In little more than twenty minutes the journey was accomplished. Ipaused at the gate to wipe my streaming forehead, and recover mybreath and some degree of composure. Already the rapid walking hadsomewhat mitigated my excitement; and with a firm and steady treadI paced the garden-walk. In passing the inhabited wing of thebuilding, I caught a sight of Mrs. Graham, through the open window,slowly pacing up and down her lonely room.

She seemed agitated and even dismayed at my arrival, as if shethought I too was coming to accuse her. I had entered her presenceintending to condole with her upon the wickedness of the world, andhelp her to abuse the vicar and his vile informants, but now I feltpositively ashamed to mention the subject, and determined not torefer to it, unless she led the way.

'I am come at an unseasonable hour,' said I, assuming acheerfulness I did not feel, in order to reassure her; 'but I won'tstay many minutes.'

She smiled upon me, faintly it is true, but most kindly - I hadalmost said thankfully, as her apprehensions were removed.

'How dismal you are, Helen! Why have you no fire?' I said, lookinground on the gloomy apartment.

'It is summer yet,' she replied.

'But we always have a fire in the evenings, if we can bear it; andyou especially require one in this cold house and dreary room.'

'You should have come a little sooner, and I would have had onelighted for you: but it is not worth while now - you won't staymany minutes, you say, and Arthur is gone to bed.'

'But I have a fancy for a fire, nevertheless. Will you order one,if I ring?'

'Why, Gilbert, you don't look cold!' said she, smilingly regardingmy face, which no doubt seemed warm enough.

'No,' replied I, 'but I want to see you comfortable before I go.'

'Me comfortable!' repeated she, with a bitter laugh, as if therewere something amusingly absurd in the idea. 'It suits me betteras it is,' she added, in a tone of mournful resignation.

But determined to have my own way, I pulled the bell.

'There now, Helen!' I said, as the approaching steps of Rachel wereheard in answer to the summons. There was nothing for it but toturn round and desire the maid to light the fire.

I owe Rachel a grudge to this day for the look she cast upon me ereshe departed on her mission, the sour, suspicious, inquisitoriallook that plainly demanded, 'What are you here for, I wonder?' Hermistress did not fail to notice it, and a shade of uneasinessdarkened her brow.

'You must not stay long, Gilbert,' said she, when the door wasclosed upon us.

'I'm not going to,' said I, somewhat testily, though without agrain of anger in my heart against any one but the meddling oldwoman. 'But, Helen, I've something to say to you before I go.'

'What is it?'

'No, not now - I don't know yet precisely what it is, or how to sayit,' replied I, with more truth than wisdom; and then, fearing lestshe should turn me out of the house, I began talking aboutindifferent matters in order to gain time. Meanwhile Rachel camein to kindle the fire, which was soon effected by thrusting a red-hot poker between the bars of the grate, where the fuel was alreadydisposed for ignition. She honoured me with another of her hard,inhospitable looks in departing, but, little moved thereby, I wenton talking; and setting a chair for Mrs. Graham on one side of thehearth, and one for myself on the other, I ventured to sit down,though half suspecting she would rather see me go.

In a little while we both relapsed into silence, and continued forseveral minutes gazing abstractedly into the fire - she intent uponher own sad thoughts, and I reflecting how delightful it would beto be seated thus beside her with no other presence to restrain ourintercourse - not even that of Arthur, our mutual friend, withoutwhom we had never met before - if only I could venture to speak mymind, and disburden my full heart of the feelings that had so longoppressed it, and which it now struggled to retain, with an effortthat it seemed impossible to continue much longer, - and revolvingthe pros and cons for opening my heart to her there and then, andimploring a return of affection, the permission to regard herthenceforth as my own, and the right and the power to defend herfrom the calumnies of malicious tongues. On the one hand, I felt anew-born confidence in my powers of persuasion - a strongconviction that my own fervour of spirit would grant me eloquence -that my very determination - the absolute necessity for succeeding,that I felt must win me what I sought; while, on the other, Ifeared to lose the ground I had already gained with so much toiland skill, and destroy all future hope by one rash effort, whentime and patience might have won success. It was like setting mylife upon the cast of a die; and yet I was ready to resolve uponthe attempt. At any rate, I would entreat the explanation she hadhalf promised to give me before; I would demand the reason of thishateful barrier, this mysterious impediment to my happiness, and,as I trusted, to her own.

