A LEAF FROM HELEN'S PAST.
Many years before the opening of this story the Lawrence children
counted among their dearest friends a certain pleasant-faced, sturdy
little chap, Guy Appleton by name, who never considered a day quite
complete unless at least a part of it was spent at the hospitable
manor. His own pretty home, Rose Cottage, lay only a stone's throw
away, and there the little Lawrence girls passed many a happy hour.
Mrs. Appleton and Mrs. Lawrence had been schoolgirls together, and the
flight of years had but strengthened their friendship. Mrs. Appleton
was delighted that her shy little son had found such pleasant
companions, and in every way encouraged his intercourse with them. The
Lawrences were all dear to Guy's boyish heart, but none held quite the
same place as Helen. She had been especially kind and friendly to him,
and for her his affection was particularly deep and adoring.
The years, as they rolled by, served but to increase his love for his
little playmate, and from his allegiance to her he never swerved. When
his college days were over and he was about to sail for Europe on an
extended tour, he found it impossible to say farewell without
speaking to her of the subject which lay nearest his heart.
Helen was very young and inexperienced, and these were the first words
of love to which she had ever listened. Her tender heart was deeply
touched, and Guy went away gladdened by her shy expression of sorrow
at his departure, and by the whispered "Yes" that her lips spoke
falteringly.
Helen had accepted her youthful lover, and many were the rejoicings
among the small Hetherford circle over what they termed Helen's
engagement; although the girl herself looked a little grave over so
serious a term. At the manor the new relationship was accepted gladly,
for it seemed only a fitting ending to Guy's long friendship in their
family.
Three years slipped by; years in which Guy bent every energy to the
study of architecture, which he had chosen as his profession. He had
decided talent, and by continued assiduity was making a name for
himself among his colleagues.
Little change had taken place in Hetherford except such as the flight
of time must necessarily bring. Helen was now quite a woman, with a
pretty air of gravity which the new cares had lent to her.
When finally, one crisp October day, Guy walked in upon them, his face
bronzed by the recent ocean trip, his slender figure grown broad and
strong, his blue eyes beaming with happiness, he was welcomed with the
greatest warmth of affection, and as they sat about the crackling
flames in the manor hall his long absence seemed almost a dream.
It was during the following winter that Helen had her first
misgivings as to her real feeling for Guy. Indeed, sometimes, her
engagement oppressed her strangely, and she was assailed by an
overwhelming longing to be free.
Women are indeed incomprehensible, and when the largess of their love
is not given, it is rare, save through some sharp lesson, that they
appreciate to the full the men whose hearts they possess. In this
Helen was, perhaps, in nowise different from the rest of her sex. Be
this as it may, Guy's unchanging love and devotion sometimes wearied
her, and failed to call forth an answering love in her own heart. Yet
the months glided by, and she had not the courage to tell her lover
the truth. She was not always successful in hiding it from him,
however, and once or twice a faint suspicion of her indifference came
to him.
The summer came and went, and almost a year had drifted by since his
return. Guy finally broached the subject of marriage.
At his first words Helen was filled with dismay, and as she listened
with down-bent head and averted eyes, Guy was suddenly conscious of a
great lack in her love for him, and a sense of foreboding swept over
him. To his long and pleading request that a time might be set for
their marriage, Helen put forth the children's claim upon her; and
when he gently urged her to reconsider her determination, she answered
him so sharply and curtly that he yielded, convinced that it would be
unwise to press the matter any further.
Helen's lips had almost formed the words "Guy, I do not love you as I
should," but her lover's face, pale with grief at her all too evident
reluctance, robbed her of the needful courage.
Guy was not a man of half measures, and, having accepted Helen's
decision, resolutely put out of his mind his painful doubts, and
trusted to the future to strengthen her love for him. She was greatly
touched by his generosity and half ashamed of the stand she had taken,
and now that the question of marriage was indefinitely postponed,
persuaded herself that she was deeply attached to him, and that it
would have been both cruel and unwise to have broken her engagement.
In September Guy took his vacation and, his mother having volunteered
to go to the mountains with him, he induced Helen to accompany them.
She had many qualms of conscience at leaving the children, but the
invitation was a tempting one, and she had not the heart to disappoint
her lover a second time. So, after strict injunctions to Mary, and
urgent entreaties to Jean and Nathalie, she started off.
