Leonard was shown into the drawing-room, and it so chanced that Helen was
there alone. The girl's soft face was sadly changed, even since Leonard
had seen it last; for the grief of natures mild and undemonstrative as
hers, gnaws with quick ravages; but at Leonard's unexpected entrance, the
colour rushed so vividly to the pale cheeks that its hectic might be
taken for the lustre of bloom and health. She rose hurriedly, and in
great confusion faltered out, "that she believed Lady Lansmere was in her
room,--she would go for her," and moved towards the door, without seeming
to notice the hand tremulously held forth to her; when Leonard exclaimed
in uncontrollable emotions which pierced to her very heart, in the keen
accent of reproach,--

"Oh, Miss Digby--oh, Helen--is it thus that you greet me,--rather thus
that you shun me? Could I have foreseen this when we two orphans stood
by the mournful bridge,--so friendless, so desolate, and so clinging each
to each? Happy time!" He seized her hand suddenly as he spoke the last
words, and bowed his face over it.

"I must not hear you. Do not talk so, Leonard, you break my heart. Let
me go, let me go!"

"Is it that I am grown hateful to you; is it merely that you see my love
and would discourage it? Helen, speak to me,--speak!"

He drew her with tender force towards him; and, holding her firmly by
both hands, sought to gaze upon the face that she turned from him,--
turned in such despair.

"You do not know," she said at last, struggling for composure,--"you do