to happen?

My teeth chattered in my head; I held by Maria's shoulder. Drops of perspiration showed themselves on the

girl's forehead; she stared in vacant terror at the slim little figure, posted firm and still on the mat.

Helena turned the corner of the stairs, and waited a moment on the last landing, and saw her sister.

There was no reply. Helena descended, until she reached the last stair but one. There, she stopped. Her staring

eyes grew large and wild; her hand shook as she stretched it out, feeling for the banister; she staggered as she

caught at it, and held herself up. The silence was still unbroken. Something in me, stronger than myself, drew

my steps along the hall nearer and nearer to the stair, till I could see the face which had struck that murderous

No! it was not my sweet girl; it was a horrid transformation of her. I saw a fearful creature, with glittering

eyes that threatened some unimaginable vengeance. Her lips were drawn back; they showed her clinched

teeth. A burning red flush dyed her face. The hair of her head rose, little by little, slowly. And, most dreadful

sight of all, she seemed, in the stillness of the house, to be listening to something. If I could have moved, I

should have fled to the first place of refuge I could find. If I could have raised my voice, I should have cried

for help. I could do neither the one nor the other. I could only look, look, look; held by the horror of it with a

Helena must have roused her courage, and resisted her terror. I heard her speak:

Helena tried once morestill fighting against her own terror: I knew it by the trembling of her voice.

She had spoken in the same steady whisper throughoutbut now she moved. I saw her set her foot on the

first stair. I saw the horrid glitter in her eyes flash close into Helena's face. I heard her say:

Silent and shuddering, Helena shrank away from herdaunted by her glittering eyes; mastered by her lifted

Helena slowly ascended till she reached the landing. She turned and looked down; she tried to speak. The

pointing hand struck her dumb, and drove her up the next flight of stairs. She was lost to view. Only the small

rustling sound of the dress was to be heard, growing fainter and fainter; then an interval of stillness; then the

noise of a door opened and closed again; then no sound morebut a change to be seen: the transformed

creature was cr ouching on her knees, still and silent, her face covered by her hands. I was afraid to approach

her; I was afraid to speak to her. After a time, she rose. Suddenly, swiftly, with her head turned away from

I looked round. There was only Maria in the lonely hall. Shall I try to tell you what my sensations were? It

may sound strangely, but it is trueI felt like a sleeper, who has halfawakened from a dream.

A LITTLE later, on that eventful day, when I was most in need of all that your wisdom and kindness could do

to guide me, came the telegram which announced that you were helpless under an attack of gout. As soon as I

had in some degree got over my disappointment, I remembered having told Euneece in my letter that I

expected her kind old friend to come to us. With the telegram in my hand I knocked softly at Philip's door.

The voice that bade me come in was the gentle voice that I knew so well. Philip was sleeping. There, by his

bedside, with his hand resting in her hand, was Euneece, so completely restored to her own sweet self that I

could hardly believe what I had seen, not an hour since. She talked of you, when I showed her your message,

with affectionate interest and regret. Look back, my admirable friend, at what I have written on the two or

I was left alone to watch by Philip, while Euneece went away to see her father. Soon afterward, Maria took

He looked careworn and grieved. I said I was afraid he had brought bad news with him.

"The worst possible news," he answered. "A terrible exposure threatens this family, and I am powerless to

He then asked me to remember the day when I had been surprised by the singular questions which he had put

to me, and when he had engaged to explain himself after he had made some inquiries. Why, and how, he had

set those inquiries on foot was what he had now to tell. I will repeat what he said, in his own words, as nearly

as I can remember them. While he was in attendance on Philip, he had observed symptoms which made him

suspect that Digitalis had been given to the young man, in doses often repeated. Cases of attempted poisoning

by this medicine were so rare, that he felt bound to put his suspicions to the test by going round among the

chemists's shopsexcepting of course the shop at which his own prescriptions were made upand asking if

they had lately dispensed any preparation of Digitalis, ordered perhaps in a larger quantity than usual. At the

second shop he visited, the chemist laughed. "Why, doctor," he said, "have you forgotten your own

prescription?" After this, the prescription was asked for, and produced. It was on the paper used by the

doctorpaper which had his address printed at the top, and a notice added, telling patients who came to

consult him for the second time to bring their prescriptions with them. Then, there followed in writing:

"Tincture of Digitalis, one ounce"with his signature at the end, not badly imitated, but a forgery

nevertheless. The chemist noticed the effect which this discovery had produced on the doctor, and asked if

that was his signature. He could hardly, as an honest man, have asserted that a forgery was a signature of his

own writing. So he made the true reply, and asked who had presented the prescription. The chemist called to

his assistant to come forward. "Did you tell me that you knew, by sight, the young lady who brought this

prescription?" The assistant admitted it. "Did you tell me she was Miss Helena Gracedieu?" "I did." "Are you

sure of not having made any mistake?" "Quite sure." The chemist then said: "I myself supplied the Tincture

of Digitalis, and the young lady paid for it, and took it away with her. You have had all the information that I

can give you, sir; and I may now ask, if you can throw any light on the matter." Our good friend thought of

the poor Minister, so sorely afflicted, and of the famous name so sincerely respected in the town and in the

country round, and said he could not undertake to give an immediate answer. The chemist was excessively

angry. "You know as well as I do," he said, "that Digitalis, given in certain doses, is a poison, and you cannot

deny that I honestly believed myself to be dispensing your prescription. While you are hesitating to give me

an answer, my character may suffer; I may be suspected myself." He ended in declaring he should consult his

lawyer. The doctor went home, and questioned his servant. The man remembered the day of Miss Helena's

