All the next day Helen sat in her own room, at times reading a little, but for the most part sunk in reveries. Her cold appeared to be a little better, but her face wore a sicklier hue than on the previous day. The hands which lay crossed upon her lap seemed almost transparent in their pale delicacy, and only the pink tints of the nails gave evidence of warm life-blood. Had she made no promise to Mr. Heatherley, her physical weakness would have sufficed to hold her indoors today. To rise from her chair cost her a painful effort, and after crossing the room her limbs became as feebly tremulous as though she had but just risen from a long illness. As she reclined in her great chair, her hands folded before her, her eyes fixed with a gaze expressive of calm inward joy upon the glowing fire, which, in the shadowed room, often cast a faint rosy radiance upon her brow, and deepened into dark gold the richness of her brown hair, she much resembled some sweet and placid-faced Madonna gazing herself into beatific reverie before an infant Christ.
For her thoughts, as the day progressed, became calm and cheerful, engrossed in anticipation of the interview she was about to enjoy. Throughout the night and during the early hours of the day she had suffered much, and, instead of the present peace, an expression of trouble, at times even of anguish, had disturbed her countenance. After the dread waking from the nightmare she had scarcely closed her eyes, but had lain through the long silent hours struggling with a fearful spectre in her thoughts scarcely less terrible than that which had oppressed her dreams. The blood upon her hand and upon her lips she felt that she understood only too well; it brought back recollections of her father’s last years, and reawakened in her a dread to which she had long ago been subject, but which her active life had recently dispelled from her mind. Her mother had died very early, if not of consumption, at all events from some trifling illness operating upon a most feeble constitution. Her father, as the reader knows, had struggled through long years with his impending fate, only keeping himself alive by the exercise of the most scrupulous precautions. Helen reflected again on these things during long hours of wakefulness, and the flickering night-light became to her the symbol of a miserable destiny. What if her life was fated to burn only during a few years of dark striving, of toiling in the gloom of misapplied efforts and fallacious hopes, and then, when at length the dawn began to break upon her, when she could see her path more clearly, and the certainty of progress had grown strong within her, should flicker, and droop, and become extinguished even as this night-light? In the dim radiance which kept her company during this night of suffering she saw pass by her bed the terrible forms of Disease, Despair and Death, and it seemed as though another ghostly shadow which had taken its place by her side whispered their names to her as they passed, and the name of the shadow itself was Fear. For hours she lay in a cold sweat, her soul writhing within her, her body prostrated as though already under the crushing hand of sickness; and only towards the morning did she once again sink into troubled slumber, to be still haunted by the same ghostly shapes. No wonder that she at length arose shattered and feeble, desiring nothing but to sit quietly throughout the day by the fire-side. The cup of coffee which had been brought her at breakfast-time remained beside her at noon, still untouched; then it was exchanged for a cup of tea, after drinking which the calm into which she had gradually been sinking became more perfect, and by degrees she forgot her fears in happy reverie.
As the time for Arthur’s visit drew nigh, Helen paid some attention to her toilet, and descended to the library, where she had ordered a fire to be lighted. Into this room she knew Mrs. Cumberbatch very seldom came, and here she gave instructions that Arthur should be shown as soon as he arrived. Taking up a favourite book, she sat down by the fire-side, not to read — for that was impossible — but to subside into a state of calm preparation.
Exactly at the hour of seven, she heard the visitor’s bell ring, down in the lower regions of the house, and she knew that he had arrived. She sat and listened. A servant passed quickly through the hall, the front-door opened, there was a momentary silence, and almost immediately a tap at the library-door. The servant announced —
“Mr. Golding.”
Helen rose from her seat and advanced to meet him. Now that he was in her presence she had recovered all her self-command, and could even comment to herself upon his appearance. Certainly he was much altered; whether for the better or not it was difficult to say at once. He looked much older. His face was thinner, and bore traces of anxiety, if not of keener suffering. But his eyes still wore the same expression, were still alive with the bright glow of talent and enthusiasm. For the excitement of the visit had also animated Arthur, and just now he felt more like his old self than he had for a long time.
On Helen’s part there was no air of condescension, no restraint, no sense of being engaged in anything unusual. When Arthur stood still and bent before her, she advanced yet a step, and held out her hand to him with the perfection of natural grace. He took it, and held it for a moment, gazing into her face with a look before which her eyes fell. Then she pointed in silence to a chair, and herself became seated.
Neither had given utterance to a word of common-place greeting or politeness, for each felt that the meeting was one which would be fruitful in consequences to them both. As soon as they were seated, Helen looked towards Arthur with a smile of expectation. But she saw the same moment that he was under the influence of feelings which would not allow him to speak at once, and she resolved to relieve his embarrassment.
