So far all was well; and now Mark explained to him how he had sought to induce her to become his wife, and how she refused him, because she would not create dissension in his family, even though a life of sorrow was entailed on her by her own refusal. And Helen explained how she had declined her husband’s offer of an independence for a reason which she would not explain, but which really was, that if Mr. Wilton found that her means were far better than he had anticipated, he might consent to receive her into his family. She felt that thus Mark’s solicitations would be renewed; and as she was too high-spirited to enter his family by such a side-wind, she believed it would occasion her less pain to remain, unsought, in her old condition, than to have again to refuse Mark’s entreaties to become his. Besides, she loved him so dearly that she was afraid of her own strength to continue to say nay.
When Wilton heard all these things about her, he felt at once overjoyed and grieved. Glad that his son had made such a choice, pained that he had so harshly interfered to prevent the union. But he determined, as far as possible, to repair his conduct; and he expressed his intention of doing so without delay, and that very evening he decided on the course he should pursue.
On the morning following that eventful evening; Lotte was seated alone; as usual at work, and as usual thinking about Mark and Harleydale, and many other matters connected with him and his family. She knew the family were in town; and she was in the act of wishing that she could get an opportunity of gazing on Mark—dear, dear Mark—unseen, when she was startled by a gentle tap at her room-door.
She ran lightly to it and opened it, and found herself face to face with Mr. Wilton.
She uttered an exclamation of surprise, and blushed like a rose; then turned as pale as marble. She, however, asked Mr. Wilton into the room, and placed a chair for him.
“So,” he said, as he seated himself, “you little runaway, I have found you at last, have I? Pray, what have you to say in extenuation of deserting a poor crippled invalid without one word at parting? Tell me, had I so wearied, tired, exhausted you, that you ran away, worn out, determined to be no more troubled with such a plaguy old fellow as I?”
“No, sir; indeed I do assure you, no,” returned Lotte, embarrassed; “but——”
“You would not for worlds undertake the same office again, eh?” said Wilton, eyeing her askance.
“Indeed, I would, sir, cheerfully,” she replied, trembling like an aspen; “but——” Again she hesitated. She was unconscious that he now knew who his nurse was, and she did not like disguising the truth, but how to reveal it? She saw no way.
“But, indeed!” repeated Wilton. “Now listen to me. I have proved your value. You made yourself essential to my comfort, and I am quite lost without you. I, therefore, come now to offer you a home with my family, you to be, as you have been, my pet, confidential attendant.”