visit in the afternoon, and the intention that she expressed of waiting for his master's return. He had shown

her into the parlor which opened into the consultingroom. No other visitor was in the house at that time, or

had arrived during the rest of the day. The doctor's own experience, when he got home, led him to conclude

that Helena had gone into the consultingroom. He had entered that room, for the purpose of writing some

prescriptions, and had found the leaves of paper that he used diminished in number. After what he had heard,

and what he had discovered (to say nothing of what he suspected), it occurred to him to look along the

shelves of his medical library. He found a volume (treating of Poisons) with a slip of paper left between the

leaves; the poison described at the place so marked being Digitalis, and the paper used being one of his own

prescriptionpapers. "If, as I fear, a legal investigation into Helena's conduct is a possible event," the doctor

concluded, "there is the evidence that I shall be obliged to give, when I am called as a witness."

It is my belief that I could have felt no greater dismay, if the long arm of the Law had laid its hold on me

"If she leaves the house at once," the doctor replied, "she may escape the infamy of being charged with an

attempt at murder by poison; and, in her absence, I can answer for Philip's life. I don't urge you to warn her,

because that might be a dangerous thing to do. It is for you to decide, as a member of the family, whether you

I tried to speak to him of Euneece, and to tell him what I had already related to yourself. He was in no humor

to listen to me. "Keep it for a fitter time," he answered; "and think of what I have just said to you." With that,

Mental exertion was completely beyond me. Can you understand a poor middleaged spinster being

frightened into doing a dangerous thing? That may seem to be nonsense. But if you ask why I took a morsel

of paper, and wrote the warning which I was afraid to communicate by word of mouthwhy I went upstairs

with my knees knocking together, and opened the door of Helena's room just wide enough to let my hand

pass throughwhy I threw the paper in, and banged the door to again, and ran downstairs as I have never run

since I was a little girlI can only say, in the way of explanation, what I have said already: I was frightened

The doctor came back to me, after he had seen Philip, and spoken with Euneece. He was very angry; and, I

must own, not without reason. Philip had flatly refused to let himself be removed to the hospital; and

Euneece"a mere girl"had declared that she would be answerable for consequences! The doctor warned

me that he meant to withdraw from the case, and to make his declaration before the magistrates. At my

entreaties he consented to return in the evening, and to judge by results before taking the terrible step that he

While I remained at home on the watch, keeping the doors of both rooms locked, Eunice went out to get

Philip's medicine. She came back, followed by a boy carrying a portable apparatus for cooking. "All that

Philip wants, and all that we want," she explained, "we can provide for ourselves. Give me a morsel of paper

Unhooking the little pencil attac hed to her watchchain, she paused and looked toward the door. "Somebody

listening," she whispered. "Let them listen." She wrote a list of necessaries, in the way of things to eat and

things to drink, and asked me to go out and get them myself. "I don't doubt the servants," she said, speaking

distinctly enough to be heard outside; "but I am afraid of what a Poisoner's cunning and a Poisoner's

desperation may do, in a kitchen which is open to her." I went away on my erranddiscovering no listener

outside, I need hardly say. On my return, I found the door of communication with Philip's room closed, but

no longer locked. "We can now attend on him in turn," she said, "without opening either of the doors which

lead into the hall. At night we can relieve each other, and each of us can get sleep as we want it in the large

armchair in the diningroom. Philip must be safe under our charge, or the doctor will insist on taking him to

the hospital. When we want Maria's help, from time to time, we can employ her under our own

There was nothing left to suggest. Young and inexperienced as she was, how (I asked) had she contrived to

think of all this? She answered, simply "I'm sure I don't know; my thoughts came to me while I was looking

Soon afterward I found an opportunity of inquiring if Helena had left the house. She had just rung her bell;

and Maria had found her, quietly reading, in her room. Hours afterward, when I was on the watch at night, I

heard Philip's door softly tried from the outside. Her dreadful purpose had not been given up, even yet.

The doctor came in the evening, as he had promised, and found an improvement in Philip's health. I

mentioned what precautions we had taken, and that they had been devised by Euneece. "Are you going to

withdraw from the case?" I asked. "I am coming back to the case," he answered, "tomorrow morning."

It had been a disappointment to me to receive no answer to the telegram which I had sent to Mr. Dunboyne

the elder. The next day's post brought the explanation in a letter to Philip from his father, directed to him at

the hotel here. This showed that my telegram, giving my address at this house, had not been received. Mr.

Dunboyne announced that he had returned to Ireland, finding the air of London unendurable, after the

seabreezes at home. If Philip had already married, his father would leave him to a life of genteel poverty

with Helena Gracedieu. If he had thought better of it, his welcome was waiting for him.

Little did Mr. Dunboyne know what changes had taken place since he and his son had last met, and what

hope might yet present itself of brighter days for poor Euneece! I thought of writing to him. But how would

that crabbed old man receive a confidential letter from a lady who was a stranger?

My doubts were set at rest by Philip himself. He asked me to write a few lines of reply to his father; declaring

that his marriage with Helena was broken offthat he had not given up all hope of being permitted to offer

the sincere expression of his penitence to Euneeceand that he would gladly claim his welcome, as soon as

he was well enough to undertake the journey to Ireland. When he had signed the letter, I was so pleased that I

made a smart remark. I said: "This is a treaty of peace between father and son."

