it. At last fortune had befriended me. The person speaking at the moment was
Miss Jillgall; and the person who answered her was Philip.
"I am afraid, dear Mr. Philip, you don't quite understand my sweet Euneece.
Honorable, high minded, delicate in her feelings, and, oh, so unselfish! I don't
want to alarm you, but when she hears you have been deceiving Helena--"
"Upon my word, Miss Jillgall, you are so provoking! I have not been deceiving
Helena. Haven't I told you what discouraging answers I got, when I went to see
the Governor? Haven't I shown you Eunice's reply to my letter? You can't have
forgotten it already?"
"Oh, yes, I have. Why should I remember it? Don't I know poor Euneece was in
your mind, all the time?"
"You're wrong again! Eunice was not in my mind all the time. I was hurt--I was
offended by the cruel manner in which she had treated me. And what was the
consequence? So far was I from deceiving Helena--she rose in my estimation by
comparison with her sister."
"Oh, come, come, Mr. Philip! that won't do. Helena rising in anybody's
estimation? Ha! ha! ha!"
"Laugh as much as you like, Miss Jillgall, you won't laugh away the facts.
Helena loved me; Helena was true to me. Don't be hard on a poor fellow who is
half distracted. What a man finds he can do on one day, he finds he can't do on
another. Try to understand that a change does sometimes come over one's
feelings."
"Bless my soul, Mr. Philip, that's just what I have been understanding all the
time! I know your mind as well as you know it yourself. You can't forget my
sweet Euneece."
"I tell you I tried to forget her! On my word of honor as a gentleman, I tried
to forget her, in justice to Helena. Is it my fault that I failed? Eunice was in
my mind, as you said just now. Oh, my friend--for you are my friend, I am
sure--persuade her to see me, if it's only for a minute!"
(Was there ever a man's mind in such a state of confusion as this! First, I rise
in his precious estimation, and Eunice drops. Then Eunice rises, and I drop.
Idiot! Mischievous idiot! Even Selina seemed to be disgusted with him, when she
spoke next.)
"Mr. Philip, you are hard and unreasonable. I have tried to persuade her, and I
have made my darling cry. Nothing you can say will induce me to distress her
again. Go back, you very undetermined man--go back to your Helena."
"Too late."
"Nonsense!"
"I say too late. If I could have married Helena when I first went to stay in the
house, I might have faced the sacrifice. As it is, I can't endure her; and (I
tell you this in confidence) she has herself to thank for what has happened."
"Is that really true?"
"Quite true."
"Tell me what she did.
"Oh, don't talk of her! Persuade Eunice to see me. I shall come back again, and
again, and again till you bring her to me."
"Please don't talk nonsense. If she changes her mind, I will bring her with
pleasure. If she still shrinks from it, I regard Euneece's feelings as sacred.
Take my advice; don't press her. Leave her time to think of you, and to pity
you--and that true heart may be yours again, if you are worthy of it."
"Worthy of it? What do you mean?"
"Are you quite sure, my young friend, that you won't go back to Helena?"
"Go back to her? I would cut my throat if I thought myself capable of doing it!"
"How did she set you against her? Did the wretch quarrel with you?"
"It might have been better for both of us if she had done that. Oh, her fulsome
endearments! What a contrast to the charming modesty of Eunice! If I was rich, I
would make it worth the while of the first poor fellow I could find to rid me of
Helena by marrying her. I don't like saying such a thing of a woman, but if you
will have the truth--"
"Well, Mr. Philip--and what is the truth?"
"Helena disgusts me."
CHAPTER LVII.
HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED.
So it was all settled between them. Philip is to throw me away, like one of his
bad cigars, for this unanswerable reason: "Helena disgusts me." And he is to
persuade Eunice to take my place, and be his wife. Yes! if I let him do it.
I heard no more of their talk. With that last, worst outrage burning in my
memory, I left the place.