But while I considered in what manner I could best frame myrequest, my companion, wakened from her reverie with a scarcelyaudible sigh, and looking towards the window, where the blood-redharvest moon, just rising over one of the grim, fantasticevergreens, was shining in upon us, said, - 'Gilbert, it is gettinglate.'

'I see,' said I. 'You want me to go, I suppose?'

'I think you ought. If my kind neighbours get to know of thisvisit - as no doubt they will - they will not turn it much to myadvantage.'

It was with what the vicar would doubtless have called a savagesort of smile that she said this.

'Let them turn it as they will,' said I. 'What are their thoughtsto you or me, so long as we are satisfied with ourselves - and eachother. Let them go to the deuce with their vile constructions andtheir lying inventions!'

This outburst brought a flush of colour to her face.

'You have heard, then, what they say of me?'

'I heard some detestable falsehoods; but none but fools wouldcredit them for a moment, Helen, so don't let them trouble you.'

'I did not think Mr. Millward a fool, and he believes it all; buthowever little you may value the opinions of those about you -however little you may esteem them as individuals, it is notpleasant to be looked upon as a liar and a hypocrite, to be thoughtto practise what you abhor, and to encourage the vices you woulddiscountenance, to find your good intentions frustrated, and yourhands crippled by your supposed unworthiness, and to bring disgraceon the principles you profess.'

'True; and if I, by my thoughtlessness and selfish disregard toappearances, have at all assisted to expose you to these evils, letme entreat you not only to pardon me, but to enable me to makereparation; authorise me to clear your name from every imputation:give me the right to identify your honour with my own, and todefend your reputation as more precious than my life!'

'Are you hero enough to unite yourself to one whom you know to besuspected and despised by all around you, and identify yourinterests and your honour with hers? Think! it is a seriousthing.'

'I should be proud to do it, Helen! - most happy - delighted beyondexpression! - and if that be all the obstacle to our union, it isdemolished, and you must - you shall be mine!'

And starting from my seat in a frenzy of ardour, I seized her handand would have pressed it to my lips, but she as suddenly caught itaway, exclaiming in the bitterness of intense affliction, - 'No,no, it is not all!'

'What is it, then? You promised I should know some time, and - '

'You shall know some time - but not now - my head aches terribly,'she said, pressing her hand to her forehead, 'and I must have somerepose - and surely I have had misery enough to-day!' she added,almost wildly.

'But it could not harm you to tell it,' I persisted: 'it wouldease your mind; and I should then know how to comfort you.'

She shook her head despondingly. 'If you knew all, you, too, wouldblame me - perhaps even more than I deserve - though I have cruellywronged you,' she added in a low murmur, as if she mused aloud.

'You, Helen? Impossible?'

'Yes, not willingly; for I did not know the strength and depth ofyour attachment. I thought - at least I endeavoured to think yourregard for me was as cold and fraternal as you professed it to be.'

'Or as yours?'

'Or as mine - ought to have been - of such a light and selfish,superficial nature, that - '

'There, indeed, you wronged me.'

I know I did; and, sometimes, I suspected it then; but I thought,upon the whole, there could be no great harm in leaving yourfancies and your hopes to dream themselves to nothing - or flutteraway to some more fitting object, while your friendly sympathiesremained with me; but if I had known the depth of your regard, thegenerous, disinterested affection you seem to feel - '

'Seem, Helen?'

'That you do feel, then, I would have acted differently.'

'How? You could not have given me less encouragement, or treatedme with greater severity than you did! And if you think you havewronged me by giving me your friendship, and occasionally admittingme to the enjoyment of your company and conversation, when allhopes of closer intimacy were vain - as indeed you always gave meto understand - if you think you have wronged me by this, you aremistaken; for such favours, in themselves alone, are not onlydelightful to my heart, but purifying, exalting, ennobling to mysoul; and I would rather have your friendship than the love of anyother woman in the world!'

Little comforted by this, she clasped her hands upon her knee, andglancing upward, seemed, in silent anguish, to implore divineassistance; then, turning to me, she calmly said, - 'To-morrow, ifyou meet me on the moor about mid-day, I will tell you all you seekto know; and perhaps you will then see the necessity ofdiscontinuing our intimacy - if, indeed, you do not willinglyresign me as one no longer worthy of regard.'