When the doctor arrived in the morning, and found the change for the better in his patient confirmed, he did

justice to us at last. He spoke kindly, and even gratefully, to Euneece. No more allusions to the hospital as a

place of safety escaped him. He asked me cautiously for news of Helena. I could only tell him that she had

gone out at her customary time, and had returned at her customary time. He did not attempt to conceal that

"I am afraid of her cunning," he said. "If she is charged with attempting to poison young Dunboyne, she has

some system of defense, you may rely on it, for which we are not prepared. There, in my opinion, is the true

Two more days passed, and we were still safe under the protection of lock and key.

On the evening of the second day (which was a Monday) Maria came to me in great tribulation. On inquiring

what was the matter, I received a disquieting reply: "Miss Helena is tempting me. She is so miserable at being

prevented from seeing Mr. Philip, and helping to nurse him, that it is quite distressing to see her. At the same

time, miss, it's hard on a poor servant. She asks me to take the key secretly out of the door, and lend it to her

at night for a few minutes only. I'm really afraid I shall be led into doing it, if she goes on persuading me

I commended Maria for feeling scruples which proved her to be the best of good girls, and promised to

relieve her from all fear of future temptation. This was easily done. Euneece kept the key of Philip's door in

ON the next day, a Tuesday in the week, an event took place which Euneece and I viewed with distrust. Early

in the afternoon, a young man called with a note for Helena. It was to be given to her immediately, and no

Maria had just closed the house door, and was on her way upstairs with the letter, when she was called back

by another ring at the bell. Our visitor was the doctor. He spoke to Maria in the hall:

"I think I see a note in your hand. Was it given to you by the young man who has just left the house?"

"Good gracious, doctor, how you do talk! I never saw the young man before in my life."

"In that case, Maria, I will ask you to let me look at the address. Aha! Mischief!"

The moment I heard that I threw open the diningroom door. Curiosity is not easily satisfied. When it hears,

it wants to see; when it sees, it wants to know. Every lady will agree with me in this observation.

"One minute, Miss Jillgall. My girl, when you give Miss Helena that note, try to get a sly look at her when

she opens it, and come and tell me what you have seen." He joined me in the diningroom, and closed the

door. "The other day," he went on, "when I told you what I had discovered in the chemist's shop, I think I

mentioned a young man who was called to speak to a question of identityan assistant who knew Miss

"Questions naturally asked, Miss Jillgalland not easily answered. Where is Eunice? Her quick wit might

The doctor accepted his disappointment resignedly. "Let us try what we can do without her," he said. "That

young man's master has been in consultation (you may remember why) with his lawyer, and Helena may be

threatened by an investigation before the magistrates. If this wild guess of mine turns out to have hit the

I asked if the chemist had written the note. Foolish enough of me when I came to think of it. The chemist

would scarcely act a friendly part toward Helena, when she was answerable for the awkward position in

which he had placed himself. Perhaps the young man who had left the warning was also the writer of the

warning. The doctor reminded me that he was all but a stranger to Helena. "We are not usually interested," he

"Remember that he is a young man," I ventured to say. This was a strong hint, but the doctor failed to see it.

"And vile as Helena is," I continued, "we cannot deny that this disgrace to her sex is a handsome young

He saw it at last. "Woman's wit!" he cried. "You have hit it, Miss Jillgall. The young fool is smitten with her,

"Recollect what you and Eunice have done. You have shown your suspicion of her without an attempt to

conceal it. If you had put her in prison you could not have more completely defeated her infernal design. Do

you think she is a likely person to submit to that, without an effort to be even with you?"

Just as he said those terrifying words, Maria came back to us. He asked at once what had kept her so long

The girl had evidently something to say, which had inflated her (if I may use such an expression) with a sense

"Please to let me tell it, sir," she answered, "in my own way. Miss Helena turned as pale as ashes when she

opened the letter, and then she took a turn in the room, and then she looked at me with a smilewell, miss, I

can only say that I felt that smile in the small of my back. I tried to get to the door. She stopped me. She says:

'Where's Miss Eunice?' I says: 'Gone out.' She says: 'Is there anybody in the drawingroom?' I says: 'No,

miss.' She says: 'Tell Miss Jillgall I want to speak to her, and say I am waiting in the drawingroom.' It's

every word of it true! And, if a poor servant may give an opinion, I don't like the look of it."

The doctor dismissed Maria. "Whatever it is," he said to me, "you must go and hear it."

I am not a courageous woman; I expressed myself as being willing to go to her, if the doctor went with me.

He said that was impossible; she would probably refuse to speak before any witness; and certainly before

him. But he promised to look after Philip in my absence, and to wait below if it really so happened that I

wanted him. I need only ring the bell, and he would come to me the moment he heard it. Such kindness as

She was standing by the fireplace, with her elbow on the chimneypiece, and her head, resting on her hand.

I stopped just inside the door, waiting to hear what she had to say. In this position her sideface only was

presented to me. It was a ghastly face. The eye that I could see turned wickedly on me when I came inthen

turned away again. Otherwise, she never moved. I confess I trembled, but I did my best to disguise it.

She broke out suddenly with what she had to say: "I won't allow this state of things to go on any longer. My

horror of an exposure which will disgrace the family has kept me silent, wrongly silent, so far. Philip's life is

in danger. I am forgetting my duty to my affianced husband, if I allow myself to be kept away from him any

longer. Open those locked doors, and relieve me from the sight of you. Open the doors, I say, or you will both

of youyou the accomplice, she the wretch who directs yourepent it to the end of your lives."

In my own mind, I asked myself if she had gone mad. But I only answered: "I don't understand you."

"All the circumstances prove it," she went on. "I have supplanted Eunice in Philip's affection. She was once

engaged to marry him; I am engaged to marry him now. She is resolved that he shall never make me his wife.

