I said "Oh, Clara!" and sank on the floor beside her, put my head in her lap, and let the tears fall as they would, unmindful of all else save my dear, beautiful friend. Louis sat on the other side of her with his arm around her waist, and her head lay on his shoulder. The curtain of the evening slowly fell, and in slumbers I drew her thoughts close to my heart, Aunt Hildy's "God help us" floating like music through my dreams.
CHAPTER IX.
THE NEW FAITH.
"Emily will help me!" Oh, how those words haunted me! I would help her; yes, if I could, but when should I ever stop making blunders, when should I lose the impetuous nature that drove me too often on the beach of thought, with shipwrecked sentences that fell far short of my thought, and expressed nothing of my real self. Why was it, as I grew older, I came to realize, that if I had been born a little later, it would have been easier? I was standing on tip-toe trying in vain to touch that which lay beyond my reach; of course I must be constantly falling, and the security of growth I could not then wait for. I must keep reaching and falling, covering myself with disappointments, while in the hearts if not on the lips of those about me must rest the same old words, "Emily did it."
Clara says I can do something, and having grown to feel that her words were almost prophecy, I felt sure there was something ahead, and repeated again and again, "Emily will do it." Mr. Benton was looking beyond his depth, and still did not hesitate to try and swim across the difficult waters that lay between himself and Clara, and before Louis left us, something occurred which I must tell about. I had been called over the hill on an errand, was obliged to go alone, and was then detained somewhat, and when I came back, Louis met me, and taking my arm, said:
"Walk slowly, I have something I must say."
I thought of Clara at once, and it was a true impression, for he said:
"My little mother is in trouble; I have heard what I would never know if I could avoid it—Professor Benton has been telling her that he loves her. He has forced this upon her, I know, for these are his words to which I unwillingly listened: 'Why, Mrs. Desmonde, do you shun me, why turn you eyes whenever they meet my own, why call Miss Minot to your side when an opportunity presents for us to be alone together? I cannot be baffled in my love for you; no woman has ever before touched the secret spring of my heart, no voice has ever reached my soul—yours is music to me; and, Mrs. Desmonde, I need great love and sympathy; I am not all I want to be; my lot in life has been in some respects very hard to bear; I never knew my mother's love, and when old enough to desire the companionship man needs, I had an experience which killed the flower of my affection—I thought its roots were as dead as its leaves, until I met you. Oh! Mrs. Desmonde, do you not, can you not return this feeling? My life is in your hands.' It was hard for my little mother, and I stood riveted to the spot, Emily, expecting to be obliged to enter and catch her fainting form, for I knew in my heart each word was a thorn, but here is her reply:"
"Professor Benton, I had hoped to be spared this pain, I have avoided you, because I could do no other way. I am so sorry! I can never, never love you as you desire! I have a husband—my Louis Robert waits for me in heaven, and he is my constant guide here. He will always be near me while I tarry, and I have no love to give you in return for yours. I can be your good friend always, I can help you as one mortal helps another. I can call you a brother, and I can be your sister; but do not dream falsely. I shall not learn to love you; my heart is full, and it is through no fault of mine that you have raised false hopes in your bosom, but I am very sorry—more sorry than I can tell you."