It was a delightful holiday for all three. Mrs. Appleton, who had no
thought for anyone but her son, was overjoyed to see him in such high
spirits, for of late she had thought him both sad and depressed; and
Guy felt that his happiness was quite complete, for never had he had
Helen so much to himself, and never had she been so frankly
affectionate and sweet with him. The days glided by like a dream, even
to Helen. She had thrust all worry and anxiety from her, and entered
with eager interest and zest into all the plans for their pleasant
journeyings. If now and then she found herself a bit wearied by Guy's
unceasing attentions, she strenuously hid the fact from him and called
herself strictly to account for the unworthy thought.
It was at a hotel on the borders of a beautiful lake that Helen first
saw Lillian Stuart. One morning Guy had gone off fishing, and as Mrs.
Appleton was writing letters in the seclusion of her room, Helen took
her book and wandered out into the grounds in search of a cool, shady
spot where she could read in peace. Coming at length upon a retired
nook, she found herself forestalled, for, comfortably ensconced under
the shade of a great willow, was a woman so beautiful that, as Helen
caught sight of her, she could scarce repress an exclamation. The girl
looked up, and their eyes met. Helen shyly dropped hers and passed
quickly on, but that brief glimpse left a vivid impression upon her
mind of a well-poised head, crowned with the most wonderful auburn
hair, of a face dazzlingly fair, and a pair of deep violet eyes.
All day long Helen's thoughts reverted to this vision, and that
afternoon, when Guy returned from his fishing, she gave him a glowing
description of her encounter.
Just before dinner, while they were standing together in the corridor,
the girl came toward them on her way to the dining room. Helen laid
her hand impulsively on her lover's arm.
"Please look, Guy," she whispered. "Here she comes. Isn't she
beautiful? Why, Guy," excitedly, "do you know her? She is bowing to
you."
"Is that the woman you mean?" he asked, when he had gravely returned
her bow.
"Why, yes. Where did you ever know her?"
"I met her at Baden, when I was over there."
"How strange," said Helen musingly. "Why did you never tell me about
her?"
"Because I never liked her," he replied with decision, "and I trust
you and she will not meet."
A curiously unaccountable feeling of resentment swept across Helen.
"I don't suppose there is much chance of it," she returned coldly.
It is the unexpected that happens; for one afternoon, only a few days
later, as Helen stood talking with some friends on the broad hotel
veranda, Miss Stuart joined the group and, before Helen had hardly
appreciated the situation, an introduction had ensued.
In spite of Guy's protests a friendship sprang up between the two
girls. It seemed to him that there was something almost pointed in the
way Helen ignored his request, and followed up this acquaintance, to
which he had so strenuously objected. Helen was not only fascinated
and charmed by Miss Stuart's meteor-like brilliance, but felt,
moreover, the keenest annoyance at the masterful way in which Guy had
laid his injunctions upon her. He had maintained a strict reticence
concerning his reasons, giving her no further explanation than that
the friendship ran counter to his wishes. Helen's defiance was
aroused, and perhaps a growing sense of _ennui_ in her lover's society
increased the temptation to welcome eagerly any new interest.
Meanwhile Miss Stuart had a well-defined motive in trying to secure
Helen's friendship, and an even stronger desire to lessen Guy's
influence with the girl. Whatever her past acquaintance with Guy had
been, it would have been apparent to anyone less easily deceived than
Helen, that she bore him no good will.
The rest of the holiday time, which had begun so happily, was spoiled
for Guy, and he was relieved when at length their faces were turned
toward home, feeling sure that a separation from Miss Stuart was all
that was necessary to awaken Helen's loyalty to him and to put an end
to what he considered a most unfortunate episode in the girl's life.
To his deep sorrow their return did not accomplish his expectations,
for not only had a correspondence been begun between the girls, but
Helen's whole bearing toward him changed completely, and her manner
was both cold and distant. Finally, one evening, she came to him, and,
after a few preliminaries, announced her intention of visiting Miss
Stuart at her home in town. This brief announcement aroused Guy's
quick temper, and before he realized what had happened, bitter words
had been spoken, and Helen had swept out of the room.
The following day she left for town. When a week had passed without a
line from her, Guy could endure it no longer and sought an interview,
battling with his indignation at the thought that it must take place
under Miss Stuart's roof.
