“Oh! if I dared to promise,” said she, “I would pledge my word never to distrust you, never to be so foolish and weak again. But I think, I believe that I never will.”
“Do not promise, my dear Helen, for you know not your own strength. But, remember, that without faith you will grope in darkness through the world—faith in your friends—faith in your God—and I will add—faith in yourself. From the time I first saw you a little, terror-stricken child, to the present moment, I have sought only your happiness and good—and yet forgetting all the past, you distrusted my motives even now, and your heart rose up against me. From the first dawn of your being to this sweet, star-lighted moment, God has been to you a tender, watchful parent, tenderer than any earthly parent, kinder than any earthly friend—and yet you fear to trust yourself to His providence, to remain with Him who fills immensity with His presence. You have no faith in yourself, though there is a legion of angels, nestling, with folded wings in that young heart, ready to fly forth at your bidding, and fulfil their celestial mission. Come, Helen,” added he, rising, and lifting her at the same time from her lowly seat, “let us go in—but tell me first that I am forgiven.”
“Forgiven!” cried she, fervently. “How can I ever thank you, ever be sufficiently grateful for your goodness?”
“By treasuring up my words, and remembering them when you are far away. I have influence over you now, because you are so very young, and know so little of the world, but a few years hence it will be very different. You may think of me then as a severe mentor, a cold, unfeeling sage, and wonder at the gentleness with which you bore my reproofs, and the docility with which you yielded to my will.”
“I shall always think of you as the best and truest friend I ever had in the world,” cried Helen, enthusiastically, as they entered the sitting-room, where Mrs. Hazleton and Alice awaited them.
“Because he sent you out into the woods alone?” said Mrs. Hazleton, smiling, “young despot that he is.”
“Yes,” replied Helen, “for I feel so much better, stronger and happier for having gone. Then, if possible, I love Alice more than ever.”
“How do you account for that, Helen?” asked Arthur.
“I don’t know,” she answered, “unless it is I went through a trial for her sake.”
“Helen is a metaphysician,” said the young doctor. “She could not have given a better solution.”