Before he went, the Doctor wrote a line to Mr. Prickett, bookseller,
Holborn, and told Leonard to take it, the next morning, as addressed.
"I will call on Prickett myself to-night, and prepare him for your
visit. And I hope and trust you will only have to stay there a few
days."
He then turned the conversation, to communicate his plans for Helen.
Miss Starke lived at Highgate--a worthy woman, stiff and prim, as old
maids sometimes are. But just the place for a little girl like Helen,
and Leonard should certainly be allowed to call and see her.
Leonard listened and made no opposition; now that his day-dream was
dispelled, he had no right to pretend to be Helen's protector. He
could have bade her share his wealth and his fame; his penury and his
drudgery--no.
It was a very sorrowful evening--that between the adventurer and the
child. They sat up late, till their candle had burned down to the
socket; neither did they talk much; but his hand clasped hers all the
time, and her head pillowed itself on his shoulder. I fear, when they
parted, it was not for sleep.
And when Leonard went forth the next morning, Helen stood at the
street door, watching him depart--slowly, slowly. No doubt, in that
humble lane there were many sad hearts; but no heart so heavy as that
of the still quiet child, when the form she had watched was to be seen
no more, and, still standing on the desolate threshold, she gazed into
space--and all was vacant.