Five or six days after this Mr. Lawrence paid us the honour of acall; and when he and I were alone together - which I contrived assoon as possible by bringing him out to look at my cornstacks - heshowed me another letter from his sister. This one he was quitewilling to submit to my longing gaze; he thought, I suppose, itwould do me good. The only answer it gave to my message was this:-

'Mr. Markham is at liberty to make such revelations concerning meas he judges necessary. He will know that I should wish but littleto be said on the subject. I hope he is well; but tell him he mustnot think of me.'

I can give you a few extracts from the rest of the letter, for Iwas permitted to keep this also - perhaps, as an antidote to allpernicious hopes and fancies.

* * * * *

He is decidedly better, but very low from the depressing effects ofhis severe illness and the strict regimen he is obliged to observe- so opposite to all his previous habits. It is deplorable to seehow completely his past life has degenerated his once nobleconstitution, and vitiated the whole system of his organization.But the doctor says he may now be considered out of danger, if hewill only continue to observe the necessary restrictions. Somestimulating cordials he must have, but they should be judiciouslydiluted and sparingly used; and I find it very difficult to keephim to this. At first, his extreme dread of death rendered thetask an easy one; but in proportion as he feels his acute sufferingabating, and sees the danger receding, the more intractable hebecomes. Now, also, his appetite for food is beginning to return;and here, too, his long habits of self-indulgence are greatlyagainst him. I watch and restrain him as well as I can, and oftenget bitterly abused for my rigid severity; and sometimes hecontrives to elude my vigilance, and sometimes acts in oppositionto my will. But he is now so completely reconciled to myattendance in general that he is never satisfied when I am not byhis side. I am obliged to be a little stiff with him sometimes, orhe would make a complete slave of me; and I know it would beunpardonable weakness to give up all other interests for him. Ihave the servants to overlook, and my little Arthur to attend to, -and my own health too, all of which would be entirely neglectedwere I to satisfy his exorbitant demands. I do not generally situp at night, for I think the nurse who has made it her business isbetter qualified for such undertakings than I am; - but still, anunbroken night's rest is what I but seldom enjoy, and never canventure to reckon upon; for my patient makes no scruple of callingme up at an hour when his wants or his fancies require my presence.But he is manifestly afraid of my displeasure; and if at one timehe tries my patience by his unreasonable exactions, and fretfulcomplaints and reproaches, at another he depresses me by his abjectsubmission and deprecatory self-abasement when he fears he has gonetoo far. But all this I can readily pardon; I know it is chieflythe result of his enfeebled frame and disordered nerves. Whatannoys me the most, is his occasional attempts at affectionatefondness that I can neither credit nor return; not that I hate him:his sufferings and my own laborious care have given him some claimto my regard - to my affection even, if he would only be quiet andsincere, and content to let things remain as they are; but the morehe tries to conciliate me, the more I shrink from him and from thefuture.

'Helen, what do you mean to do when I get well?' he asked thismorning. 'Will you run away again?'

'It entirely depends upon your own conduct.'

'Oh, I'll be very good.'

'But if I find it necessary to leave you, Arthur, I shall not "runaway": you know I have your own promise that I may go whenever Iplease, and take my son with me.'

'Oh, but you shall have no cause.' And then followed a variety ofprofessions, which I rather coldly checked.

'Will you not forgive me, then?' said he.

'Yes, - I have forgiven you: but I know you cannot love me as youonce did - and I should be very sorry if you were to, for I couldnot pretend to return it: so let us drop the subject, and neverrecur to it again. By what I have done for you, you may judge ofwhat I will do - if it be not incompatible with the higher duty Iowe to my son (higher, because he never forfeited his claims, andbecause I hope to do more good to him than I can ever do to you);and if you wish me to feel kindly towards you, it is deeds notwords which must purchase my affection and esteem.'

His sole reply to this was a slight grimace, and a scarcelyperceptible shrug. Alas, unhappy man! words, with him, are so muchcheaper than deeds; it was as if I had said, 'Pounds, not pence,must buy the article you want.' And then he sighed a querulous,self-commiserating sigh, as if in pure regret that he, the lovedand courted of so many worshippers, should be now abandoned to themercy of a harsh, exacting, cold-hearted woman like that, and evenglad of what kindness she chose to bestow.

'It's a pity, isn't it?' said I; and whether I rightly divined hismusings or not, the observation chimed in with his thoughts, for heanswered - 'It can't be helped,' with a rueful smile at mypenetration.

* * * * *

I have I seen Esther Hargrave twice. She is a charming creature,but her blithe spirit is almost broken, and her sweet temper almostspoiled, by the still unremitting persecutions of her mother inbehalf of her rejected suitor - not violent, but wearisome andunremitting like a continual dropping. The unnatural parent seemsdetermined to make her daughter's life a burden, if she will notyield to her desires.