On my way back to the carriage, the dog met me. Truly, a grand creature. I
called him by his name, and patted him. He licked my hand. Something made me
speak to him. I said: "If I was to tell you to tear Mr. Philip Dunboyne to
pieces, would you do it?" The great good-natured brute held out his paw to shake
hands. Well! well! I was not an object of disgust to the dog.
But the coachman was startled, when he saw me again. He said something, I did
not know what it was; and he produced a pocket-flask, containing some spirits, I
suppose. Perhaps he thought I was going to faint. He little knew me. I told him
to drive back to the place at which I had hired the cab, and earn his money. He
earned it.
On getting home, I found Mrs. Tenbruggen walking up and down the dining-room,
deep in thought. She was startled when we first confronted each other. "You look
dreadfully ill," she said.
I answered that I had been out for a little exercise, and had over-fatigued
myself; and then changed the subject. "Does my father seem to improve under your
treatment?" I asked.
"Very far from it, my dear. I promised that I would try what Massage would do
for him, and I find myself compelled to give it up."
"Why?"
"It excites him dreadfully."
"In what way?"
"He has been talking wildly of events in his past life. His brain is in some
condition which is beyond my powers of investigation. He pointed to a cabinet in
his room, and said his past life was locked up there. I asked if I should unlock
it. He shook with fear; he said I should let out the ghost of his dead
brother-in-law. Have you any idea of what he meant?"
The cabinet was full of old letters. I could tell her that--and could tell her
no more. I had never heard of his brother-in-law. Another of his delusions, no
doubt. "Did you ever hear him speak," Mrs. Tenbruggen went on, "of a place
called Low Lanes?"
She waited for my reply to this last inquiry with an appearance of anxiety that
surprised me. I had never heard him speak of Low Lanes.
"Have you any particular interest in the place?" I asked.
"None whatever."
She went away to attend on a patient. I retired to my bedroom, and opened my
Diary. Again and again, I read that remarkable story of the intended poisoning,
and of the manner in which it had ended. I sat thinking over this romance in
real life till I was interrupted by the announcement of dinner.
Mr. Philip Dunboyne had returned. In Miss Jillgall's absence we were alone at
the table. My appetite was gone. I made a pretense of eating, and another
pretense of being glad to see my devoted lover. I talked to him in the prettiest
manner. As a hypocrite, he thoroughly matched me; he was gallant, he was
a
musing. If baseness like ours had been punishable by the law, a prison was the
right place for both of us.
Mrs. Tenbruggen came in again after dinner, still not quite easy about my
health. "How flushed you are!" she said. "Let me feel your pulse." I laughed,
and left her with Mr. Philip Dunboyne.
Passing my father's door, I looked in, anxious to see if he was in the excitable
state which Mrs. Tenbruggen had described. Yes; the effect which she had
produced on him--how, she knows best--had not passed away yet: he was still
talking. The attendant told me it had gone on for hours together. On my
approaching his chair, he called out: "Which are you? Eunice or Helena?" When I
had answered him, he beckoned me to come nearer. "I am getting stronger every
minute," he said. "We will go traveling to-morrow, and see the place where you
were born."
Where had I been born? He had never told me where. Had he mentioned the place in
Mrs. Tenbruggen's hearing? I asked the attendant if he had been present while
she was in the room. Yes; he had remained at his post; he had also heard the
allusion to the place with the odd name. Had Mr. Gracedieu said anything more
about that place? Nothing more; the poor Minister's mind had wandered off to
other things. He was wandering now. Sometimes, he was addressing his
congregation; sometimes, he wondered what they would give him for supper;
sometimes, he talked of the flowers in the garden. And then he looked at me, and
frowned, and said I prevented him from thinking.
I went back to my bedroom, and opened my Diary, and read the story again.
Was the poison of which that resolute young wife proposed to make use something
that acted slowly, and told the doctors nothing if they looked for it after
death?