“My friend, Miss Venning,” she said, “told me you had expressed a wish to see me, Mr. Golding. I am sorry that you should have hesitated so long before paying me a visit.”
“I was not quite certain, Miss Norman,” he replied, reassured completely by her quiet, friendly tone, “whether you would permit me to speak to you if I came. I feared you were offended at the abruptness with which I quitted Mr. Gresham’s studio a year ago.”
“Had you any reason to think I was offended?” asked Helen, after a moment’s reflection, her tone being one of simple inquiry.
Arthur hesitated for an instant, raised his face as if to make a confession, but apparently altered his purpose, and spoke in his previous respectful tone.
“No reason,” he replied, “except the consciousness that my behaviour must have appeared strange and even rude to you.” Then, after slightly pausing, he added, in a lower voice, “I had no means of knowing how my absence was explained to you, or, indeed, whether it was explained at all. Possibly it is presumptuous in me to think you ever cared to ask the reason.”
An expression of surprise rose to Helen’s face as she listened, frank surprise which she did not in the least try to conceal. Arthur’s eye caught the look, for a moment they gazed at each other without speaking.
“I am quite unable to understand what you have just said, Mr. Golding,” said Helen at length, a touch of pain making itself evident in her tone. “Your memory must be strangely unretentive. Could I have given better evidence of my being concerned at your sudden departure than by coming to enquire for you?”
It was Arthur’s turn to look surprised, and he appeared even more so than Helen had previously been. For some moments he struggled desperately with his memory in the endeavour to disclose any possible explanation for her words. Helen saw that his astonishment was sincere, and smiled as she again spoke.
“When you spoke of my being offended, I certainly thought you could only refer to one circumstance. Can you recall no occasion on which you behaved to me with what I will call severity? I do not use the word impoliteness, for I am sure you were labouring under some strange mistake, as well as suffering from affliction.”
“If you refer,” replied Arthur, “to something that happened after Mr. Tollady’s death, I am quite unable to understand you, Miss Norman.”
“You were not aware that I called at the shop immediately after Mr. Tollady’s burial, and was informed that you declined to see me?”
Arthur started to his feet.
“Who told you so?” he cried; but, at once recollecting himself, he resumed his seat, and added, “I beg your pardon, Miss Norman. I am so astonished at what you tell me that I forget myself. May I ask who behaved so rudely in my name? Do you remember ——”
He ceased suddenly, for he remembered it could be but one person, and before Helen could reply, he had solved the mystery in his own mind.
“It was a tall, strange-looking man,” he added, eagerly; “a man with a red stain on one of his cheeks, was it not, Miss Norman?”
“It was,” she replied. “I remember him distinctly. Indeed, at the time I thought him mad.”
“And such he doubtless was,” returned the young man. “He has since died — a maniac.”
He became silent, for the solution of the doubt which had so long weighed upon his mind, imparted to his thoughts an activity which wholly occupied him.
“And am I to understand,” asked Helen, “that this man spoke without authority from you?”
“Entirely so,” returned Arthur, suddenly looking up.
“But that is very extraordinary,” said Helen, looking up keenly into her visitor’s face. “What could be the reason of his putting such words into your mouth?”
“Upon my word, Miss Norman,” exclaimed Arthur, returning her gaze with unflinching candour, “strange as it appears to you, it is true. Till this moment I knew nothing of your visit. You will think me presumptuous when I confess it, but for several days after Mr. Tollady’s sudden death I hoped that you might — that your interest in him might induce you to — visit the shop, as you had frequently done, and make some inquiry with regard to him. I hoped you might do so, for I could not help thinking that all who knew Mr. Tollady must be as much afflicted by his death as I was myself. But when a whole week had gone by, and I still thought you had not called, I was forced to conclude that I had been foolish in attributing to you feelings with which you had no concern. Or, as I sometimes feared, Mr. Gresham had so represented the reason of my quitting him, that you did not think it consistent with — with your dignity to visit the house in which I lived.”
“If you knew me better, Mr. Golding,” replied Helen, smiling, “you would know that I held in very little esteem that conventional dignity which you hesitate to express. I’m sure I don’t know whether it would have been dignified in me to keep away when I heard of Mr. Tollady’s death, but it would certainly have been unfeeling. The fact is, I came to visit Mr. Tollady himself, so little did I know of what had happened, and it was after I had learnt it from the strange man in the shop that I asked to see you, and received the answer you know. Then, perhaps,” she added, smiling, “some question of dignity did act to prevent me repeating my visit, which I was naturally persuaded would be useless.”
A silence ensued, during which both were deeply occupied with their thoughts. Arthur was the first to look up and speak.
