Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume III

by M. Y. Halidom

"Yes, yes; there is no doubt about the poor lad being hard hit," said one. "I noticed it from the first."

"So did I," put in another. "In good time he bolted, for these sort of things never end well when allowed to go on ahead."

"Of course, marrying her would be out of the question altogether, looking at it from any point of view," remarked a third; "besides, there's her age. Why, she's a mere child."

"True," observed a fourth, "and even supposing her to have been of a marriageable age, he, being but a struggling artist, wholly dependent on his profession, and doomed to eke out a precarious living by the sale of his pictures, what else but misery could there be in store for either of them by such a union?"

But here we will leave them to continue their ramble and their gossip.

It has been stated above that our antiquary had remained behind to finish a letter. Having waved his last adieus to his young protégé, and waited till the coach had disappeared in the distance, he returned to the breakfast room with a sigh, muttering to himself, "Poor boy! poor boy!" He then collected his writing materials, but the breakfast things had not yet been cleared away.

Presently Helen entered, and proceeded to clear the table. Her face was pale, but calm; her eyes downcast. Our antiquary appeared not to notice her overmuch, but was secretly scanning her countenance. At length, when the table was quite clear, and Helen returned with a fresh log for the fire, he slowly advanced towards her, and placing his right hand on her head and his left on her right shoulder, whilst he toyed for a moment with her bright curls, he remained for some moments in silence. The action was that of one invoking a blessing. Then seizing her right hand in both of his, and raising it to his breast, he gave it a gentle squeeze; then dropped it and turned away, still without a word.

Now, poor Helen's heart was full to overflowing, in spite of her outwardly calm demeanour. She was in possession of a weighty secret, which seemed too heavy for her to bear alone. Yet who was there to share it with her? She had no friend of her own age to whom she could open her heart and into whose sympathetic ears she could pour forth her woes. Her parents, much as she loved and respected them, did not seem to her to be the sort of people likely to give her that sympathy she yearned for. They would laugh at her, reprove her perhaps, and tell her roughly to get all that rubbish out of her head at once, etc. Not a soul had she in the world to whom she could cling, or from whom she could expect one ray of comfort. As to her secret being discovered by the other members of the club, this she dreaded most of all. She could imagine their banter, their coldness, or their sneers. Dr. Bleedem, too, who would prescribe her physic, and promise to make her all right again, provided she followed his course of treatment.

Love is by nature reticent, and not willing to make its secret common property. Rather than divulge its sacred feelings to the first light-hearted outsider it will prefer—oh, how infinitely!—to bear its own burden alone—aye, if need be, even to the grave.

Never before in all her life did Helen need a friend and comforter as she did now, when, lo, in the very nick of time, there came to her this kindly old man whom she had known from her earliest childhood, who had dandled her on his knee, and never passed her without a kind word. He, who seemed to have read her heart, now came forward with his silent blessing, like an angel sent from Heaven to comfort her. This was just what she needed. This mute expression of sympathy from someone whom she felt could understand her. She construed his silence thus: "There, there, my pretty child; we understand each other, don't we? You see, I've guessed your secret, and you may be sure that it will be safe in my keeping. I am not surprised. These things are common to youth, and very hard to bear for the time, but take comfort. Everything has its day. This, too, will pass in time. Cheer up; try and forget it. What! you can't? Oh, yes you will—not all at once—no; but take courage. This is your first great grief; but the world is full of trials, and we are sent here on purpose to bear them. No one escapes them altogether; but rest assured that you will always find a friend and comforter in Obadiah Oldstone."