Would it be running too great a risk to show the story to the doctor, and try to
get a little valuable information in that way? It would be useless. He would
make some feeble joke; he would say, girls and poisons are not fit company for
each other.
But I might discover what I want to know in another way. I might call on the
doctor, after he has gone out on his afternoon round of visits, and might tell
the servant I would wait for his master's return. Nobody would be in my way; I
might get at the medical literature in the consulting-room, and find the
information for myself.
A knock at my door interrupted me in the midst of my plans. Mrs. Tenbruggen
again!--still in a fidgety state of feeling on the subject of my health. "Which
is it?" she said. "Pain of body, my dear, or pain of mind? I am anxious about
you."
"My dear Elizabeth, your sympathy is thrown away on me. As I have told you
already, I am over-tired--nothing more."
She was relieved to hear that I had no mental troubles to complain of.
"Fatigue," she remarked, "sets itself right with rest. Did you take a very long
walk?"
"Yes."
"Beyond the limits of the town, of course? Philip has been taking a walk in the
country, too. He doesn't say that he met you."
These clever people sometimes overreach themselves. How she suggested it to me,
I cannot pretend to have discovered. But I did certainly suspect that she had
led Philip, while they were together downstairs, into saying to her what he had
already said to Miss Jillgall. I was so angry that I tried to pump my excellent
friend, as she had been trying to pump me--a vulgar expression, but vulgar
writing is such a convenient way of writing sometimes. My first attempt to
entrap the Masseuse failed completely. She coolly changed the subject.
"Have I interrupted you in writing?" she asked, pointing to my Diary.
"No; I was idling over what I have written already--an extraordinary story which
I copied from a book."
"May I look at it?"
I pushed the open Diary across the table. If I was the object of any suspicions
which she wanted to confirm, it would be curious to see if the poisoning story
helped her. "It's a piece of family history," I said; "I think you will agree
with me that it is really interesting."
She began to read. As she went on, not all her power of controlling herself
could prevent her from turning pale. This change of color (in such a woman) a
little alarmed me. When a girl is devoured by deadly hatred of a man, does the
feeling show itself to other persons in her face? I must practice before the
glass and train my face into a trustworthy state of discipline.
"Coarse melodrama!" Mrs. Tenbruggen declared. "Mere sensation. No analysis of
character. A made-up story!"
"Well made up, surely?" I answered.
"I don't agree with you." Her voice was not quite so steady as usual. She asked
suddenly if my clock was right--and declared that she should be late for an
appointment. On taking leave she pressed my hand strongly--eyed me with
distrustful attention and said, very emphatically: "Take care of yourself,
Helena; pray take care of yourself."
I am afraid I did a very foolish thing when I showed her the poisoning story.
Has it helped the wily old creature to look into my inmost thoughts?
Impossible!
To-day, Miss Jillgall returned, looking hideously healthy and spitefully
cheerful. Although she tried to conceal it, while I was present, I could see
that Philip had recovered his place in her favor. After what he had said to her
behind the hedge at the farm, she would be relieved from all fear of my becoming
his wife, and would joyfully anticipate his marriage to Eunice. There are
thoughts in me which I don't set down in my book. I only say: We shall see.
This afternoon, I decided on visiting the doctor. The servant was quite sorry
for me when he answered the door. His master had just left the house for a round
of visits. I said I would wait. The servant was afraid I should find waiting
very tedious. I reminded him that I could go away if I found it tedious. At
last, the polite old man left me.
I went into the consulting-room, and read the backs of the medical books ranged
round the walls, and found a volume that interested me. There was such curious
information in it that I amused myself by making extracts, using the first
sheets of paper that I could find. They had printed directions at the top, which
showed that the doctor was accustomed to write his prescriptions on them. We had
many, too many, of his prescriptions in our house.
The servant's doubts of my patience proved to have been well founded. I got
tired of waiting, and went home before the doctor returned.
