Helen's embarrassment had increased with every word spoken by Oswald. Her beautiful face now blazed up crimson, and now turned ghastly pale. Her bosom rose, her hand trembled as she took the letter from the young man's hand, recognizing it at the first glance as her own letter written to Mary Burton. Horror at the treachery by which she had been victimized; maidenly shame at seeing her innermost feelings thus profaned, and indignation at the consciousness that somebody, whoever it might be, had been made aware how disgracefully she was treated by her family, by her own mother--all these feelings rushed at once upon her like a hurricane, that threatened utterly to overwhelm her.
And it was this last sense of insulted pride which first found expression.
"I thank you," she said, rising to her full stately height, "for your zeal to serve me. But you and Bruno have probably attached greater importance to the matter than it deserves. I have on purpose kept this letter, because it contained several things which mature reflection made me desirous should not be made known; I have probably dropped it unawares. I remember I was near the chapel night before last; I----"
She could not continue; the tears she had repressed so long gushed forth irresistibly and rolled down her cheeks. She turned aside, as if she felt she could no longer control herself, and beckoned Oswald to leave her alone.
Oswald was probably not less indignant than Helen. His whole love for the proud, beautiful girl, for whom he would have cheerfully given his life, and by whom he was in danger now of being so entirely misjudged, rose within him like a well of boiling water, and filled his bosom to overflowing. He would have liked to fall at her feet, to confess all he had so long concealed from her; but he controlled himself by a supernatural effort, and said, as calmly as he could:
"I assure you, Miss Helen, that this scene cannot be more painful to you than it is to me, and that I should not have given occasion for it, if Bruno's feverish impatience had allowed me any choice. I am grieved, deeply grieved at appearing in a false light before you; I apprehended at once, that it would be impossible for you to distinguish between the message and the messenger."
He bowed before the weeping girl and turned to go away.
"No, no!" she cried, stretching out her hand as if to retain him. "You must not leave me thus. Let those who have driven me to extremities answer for it if I am forced to expose the honor of my own family. Yes, you have rendered me a service, a very great service. This letter has fallen by treachery into the hands of those who have been so little able to preserve their booty. This letter separates me forever from them. But it shall not cut me off also from Bruno, whom I love dearly, nor from you, who have always been so kind and friendly. I have always looked upon you as a friend; always esteemed and honored you--how much so, you may learn from this letter. Read it if the whole world knows what I think of you, you may surely know it too."
And the young girl handed Oswald the letter. Her face was crimson, but not with anger or shame. Her dark eyes shone, but like the eyes of a heroine who is about to sacrifice herself for a holy cause.
"Read it, I tell you!" she said, with a peculiar smile, as Oswald stood gazing at her. "Fear not that I shall afterwards repent of it. I know your heart belongs to a friend who has returned yesterday. I do not ask you for anything but what I have already--your friendship. Read the letter, and when you have read it, burn it!"