Helena heard them go into Lady Delacour’s room, and she saw by Marriott’s countenance, who followed, that her mother was going to submit to the operation. She sat down trembling on the steps which led to her mother’s room, and waited there a long time, as she thought, in the most painful suspense. At last she heard some one call Helena. She looked up, and saw her father close to her.
“Helena,” said he, “how is your mother?”
“I don’t know. Oh, papa, you cannot go in there now,” said Helena, stopping him as he was pressing forwards.
“Why did not you or Miss Portman write to me yesterday, as you promised?” said Lord Delacour, in a voice that showed he was scarcely able to ask the question.
“Because, papa, we had nothing to tell you: nothing was done yesterday. But the surgeon is now there,” said Helena, pointing towards her mother’s room.
Lord Delacour stood motionless for an instant; then suddenly seizing his daughter’s hand, “Let us go,” said he: “if we stay here, we shall hear her screams;” and he was hurrying her away, when the door of Lady Delacour’s apartment opened, and Belinda appeared, her countenance radiant with joy.
“Good news, dear Helena! Oh, my lord! you are come in a happy moment—I give you joy.”
“Joy! joy! joy!” cried Marriott, following.
“Is it all over?” said Lord Delacour.
“And without a single shriek!” said Helena. “What courage!”