Mrs. Mason spoke in a sad voice, with a subtile little thrill of reproach in it.
“I did not think you would so much as wish, my dear, to do any thing that was not quite open and straightforward. You know Mademoiselle does not expect you to see the key. The very test of your power is that you should work without its aid, and the examination will prove how far you have succeeded.”
“I suppose there’s no use in coaxing, when you say that. I do wish you weren’t such an uncoaxable mamma.”
“No, you don’t,—you only fancy that you wish it; but, in your inmost soul, you would rather have me as I am,” Mrs. Mason answered; and Helen heard the sound of a kiss, and felt, for the thousandth time, how bitter it was that this other girl should have home and mother, while she had only a far-off grave.
But, at least, she would triumph in this school contest! If Laura came off best there, it would be more than she could bear.
The weeks passed on, and the spring came. The deep old garden back of the house—the garden Helen’s mother had played in when she was a child—grew full of bird-songs and blossoms.
There was a sweet laughter on the face of nature. The springs bubbled with it; the flowers opened to the light; the sunshine poured down its tender warmth, and the soft coo and call of the birds gave voice to the general joy.
But both Laura and Helen were too eager and too tired to be gay. They only studied. They went to sleep with books under their pillows; they woke with the first light, and began to study again.
It was the very week of the examination, at last. Helen felt satisfied with herself in all but her French. If she could only have that key for one little half-hour, she knew she would have no weak spot in her armor.