"Indeed, father," faltered Helen, "I did not think that I was doing anything wrong."
"Didn't you know that Jim has a fever. And now Mr. Bayden says that Harold has taken it."
Helen gave a little cry and buried her face in her hands. She understood it all now, Mr. Bayden's distress and her father's annoyance. And Harold? Then her thoughts stopped, they dared not travel further.
"Let this be a lesson to you, Helen," went on the colonel seriously, still annoyed and a little anxious, although sorry for the child's evident distress. "You are too heedless. That is at the root of all your troubles. There, run in now and get yourself cool. We mustn't have you laid up, and the heat to-day is quite Indian. Cheer up! I daresay Harold will be well to-morrow."
Thus dismissed, Helen went her way. She was very sad and downcast, and her old morbid fancies returned in full force. Two days of terrible suspense followed, during which even Mrs. Desmond remarked upon the girl's altered looks. On the third day a hurried note from Mrs. Bayden informed her sister that Harold was dangerously ill, and alluded to his visit to Jim in Helen's company in terms that there was no mistaking. Mrs. Desmond's annoyance at the reception of this information was not lessened by the fact of its having been hitherto kept from her knowledge. But Helen was too unhappy to suffer greatly from her stepmother's reproaches, too down-hearted to take comfort even from her father's assurances that Harold must have taken the fever before his visit to Jim, as otherwise it would not have declared itself so speedily.
There was, in fact, no comfort for poor Helen, not even the comfort of knowing from hour to hour how the sufferer fared. All communication between the Rectory and the Grange was stopped, and Mrs. Desmond was making hasty preparations for departure. Helen wandered about, a forlorn little figure, generally alone, but occasionally accompanied by her father.
It was upon one of these latter occasions on the very last day of their stay at the Grange, that the father and daughter, walking sadly through the lanes, encountered Mr. Bayden. The clergyman tried to pass on, but the colonel interposed.
"We're not afraid of infection here, Bayden. How is the lad?"
Mr. Bayden shook his head. "He is very, very ill," he answered brokenly.
"Dear me! Such a fine little fellow! He is sure to pull through."