So had it been with Helen Barham and Juliet Carr. In a few days--nay, in a few hours, they had known each other well, and loved each other dearly; and if in the character of Helen Barham there were points which Juliet grieved for, yet they were points which excited tenderness and pity rather than condemnation, and proceeded from errors in education, never from defects of the heart. When they had last met there had existed a difference in their state of mind, which was the only impediment to the deepest attachment. It was, that Juliet Carr was then perfectly happy, and happiness, which is at best a selfish thing, prevented her from feeling altogether as she might have done that full sympathy for Helen, which none but those who have themselves known deep grief can experience towards those who grieve. Let me not be misunderstood, however--Juliet had sympathized with her fair companion deeply, and had loved her warmly, and the only abatement was, that Juliet was herself completely happy. Now, however, happiness had passed away from her heart, and as she held Helen in her arms for a moment, at their first meeting, she felt that she had hardly loved her half enough.
Luckily for themselves, they were suffered to be alone for several hours, for they had much to explain to each other which was difficult to tell--many subjects to speak upon, in regard to which even woman with woman hesitates. And Juliet had dreamt a dream, so mingled of sweet and noble purposes, of painful expectations, of devotion, of resignation, and of tenderness, that it was hard for her even to approach the subject--hard even to think of it, without the tears rising in her eyes, and her heart throbbing as if it would beat through her bosom. She gazed on Helen Barham, while they sat and talked together; she looked at her bright and sparkling beauty, almost as if she had been a lover; she read the deep, strong affections of those bright heart-full eyes, she fathomed in her own mind the well of intense feelings that existed in that soft bosom, and in her humility she asked herself--"What am I, that he should love me rather than her?"
Juliet went on with her enquiries, and demanded of herself, "Is it not possible--is it not even probable, that, knowing we can never be united, with his attachment to me broken by the cold hand of despair, his affections may turn to one who so well deserves them, and Helen Barham, happy in his love, may, in the end, make him happy likewise?" Not only was it likely, she thought, but scarcely to be doubted. It was impossible that he could see much of one so beautiful, so talented, so engaging, without learning to love her, if love for another could once be extinguished in his heart.
A pause had taken place while she thus thought, and Juliet saw her fair companion's eyes rest upon the green expanse before the house, while an expression of deep melancholy stole over her countenance. Juliet read that look, and read it rightly; and though she felt somewhat timid, in regard to touching upon the subject at all, and sought not to raise any expectations, especially when she could not be sure that they might not be disappointed, yet she resolved, with the generous confidence of a pure and high mind, to let Helen know the exact position in which she herself stood towards Morley Ernstein. "I am sure," she said to herself, "that Helen will not rejoice in my disappointment. But, nevertheless, the knowledge that he whom she loves is not actually about to be united to another, may make a difference in her own fate and conduct."
Thus thinking, she fixed her eyes for a moment upon Helen Barham again, saying--"Dear Helen, you look somewhat pale and sad."
The blood rushed up into Helen Barham's cheek, from the well of consciousness in her heart. But Juliet went on, anxious to prevent her making any reply--"I am afraid, dear Helen," she continued, "that you are not very happy, though there never yet was one who more deserved happiness, I am sure. I can now sympathize with you, dear Helen, more deeply than I ever could do before, for I am not happy, either."
Helen started, and gazed eagerly in her face--"What is it you mean?" she cried. "You unhappy, Juliet!--you, whose days I thought were to be all sunshine, blessed and blessing from the beginning of life to the close!--you, whose fate I believed was destined to show to man that it is possible to be happy, even on this earth!--you, who I fancied were to be for ever a being of brightness, and goodness, and joy!--you to be unhappy! Then, indeed, is this world a place of trial to every one; and, as old Comines says--'Right loyally has God kept his word with man, that in sorrow shall every one eat of the fruit of the ground, all the days of his life!' Oh, Juliet! this is very sad to me, for it takes away that belief in the mere existence of such a thing as happiness, which was all that was left to make me remember my own."
"Why should I be exempt, Helen?" replied Juliet. "I am not vain enough to think I deserved that which I believed was in store for me; and though deep and bitter has been the disappointment of all my hopes, yet I trust to be enabled, by God's mercy, to bear that disappointment calmly."
Helen Barham gazed earnestly and sadly in her face, making no reply, for some moments; but she then said--"Speak, Juliet, speak; tell me more, now you have told so much; but do not, do not say he was unworthy, for that I can never believe, even from your lips."
"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Juliet, eagerly, with her whole soul coming into her beautiful eyes. "Unworthy! oh, no!--he is worthy of all the deepest, the tenderest, the most ardent, the most enduring love that even a woman's heart can bestow. But, alas, Helen, it is all in vain! He and I can never be united. Say not a word, dear Helen; for on this subject I must be very, very brief. I dare not speak--I cannot speak much, lest these tears should drown me. We can never be united, Helen; there is a barrier between us that cannot be removed; and my only hope, my only wish, is, to see him happy with some one who may deserve to share his fate."