The colonel was already at the door to assist her, and whispered earnestly as he quitted her hand, "You will not stay the full hour, Helen, if—you love me."
With a step as light as Camilla's, Helen traversed the Park, and, with a heart throbbing with many feelings, wound her way through sundry well-known twistings and turnings that brought her to the same door by which she had quitted the house on the memorable day of the Fancy Fair. From what Rosalind had told her, she thought that if she could find her way unannounced to her mother's dressing-room, it was probable she should find her alone, and thereby be enabled to perform her errand without danger. In the stable-yard she saw one of the vicar's regenerated stable-boys; but he did not appear to take much notice of her, and she succeeded in reaching her mother's dressing-room without interruption.
She had calculated rightly. Mrs. Cartwright was sitting, or rather lying, alone in her dressing-room; for she was stretched upon a sofa, totally unemployed, and appearing so ill that Helen almost uttered a cry as she looked at her.
At the sight of her daughter, Mrs. Cartwright started violently, and rising from her recumbent posture, threw her arms round her with even passionate fondness. But dear, inexpressibly dear as was this moment to Helen's heart, she did not forget her commission; and while her lips still rested on her mother's cheek, she drew Sir Gilbert's note from her pocket and placed it in her hand.
"Read it quick, dearest mother! I know not what it contains; but Sir Gilbert charged me to let no one see you read it."
Mrs. Cartwright seemed not to require any stimulant to caution, for reading it rapidly, she tore it into atoms, and then, removing some of the fuel from the grate, which though not lighted was prepared for fire, she carefully placed the fragments on the rest, and covered them up so that no speck remained visible. While thus employed, she said to Helen almost in a whisper, "Thank Sir Gilbert; tell him I am better,—at least well enough to take an airing."
Helen had reason to rejoice that she had lost no time in executing her commission; for scarcely had her mother in all haste resumed her place upon the sofa, when Mr. Cartwright entered.
By some means or other her arrival had certainly been announced to him, for his countenance and manner expressed agitation, but not surprise. He looked keenly first at his wife, and then at her; but they were prepared for it; and excepting that Mrs. Cartwright's pale cheek was slightly flushed, and Helen's brow contracted by an involuntary frown, they neither of them betrayed any symptom of agitation.
The Vicar of Wrexhill uttered no word of salutation or of welcome to his unexpected guest; nor did Helen address him. He placed himself, without any pretext of occupation whatever, in a chair commanding a full view of his wife and her daughter, and folding his arms, fixed his eyes first on one and then on the other with the most undisguised determination of watching them both.
The first words spoken were by Helen.