“Then take care that you remember: Friday night, at one. And now, as we understand each other, that is all that is necessary.”
They returned to the house in silence. Armstrong, with a hypocritical whine, thanked Mrs. Gregory for her kindness to his dear grand-daughter, who, he was glad to find, seemed so contented and happy in her new position.
“You will pardon an old man’s tears,” said he, drawing his hand across his eyes; “but she is all that is left to me now.”
“What a good old man!” thought Mrs. Gregory, as she hastened to assure him that whatever she could do to add to the comfort of his grand-daughter would cheerfully be done.
As for Helen, she was astonished and confused at what she had discovered. She had always been led to believe that Armstrong was her uncle, and had more than once reproached herself for the dislike she could not help entertaining for him. Now he had himself disclaimed the relationship; and Helen was left to conjecture fruitlessly who and what she was.
IV.
We must carry the reader back some nine or ten years. In front of a pleasant country residence, a child of three years sat on the grass, plucking the flowers that grew at her feet, and then tossing them from her. Ever and anon she would utter a cry of childish delight, as a gaudily-painted butterfly flew past her, and would stretch out her little hands to arrest its flight; but the wanderer of the air found no difficulty in eluding the tiny hands of the child.
At length, as if weary of her pastime, she rose from her grassy seat, and tottled towards the open gate, out of which she passed, and strayed along the path by the roadside, pausing where fancy prompted. Her disappearance had not been noted by those in the house, partly because their attention was occupied by a tall, swarthy woman, with fierce black eyes, who was at that moment asking, or rather demanding, alms of the mistress of the house.