Many a time afterward he tried to recall the exact words that were
spoken on that memorable occasion, but everything seemed unreal to
him, save Helen's face, pale with the determination not to accede to
his wishes. Finally, he could recall asking her if she desired her
freedom. Alas, poor Guy! The quick spontaneity of her response
shattered his last hope.
"Ah, yes, Guy, please. We will be so much better friends, then."
"Friends!" he echoed bitterly; "after all these years."
Helen put her hand on his shoulder, but he gently pushed her from him.
"It is as well I should know the truth now as later. You do not love
me, Helen. There is nothing left now, but for us to part."
When he was leaving a sudden recollection came to him of the cause of
all this unhappiness, and crushing down his own bitterness, he
endeavored in quiet and carefully chosen words to dissuade her from a
friendship which he feared she would rue, but she maintained an almost
unbroken silence, and the expression of her face told him that his
warning was of no avail. So they parted.
Guy was more than justified in his distrust of Lillian Stuart. Had he
been a man of less delicate sense of honor he could have righted
himself in Helen's eyes by simply relating to her some incontrovertible
facts; but the circumstances which had given him his knowledge sealed
his lips.
While at college, the name, Lillian Stuart, had grown familiar to him,
through hearing her praises sounded by his chum Nelson Leonard. The
year after their graduation they ran across each other at Baden, and
their college friendship was resumed. Guy was not long in discovering
that there was something radically wrong with his friend, and the
cause, which all Baden apparently understood, was soon made clear to
him.
Among the most noted people frequenting Baden at this time, were a
Mrs. Ogden-Stuart and her beautiful daughter. It had been understood
on their arrival that Miss Stuart was engaged to the good-looking
American, Mr. Leonard, who was traveling in their party. This fact,
however, did not seem to stand in the way of her flirting openly with
every eligible man in the place, nor prevent her from receiving their
constant homage. Leonard was evidently wretched, and there was a touch
of recklessness in his manner, which, Guy felt, boded no good to a man
of his highly strung, sensitive nature. For a week after Guy's arrival
things drifted on, but there was something in the air that seemed to
foretell a crisis. Guy had been presented to Miss Stuart, but in spite
of her beauty and fascination found nothing in her to like or respect.
This Miss Stuart felt instinctively, and as she was accustomed to
admiration, it stung her into a desire to win something more than
indifference from Leonard's friend. Her efforts were totally
unsuccessful, and, as her treatment of her lover became less and less
loyal, Guy withdrew altogether from her society, showing her no
further courtesy than an occasional bow of recognition. In the
meantime Miss Stuart's latest affair, with a certain Frenchman of
unenviable reputation, was giving Baden food for gossip and keeping it
on the _qui vive_ for a scandal.
Late one afternoon, while Guy sat on the veranda reading letters from
home, Miss Stuart and Leonard passed him. The girl's face wore a
mocking smile, her eyes a taunt; Leonard was white as death, and his
lips twitched piteously. Guy's own face grew stern as he looked up at
them, and when Miss Stuart threw him a careless word in salutation he
could scarcely frame a civil reply.
That evening Leonard went to Guy's room, and flinging himself down in
a chair, gave voice for the first time to his misery.
"I tell you, Appleton," he exclaimed, with a hard laugh, "I shall
throw up the game pretty soon. I may be a coward; but it takes more
courage than I have to face this thing any longer."
Guy was more startled than he cared to reveal by his friend's
passionate, despairing vehemence; and he made an effort to treat the
matter lightly and to divert Leonard's thoughts, but his efforts were
not crowned with success. When Leonard had left him he paced up and
down the room, revolving in his mind what step he should take. At
length he determined to go to Miss Stuart, and appeal to her, hoping
that so direct a course would result favorably.
He began the interview awkwardly, feeling that his presumption was
almost unwarrantable, but when she met his earnest plea for his friend
first with indifference, and then with undisguised amusement, he found
his anger rising.
"I do not think you can realize Leonard's condition of mind, Miss
Stuart," he said darkly. "If you would only put an end to this once
for all, I am sure that he is man enough to go away from you and try
to live down his disappointment; but he has a peculiarly excitable and
sensitive temperament, and if you continue to torture him in this way,
I fear you will have his death at your door."