From morning to night, nothing has been seen of Mrs. Tenbruggen to-day. Nor has
any apology for her neglect of us been received, fond as she is of writing
little notes. Has that story in my Diary driven her away? Let me see what
to-morrow may bring forth.
To-day has brought forth--nothing. Mrs. Tenbruggen still keeps away from us. It
looks as if my Diary had something to do with the mystery of her absence.
I am not in good spirits to-day. My nerves--if I have such things, which is more
than I know by my own experience--
have been a little shaken by a horrid dream.
The medical information, which my thirst for knowledge absorbed in the doctor's
consulting-room, turned traitor--armed itself with the grotesque horrors of
nightmare--and so thoroughly frightened me that I was on the point of being
foolish enough to destroy my notes. I thought better of it, and my notes are
safe under lock and key.
Mr. Philip Dunboyne is trying to pave the way for his flight from this house. He
speaks of friends in London, whose interest will help him to find the employment
which is the object of his ambition. "In a few days more," he said, "I shall ask
for leave of absence."
Instead of looking at me, his eyes wandered to the window; his fingers played
restlessly with his watch-chain while he spoke. I thought I would give him a
chance, a last chance, of making the atonement that he owes to me. This shows
shameful weakness, on my part. Does my own resolution startle me? Or does the
wretch appeal--to what? To my pity? It cannot be my love; I am positively sure
that I hate him. Well, I am not the first girl who had been an unanswerable
riddle to herself.
"Is there any other motive for your departure?" I asked.
"What other motive can there be?" he replied. I put what I had to say to him in
plainer words still. "Tell me, Philip, are you beginning to wish that you were a
free man again?"
He still prevaricated. Was this because he is afraid of me, or because he is not
quite brute enough to insult me to my face? I tried again for the third and last
time. I almost put the words into his mouth.
"I fancy you have been out of temper lately," I said. "You have not been your
own kinder and better self. Is this the right interpretation of the change that
I think I see in you?"
He answered: "I have not been very well lately."
"And that is all?"
"Yes--that is all."
There was no more to be said; I turned away to leave the room. He followed me to
the door. After a momentary hesitation, he made the attempt to kiss me. I only
looked at him--he drew back from me in silence. I left the new Judas, standing
alone, while the shades of evening began to gather over the room.
----
Third Period (continued).
EVENTS IN THE FAMILY, RELATED BY MISS JILLGALL.
----
CHAPTER LVIII.
DANGER.
"IF anything of importance happens, I trust to you to write an account of it,
and to send the writing to me. I will come to you at once, if I see reason to
believe that my presence is required." Those lines, in your last kind reply to
me, rouse my courage, dear Mr. Governor, and sharpen the vigilance which has
always been one of the strong points in my character. Every suspicious
circumstance which occurs in this house will be (so to speak) seized on by my
pen, and will find itself (so to speak again) placed on its trial, before your
unerring judgment! Let the wicked tremble! I mention no names.
Taking up my narrative where it came to an end when I last wrote, I have to say
a word first on the subject of my discoveries, in regard to Philip's movements.
The advertisement of a private inquiry office, which I read in a newspaper, put
the thing into my head. I provided myself with money to pay the expenses by--I
blush while I write it--pawning my watch. This humiliation of my poor self has
been rewarded by success. Skilled investigation has proved that our young man
has come to his senses again, exactly as I supposed. On each occasion when he
was suspiciously absent from the house, he has been followed to the farm. I have
been staying there myself for a day or two, in the hope of persuading Eunice to
relent. The hope has not yet been realized. But Philip's devotion, assisted by
my influence, will yet prevail. Let me not despair.
Whether Helena knows positively that she has lost her wicked hold on Philip I
cannot say. It seems hardly possible that she could have made the discovery just
yet. The one thing of which I am certain is, that she looks like a fiend.
Philip has wisely taken my advice, and employed pious fraud. He will get away