“Walk slowly, I have something I must say.”

I thought of Clara at once, and it was a true impression, for he said: 

“My little mother is in trouble; I have heard what I would never know if I could avoid it—­Professor Benton has been telling her that he loves her.  He has forced this upon her, I know, for these are his words to which I unwillingly listened:  ’Why, Mrs. Desmonde, do you shun me, why turn you eyes whenever they meet my own, why call Miss Minot to your side when an opportunity presents for us to be alone together?  I cannot be baffled in my love for you; no woman has ever before touched the secret spring of my heart, no voice has ever reached my soul—­yours is music to me; and, Mrs. Desmonde, I need great love and sympathy; I am not all I want to be; my lot in life has been in some respects very hard to bear; I never knew my mother’s love, and when old enough to desire the companionship man needs, I had an experience which killed the flower of my affection—­I thought its roots were as dead as its leaves, until I met you.  Oh!  Mrs. Desmonde, do you not, can you not return this feeling?  My life is in your hands.’  It was hard for my little mother, and I stood riveted to the spot, Emily, expecting to be obliged to enter and catch her fainting form, for I knew in my heart each word was a thorn, but here is her reply:” 

“Professor Benton, I had hoped to be spared this pain, I have avoided you, because I could do no other way.  I am so sorry!  I can never, never love you as you desire!  I have a husband—­my Louis Robert waits for me in heaven, and he is my constant guide here.  He will always be near me while I tarry, and I have no love to give you in return for yours.  I can be your good friend always, I can help you as one mortal helps another.  I can call you a brother, and I can be your sister; but do not dream falsely.  I shall not learn to love you; my heart is full, and it is through no fault of mine that you have raised false hopes in your bosom, but I am very sorry—­more sorry than I can tell you.”

“Is that all, and is it final?” I heard him say.

“It is all that I can ever say,” she said.

“I drew back from the door, and, passing through your middle room, came into my own, in time to see Professor Benton step into Halbert’s studio.  I entered then the room where little mother sat, and held her in my arm awhile, saying no word to her of what I had heard.  She was not exhausted, and after a little time I left her to come and meet you.  Tell me, Emily, if you know about it—­has she said anything to you?”

Of course I told him all, and then added her, “‘Say no word to Louis,’ but under these circumstances she could not blame me, could she, Louis?”

“No, no, Emily,” he replied, “but what can we do?”

“I do not know,” I said, and he added: 

“Do you like Professor Benton?”