It was certainly a necessary question. To remain where she was, living with the state of Mr. Singleton's heiress, was impossible; to go to her uncle, who would be incensed against her on account of the step she had taken, was equally impossible; to stay with Helen, however much Helen in her kindness might desire it, was out of the question. Where, then, could she go?—where should she turn to find a friend?
Marion was pacing up and down the long drawing-room as she revolved these thoughts in her mind, when her attention was attracted by her own reflection in a mirror which hung at the end of the apartment. She paused and stood looking at it, while a faint, bitter smile gathered on her lip. Her beauty was as striking, as indisputable as ever; but what had it gained for her—this talisman by which she had confidently hoped to win from the world all that she desired? "I have been a fool!" she said, with sudden humility. "And now—what remains to me now?"
It almost seemed as if it was in answer to the question that a servant at this moment entered, bringing the morning mail. Marion turned over carelessly two or three papers and letters, and then suddenly felt a thrill of pleasure when she saw a foreign stamp and Claire's familiar handwriting. She threw herself into a chair and opened the letter.
It was dated from Rome. "I am at last in the city of my dreams and of my heart," wrote Claire; "pleasantly settled in an apartment with my kind friend Mrs. Kerr, who knows Rome so well that she proves invaluable as a cicerone. Already I, too, feel familiar with this wonderful, this Eternal City; and its spell grows upon me day by day. Now that you have gained your fairy fortune, dear Marion, why should you not come and join me here? I have thought of it so much of late that it seems to me like an inspiration, and I can perceive no possible reason why you should not come. Pray do. It would make me so happy to see you, and I am sure you would enjoy many things which form part of our life here. Having lived abroad many years with her husband (who was an artist), Mrs. Kerr has a large cosmopolitan acquaintance, and her salon is constantly filled with pleasant and interesting people. Come,—Marion, come! I find every reason why you should, and none why you should not. Have I not heard you say a thousand times that you wanted to see this world, and do not I want to see you and hear all about the magical change that so short a time has made in your fortunes? Write, then, and tell me that you will come. Helen has had you for months, and it is my turn now."
"Ah, how little she knows!" Marion thought with a pang as she read the last words. The letter dropped from her hand into her lap; she felt as if she hardly cared to read further. Would Claire desire to see her if she knew the story of all that had happened since they parted? There was no one else in the world from whose judgment Marion shrank so much, and yet this summons seemed to her more of a command than an invitation. It came as an answer to her doubts and indecision. "What shall I do?—where shall I go?" she had asked herself. "Come to me," Claire answered from across the sea; and it seemed to her that she had no alternative but to obey—to go, even though it were to meet Claire's condemnation.
That condemnation would be gentle, she knew, though perhaps unsparing. Helen's affection had indeed returned to her in a degree she could never have expected; but it is impossible that the stronger nature can depend upon the weaker, and she knew it was for Claire's unswerving standards and Claire's clear judgments her heart most strongly yearned.
So the way opened before her, and when she saw Helen next she announced her intention of going abroad to join Claire. "It seems the best—in fact, it is the only thing I can do," she said. "And Claire is good enough to want me. She fancies me still in possession of what she calls my fairy fortune—not knowing how fairy-like indeed it has proved,—and writes as if expense would be no consideration with me. But a mode of life which is not too expensive for her surely will not be too expensive for me with my ten thousand dollars. So I shall go."
"I suppose it is best," said Helen, wistfully; "and if it were not for mamma I would go with you."
The tone was a revelation to Marion of all that the tender, submissive heart was suffering still. "Why should your mother object?" she asked, quickly. "Come, Helen—come with me; and when we find Claire, let us try to forget everything but the pleasure of being together again."
"I should like it," replied Helen, "but it is not possible. I know how long mamma has looked forward to the pleasure of having me with her, and I can not go away now for my own selfish satisfaction, leaving her alone. Besides, I doubt if running away from painful things does much good. It is better to face them and grow resigned to them, with the help of God."