“Have you never confided, by word or hint, to anyone that grief which now oppresses you?” asked Mrs. Truebody, in a curiously solemn tone.
A flush spread itself over the hitherto pale features of Helen, and then it passed away, leaving her whiter than ever.
“Never,” she murmured, in a low voice.
“And where is he who has brought you to this condition?” asked Mrs. Truebody, in a tone betraying indignation.
“Oh, do not speak, do not think harshly of him!” exclaimed Helen, with a quivering lip. “His anguish, his misery, and his despair, were greater than my own!”
Then, in hoarse accents, she briefly spoke of the circumstances which called Hugh away, of his letter to her, of her mental struggles, her hesitation, and vacillation, until too late even to write to him, and then of the incident published in the newspaper.
Mrs. Truebody listened in silence, with her eyes intently fixed upon Helen’s features, perusing them earnestly as though to ascertain whether there was not something more which Helen studiously concealed, but she did not seem to find what she sought.
Presently, she said abruptly—
“Were you married?”
A change instantly passed over the features of Helen—an expression impossible to describe: it told that a throng of unutterable thoughts were passing through her brain.