At the supper table, Helène told Anna of her encounter with Herr Kauffner. She treated the matter lightly and in a way that would not offend Anna. But, to Helène’s surprise, Anna was most indignant with the man.
“The idea!” she exclaimed. “I’ll tell that gentleman something that’ll keep him away. That man marry my darling—why it’s preposterous!”
“Let’s forget all about it, Anna dear. Shall I play you some of your favorite songs?”
And without waiting for her assent she sat down at the piano. But Anna was not to be restrained. She loved to have Helène play for her, but her indignation took a long time cooling, and Helène could hear her muttering as she busied herself clearing the table: “Preposterous! The idea! I never heard such impudence!”
Anton Schreiber came in all smiles for Helène, but she felt too ashamed to look at him. She stopped playing and was about to rise and leave the room, when he begged her to go on. She pleaded weariness, however, and, excusing herself, retired to her room. The two, she thought, would be better left alone; it would give them an opportunity to become reconciled with each other.
In her bedroom she was again a prey to anxiety. What would she do in Munich? To whom could she go there? She thought of Morton and wondered where he was. He believed her to be still at Weimar, for she had written him but once since they had parted—a simple acknowledgment of his birthday-gift. She had promised to let him know if ever she was in need of a friend, and surely she was in such need now! Should she write to him? Torn by anxiety and pride she knew not which way to decide. After much reflection she concluded there could be no harm in letting him know that she had left the castle. Taking pen and paper she began; but it was only after several attempts and with many misgivings of heart that she finally decided to send the following:
“Dear Mr. Morton:
“I have left the home offered me by the Duchess of Saxe-Weimar. I was too unhappy there. I tried most earnestly to become reconciled to my surroundings, but the dull routine of the empty life of the Court, the heartlessness of its people, were more than I could bear.
“I have now decided to try to find my own proper place in the world—to get some occupation in which I can be happy and, at least, be free to live my own life. I have not forgotten my promise to you not to take a serious step without consulting you, but I am sure you will agree that I have acted for the best.
“The letters of my father which Mr. Tyler gave me only deepen the feelings of gratitude your kindness aroused in me. I know everything now and I must ever honor the man who proved himself so noble a friend. If I do not ask your advice now before deciding it is because I know too well what you would do—and I cannot again burden you with my sorrows.
“Please forgive me if I seem proud. I ask only for time, in which to plant my feet on firm ground and, perhaps, find some peace.
“I have taken some of the money Mr. Tyler gave me, so that I shall not be in want. What other poorer girls can do I can.
“I shall write you again in the autumn when my year of mourning for my dear father is over. Until then, think of me as kindly as you can and believe that I am obeying an inner voice which commands me.
“Believe me, Dear Mr. Morton,
“Very gratefully yours,
“Helène Rondell-Barton.”
The letter took a long time writing and had cost Helène many a heartache and not a few tears. She had been filled with doubts even while writing it. It was so easy to shift her burden, and this man would have accepted it gladly. But how would she seem in his eyes in that case? How could she accept such a service from one who had already served her so abundantly? What right had she thus to call on him? No—the letter was best. She felt more at ease with herself, more determined in spirit, more resolute of purpose, stronger in will, now that it was written.
Early the next morning she packed her few remaining possessions in a small valise and, after leaving a short note for Anna, crept out of the house and made her way to the railway station where she mailed the letter to Morton. She waited until the butcher’s boy had brought her trunk and took a second-class ticket for Hanover, where in due time she arrived.