V.
Notwithstanding the kind treatment which Helen received in her new home, she did not seem happy. Although the companions among which she had been thrown had not been of a nature to give her very elevated ideas of moral rectitude, something within told her that the act required of her would be one of the basest ingratitude. The more she thought of it, the more her heart recoiled from it. Yet so accustomed was she to obey the man Armstrong without question,—not so much from affection as from fear and a sense of duty,—that she had hardly admitted to herself the possibility of refusing to comply with his demands. Now, however, that he had himself confessed that no relationship existed between them, the force of the latter consideration was not a little weakened; and, as fear decreases in the absence of those who inspire it, she began now to consider in what way she could contrive to avoid it.
Circumstances occurred before the dreaded Friday night which served to hasten her decision. On the day previous, while roaming through the fields with Ellen and Frank Gregory, in jumping hastily from a stone wall, her foot turned, and her ankle was severely sprained. The pain was so violent that she nearly fainted, and was quite unable to make her way to the house, which was some quarter of a mile distant. The children were exceedingly frightened, and, returning in breathless haste, gave an immediate alarm.
Two men were speedily obtained, who, constructing a soft litter, conveyed Helen to the house, without occasioning her much additional pain. A physician was at once summoned. Meanwhile, Helen was put to bed, where she received every attention. Mrs. Gregory had a warm heart, which suffering in any form was sure to reach; and, had Helen been her own child, she could not have been more tenderly cared for.
The physician decided that it was nothing very serious; though he recommended, as a necessary precaution, that the injured member should not be used for a fortnight or more, lest inflammation might ensue.
Helen did not hear him pronounce this sentence. When, however, she was informed of it by Mrs. Gregory, after his departure, her mind at once reverted to the fact that it would be an insuperable obstacle to her performing the part assigned her. Actuated by the relief which the thought brought to her, and without thinking of the manner in which it would be construed, she involuntarily exclaimed,—
“Oh! I am so glad!”
“Glad!” exclaimed Mrs. Gregory, in astonishment. “What can you mean? You surely cannot mean that you are glad you will be confined to the house by sickness?”
Helen was embarrassed. She knew she could not explain herself without telling all; and that she had not yet determined upon. At length she said,—
“Because it will prevent me from doing something that I did not want to do.”
“But why did you not want to do it?” asked Mrs. Gregory.
“Because I do not think it would have been right.”
“Then why would you have done it at all, even if you had been well enough, if it was wrong?” asked Mrs. Gregory, more puzzled than ever.
“Because I was afraid to refuse,” said Helen, in a low tone.
“It was nothing that I required of you, I am sure,” said her mistress.
“No.”
“It surely could not be that your grandfather would require of you any thing improper?”
Helen was silent.
“Then it is so. My dear child,” pursued the lady, kindly, “I have lived longer than you, and naturally have more knowledge of the world. I need not say that I have every disposition to befriend you, not only for your own sake, but for the sake of my own little Helen, who, had she remained to me, would have been about your age. Will you not, then, confide in me so far as to inform me what it was that your grandfather required of you?”
Helen considered a moment, and then, with a rapidity of decision which sometimes comes after long and anxious thought, decided to communicate every thing.
“I will tell you every thing,” she said, “if you will promise that no harm shall come to the man who brought me here.”
“Your grandfather?”
“Will you promise?” asked Helen, anxiously.
“Yes, Helen,” said Mrs. Gregory: “though I cannot conceive what is to be the nature of your revelation, I will promise that no harm shall befall your grandfather.”
“You are so good and kind,” said the child, “that I can trust to what you say. Then I will tell you, first of all, that the one who came with me is not my grandfather.”
“Not your grandfather?” echoed Mrs. Gregory, in surprise.
“No. He is not even an old man. He only dressed himself up so when he came here.”
“And what made him do that?”
“Because he thought you would pity him, and be more ready to take me.”
“Is he any relation to you?”
“I thought he was my uncle,” returned Helen, “until he came here last time. Then he told me that he was no relation.”
“Where are your relations?”
