She gave way to a passionate burst of tears; presently she drew from her bosom a small note, broke the seal, and perused its contents many times, and then she crushed it in her hand.
“How inopportune!” she exclaimed, in a vexed tone; “any night but this; still the terms are so peremptory; what is to be done?” She looked at her watch. “It is the hour,” she said; “what if I let it pass by, and go not? we part then to meet no more—no, no, that must not be—oh, fickle heart, to what fate will you drive me!”
At this moment her maid entered the room, and she hastily secreted the note. She mused for a second, and then she said—
“Chayter, give me a shawl; I will walk in the garden; my head aches.”
“It is very dark, miss,” returned the girl, “and the air is getting cold. It will be dangerous to your health to walk there now.”
“Give me a shawl, Chayter,” cried Helen, impatiently. “It is my pleasure to walk there—my brain burns.”
The girl knew it was useless to remonstrate further, and handed her a thick shawl, which she threw hastily over her head, and left the room. In a moment she returned, and said—
“Chayter, that dress I bade you alter this morning, you may keep.”
“Oh thank you, miss,” exclaimed the girl, joyfully, for it was a rich one.
“And, Chayter, remain here until you see me. Remember that if I am sent for, to say that I am lying upon my couch for a few minutes, and do not wish to be disturbed.”