'I can safely answer no to that: you cannot have such graveconfessions to make - you must be trying my faith, Helen.'

'No, no, no,' she earnestly repeated - 'I wish it were so! Thankheaven!' she added, 'I have no great crime to confess; but I havemore than you will like to hear, or, perhaps, can readily excuse, -and more than I can tell you now; so let me entreat you to leaveme!'

'I will; but answer me this one question first; - do you love me?'

'I will not answer it!'

'Then I will conclude you do; and so good-night.'

She turned from me to hide the emotion she could not quite control;but I took her hand and fervently kissed it.

'Gilbert, do leave me!' she cried, in a tone of such thrillinganguish that I felt it would be cruel to disobey.

But I gave one look back before I closed the door, and saw herleaning forward on the table, with her hands pressed against hereyes, sobbing convulsively; yet I withdrew in silence. I felt thatto obtrude my consolations on her then would only serve toaggravate her sufferings.

To tell you all the questionings and conjectures - the fears, andhopes, and wild emotions that jostled and chased each other throughmy mind as I descended the hill, would almost fill a volume initself. But before I was half-way down, a sentiment of strongsympathy for her I had left behind me had displaced all otherfeelings, and seemed imperatively to draw me back: I began tothink, 'Why am I hurrying so fast in this direction? Can I findcomfort or consolation - peace, certainty, contentment, all - oranything that I want at home? and can I leave all perturbation,sorrow, and anxiety behind me there?'

And I turned round to look at the old Hall. There was littlebesides the chimneys visible above my contracted horizon. I walkedback to get a better view of it. When it rose in sight, I stoodstill a moment to look, and then continued moving towards thegloomy object of attraction. Something called me nearer - nearerstill - and why not, pray? Might I not find more benefit in thecontemplation of that venerable pile with the full moon in thecloudless heaven shining so calmly above it - with that warm yellowlustre peculiar to an August night - and the mistress of my soulwithin, than in returning to my home, where all comparatively waslight, and life, and cheerfulness, and therefore inimical to me inmy present frame of mind, - and the more so that its inmates allwere more or less imbued with that detestable belief, the verythought of which made my blood boil in my veins - and how could Iendure to hear it openly declared, or cautiously insinuated - whichwas worse? - I had had trouble enough already, with some babblingfiend that would keep whispering in my ear, 'It may be true,' tillI had shouted aloud, 'It is false! I defy you to make me supposeit!'

I could see the red firelight dimly gleaming from her parlourwindow. I went up to the garden wall, and stood leaning over it,with my eyes fixed upon the lattice, wondering what she was doing,thinking, or suffering now, and wishing I could speak to her butone word, or even catch one glimpse of her, before I went.

I had not thus looked, and wished, and wondered long, before Ivaulted over the barrier, unable to resist the temptation of takingone glance through the window, just to if she were more composedthan when we parted; - and if I found her still in deep distress,perhaps I might venture attempt a word of comfort - to utter one ofthe many things I should have said before, instead of aggravatingher sufferings by my stupid impetuosity. I looked. Her chair wasvacant: so was the room. But at that moment some one opened theouter door, and a voice - her voice - said, - 'Come out - I want tosee the moon, and breathe the evening air: they will do me good -if anything will.'

Here, then, were she and Rachel coming to take a walk in thegarden. I wished myself safe back over the wall. I stood,however, in the shadow of the tall holly-bush, which, standingbetween the window and the porch, at present screened me fromobservation, but did not prevent me from seeing two figures comeforth into the moonlight: Mrs. Graham followed by another - notRachel, but a young man, slender and rather tall. O heavens, howmy temples throbbed! Intense anxiety darkened my sight; but Ithought - yes, and the voice confirmed it - it was Mr. Lawrence!

'You should not let it worry you so much, Helen,' said he; 'I willbe more cautious in future; and in time - '

I did not hear the rest of the sentence; for he walked close besideher and spoke so gently that I could not catch the words. My heartwas splitting with hatred; but I listened intently for her reply.I heard it plainly enough.

'But I must leave this place, Frederick,' she said - 'I never canbe happy here, - nor anywhere else, indeed,' she added, with amirthless laugh, - 'but I cannot rest here.'

'But where could you find a better place?' replied he, 'so secluded- so near me, if you think anything of that.'

