After "good-night" had been said all around, and Helen found herself alone in her room, she took out from between the leaves of a book the letter she had received in the morning. As she re-read it she glanced up from time to time at a likeness which stood on the table close at hand. It was the face of a very beautiful woman—a face delicate, oval in shape, with straight eyebrows, from under which looked out a pair of eyes with a world of witchery in their depths; the whole crowned by a halo of soft hair.
Helen dropped the letter in her lap, and folding her hands over it, fell into a deep reverie. Rousing herself at last, she slowly crossed the room, and opened a little drawer in her writing desk. There, hidden among some papers, lay another photograph—a man's face this time. As she looked at it steadily a heavy sigh escaped her lips, for it seemed to her that the grave eyes looked at her reproachfully. With a half-impatient exclamation she tossed it back into its hiding-place and closed the drawer sharply, and not until sleep claimed her did these two faces fade entirely from her mental vision.
CHAPTER III.
A LEAF FROM HELEN'S PAST.
Many years before the opening of this story the Lawrence children counted among their dearest friends a certain pleasant-faced, sturdy little chap, Guy Appleton by name, who never considered a day quite complete unless at least a part of it was spent at the hospitable manor. His own pretty home, Rose Cottage, lay only a stone's throw away, and there the little Lawrence girls passed many a happy hour. Mrs. Appleton and Mrs. Lawrence had been schoolgirls together, and the flight of years had but strengthened their friendship. Mrs. Appleton was delighted that her shy little son had found such pleasant companions, and in every way encouraged his intercourse with them. The Lawrences were all dear to Guy's boyish heart, but none held quite the same place as Helen. She had been especially kind and friendly to him, and for her his affection was particularly deep and adoring.
The years, as they rolled by, served but to increase his love for his little playmate, and from his allegiance to her he never swerved. When his college days were over and he was about to sail for Europe on an extended tour, he found it impossible to say farewell without speaking to her of the subject which lay nearest his heart.
Helen was very young and inexperienced, and these were the first words of love to which she had ever listened. Her tender heart was deeply touched, and Guy went away gladdened by her shy expression of sorrow at his departure, and by the whispered "Yes" that her lips spoke falteringly.
Helen had accepted her youthful lover, and many were the rejoicings among the small Hetherford circle over what they termed Helen's engagement; although the girl herself looked a little grave over so serious a term. At the manor the new relationship was accepted gladly, for it seemed only a fitting ending to Guy's long friendship in their family.
Three years slipped by; years in which Guy bent every energy to the study of architecture, which he had chosen as his profession. He had decided talent, and by continued assiduity was making a name for himself among his colleagues.
Little change had taken place in Hetherford except such as the flight of time must necessarily bring. Helen was now quite a woman, with a pretty air of gravity which the new cares had lent to her.
When finally, one crisp October day, Guy walked in upon them, his face bronzed by the recent ocean trip, his slender figure grown broad and strong, his blue eyes beaming with happiness, he was welcomed with the greatest warmth of affection, and as they sat about the crackling flames in the manor hall his long absence seemed almost a dream.