CHAPTER IX.—THE MYSTERY.
Till Fate or Fortune near the place convey’d
His steps where secret Palamon was laid,
Full little thought of him the gentle knight,
Who, flying death, had there concealed his flight
In brakes and brambles hid, and shunning mortal strife
And less he knew him for his hated foe,
But feared him as a man he did not know.
—Palamon and Arcite.
Helen Grahame, with her hand tightly clutching the wrist of the young man with whom she had been in such tender converse, retreated noiselessly into the deepest shadows of the small thicket where they had met, and there stood with her companion, as the Honorable Lester Vane advanced, motionless.
Though greatly agitated by the unexpected appearance of her brother’s guest in the garden at such a moment, she betrayed no outward sign of emotion. She could hear the beating of her heart, but, by an almost superhuman exertion, she was calm, collected, prepared for action, if discovered, and even in such an emergency could have spoken without any visible symptom of embarrassment.
The Honorable Lester Vane paused before the cluster of trees; he even took a step or two as though to enter its recess.
Helen, had he but advanced one foot more, would have emerged from her place of concealment, and with some ready excuse for being there, have led him away, so that her companion might have escaped unobserved, but, as if satisfied that it possessed no outlet, he turned away and sauntered slowly and thoughtfully down the gravelled path by a separate route to that by which he had approached.
As soon as he was out of hearing, Helen turned to her companion, exclaiming—
“I must leave you, Hugh, and at once—nay, dearest, do not urge me to remain; you know what happiness it would be to me to share your dear society for hours—would it were for ever!—but it would be madness to risk discovery for a few minutes of stolen felicity.”
“Helen, I cannot part from you thus,” returned the youth at her side, in a voice trembling with emotion. “I am quitting London—you know it—possibly by dawn in the morning; and these may be the last few precious moments I may pass with you for a long and dreary term.”