He will die if I delay any longer. He will die if I don't crush her, like the reptile she is. She comes hereand

what does she do? Keeps him prisoner under her own superintendence. Who gets his medicine? She gets it.

Who cooks his food? She cooks it. The doors are locked. I might be a witness of what goes on; and I am kept

out. The servants who ought to wait on him are kept out. She can do what she likes with his medicine; she

can do what she likes with his food: she is infuriated with him for deserting her, and promising to marry me.

Give him back to my care; or, dreadful as it is to denounce my own sister, I shall claim protection from the

I lost all fear of her: I stepped close up to the place at which she was standing; I cried out: "Of what, in God's

I ran out of the room; I rushed headlong down the stairs. The doctor heard me, and came running into the

hall. I caught hold of him like a madwoman. "Euneece!" My breath was gone; I could only say: "Euneece!"

He dragged me into the diningroom. There was wine on the sideboard, which he had ordered medically for

Philip. He forced me to drink some of it. It ran through me like fire; it helped me to speak. "Now tell me," he

He looked me through and through. "Take care!" he said. "No hysterics, no exaggeration. You may lead to

dreadful consequences if you are not sure of yourself. If it's really true, say it again." I said it againquietly

His face startled me; it was white with rage. He snatched his hat off the hall table.

MARTYRS to gout know, by sad experience, that they suffer under one of the most capricious of maladies.

An attack of this disease will shift, in the most unaccountable manner, from one part of the body to another;

or, it will release the victim when there is every reason to fear that it is about to strengthen its hold on him;

or, having shown the fairest promise of submitting to medical treatment, it will cruelly lay the patient

prostrate again in a state of relapse. Adverse fortune, in my case, subjected me to this last and worst trial of

endurance. Two months passedmonths of pain aggravated by anxietybefore I was able to help Eunice

Terror and suspense, courageously endured day after day, seem to have broken down her resistance, poor

soul, when Eunice's good name and Eunice's tranquillity were threatened by the most infamous of false

accusations. From that time, Miss Jillgall's method of expressing herself betrayed a gradual deterioration. I

shall avoid presenting at a disadvantage a correspondent who has claims on my gratitude, if I give the

substance only of what she wroteassisted by the newspaper which she sent to me, while the legal

Honest indignation does sometimes counsel us wisely. When the doctor left Miss Jillgall, in anger and in

haste, he had determined on taking the course from which, as a humane man and a faithful friend, he had

hitherto recoiled. It was no time, now, to shrink from the prospect of an exposure. The one hope of

successfully encountering the vindictive wickedness of Helena lay in the resolution to be beforehand with

her, in the appeal to the magistrates with which she had threatened Eunice and Miss Jillgall. The doctor's

sworn information stated the whole terrible case of the poisoning, ranging from his first suspicions and their

confirmation, to Helena's atrocious attempt to accuse her innocent sister of her own guilt. So firmly were the

magistrates convinced of the serious nature of the case thus stated, that they did not hesitate to issue their

warrant. Among the witnesses whose attendance was immediately secured, by the legal adviser to whom the

Helena was arrested while she was dressing to go out. Her composure was not for a moment disturbed. "I was

on my way," she said coolly, "to make a statement before the justices. The sooner they hear what I have to

The attempt of this shameless wretch to "turn the tables" on poor Eunicesuggested, as I afterward

discovered, by the record of family history which she had quoted in her journalwas defeated with ease.

The farmer and his wife prove d the date at which Eunice had left her place of residence under their roof. The

doctor's evidence followed. He proved, by the production of his professional diary, that the discovery of the

attempt to poison his patient had taken place before the day of Eunice's departure from the farm, and that the

first improvement in Mr. Philip Dunboyne's state of health had shown itself after that young lady's arrival to

perform the duties of a nurse. To the wise precautions which she had takenperverted by Helena to the

purpose of a false accusationthe doctor attributed the preservation of the young man's life.

Having produced the worst possible impression on the minds of the magistrates, Helena was remanded. Her

legal adviser had predicted this result; but the vindictive obstinacy of his client had set both experience and

At the renewed examination, the line of defense adopted by the prisoner's lawyer proved to bemistaken

It was asserted that she had never entered the chemist's shop; also, that the assistant had wrongly identified

some other lady as Miss Helena Gracedieu; also, that there was not an atom of evidence to connect her with

the stealing of the doctor's prescriptionpaper and the forgery of his writing. Other assertions to the same

The case for the prosecution was, happily, in competent hands. With the exception of one witness,

The chemist swore positively to the personal appearance of Helena, as being the personal appearance of the

lady who had presented the prescription. His assistant, pressed on the question of identity, broke down under

crossexaminationpurposely, as it was whispered, serving the interests of the prisoner. But the victory, so

far gained by the defense, was successfully contested by the statement of the next witness, a respectable

tradesman in the town. He had seen the newspaper report of the first examination, and had volunteered to

present himself as a witness. A member of Mr. Gracedieu's congregation, his pew in the chapel was so

situated as to give him a view of the minister's daughters occupying their pew. He had seen the prisoner on

every Sunday, for years past; and he swore that he was passing the door of the chemist's shop, at the moment

when she stepped out into the street, having a bottle covered with the customary white paper in her hand. The

doctor and his servant were the next witnesses called. They were severely crossexamined. Some of their

statementsquestioned technically with successreceived unexpected and powerful support, due to the

discovery and production of the prisoner's diary. The entries, guardedly as some of them were written,

revealed her motive for attempting to poison Philip Dunboyne; proved that she had purposely called on the

doctor when she knew that he would be out, that she had entered the consultingroom, and examined the

medical books, had found (to use her own written words) "a volume that interested her," and had used the

prescriptionpapers for the purpose of making notes. The notes themselves were not to be found; they had

doubtless been destroyed. Enough, and more than enough, remained to make the case for the prosecution

complete. The magistrates committed Helena Gracedieu for trial at the next assizes.

