"Biddy guesses it; so does Barry. Katie suspects nothing, poor child. I've kept this to myself ever since I've known it," leaning her face on her hand, and covering her eyes.
"And that was the reason that you would not listen to Mr. Halliday?"
"Yes;—mamma dreaded it, and not long before she died she—told me—and she made me solemnly promise, to guard him as closely as possible, to keep him near me as long as he had the faintest chance," her voice dying away to a whisper.
Helen took her cousin's hand in hers, and her face was full of sympathy.
"He was only a little strange at times," continued Dido, "especially about money. But during the last year I have seen it coming, and this is one reason I've always resisted having Barry to live here, and taking over the place; this is the reason that I struggle with all my might to keep him and the Padré apart, for if he and Barry were to meet constantly, Barry would know, and Barry would immediately insist upon what is only to be the last resource. I promised mamma," here Dido broke down, and leaning her head against her cousin's shoulder, wept miserably.
"My poor Dido!" said Helen, smoothing her hair tenderly. "What a burden you have had to bear all alone, and how noble, and unselfish, and patient you have been. When I think of you, and think of myself, I am bitterly ashamed! I have been latterly entirely wrapped up in myself, and my own affairs, I never seem to give a thought to other people, and you—you have renounced your own happiness for the benefit of others——"
"I am not unhappy," interrupted Dido, drying her eyes; "or, at any rate, I would not be, if he was getting better; but he is getting worse, much worse—I see it coming nearer and nearer!" and she looked up at her companion with pallid lips and startled eyes. "For days, when you do not see him, he is sitting still in the workshop, and never opens his lips. I carry him up his meals, and he takes no notice. Other times he has delusions. Not long ago, when I went up to speak to him, I found him pacing up and down the room, shouting into a long tube; he would not answer when I spoke, but at last he went and wrote on a bit of paper, 'Leave me, mortal, I am the trumpet of Fame!'
"See," searching in her bureau, "here it is! I brought it away unintentionally, and then I hid it here, I don't know why."
Helen gazed at this proof of her uncle's mental aberration with startled eyes, and then she said quietly,—
"I think the time has arrived when something ought to be done. Uncle should have an experienced person to look after him, and surely you might manage the money."