"And see," she continued, "how useful she has contrived to make herself to Mr. Villars."
"No, no," said Mr. Villars, speaking entirely to his wife, "she has been so disinterested that far from trying to ingratiate herself, only, she has made Lucy my constant companion, and so quietly has she withdrawn from my notice, that I could now very probably part with her, without any loss of comfort; but Caroline, you cannot imagine the misery and horror from which she has saved me."
He stopped, and then continued in a more agitated tone of voice—
"I have studied the history of the human mind too deeply, to be mistaken in myself, and I am convinced that, e'er this, mine would have sunk into that ruin which has wrecked many a better and wiser man than myself. There was inertness in my ideas, sameness in my thoughts, a sense of causeless misery and perpetual fear; all fatal signs of that derangement, which the worst and the best shrink from with terror, as something too dreadfully vague for contemplation. What I might have been now, had I not received, as it were, a fresh impetus from that angelic girl, I tremble to think; for what I am, I feel grateful to her as the second cause." Here he bowed reverently, as if a holier name mingled with his silent aspirations, and as he did so, the first flash of the thunder storm played round his head, and gave almost majesty to his words—at the same time that the side door, behind him, leading from the best drawing-room, opened, and Mabel glided in and stood by his side. Her manner was perfectly collected, but there was a deep red spot upon each cheek, and her eye glistened, as she cast it round the room.
"You have been listening," said Caroline, when she had recovered from the sudden effect of her entrance.
Mabel turned directly to her, and replied—
"I went into the drawing-room to read and watch the storm—a few minutes since I heard my own name mentioned, and, while I hesitated whether I should come here at once, I have heard what has deeply gratified me. To you, dear sir," she said, turning to her uncle, "I owe very much—very much kindness and support I have received from you; I will not repay it by being the cause of discord in your family, for one moment longer than I can help—nay," she said, placing her hand fondly in his, "do not say any thing; you can offer me a home I know, but not a welcome—that you cannot command." Then, looking to her aunt, she continued, "it was at your express desire, ma'am, that I came here—not only your desire, but your entreaty—but do not think I meant always to encroach upon your kindness. This will convince you, that I did not." Here she handed her an open letter. "And now I must solicit the favor of a few moments alone with you."
Mrs. Villars turned pale, but immediately rose, and Mabel, gently pressing her uncle's hand, followed her from the room.
As she had stood there, her indignant face turned upon them all, the lightning had flashed about her unquailing form, and when she was gone they were all silent, as if her presence had awed them still.