I arrived in the town, as well as I can remember, about a week after the trial had taken place.

Found guilty, the prisoner had been recommended to mercy by the jurypartly in consideration of her

youth; partly as an expression of sympathy and respect for her unhappy father. The judge (a father himself)

passed a lenient sentence. She was condemned to imprisonment for two years. The careful matron of the jail

had provided herself with a bottle of smellingsalts, in the fear that there might be need for it when Helena

heard her sentence pronounced. Not the slightest sign of agitation appeared in her face or her. manner. She

lied to the last; asserting her innocence in a firm voice, and returning from the dock to the prison without

Relating these particulars to me, in a state of ungovernable excitement, good Miss Jillgall ended with a little

confession of her own, which operated as a relief to my overburdened mind after what I had just heard.

"I wouldn't own it," she said, "to anybody but a dear friend. One thing, in the dreadful disgrace that has fallen

on us, I am quite at a loss to account for. Think of Mr. Gracedieu's daughter being one of those criminal

creatures on whom it was once your terrible duty to turn the key! Why didn't she commit suicide?"

"My dear lady, no thoroughly wicked creature ever yet committed suicide. Selfdestruction, when it is not an

act of madness, implies some acuteness of feelingsensibility to remorse or to shame, or perhaps a distorted

idea of making atonement. There is no such thing as remorse or shame, or hope of making atonement, in

WHEN the subject of the trial was happily dismissed, my first inquiry related to Eunice. The reply was made

with an ominous accompaniment of sighs and sad looks. Eunice had gone back to her duties as governess at

Mr. Dunboyne the elder had died suddenly, at his house in Ireland, while Philip was on his way home. When

the funeral ceremony had come to an end, the will was read. It had been made only a few days before the

testator's death; and the clause which left all his property to his son was preceded by expressions of paternal

affection, at a time when Philip was in sore need of consolation. After alluding to a letter, received from his

son, the old man added: "I always loved him, without caring to confess it; I detest scenes of sentiment,

kissings, embracings, tears, and that sort of thing. But Philip has yielded to my wishes, and has broken off a

marriage which would have made him, as well as me, wretched for life. After this, I may speak my mind

from my grave, and may tell my boy that I loved him. If the wish is likely to be of any use, I will add (on the

"Does Philip submit to separation from Eunice?" I asked. "Does he stay in Ireland?"

"Not he, poor fellow! He will be here tomorrow or next day. When I last wrote," Miss Jillgall continued, "I

told him I hoped to see you again soon. If you can't help us (I mean with Eunice) that unlucky young man

will do some desperate thing. He will join those madmen at large who disturb poor savages in Africa, or go

"Whatever I can do, Miss Jillgall, shall be gladly done. Is it really possible that Eunice refuses to marry him,

"A little patience, please, Mr. Governor; let Philip tell his own story. If I try to do it, I shall only cryand we

Further consultation being thus deferred, I went upstairs to the Minister's room.

He was sitting by the window, in his favorite armchair, absorbed in knitting! The person who attended on

him, a goodnatured, patient fellow, had been a sailor in his younger days, and had taught Mr. Gracedieu

how to use the needles. "You see it amuses him," the man said, kindly. "Don't notice his mistakes, he thinks

there isn't such another in the world for knitting as himself. You can see, sir, how he sticks to it." He was so

absorbed over his employment that I had to speak to him twice, before I could induce him to look at me. The

utter ruin of his intellect did not appear to have exercised any disastrous influence over his bodily health. On

the contrary, he had grown fatter since I had last seen him; his complexion had lost the pallor that I

"Don't yo u remember your old friend?" I said. He smiled, and nodded, and repeated the words:

"Yes, yes, my old friend." It was only too plain that he had not the least recollection of me. "His memory is

gone," the man said. "When he puts away his knitting, at night, I have to find it for him in the morning. But,

there! he's happyenjoys his victuals, likes sitting out in the garden and watching the birds. There's been a

deal of trouble in the family, sir; and it has all passed over him like a wet sponge over a slate." The old sailor

was right. If that wreck of a man had been capable of feeling and thinking, his daughter's disgrace would

have broken his heart. In a world of sin and sorrow, is peaceable imbecility always to be pitied? I have known

men who would have answered, without hesitation: "It is to be envied." And where (some persons might say)

was the poor Minister's reward for the act of mercy which had saved Eunice in her infancy? Where it ought to

be! A man who worthily performs a good action finds his reward in the action itself.

At breakfast, on the next day, the talk touched on those passages in Helena's diary, which had been produced

I expressed a wish to see what revelation of a depraved nature the entries in the diary might present; and my

curiosity was gratified. At a fitter time, I may find an opportunity of alluding to the impression produced on

me by the diary. In the meanwhile, the event of Philip's return claims notice in the first place.

The poor fellow was so glad to see me that he shook hands as heartily as if we had known each other from the

"Do you remember how kindly you spoke to me when I called on you in London?" he asked. "If I have

repeated those words oncebut perhaps you don't remember them? You said: 'If I was as young as you are, I

should not despair.' Well! I have said that to myself over and over again, for a hundred times at least. Eunice

will listen to you, sir, when she will listen to nobody else. This is the first happy moment I have had for

I suppose I must have looked glad to hear that. Anyway, Philip shook hands with me again.

