And the letter which narrated the visit of Madame Dalibard to the house
thus solemnly interdicted to her step was on its way to his mother,--nay,
by this time would almost have reached her! Greville was on the road,--
nay, as his tutor's letter had been forwarded from London, might perhaps
be in Curzon Street that day. How desirable to see him before he could
reach Laughton, to prepare him for Madame Dalibard's visit, for Helen's
illness, explain the position in which he was involved, and conciliate
the old soldier's rough, kind heart to his love and his distress.

He did not dread the meeting with Greville,--he yearned for it. He
needed an adviser, a confidant, a friend. To dismiss abruptly his guests
from his house,--impossible; to abandon Helen because of her father's
crime or her aunt's fault (whatever that last might be, and no clear
detail of it was given),--that never entered his thoughts! Pure and
unsullied, the starry face of Helen shone the holier for the cloud around
it. An inexpressible and chivalrous compassion mingled with his love and
confirmed his faith. She, poor child, to suffer for the deeds of
others,--no. What availed his power as man, and dignity as gentleman, if
they could not wrap in their own shelter the one by whom such shelter was
now doubly needed? Thus, amidst all his emotions, firm and resolved at
least on one point, and beginning already to recover the hope of his
sanguine nature, from his reliance on his mother's love, on the promises
that softened her disclosures and warnings, and on his conviction that
Helen had only to be seen for every scruple to give way, Percival
wandered back towards the house, and coming abruptly on the terrace, he
encountered Varney, who was leaning motionless against the balustrades,
with an open letter in his hand. Varney was deadly pale, and there was
the trace of some recent and gloomy agitation in the relaxed muscles of
his cheeks, usually so firmly rounded. But Percival did not heed his