“I am not as well acquainted as I should like to be, Miss Norman, with the ways of the society in which you live, and possibly you may regard the question which I ask as grossly rude. If it is so, I hope you will not hesitate to tell me. Might I ask how Mr. Gresham explained to you my sudden departure from his studio?”
“It is your right to know,” replied Helen. “Mr. Gresham spoke of your action as one which had more of folly in it than of any more serious fault. He said that your capricious temper rendered you incapable of receiving instruction, and that some slight reproof which he addressed to you on some occasion when you deserved it, led to your going off in anger, and writing him the rude letter which terminated the connection between you. Excuse the freedom of my expressions. I repeat, as nearly as I can remember, the words Mr. Gresham used.”
Arthur was silent for some minutes from extreme indignation. When he looked up he saw that Helen continued to watch him.
“Will you permit me, Miss Norman,” he asked, restraining himself to speak as calmly as possible, “to tell you my view of this matter, to tell you, in short, the truth?”
Helen lowered her eyes before the emphasis of the last word. “That is also your right,” she answered quietly. “I beg you will do so.”
“Then, Miss Norman,” resumed Arthur, with energy, “as I value your good opinion above anything in this world, but could not stoop to possess myself of it under false pretences any more than I could rob you of a sum of money, I declare that there is not one word of truth in what you were told, and what, no doubt, you have hitherto believed. I do not think my temper is capricious, and I certainly never behaved to Mr. Gresham otherwise than with the utmost respect. As to receiving his instruction impatiently, I could not value it highly enough, and listened with the utmost attention to every word he spoke to me. Notwithstanding this, Mr. Gresham all at once began to treat me with the most unaccountable coldness, and then even with harshness. I do not hesitate to affirm that he was unpardonably rude in his manner towards me. I respectfully asked an explanation, but it was haughtily refused. That same day, on returning home, I found Mr. Tollady evidently ill, and suffering in mind as much as in body. With great difficulty I succeeded in persuading him to tell me the cause of his depression, which I had observed for a long time, and then I found that necessity had compelled him to mortgage his house under peculiar circumstances, that the time had come for the repayment of the money, and that, as he was quite unable to meet the debt, he saw no alternative but giving up the house. In my distress I would have done anything to spare Mr. Tollady this suffering. Without a thought I came to Mr. Gresham and begged he would advance me out of my legacy the sum necessary to pay off this debt. He replied that it was impossible to do so, and almost taunted me with the fact that he had already supplied me with money before he was legally obliged to do so. I bore with this indignity, and begged he would lend Mr. Tollady the money on his own account, for pure pity’s sake. This he altogether refused to do, and at once dismissed me with the utmost harshness. I returned home, and, even now I recall it with irrepressible horror — I found Mr. Tollady dead in his chair. The very next day I wrote a letter to Mr. Gresham, acquainting him with what had happened, and saying, in words which I am sure had nothing of impertinence, that, under the circumstances, I could not continue to receive any kind of favour from him. This is the true story, Miss Norman, strange as it may seem. To this day I cannot account for Mr. Gresham’s changed manner towards me, but I am perfectly sure that he wished to bring about the end which actually arrived, and drive me away from him.”
As the narrative progressed, Helen sat with her eyes fixed upon the carpet, and once or twice a passing glow had manifested itself in her pale cheeks. A veil seemed to be removed from her eyes by Arthur’s story, and, strange as Mr. Gresham’s conduct might appear to the latter, she had no longer any doubt as to the interpretation of it. She remembered her guardian forbidding her to speak to Arthur Golding, and she completely recalled his tone and manner on that occasion, which at the time had puzzled her. She could no longer hesitate to recognise jealousy as the cause of his conduct towards Arthur, and, strange to say, she felt a hot glow of pleasure fill her veins as the certainty forced itself upon her. When Arthur ceased to speak, she did not at once reply, but the former could see in her face that she was convinced of the truth of his story, and that she was not displeased at hearing it.
“It was very unfortunate,” she said, at length, without looking up. “Evidently there was some strange misunderstanding between yourself and Mr. Gresham. I cannot comprehend it at all. But,” she added, as if to get rid of an unpleasant subject, “was this explanation the object of your visit, Mr. Golding?”
“Not the main object,” replied Arthur, his voice expressing doubt and hesitation, “though I certainly had hoped to be permitted this justification of my conduct. My desire to see you was caused by — by circumstances and feelings which I now scarcely know how to describe to you. Indeed it would take me long to do so, I should be obliged to go over almost the whole story of my life. But do not be afraid, Miss Norman,” he added with a smile, misinterpreting a look which passed over Helen’s face. “I feel deeply your goodness in giving me this opportunity of freeing myself from disagreeable suspicions; I shall not inflict upon you any more of my troublesome confessions. Once more permit me to thank you earnestly for your goodness.”
He rose as he spoke. Helen rose............