Miss Jillgall was present. The gentlehearted old maid was so touched by our meeting that she abandoned

herself to the genial impulse of the moment, and gave Philip a kiss. The outraged claims of propriety instantly

seized on her. She blushed as if the longlost days of her girlhood had been found again, and ran out of the

"Now, Mr. Philip," I said, "I have been waiting, at Miss Jillgall's suggestion, to get my information from you.

There is something wrong between Eunice and yourself. What is it? And who is to blame?"

"Her vile sister is to blame," he answered. "That reptile was determined to sting us. And she has done it!" he

cried, starting to his feet, and walking up and down the room, urged into action by his own unendurable sense

of wrong. "I say, she has done it, after Eunice has saved medone it, when Eunice was ready to be my

Between grief and indignation his reply was involved in a confusion of vehementlyspoken words, which I

shall not attempt to reproduce. Eunice had reminded him that her sister had been publicly convicted of an

infamous crime, and publicly punished for it by imprisonment. "If I consent to marry you," she said, "I stain

you with my disgrace; that shall never be." With this resolution, she had left him. "I have tried to convince

her," Philip said, "that she will not be associated with her sister's disgrace when she bears my name; I have

promised to take her far away from England, among people who have never even heard of her sister. Miss

Jillgall has used her influence to help me. All in vain! There is no hope for us but in you. I am not thinking

selfishly only of myself. She tries to conceal itbut, oh, she is brokenhearted! Ask the farmer's wife, if you

"You may depend on my going to the farm," I answered. "I shall write to Eunice today, and follow my letter

tomorrow." He tried to thank me; but I would not allow it. "Before I consent to accept the expression of

your gratitude," I said, "I must know a little more of you than I know now. This is only the second occasion

on which we have met. Let us look back a little, Mr. Philip Dunboyne. You were Eunice's affianced husband;

and you broke faith with her. That was a rascally action. How do you defend it?"

I pressed him without mercy. "You own yourself," I said, "that it was a rascally action?"

"I owe it to Eunice to leave my conduct at its worst; with nothing saidby meto defend it."

It was gratefully and delicately said. Ought I to have allowed this circumstance to weigh with me? I ask, in

return, had I never committed any faults? As a fellowmortal and fellowsinner, had I any right to harden my

heart against an expression of penitence which I felt to be sincere in its motive?

But I was bound to think of Eunice. I did think of her, before I ventured to accept the positionthe critical

After more than an hour of questions put without reserve, and of answers given without prevarication, I had

traveled over the whole ground laid out by the narratives which appear in these pages, and had arrived at my

I found him to be a man with nothing absolutely wicked in himbut with a nature so perilously weak, in

many respects, that it might drift into wickedness unless a stronger nature was at hand to bold it back.

Married to a wife without force of character, the probabilities would point to him as likely to yield to

examples which might make him a bad husband. Married to a wife with a will of her own, and with true love

to sustain hera wife who would know when to take the command and how to take the commanda wife

who, finding him tempted to commit actions unworthy of his better self, would be farsighted enough to

perceive that her husband's sense of honor might sometimes lose its balance, without being on that account

hopelessly depravedthen, and, in these cases only, the probabilities would point to Philip as a man likely to

be the better and the happier for his situation, when the bonds of wedlock had got him.

Could I feel justified in placing Eunice in the position toward Philip which I have just endeavored to

describe? I dared not allow my mind to dwell on the generosity which had so nobly pardoned him, or on the

force of character which had bravely endured the bitterest disappointment, the cruelest humiliation. The one

consideration which I was bound to face, was the sacred consideration of her happiness in her life to come.

Leaving Philip, with a few words of sympathy which might help him to bear his suspense, I went to my room

The time passedand I could arrive at no positive conclusion. Either waywith or without Philipthe

contemplation of Eunice's future harassed me with doubt. Even if I had conquered my own indecision, and

had made up my mind to sanction the union of the two young people, the difficulties that now beset me

would not have been dispersed. Knowing what I alone knew, I could certainly remove Eunice's one objection

to the marriage. In other words, I had only to relate what had happened on the day when the Chaplain brought

the Minister to the prison, and the obstacle of their union would be removed. But, without considering Philip,

it was simply out of the question to do this, in mercy to Eunice herself. What was Helena's disgrace,

compared with the infamy which stained the name of the poor girl's mother! The other alternative of telling

her part of the truth only was before me, if I could persuade myself to adopt it. I failed to persuade myself;

my morbid anxiety for her welfare made me hesitate again. Human patience could endure no more. Rashness

prevailed and prudence yieldedI left my decision to be influenced by the coming interview with Eunice.

The next day I drove to the farm. Philip's entreaties persuaded me to let him be my companion, on one

I had carefully arranged my ideas, and had decided on proceeding with the greatest caution, before I ventured

on saying the allimportant words which, once spoken, were not to be recalled. The worst of those anxieties,

under which the delicate health of Mr. Gracedieu had broken down, was my anxiety now. Could I reconcile it

to my conscience to permit a man, innocent of all knowledge of the truth, to marry the daughter of a

condemned murderess, without honestly telling him what he was about to do? Did I deserve to be pitied? did

She ran to meet me as if she had been my daughter; she kissed me as if she had been my daughter; she fondly

looked up at me as if she had been my daughter. At the sight of that sweet young face, so sorrowful, and so

patiently enduring sorrow, all my doubts and hesitations, everything artificial about me with which I had

After she had thanked me for coming to see her, I saw her tremble a little. The uppermost interest in her heart

was forcing its way outward to expression, try as she might to keep it back. "Have you seen Philip?" she

asked. The tone in which she put that question decided meI was resolved to let her marry him. Impulse!

