“I could not--oh, I could not!” murmured Lotte, touched by this acknowledgment.
But Helen kissed her and silenced her and would not hear her objections, and threatened to do all kind of desperate things unless she assented to her request. Lotte, alternately coaxed and menaced, obeyed, though she was restive and uncomfortable under the knowledge that their store was growing hourly less, while Helen had really no notion of the value of money or its want.
Unable to remain long in bed under such circumstances, Lotte struggled through two days; on the third, she persisted in getting up, declaring she was quite strong, and fit now to undertake anything.
The rest had certainly done her previously exhausted frame good, and Helen could not help perceiving its effects upon her face, and her manner, so she made no great objection to her rising; but that same evening, about six o’clock, she startled Lotte by appearing before her, dressed as when first they met in Hyde Park.
Lotte was dancing the infant in her arms. Helen took it abruptly from her, kissed it passionately many times, and then placed it again in Lotte’s arms.
The latter, overwhelmed with surprise, exclaimed, in a tone of the greatest astonishment--
“Where are you going, Helen? In Heaven’s name, do not be guilty of any rash or unadvised step. Oh! I should break my heart if, out of any mistaken feeling of commiseration or tenderness for me, you should come to harm!”
“Do not fear for me, dear, dear Lotte,” returned Helen, earnestly. “The worst that could have fallen upon me has come to pass, and fate will not persecute me further. I shall return to you and my poor cherub there very soon, be assured.”
“But in pity tell me whither you are going?” cried Lotte, in tears. She had some frightful forebodings.
“To my father’s house!” cried Helen, with a bright eye, and compressed lip.
Before Lotte could recover from the bewilderment into which this announcement flung her, she heard the outer door slam sharply, and she knew that Helen was on her way to fulfil her purpose.
She pressed the little babe to her bosom, and sat down to think about her position, her brother, and, perhaps, Mark Wilton.
While these thoughts were yet passing through Lotte’s brain, Helen Grahame stood before the house from which, in such shame and anguish, she had fled.