“Upon my honour, my dear young lady, I do. Indeed I know my sister Lotte so well, that I am inclined to believe that she is plunging into some mysterious course of proceeding to favour her companion and friend, without having a thought or reflection upon the injury it may do herself.”
“Oh! sir,” said Evangeline, tenderly, “do not be angry with your sister—I can so well appreciate and sympathise with conduct such as hers. If it should prove that, for Helen’s sake, she has incurred your displeasure, and the cold world’s censure, I will, love her, and take her to my heart, and be a fond, affectionate friend, if she will permit me to be.”
Charley here very nearly gravely committed himself. He was in the habit—when Lotte gave utterance to sentiments which chimed with his best feelings, to seize her round the waist, press her to his breast, and kiss her forehead. The words which had just fallen from the lips of Evangeline were uttered in such a soft tone, and evinced so much kindness and gentleness of nature, that upon the impulse, he was about to seize her and go through the usual performance, when she spoke again and brought him back to a recollection of the presence in which he stood.
“Let me implore you,” she exclaimed, with much warmth of manner, “to abstain from judging your dear sister unkindly until you are actually in possession of the true facts which have influenced her actions. It is, sir, so easy to conjecture in a defaming spirit—so impossible to make reparation for the wound an unjust accusation inflicts upon an innocent and honest heart. I pray you, therefore, to forbear judging her until you can justly claim the title to do so.”
Charley felt extremely gratified by what fell from Eva’s lips. No more complete illustration of his real feelings could have been given even by himself, and he expressed himself with some fervour in reply. Preparing to take his leave, he promised to relax no effort likely to enable him to discover the secret abode of the two fugitives.
A problem now gravely presented itself. Evangeline was and would be devoured by an intense anxiety to learn any tidings connected with her sister Helen; and a firm conclusion that in future Charles Clinton must be the medium through whom it was to be obtained’ settled itself in her mind.
But how?
Charles Clinton was a stranger to her family. He was unentitled to visit them. If he wrote to her, her letters would be opened before they reached her either by her mamma or by her sister Margaret. As the family, save herself, had, by common consent, forborne to mention her sister Helen’s name, and even to think of her as one dead, she arrived at a conviction that no letter written by Charles Clinton, containing matter connected with Helen, would ever be permitted to reach her.
What was to be done?
To both it appeared the simplest thing in the world to settle the question.