Yes, impulse, asserting itself inexcusably in a man at the end of his life. I ought to have known better than to

have given way. Very likely. But am I the only mortal who ought to have known betterand did not?

When Eunice asked if I had seen Philip, I owned that he was outside in the carriage. Before she could

reproach me, I went on with what I had to say: "My child, I know what a sacrifice you have made; and I

An idea came to me. I rang for the servant, and sent her to the carriage to tell Philip to come in. "My dear, I

am not putting you to any unfair trial," I assured her; "I am going to prove that I love you as truly as if you

When they were both present, I resolved that they should not suffer a moment of needless suspense. Standing

between them, I took Eunice's hand, and laid my other hand on Philip's shoulder, and spoke out plainly.

"I am here to make you both happy," I said. "I can remove the only obstacle to your marriage, and I mean to

do it. But I must insist on one condition. Give me your promise, Philip, that you will ask for no explanations,

and that you will be satisfied with the one true statement which is all that I can offer to you."

I gave her into Philip's care. It was his privilege to console and support her. It was my duty to say the decisive

"Rouse your courage, dear Eunice; you are no more affected by Helena's disgrace than I am. You are not her

sister. Her father is not your father; her mother was not your mother. I was present, in the time of your

infancy, when Mr. Gracedieu's fatherly kindness received you as his adopted child. This, I declare to you

How she bore it I am not able to say. My foolish old eyes were filling with tears. I could just see plainly

In my reckless state of mind, I never asked myself if Time would be my accomplice, and keep the part of the

secret which I had not revealedor be my enemy, and betray me. The chances, either way, were perhaps

THE marriage was deferred, at Eunice's request, as an expression of respect to the memory of Philip's father.

When the time of delay had passed, it was arranged that the wedding ceremony should be heldafter due

publication of Bannsat the parish church of the London suburb in which my house was situated. Miss

Jillgall was bridesmaid, and I gave away the bride. Before we set out for the church, Eunice asked leave to

"Don't think," she said, "that I am forgetting my promise to be content with what you have told me about

myself. I am not so ungrateful as that. But I do want, before I consent to be Philip's wife, to feel sure that I am

not quite unworthy of him. Is it because I am of mean birth that you told me I was Mr. Gracedieu's adopted

She put her arms round my neck. "Do you say that," she asked, "to make my mind easy? or do you say it on

We arrived at the church. Let Miss Jillgall describe the marriage, in her own inimitable way.

"No wedding breakfast, when you don't want to eat it. No wedding speeches, when nobody wants to make

them, and nobody wants to hear them. And no false sentiment, shedding tears and reddening noses, on the

happiest day in the whole year. A model marriage! I could desire nothing better, if I had any prospect of

They went away for their honeymoon to a quiet place by the seaside, not very far from the town in which

Eunice had passed some of the happiest and the wretchedest days in her life. She persisted in thinking it

possible that Mr. Gracedieu might recover the use of his faculties, at the last, and might wish to see her on his

deathbed. "His adopted daughter," she gently reminded me, "is his only daughter now." The doctor shook

his head when I told him what Eunice had said to meand, the sad truth must be told, the doctor was right.

Miss Jillgall returned, on the weddingday, to take care of the good man who had befriended her in her hour

Before the end of the week, I heard from her, and was disagreeably reminded of an incident which we had

both forgotten, absorbed as we were in other and greater interests, at the time.

Mrs. Tenbruggen had again appeared on the scene! She had written to Miss Jillgall, from Paris, to say that

she had heard of old Mr.. Dunboyne's death, and that she wished to have the letter returned, which she had

left for delivery to Philip's father on the day when Philip and Eunice were married. I had my own suspicions

of what that letter might contain; and I regretted that Miss Jillgall had sent it back without first waiting to

consult me. My misgivings, thus excited, were increased by more news of no very welcome kind. Mrs.

Tenbruggen had decided on returning to her professional pursuits in England. Massage, now the fashion

everywhere, had put money into her pocket among the foreigners; and her husband, finding that she persisted

in keeping out of his reach, had consented to a compromise. He was ready to submit to a judicial separation;

in consideration of a little income which his wife had consented to settle on him, under the advice of her

Some days later, I received a delightful letter from Philip and Eunice; reminding me that I had engaged to pay

them a visit at the seaside. My room was ready for me, and I was left to choose my own day. I had just begun

to write my reply, gladly accepting the invitation, when an ominous circumstance occurred. My servant

"I have heard it all from Selina," she said. "Philip's marriage to Eunice (I shall go and congratulate them, of

course), and the catastrophe (how dramatic!) of Helena Gracedieu. I warned. Selina that Miss Helena would

end badly. To tell the truth, she frightened me. I don't deny that I am a mischievous woman when I find

myself affronted, quite capable of taking my revenge in my own small spiteful way. But poison and

murderah, the frightful subject! let us drop it, and talk of something that doesn't make my hair (it's really

my own hair) stand on end. Has Selina told you that I have got rid of my charming husband, on easy

pecuniary terms? Oh, you know that? Very well. I will tell you something that you don't know. Mr.