“I don’t know,” said Helen, thoughtfully. “I suppose I must have had some once; but I can’t remember any thing about them. I have lived with my—I mean Mr. Armstrong, ever since I can recollect.”
“And what was it he wanted you to do? Why was he so anxious to have you come here?”
“Because⸺ You mustn’t blame me,” said Helen, earnestly, lifting her eyes to Mrs. Gregory’s face; “for it made me very unhappy to think of doing it. But he wanted me to leave the door open to-morrow night, so that he could get in and carry off the silver.”
“Is it possible?” exclaimed Mrs. Gregory. “And he wished to implicate you in such a crime?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Helen. “He told me that was what he wanted me to come here for; and then I didn’t want to come at all. But he threatened me if I did not. Then, when he was here last time, I tried to persuade him to give up his design; but he wouldn’t listen to me, and I didn’t dare to say any thing more.”
“You said, Helen,” remarked Mrs. Gregory, “that you never knew about your relations. Can’t you remember any thing that happened when you was a little child?”
“No,” said Helen, “not much; but I think I must have lived in the country once, though I can’t remember when. There was an old woman, very cross, that I used to be with before Mr. Armstrong took me. She used to beat me sometimes.”
“How did she look?” said the lady, feeling a strange interest—for which she found it difficult to account—in the child’s story.
“She was very tall; and she used to look at me—oh! so fiercely!”
“And is there nothing, no little keepsake, that you have, to remind you of those childish days?”
“Yes,” said Helen, “there was one. It was an ivory ring that I have always carried around with me. The tall woman tried to take it away from me one day; but I cried so that she let me keep it.”
“Have you got it with you?” asked Mrs. Gregory, in great agitation.
“Yes,” said Helen, surprised at the strange effect this communication appeared to have upon her mistress. “I always carry it in the pocket of my dress.”
Mrs. Gregory, with trembling hands, sought the receptacle indicated, and drew out an ivory ring, on which were inscribed the letters “H. G.” Without a word, she sprang to the bed, clasped the bewildered Helen to her bosom, and exclaimed, tearfully,—
“It is as I thought! You are my child!—my long-lost Helen!”
When her emotion had in some measure subsided, she made Helen acquainted with the circumstances mentioned in the previous chapter, and also informed her that the ring, which had served as the happy means of restoring a long-lost child to her parent, was the gift of a brother of hers, who had inscribed upon it “H. G.,” as the initials of Helen’s name, and that the child had it with her on the day of her disappearance.
The happiness of Helen in being restored to her mother, and the joy of the children on ascertaining that the one whom they had learned to love so well, already, was their own sister, may better be imagined than described.
One leaf remains to be added to this chronicle. It relates to Armstrong, hitherto the guardian of Helen. Although the latter had received at his hands so little for which she had occasion to be thankful, she could not reconcile herself to the idea of his being imprisoned. We cannot look with indifference upon the punishment of one with whom we have been intimately associated, however well deserved it may be.
As Armstrong had no intimation of the check which his projects had received, and as he was convinced that Helen’s fear of him would lead her to carry out his commands, he stealthily approached the house the following evening, as he had intended. The door had been purposely left unlocked; but, in the room adjoining, four stout men had been stationed, who at once seized upon the unsuspecting burglar, and, in spite of his violent struggles, bound him. Thus secured, Mr. Gregory, who was one of the four, explained to him in what manner his crime had been defeated, and added,—
“Although you have been detected in crime, and richly deserve the penalty which the offended law affixes to it, I have been induced by Helen to afford you a chance of escaping. I will furnish you a ticket entitling you to a passage in the next California steamer, and will not reveal your guilty attempt, if you will engage to leave the country immediately. Should you fail to go, I shall feel released from the promise I have made to Helen, and at once cause you to be arrested.”
It is needless to say that Armstrong at once accepted these terms; and the next steamer bound to the Pacific bore him a passenger.
As for Helen, the cloud which shadowed her earlier years has quite disappeared; and in the affection of the home circle, to which her many good qualities endear her, she finds all that can make life pleasant and agreeable.