I breathed more freely; my vision cleared; I saw distinctly the pure moon shining on, and the light clouds skimming the clear, dark sky; and then, I saw the eternal stars twinkling down upon me; I knew their God was mine, and He was strong to save and swift to hear. `I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee,' seemed whispered from above their myriad orbs. No, no;
I felt He would not leave me comfortless:* in spite of earth and hell I should have strength for all my trials, and win a glorious rest at last!
Refreshed, invigorated if not composed, I rose and returned to the house. Much of my newborn strength and courage forsook me, I confess, as I entered it, and shut out the fresh wind and the glorious sky: everything I saw and heard seemed to sicken my heart--the hall, the lamp, the staircase, the doors of the different apartments, the social sound of talk and laughter from the drawing-room. How could I bear my future life? In this house, among those people--oh, how could I endure to live! John just then entered the hall, and seeing me, told me he had been sent in search of me, adding that he had taken in the tea, and master wished to know if I were coming.
`Ask Mrs. Hattersley to be so kind as to make the tea, John,' said I. `Say I am not well to-night, and wish to be excused.'
I retired into the large, empty dining-room, where all was silence and darkness, but for the soft sighing of the wind without, and the faint gleam of moonlight that pierced the blinds and curtains; and there I walked rapidly up and down, thinking my bitter thoughts alone. How different was this from the evening of yesterday! That it seems, was the last expiring flash of my life's happiness. Poor, blinded fool that I was, to be so happy! I could now see the reason of Arthur's strange reception of me in the shrubbery: the burst of kindness was for his paramour, the start of horror for his wife. Now, too, I could better understand the conversation between Hattersley and Grimsby: it was doubtless of his love for her they spoke, not for me.
I heard the drawing-room door open: a light quick step came out of the ante-room, crossed the hall, and ascended the stairs. It was Milicent, poor Milicent, gone to see how I was--no one else cared for me; but she still was kind. I had shed no tears before, but now they came--fast and free. Thus she did me good, without approaching me. Disappointed in her search, I heard her come down--more slowly than she had ascended. Would she come in there, and find me out? No; she turned in the opposite direction and re-entered the drawing-room. I was glad, for I knew not how to meet her, or what to say. I wanted no confidant in my distress. I deserved none--and I wanted none. I had taken the burden upon myself: let me bear it alone.
As the usual hour of retirement approached, I dried my eyes, and tried to clear my voice and calm my mind. I must see Arthur to-night, and speak to him; but I would do it calmly: there should be no scene--nothing to complain or to boast of to his companions--nothing to laugh at with his lady love. When the company were retiring to their chambers, I gently opened the door, and just as he passed, I beckoned him in.
`What's to do with you, Helen?' said he. `Why couldn't you come to make tea for us? and what the deuce are you here for, in the dark? What ails you, young woman--you look like a ghost?' he continued, surveying me by the light of his candle.
`No matter,' I answered-- `to you---you have no longer any regard for me, it appears; and I have no longer any for you.'
`Hal-low! what the devil is this?' he muttered.
`I would leave you to-morrow,' continued I, `and never again come under this roof, but for my child'--I paused a moment to steady my voice.
`What in the devil's name is this, Helen?' cried he. `What can you be driving at?'
`You know, perfectly well. Let us waste no time in useless explanation, but tell me, will you--'
He vehemently swore he knew nothing about it, and insisted upon hearing what poisonous old woman had been blackening his name, and what infamous lies I had been fool enough to believe.