her interest and to excite her trust. Of anything further, even had
Percival never existed, she could not have dreamed. It was because a
secret and undefinable repugnance, in the midst of pity, trust, and
friendship, put Varney altogether out of the light of a possible lover,
that all those sentiments were so easily kindled. This repugnance arose
not from the disparity between their years; it was rather that nameless
uncongeniality which does not forbid friendship, but is irreconcilable
with love. To do Varney justice, he never offered to reconcile the two.
Not for love did he secretly confer with Helen; not for love did his
heart beat against the hand which reposed so carelessly on his murderous
arm.




CHAPTER X.

THE RATTLE OF THE SNAKE.

The progress of affection between natures like those of Percival and
Helen, favoured by free and constant intercourse, was naturally rapid.
It was scarcely five weeks from the day he had first seen Helen, and he
already regarded her as his plighted bride. During the earlier days of
his courtship, Percival, enamoured and absorbed for the first time in his
life, did not hasten to make his mother the confidante of his happiness.
He had written but twice; and though he said briefly, in the second
letter, that he had discovered two relations, both interesting and one
charming, he had deferred naming them or entering into detail. This not
alone from that indescribable coyness which all have experienced in
addressing even those with whom they are most intimate, in the early,