"When I guessed which was which of those two girls," she answered, "and guessed wrong, you deliberately

encouraged the mistake. Very clever, but you overdid it. From that moment, though I kept it to myself, I

began to fear I might be wrong. Do you remember Low Lanes, my dear sir? A charming old church. I have

had another consultation with my lawyer. His questions led me into mentioning how it happened that I heard

of Low Lanes. After looking again at his memorandum of the birth advertised in the newspaper without

naming the placehe proposed trying the church register at Low Lanes. Need I tell you the result? I know,

as well as you do, that Philip has married the adopted child. He has had a motherinlaw who was hanged,

and, what is more, he has the honor, through his late father, of being otherwise connected with the murderess

Bewilderment and dismay deprived me of my presence of mind. "How did you discover that?" I was foolish

"Do you remember when I brought the baby to the prison?" she said. "The fatheras I mentioned at the

timehad been a dear and valued friend of mine. No person could be better qualified to tell me who had

married his wife's sister. If that lady had been living, I should never have been troubled with the charge of the

"Oh, for shame! I don't deny that Philip insulted me grossly, in one way; and that Philip's late father insulted

me grossly, in another way. But Mamma Tenbruggen is a Christian. She returns good for evil, and wouldn't

The moment the woman was out of my house, I sent a telegram to Philip to say that he might expect to see

me that night. I caught the last train in the evening; and I sat down to supper with those two harmless young

creatures, knowing I must prepare the husband for what threatened them, and weakly deferring it, when I

found myself in their presence, until the next day. Eunice was, in some degree, answerable for this hesitation

on my part. No one could look at her husband, and fail to see that he was a supremely happy man. But I

Before breakfast the next morning I was out on the beach, trying to decide how the inevitable disclosure

might be made. Eunice joined me. Now, when we were alone, I asked if she was really and completely

I hardly knew what to say. My face must have expressed disappointment and surprise.

"I shall never be quite happy," she resumed, "till I know what it is that you kept from me on that memorable

"I don't forget it," she answered. "I can only wish that my promise would keep back the thoughts that come to

"There is something, as I fear, in the story of my parents which you are afraid to confide to me. Why did Mr.

Gracedieu allow me to believe and leave everybody to believe, that I was his own child?"

"My dear, I relieved your mind of those doubts on the morning of your marriage."

"No. I was only thinking of myself at that time. My motherthe doubt of her is the doubt that torments me

"The mockmother!" she whispered. "Do you remember that dreadful Vision, that horrid whispering

temptation in the dead of night? Was it a mockmother? Oh, pity me! I don't know who my mother was. One

horrid thought about her is a burden on my mind. If she was a good woman, you who love me would surely

Those words decided me at last. Could she suffer more than she had suffered already, if I trusted her with the

truth? I ran the risk. There was a time of silence that filled me with terror. The interval passed. She took my

hand, and put it to her heart. "Does it beat as if I was frightened?" she asked.

It told me that I had not surprised her. That unforgotten Vision of the night had prepared her for the worst,

after the time when I had told her that she was an adopted child. "I know," I said, "that those whispered

temptations overpowered you again, when you and Helena met on the stairs, and you forbade her to enter

Philip's room. And I know that love had conquered once more, when you were next seen sitting by Philip's

bedside. Tell mehave you any misgivings now? Is there fear in your heart of the return of that tempting

There, where her love wasthere her safety was. And she knew it! She suddenly left me. I asked where she

"He said: 'My darling, if I could be fonder of you than ever, I should be fonder of you now.' "

I have been blamed for being too ready to confide to Philip the precious trust of Eunice's happiness. If that

LATER in the day, Mrs. Tenbruggen arrived to offer her congratulations. She asked for a few minutes with

Philip alone. As a cat elaborates her preparations for killing a mouse, so the human cat elaborated her

preparations for killing Philip's happiness, he remained uninjured by her teeth and her claws. "Somebody,"

For some months longer, Mr. Gracedieu lingered. One morning, he said to Eunice: "I want to teach you to

knit. Sit by me, and see me do it." His hands fell softly on his lap; his head sank little by little on her

shoulder. She could just hear him whisper: "How pleasant it is to sleep!" Never was Death's dreadful work

Our married pair live now on the paternal estate in Ireland; and Miss Jillgall reigns queen of domestic affairs.

At times, my memory reverts to Helena Gracedieu, and to what I discovered when I had seen her diary.

How little I knew of that terrible creature when I first met with her, and fancied that she had inherited her

mother's character! It was weak indeed to compare the mean vices of Mrs. Gracedieu with the diabolical

depravity of her daughter. Here the doctrine of hereditary transmission of moral qualities must own that it has

overlooked the fertility (for growth of good and for growth of evil equally) which is inherent in human

nature. There are virtues that exalt us, and vices that degrade us, whose mysterious origin is, not in our

parents, but in ourselves. When I think of Helena, I ask myself, where is the trace which reveals that the first

The criminal left the prison, on the expiration of her sentence, so secretly that it was impossible to trace her.

Some months later, Miss Jillgall received an illustrated newspaper published in the United States. She

"Do you recognize the illustrious original?" she asked, with indignant emphasis on the last two words. I

The biographical notice followed. Here is an extract: "This eminent lady, the victim of a shocking

miscarriage of justice in England, is now the distinguished leader of a new community in the United States.

We hail in her the great intellect which asserts the superiority of woman over man. In the first French

Revolution, the attempt made by men to found a rational religion met with only temporary success. It was

reserved for the mightier spirit of woman to lay the foundations more firmly, and to dedicate one of the

noblest edifices in this city to the Worship of Pure Reason. Readers who wish for further information will do

well to provide themselves with the Reverend Miss Gracedieu's Orationsthe tenth edition of which is

"I once asked you," Miss Jillgall reminded me, "what Helena would do when she came out of prison, and you