"Induce him, Miss Barham," said Harry Martin--"induce him--"
He was going to add--"to try a better life," but he gazed in the fair face of Helen Barham, saw the deep melancholy that overspread it, and felt afraid that he might add one drop more of bitter to the lot of her, who, born with every endowment of person and mind which the prodigal hand of nature could bestow upon a favourite child, had been placed in circumstances where beauty was peril, where excellence was trial, and where tenderness was anguish. He would not add another word, but paused in the midst of what he was saying, and then turned abruptly to his wife, exclaiming--"Come, Jane, let us go, we are only keeping Miss Barham. God bless you, madam, and protect you. May you find kind friends wherever you go, and may every one be as honest to you as you have been to me. God bless you, I say, and make you happy, and give me some opportunity of helping you when you need it."
Thus speaking, he turned away and left the room, followed by his wife; and Helen, bidding them adieu, resumed her occupations.
They had not been long gone, however, when her brother came in, with his face flushed and excited, and a look of triumph in his countenance. "I have him," he said--"I'll do for him, Helen! We have got hold of the only admission that was wanting. I'll make a beggar of him before I have done with him!"
"I hope not, William," answered Helen, reproachfully. "I hope you will make a beggar of no one upon the earth. You, of all people, William, ought to know how terrible a thing it is to be a beggar. But who is it you are talking of?"
"Ay! that I sha'n't tell you, Helen," replied William Barham, with a laugh. "I know you'd be for interfering, and that wouldn't do. The business is my own, and I'll manage it myself. You shall know nothing about it till it's all done; and who can tell if the matter may not be more for your advantage than you think?"
"Well, William," rejoined Helen, with a sigh, "as I said to you yesterday, if you do not tell me more, tell me nothing. But listen to what I have to say to you. The man, Harry Martin, who was tried at York, has been here to thank me. You know very well that he took, and destroyed, those papers which were so dangerous to you. Now, I think, as you say you have money to spare, you ought to send him some immediately."
"Not I," cried William Barham, though his face for a moment had become very pale. "You say he destroyed the papers. He can't do anything against me, then--I shall send him no money. You were a fool for not letting him be hanged," and he turned sullenly from her, and left the room.
Helen Barham leaned her head upon her hand, pressed her handkerchief upon her eyes, and wept bitterly.