"Come down stairs, my dear;—you had better come down, I do assure you; for I expect Sir Gilbert will be up in a moment, and you cannot suppose that William will remain behind; and my bed-room would by no means be so dignified a scene for the denouement as the great saloon. Come, dear, come."
And Helen went—trembling, blushing, with tears in her eyes, and such palpitation at her heart that she was very sure she could not pronounce a word. But what need was there of words? The happy colonel was soon perfectly satisfied, and thanked her on his bended knee for a consent more looked than spoken.
Even Sir Gilbert himself, though singularly attached to plain speaking, seemed well content on the present occasion to dispense with it; and pressed Helen to his heart, and kissed her forehead, and called her his dear daughter, apparently with as much satisfaction as if she had declared herself ready to accept of his son in the very best arranged words ever spoken upon such an occasion.
When the first few decisive moments were past, and each one of the party felt that all things were settled, or about to be settled, in exact conformity to their most inward and earnest desires, and when Helen was placed as the centre of the six loving and admiring eyes that were fixed upon her, she closed her own; but it was neither to faint, nor to sleep, but to meditate for a moment with the more intensity upon the miraculous change wrought in her destiny within the last few hours.
"What are you thinking of, my Helen?" said the colonel, jealous, as it should seem, of losing sight of those dear eyes, even for a moment.
"I am endeavouring to believe that it is all real," replied Helen with beautiful simplicity.
"Bless you, my darling child," said the rough baronet, greatly touched. "What an old villain I have been to you, Helen!—abusing you, hating you, calling you all manner of hard names,—and your little heart as true as steel all the time."
"Real?—real that you are beloved by me, Helen?" cried Colonel Harrington, absolutely forgetting that he was not tête-à-tête with his fair mistress.
"And how is she to answer him, with you and me peering in her face, my lady? Ought we not to be ashamed of ourselves?—Come along this moment."
"Very well,—I will go, but only upon one condition, Helen. Remember, William, she is to indulge in no disagreeable reminiscences, and no melancholy anticipations, but look just as beautiful and as happy when I come back, as she does now."