"Good Heaven, no!—May I be forgiven for using such an expression, Cartwright! How could you say such cruel words?"
"Nay!—my own Clara!—what could I think of your wishing that the house we dwell in should retain the name of your former husband? Ah, dearest! you know not all the jealousy of affection so ardent as mine! What is the importance of the name of the place, Clara, compared to your own? Are you not mine?" he continued, throwing his arms round her; "and if you are—why should you torture me with the remembrance that another has called you his?—that another's name has been your signature, your date, your history? Oh, Clara! spare me such thoughts as these!—they unman me!"
"My dearest Cartwright!" returned the lady, only disengaging herself from his arms sufficiently to write with firm though hurried characters the name of Cartwright Park,—"how deeply you have touched me!"
CHAPTER II.
THE WIDOW SIMPSON'S DISAPPOINTMENT.
This letter was certainly commented upon pretty freely in all its parts by the knight and lady of Oakley; but not the less did it produce the effect intended: for not even could Sir Gilbert, after the first hot fit of rage was over, advise poor Helen to expose herself to be recalled by force. In the case of Miss Torrington, the hated authority of Mr. Cartwright, though not necessarily so lasting, was for the present equally imperative, and he therefore advised her peaceably to accompany her friend to her unhappy home, and then to set about applying to Chancery in order to emancipate herself from it.
The parting was a very sad one. Poor Helen wept bitterly. She had felt more consolation perhaps than she was aware in having been received with such very parental kindness at Oakley; and her present departure from it was, she thought, exceedingly like being driven, or rather dragged, out of paradise. But there was no help for it. The carriage was waiting at the door, and even the rebellious Sir Gilbert himself said she must go,—not without adding, however, that it should go hard with him if he did not find some means or other, before she were twenty-one, of releasing her from such hateful thraldom.
Helen had given, as she thought, her last kiss to her warm-hearted godmother, and was in the very act of stepping aside that Miss Torrington might take her place in the carriage, when that young lady blushing most celestial rosy red, said abruptly, as if prompted thereto by a sudden and desperate effort of courage, "Sir Gilbert Harrington!—may I speak to you for one single minute alone?"
"For a double century, fair Rose, if we can but make the tête-à-tête last so long.—You may give poor god-mamma another hug, Helen: and don't hurry yourself about it,—Miss Rose and I shall find a great deal to say to each other."