I never wronged her in
the base brutish sense of the word--never in a way that the spirit of
my dead mother might not have witnessed--but I have robbed her of her
heart, and find too late that I do not want it. I cannot free her from
her suffering, but at least I shall always share it."
And I too, was Helene's internal response. Aloud she suggested that it
was time for them to return. Her indifference was precisely what
Edward had begged for, but now in return for his confidence it chilled
him. She noticed his disappointment, and with a sudden impulse of
sympathy, she laid a tiny gloved hand upon his arm. "Oh, you are
right," she breathed, "perfectly right. It is infinitely better to
suffer with her than to be happy and contemptible and forget her.
Believe me I shall not be a hindrance to you."
He took in his own the little fluttering hand, and held it in what he
believed to be a quiet friendly clasp. It was an immense relief to
unburden his mind to any one, and her approval was very sweet to a
heart that had been torn for weary days and nights by self-accusation
and self-contempt. Unconsciously he leaned nearer to her, still
holding the little hand, which its owner did not withdraw, because it
was for "the last time.
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