'Yes,' interrupted she, 'it is all I could wish, if they could onlyhave left me alone.'

'But wherever you go, Helen, there will be the same sources ofannoyance. I cannot consent to lose you: I must go with you, orcome to you; and there are meddling fools elsewhere, as well ashere.'

While thus conversing they had sauntered slowly past me, down thewalk, and I heard no more of their discourse; but I saw him put hisarm round her waist, while she lovingly rested her hand on hisshoulder; - and then, a tremulous darkness obscured my sight, myheart sickened and my head burned like fire: I half rushed, halfstaggered from the spot, where horror had kept me rooted, andleaped or tumbled over the wall - I hardly know which - but I knowthat, afterwards, like a passionate child, I dashed myself on theground and lay there in a paroxysm of anger and despair - how long,I cannot undertake to say; but it must have been a considerabletime; for when, having partially relieved myself by a torment oftears, and looked up at the moon, shining so calmly and carelesslyon, as little influenced by my misery as I was by its peacefulradiance, and earnestly prayed for death or forgetfulness, I hadrisen and journeyed homewards - little regarding the way, butcarried instinctively by my feet to the door, I found it boltedagainst me, and every one in bed except my mother, who hastened toanswer my impatient knocking, and received me with a shower ofquestions and rebukes.

'Oh, Gilbert! how could you do so? Where have you been? Do comein and take your supper. I've got it all ready, though you don'tdeserve it, for keeping me in such a fright, after the strangemanner you left the house this evening. Mr. Millward was quite -Bless the boy! how ill he looks. Oh, gracious! what is thematter?'

'Nothing, nothing - give me a candle.'

'But won't you take some supper?'

'No; I want to go to bed,' said I, taking a candle and lighting itat the one she held in her hand.

'Oh, Gilbert, how you tremble!' exclaimed my anxious parent. 'Howwhite you look! Do tell me what it is? Has anything happened?'

'It's nothing,' cried I, ready to stamp with vexation because thecandle would not light. Then, suppressing my irritation, I added,'I've been walking too fast, that's all. Good-night,' and marchedoff to bed, regardless of the 'Walking too fast! where have youbeen?' that was called after me from below.

My mother followed me to the very door of my room with herquestionings and advice concerning my health and my conduct; but Iimplored her to let me alone till morning; and she withdrew, and atlength I had the satisfaction to hear her close her own door.There was no sleep for me, however, that night as I thought; andinstead of attempting to solicit it, I employed myself in rapidlypacing the chamber, having first removed my boots, lest my mothershould hear me. But the boards creaked, and she was watchful. Ihad not walked above a quarter of an hour before she was at thedoor again.

'Gilbert, why are you not in bed - you said you wanted to go?'

'Confound it! I'm going,' said I.

'But why are you so long about it? You must have something on yourmind - '

'For heaven's sake, let me alone, and get to bed yourself.'

'Can it be that Mrs. Graham that distresses you so?'

'No, no, I tell you - it's nothing.'

'I wish to goodness it mayn't,' murmured she, with a sigh, as shereturned to her own apartment, while I threw myself on the bed,feeling most undutifully disaffected towards her for havingdeprived me of what seemed the only shadow of a consolation thatremained, and chained me to that wretched couch of thorns.

Never did I endure so long, so miserable a night as that. And yetit was not wholly sleepless. Towards morning my distractingthoughts began to lose all pretensions to coherency, and shapethemselves into confused and feverish dreams, and, at length, therefollowed an interval of unconscious slumber. But then the dawn ofbitter recollection that succeeded - the waking to find life ablank, and worse than a blank, teeming with torment and misery -not a mere barren wilderness, but full of thorns and briers - tofind myself deceived, duped, hopeless, my affections trampled upon,my angel not an angel, and my friend a fiend incarnate - it wasworse than if I had not slept at all.

It was a dull, gloomy morning; the weather had changed like myprospects, and the rain was pattering against the window. I rose,nevertheless, and went out; not to look after the farm, though thatwould serve as my excuse, but to cool my brain, and regain, ifpossible, a sufficient degree of composure to meet the family atthe morning meal without exciting inconvenient remarks. If I got awetting, that, in conjunction with a pretended over-exertion beforebreakfast, might excuse my sudden loss of appetite; and if a coldensued, the severer the better - it would help to account for thesullen moods and moping melancholy likely to cloud my brow for longenough.