“Our acts our angels are, or good or ill,   Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.”
 
Naturally there was considerable agitation in the Roberts family on account of Helen's strange behavior; early the next morning Mrs. Roberts was at her niece's door, trying to gain admittance. This time she did not have to knock but once, and when she entered she was surprised to see that Helen was already up and dressing. She had been expecting to find the girl more prostrated than ever, and so the discovery was a great relief to her; she stood gazing at her anxiously.
“Helen, dear,” she said, “I scarcely know how to begin to talk to you about your extraordinary—”
“I wish,” interrupted Helen, “that you would not begin to talk to me about it at all.”
“But you must explain to me what in the world is the matter,” protested the other.
“I cannot possibly explain to you,” was the abrupt reply. Helen's voice was firm, and there was a determined look upon her face, a look which quite took her aunt by surprise.
“But, my dear girl!” she began once more.
“Aunt Polly!” said the other, interrupting her again, “I wish instead of talking about it you would listen to what I have to say for a few moments. For I have made up my mind just what I am going to do, and I am going to take the reins in my own hands and not do any arguing or explaining to anyone. And there is no use of asking me a word about what has happened, for I could not hope to make you understand me, and I do not mean to try.”
As Helen uttered those words she fixed her eyes upon her aunt with an unflinching gaze, with the result that Mrs. Roberts was quite too much taken aback to find a word to say.
Without waiting for anything more Helen turned to the table. “Here is a letter,” she said, “which I have written to Mr. Harrison; you know his address in New York, I suppose?”
“His address?” stammered the other; “why,—yes, of course. But what in the world—”
“I wish this letter delivered to him at once, Aunt Polly,” Helen continued. “It is of the utmost importance, and I want you to do me the favor to send someone into the city with it by the next train.”
“But, Helen, dear—”
“Now please do not ask me anything about it,” went on the girl, impatiently. “I have told you that you must let me manage this affair myself. If you will not send it I shall simply have to get someone to take it. He must have it, and have it at once.”
“Will it not do to mail it, Helen?”
“No, because I wish him to get it this morning.” And Helen put the letter into her aunt's hands, while the latter gazed helplessly, first at it, and then at the girl. There is an essay of Bacon's in which is set forth the truth that you can bewilder and master anyone if you are only sufficiently bold and rapid; Mrs. Roberts was so used to managing everything and being looked up to by everyone that Helen's present mood left her quite dazed.
Nor did the girl give her any time to recover her presence of mind. “There is only one thing more,” she said, “I want you to have breakfast as soon as you can, and then to let me have a carriage at once.”
“A carriage?” echoed the other.
“Yes, Aunt Polly, I wish to drive over to Hilltown immediately.”
“To Hilltown!” gasped Aunt Polly with yet greater consternation, and showing signs of resistance at last; “pray what—”
But Helen only came again to the attack, with yet more audacity and confidence. “Yes,” she said, “to Hilltown; I mean to go to see Arthur.”
For answer to that last statement, poor Mrs. Roberts had simply no words whatever; she could only gaze, and in the meantime, Helen was going calmly on with her dressing, as if the matter were settled.
“Will Mr. Howard be down to breakfast?” she asked.
“As he is going away to-day, I presume he will be down,” was the reply, after which Helen quickly completed her toilet, her aunt standing by and watching her in the meantime.
“Helen, dear,” she asked at last, after having recovered her faculties a trifle, “do you really mean that you will not explain to me a thing of what has happened, or of what you are doing?”
“There is so much, Aunt Polly, that I cannot possibly explain it now; I have too much else to think of. You must simply let me go my way, and I will tell you afterwards.”
“But, Helen, is that the right way to treat me? Is it nothing to you, all the interest that I have taken in this and all that I have done for you, that you should think so little of my advice?”
“I do not need any advice now,” was the answer. “Aunt Polly, I see exactly what I should do, and I do not mean to stop a minute for anything else until I have done it. If it seems unkind, I am very sorry, but in the meantime it must be done.”
And while she was saying the words, Helen was putting on her hat; then taking up her parasol and gloves she turned towards her aunt. “I am ready now,” she said, “and please let me have breakfast just as soon as you can.”
The girl was so much preoccupied with her own thoughts and purposes that she scarcely even heard what her aunt said; she went down into the garden where she could be alone, and paced up and down impatiently until she heard the bell. Then she went up into the dining room, where she found her aunt and uncle in conversation with Mr. Howard.
Helen had long been preparing herself to meet him, but she could not keep her cheeks from flushing or keep from lowering her eyes; she bit her lips together, however, and forced herself to look at him, saying very resolutely, “Mr. Howard, I have to drive over to Hilltown after breakfast, and I wish very much to talk to you about something; would you like to drive with me?”
“Very much indeed,” said he, quietly, after which Helen said not a word more. She saw that her aunt and uncle were gazing at her and at each other in silent wonder, but she paid no attention to it. After eating a few hurried mouthfuls she excused herself, and rose and went outside, where she saw the driving-cart which had been bought for her use, waiting for her. It was not much longer before Mr. Howard was ready, for he saw her agitation.
“It is rather a strange hour to start upon a drive,” she said to him, “but I have real cause for hurrying; I will explain about it.” And then she stopped, as her aunt came out to join them.
It was only a moment more before Mr. Howard had excused himself, and the two were in the wagon, Helen taking the reins. She waved a farewell to her aunt and then started the horse, and they were whirled swiftly away down the road.