"I am sorry to say," she replied lightly, "that our friend is a fool
now," looking up at him with a glance strangely deep and subtle, "if
he were half the man you are----"
"I have nothing further to say," Guy interrupted, flushing with
indignation and disgust, and without another word he abruptly left
her.
Two days later all Baden was shocked by the startling news that young
Nelson Leonard had accidentally shot himself and was lying at the
point of death.
Those melancholy hours of watching by Leonard's bedside, in that
dreary hotel room, lived in Guy's memory. When the doctor's sad
verdict was pronounced, the dying man pleaded to be left alone with
his friend.
"Ah, dear old fellow," he said gently, when they were alone, "pretty
well done--for an accident? Forgive me," he murmured, as he caught a
sharp look of pain in Guy's face. "Forgive----" his voice faltered,
and his head fell wearily back on the pillow.
Then the poor boy's mind wandered, and Lillian Stuart's name was
constantly on his lips. In broken, halting sentences a pitiful story
of deception and disappointment was revealed to Guy--a story which
would be sacred to him to his life's end, and, as he listened, his
whole soul revolted against the woman who had so willfully trifled
with this man's tender, loyal heart. Before morning dawned, Nelson
Leonard's eyes had closed forever on a life which he had found too
difficult for him. When the sad affair was over, Guy would fain have
left Baden at once, but he was obliged to await there the arrival of
Leonard's family from America.
In the days that ensued Lillian Stuart was markedly subdued, but if
she had any suspicion of the real truth concerning Leonard's death she
never betrayed it by word or look. She did all in her power to
overcome Guy's aversion for her, but he sternly repulsed her. To
attempt conciliation was a new rôle for Miss Stuart, and his cold
disregard of all her efforts was the severest wound her vanity had
ever received.
Such a slight is not readily forgiven or forgotten by a woman of her
type. So when Guy Appleton once more crossed her path, and she found,
in his deep love for Helen, his vulnerable point, she felt that her
day of triumph had come.
It had been an easy task to secure Helen's friendship, and then to so
use her influence with the girl as to effect the annulling of the
engagement. Miss Stuart knew Guy's nature well enough to feel almost
sure that, however sorely he might be tempted, he would probably never
betray his knowledge of that unpleasant episode in her past; so,
trading on the man's very uprightness, she revenged herself for the
bitter sting of wounded vanity that rankled in her memory.
Her well-planned scheme had been marvelously successful, but one
unlooked-for element had entered into it; for Helen's simplicity and
purity of nature, her lack of vanity, coquetry, or duplicity, above
all, her entire confidence and trust, had touched a tender chord in
the heart of this cold and worldly woman, and were in themselves a
power so great she felt herself held by them. Could she have foreseen
the future, she would, perhaps, have struggled against this most
disturbing element.
Guy's return to Hetherford with the announcement that his engagement
was at an end, and that he was going immediately abroad, created quite
a ferment among the good people at the manor and Rose Cottage, and
many were their fruitless conjectures as to the cause of Helen's
sudden change of feeling. Across at the parsonage, happy-go-lucky Nan
puckered up her jolly face, pondered long over this vexatious
question, and hit at last upon the correct solution of it, but wisely
kept her own counsel.
Mrs. Appleton took her son's disappointment very much to heart, and
when Helen came home again Rose Cottage was closed and its occupants
once more gone abroad. When the buckboard rolled by the deserted
little place Helen drew her breath sharply, then, catching Jean's
reproachful eyes upon her, began hurriedly to speak of other things.
The Lawrences frankly avowed to her their regret and disappointment,
but not one word of explanation did the girl vouchsafe to them, so
after a little they accepted the inevitable, and Guy's name was no
longer spoken among them.
And thus it was that of the Lawrence girls, Helen alone had the proud
distinction of having had a genuine love affair, the memory of which,
however, was tinged with deep regret, and caused her naught but pain.
Perhaps she felt intuitively that she had done wrong. What was a
pleasant friendship compared to the love of a true man's heart? Yet
the thought of a marriage with Guy was out of the question.
So the foolish girl reasoned. Time brings many changes, however, and
perhaps what once seemed to Helen a catastrophe may one day seem to
open the very gates of Paradise.
And now that we have taken a leaf from Helen's past, let us resume our
way.