'Mamma does all she can,' said she, 'to make me feel myself aburden and incumbrance to the family, and the most ungrateful,selfish, and undutiful daughter that ever was born; and Walter,too, is as stern and cold and haughty as if he hated me outright.I believe I should have yielded at once if I had known, from thebeginning, how much resistance would have cost me; but now, forvery obstinacy's sake, I will stand out!'

'A bad motive for a good resolve,' I answered. 'But, however, Iknow you have better motives, really, for your perseverance: and Icounsel you to keep them still in view.'

'Trust me I will. I threaten mamma sometimes that I'll run away,and disgrace the family by earning my own livelihood, if shetorments me any more; and then that frightens her a little. But Iwill do it, in good earnest, if they don't mind.'

'Be quiet and patient a while,' said I, 'and better times willcome.'

Poor girl! I wish somebody that was worthy to possess her wouldcome and take her away - don't you, Frederick?

* * * * *

If the perusal of this letter filled me with dismay for Helen'sfuture life and mine, there was one great source of consolation:it was now in my power to clear her name from every foul aspersion.The Millwards and the Wilsons should see with their own eyes thebright sun bursting from the cloud - and they should be scorchedand dazzled by its beams; - and my own friends too should see it -they whose suspicions had been such gall and wormwood to my soul.To effect this I had only to drop the seed into the ground, and itwould soon become a stately, branching herb: a few words to mymother and sister, I knew, would suffice to spread the newsthroughout the whole neighbourhood, without any further exertion onmy part.

Rose was delighted; and as soon as I had told her all I thoughtproper - which was all I affected to know - she flew with alacrityto put on her bonnet and shawl, and hasten to carry the gladtidings to the Millwards and Wilsons - glad tidings, I suspect, tonone but herself and Mary Millward - that steady, sensible girl,whose sterling worth had been so quickly perceived and duly valuedby the supposed Mrs. Graham, in spite of her plain outside; andwho, on her part, had been better able to see and appreciate thatlady's true character and qualities than the brightest genius amongthem.

As I may never have occasion to mention her again, I may as welltell you here that she was at this time privately engaged toRichard Wilson - a secret, I believe, to every one but themselves.That worthy student was now at Cambridge, where his most exemplaryconduct and his diligent perseverance in the pursuit of learningcarried him safely through, and eventually brought him with hard-earned honours, and an untarnished reputation, to the close of hiscollegiate career. In due time he became Mr. Millward's first andonly curate - for that gentleman's declining years forced him atlast to acknowledge that the duties of his extensive parish were alittle too much for those vaunted energies which he was wont toboast over his younger and less active brethren of the cloth. Thiswas what the patient, faithful lovers had privately planned andquietly waited for years ago; and in due time they were united, tothe astonishment of the little world they lived in, that had longsince declared them both born to single blessedness; affirming itimpossible that the pale, retiring bookworm should ever summoncourage to seek a wife, or be able to obtain one if he did, andequally impossible that the plain-looking, plain-dealing,unattractive, unconciliating Miss Millward should ever find ahusband.

They still continued to live at the vicarage, the lady dividing hertime between her father, her husband, and their poor parishioners,- and subsequently her rising family; and now that the ReverendMichael Millward has been gathered to his fathers, full of yearsand honours, the Reverend Richard Wilson has succeeded him to thevicarage of Linden-hope, greatly to the satisfaction of itsinhabitants, who had so long tried and fully proved his merits, andthose of his excellent and well-loved partner.

If you are interested in the after fate of that lady's sister, Ican only tell you - what perhaps you have heard from anotherquarter - that some twelve or thirteen years ago she relieved thehappy couple of her presence by marrying a wealthy tradesman of L-;and I don't envy him his bargain. I fear she leads him a ratheruncomfortable life, though, happily, he is too dull to perceive theextent of his misfortune. I have little enough to do with hermyself: we have not met for many years; but, I am well assured,she has not yet forgotten or forgiven either her former lover, orthe lady whose superior qualities first opened his eyes to thefolly of his boyish attachment.

As for Richard Wilson's sister, she, having been wholly unable torecapture Mr. Lawrence, or obtain any partner rich and elegantenough to suit her ideas of what the husband of Jane Wilson oughtto be, is yet in single blessedness. Shortly after the death ofher mother she withdrew the light of her presence from RyecoteFarm, finding it impossible any longer to endure the rough mannersand unsophisticated habits of her honest brother Robert and hisworthy wife, or the idea of being identified with such vulgarpeople in the eyes of the world, and took lodgings in - the countytown, where she lived, and still lives, I suppose, in a kind ofclose-fisted, cold, uncomfortable gentility, doing no good toothers, and but little to herself; spending her days in fancy-workand scandal; referring frequently to her 'brother the vicar,' andher 'sister, the vicar's lady,' but never to her brother the farmerand her sister the farmer's wife; seeing as much company as she canwithout too much expense, but loving no one and beloved by none -a cold-hearted, supercilious, keenly, insidiously censorious oldmaid.