"I cannot, dear. On the contrary, I think she will."
"I never could have believed it of Lady Sybil!"
Lady Judith made no reply; but I thought the expression of pain deepened in her face.
"Dear Helena," was her gentle answer, "sometimes we misunderstand our friends. And very often we misunderstand our Father."
She tried to comfort me: but I was past comfort. I was past food, sleep,—every thing. I went to bed,—it was a miserable relief to get away from the daylight; but I could not sleep, and no tears would come. Only one exceeding bitter cry,—
"Help me, Jesu Christ!"
Would He help me? What had I ever been to Him, or done for Him, that He should? He had shed His life-blood on the holy rood for me; and I had barely ever so much as thanked Him for it. I had never cared about Him. Where was the good of asking Him?
Yet I must cry to Him, for who else was there? Of course there were Mary Mother and the holy saints: but—Oh, I hope it was not wicked!—it seemed as if in my agony I pushed them all aside, and went straight up to Him to whom all prayer must come at last.
"Help me, Jesu Christ!"
Where was Guy?—feeling, in his darkened chamber, as if his heart were breaking?