All the morning Helen's mind had been filled with things that she wished to say to Mr. Howard. But now all her resolution seemed to have left her, and she was trembling very much, and staring straight ahead, busying herself with guiding the horse. When they were out upon the main road where they might go as fast as they pleased without that necessity, she swallowed the lump in her throat and made one or two nervous attempts to speak.
Mr. Howard in the meantime had been gazing in front of him thoughtfully. “Miss Davis,” he said suddenly, turning his eyes upon her, “may I ask you a question?”
“Yes,” said Helen faintly.
“You heard all that I said about you last night?”
And Helen turned very red and looked away. “Yes, I heard it all,” she said; and then there was a long silence.
It was broken by the man, who began in a low voice: “I scarcely know how, Miss Davis, I can apologize to you—”
And then he stopped short, for the girl had turned her glance upon him, wonderingly. “Apologize?” she said; she had never once thought of that view of it, and the word took her by surprise.
“Yes,” said Mr. Howard; “I said so many hard and cruel things that I cannot bear to think of them.”
Helen still kept her eyes fixed upon him, as she said, “Did you say anything that was not true, Mr. Howard?”
The man hesitated a moment, and then he answered: “I said many things that I had no right to say to you.”
“That is not it,” said Helen simply. “Did you say anything that was not true?”
Again Mr. Howard paused. “I am quite sure that I did,” he said at last. “Most of what I said I feel to have been untrue since I have seen how it affected you.”
“Because it made me so ashamed?” said Helen. And then some of the thoughts that possessed her forced their way out, and she hurried on impetuously: “That was the first thing I wanted to tell you. It is really true that you were wrong, for I am not hard-hearted at all. It was something that my—that people were making me do, and all the time I was wretched. It was dreadful, I know, but I was tempted, because I do love beautiful things. And it was all so sudden, and I could not realize it, and I had nobody to advise me, for none of the people I meet would think it was wrong. You must talk to me and help me, because I've got to be very strong; my aunt will be angry, and when I get back perhaps Mr. Harrison will be there, and I shall have to tell him.”
Then the girl stopped, out of breath and trembling with excitement; Mr. Howard turned abruptly and fixed his dark eyes upon her.
“Tell him,” he said. “Tell him what?”
“That I shall not marry him, of course,” answered Helen; the other gave a start, but she was so eager that she did not even notice it. “I could not lose a minute,” she said. “For it was so very dreadful, you know.”
“And you really mean not to marry him?” asked the other.
“Mean it!” echoed the girl, opening her eyes very wide. “Why, how in the world could you suppose—” And then she stopped short, and laughed nervously. “Of course,” she said, “I forgot; you might suppose anything. But, oh, if I could tell you how I have suffered, Mr. Howard, you would understand that I could never have such a thought again in the world. Please do understand me, for if I had really been so base I should not come to you as I do after what I heard. I cannot tell you how dreadfully I suffered while I was listening, but after I had cried so much about it, I felt better, and it seemed to me that it was the best thing that could have happened to me, just to see my actions as they seemed to someone else,—to someone who was good. I saw all at once the truth of what I was doing, and it was agony to me to know that you thought so of me. That was why I could not rest last night until I had told you that I was really unhappy; for it was something that I was unhappy, wasn't it, Mr. Howard?”
“Yes,” said the other, “it was very much indeed.”
“And oh, I want you to know the truth,” Helen went on swiftly. “Perhaps it is just egotism on my part, and I have really no right to tell you all about myself in this way; and perhaps you will scorn me when you come to know the whole truth. But I cannot help telling you about it, so that you may advise me what to do; I was all helpless and lost, and what you said came last night like a wonderful light. And I don't care what you think about me if you will only tell me the real truth, in just the same way that you did; for I realized afterwards that it was that which had helped me so. It was the first time in my life that it had ever happened to me; when you meet people in the world, they only say things that they know will please you, and that does you no good. I never realized before how a person might go through the world and really never meet with another heart in all his life; and that one can be fearfully lonely, even in a parlor full of people. Did you ever think of that, Mr. Howard?”
Mr. Howard had fixed his keen eyes upon the girl as she went breathlessly on; she was very pale, and the sorrow through which she had passed had left, “I have been so cold and wicked, that you will soon scorn me altogether.”
“I do not think that is possible,” said her companion, gently, as he saw the girl choking back a sob.
“Well, listen then,” Helen began; but then she stopped again. “Do you wish me to tell you?” she asked. “Do you care anything about it at all, or does it seem—”
“I care very much about it, indeed,” the other answered.
“However dreadful it may seem,” said Helen. “Oh, please know that while I have been doing it, it has made me utterly wretched, and that I am so frightened now that I can scarcely talk to you; and that if there is anything that I can do—oh, absolutely anything—I will do it!” Then the girl bit her lips together and went on with desperate haste, “It's what you said about what would happen if there were someone else to love me, and to see how very bad I was!”
“There is some such person?” asked the man, in a low voice.
“Yes,” said she. “It is someone I have known as long as I can remember. And he loves me very much indeed, I think; and while I was letting myself be tempted in this way he was very sick, and because I knew I was so bad I did not dare go near him; and yesterday when he heard I was going to marry this man, it almost killed him, and I do not know what to fear now.”
Then, punishing herself very bravely and swallowing all her bitter shame, Helen went on to tell Mr. Howard of Arthur, and of her friendship with him, and of how long he had waited for her; she narrated in a few words how he had left her, and then how she had seen him upon the road. Afterwards she stopped and sat very still, trembling, and with her eyes lowered, quite forgetting that she was driving.
“Miss Davis,” said the other, gently, seeing how she was suffering, “if you wish my advice about this, I should not worry myself too much; it is better, I ............