"Enough!" resumed De Walden; "and I feel that I have been cruel; but mine has been the reproof of friendship, wrung from me by the indignant agony of knowing that even I cannot perhaps protect you from the insults which I dread. Oh! why did they let you come hither? I am sure your mind was not itself when you thought of it."
"You are right. The idea had taken hold of my imagination then unnaturally raised, and come I would. But my physician approved my coming; for he thought it safer for me, and thought, if I was not indulged, that my reason, if not my life, might suffer."
This statement completely overset De Walden's self-command; he blamed himself for what he had said—accused himself of cruelty—extolled the patient sweetness with which I had heard him, and had condescended to justify myself. Then, striking his forehead, he exclaimed, "And I, alas! am powerless to save a being like this! But save her, Thou," he added, lifting his clasped hands to heaven.
The hour of my appointment at the prison now arrived again, and De Walden accompanied me thither. I did not see Benoit; but I was admitted directly, and my conductor, opening the door, said, "A female citizen desires to see you."
"Indeed!" said Pendarves in a tone of joy; but he started, and looked disappointed, when he saw me.
"Is it you, Helen?" said he.
"Did you expect it was any one else?"
"Not much," he replied, evidently disconcerted; "not much. It is only a primitive old-fashioned wife like yourself who would follow an unworthy husband to a prison."
"And to a scaffold, if necessary," cried I with energy.
"Helen!" said Pendarves in a deep but caustic tone, "spare me! spare me! This excess of goodness—"