“Don’t speak, don’t think of them!  Don’t talk any more; let me do something to comfort you, for my heart is broken with all this,” cried Christie, panic-stricken at the picture Helen’s words had conjured up.

“I must go on!  There is no rest for me till I have tried to lighten this burden by sharing it with you.  Let me talk, let me wear myself out, then you shall help and comfort me, if there is any help and comfort for such as I. Now I can tell you all about my Edward, and you’ll listen, though mamma forbade it.  Three years ago my father died, and we came here.  I was well then, and oh, how happy!”

Clasping her hands above her head, she stood like a beautiful, pale image of despair; tearless and mute, but with such a world of anguish in the eyes lifted to the smiling picture opposite that it needed no words to tell the story of a broken heart.

“How I loved him!” she said, softly, while her whole face glowed for an instant with the light and warmth of a deathless passion.  “How I loved him, and how he loved me!  Too well to let me darken both our lives with a remorse which would come too late for a just atonement.  I thought him cruel then,—­I bless him for it now.  I had far rather be the innocent sufferer I am, than a wretched woman like my mother.  I shall never see him any more, but I know he thinks of me far away in India, and when I die one faithful heart will remember me.”

There her voice faltered and failed, and for a moment the fire of her eyes was quenched in tears.  Christie thought the reaction had come, and rose to go and comfort her.  But instantly Helen’s hand was on her shoulder, and pressing her back into her seat, she said, almost fiercely: 

“I’m not done yet; yon must hear the whole, and help me to save Bella.  We knew nothing of the blight that hung over us till father told Augustine upon his death-bed.  August, urged by mother, kept it to himself, and went away to bear it as he could.  He should have spoken out and saved me in time.  But not till he came home and found me engaged did he have courage to warn me of the fate in store for us.  So Edward tore himself away, although it broke his heart, and I—­do you see that?”

With a quick gesture she rent open her dress, and on her bosom Christie saw a scar that made her turn yet paler than before.

“Yes, I tried to kill myself; but they would not let me die, so the old tragedy of our house begins again.  August became a priest, hoping to hide his calamity and expiate his father’s sin by endless penances and prayers.  Harry turned reckless; for what had he to look forward to?  A short life, and a gay one, he says, and when his turn comes he will spare himself long suffering, as I tried to do it.  Bella was never told; she was so young they kept her ignorant of all they could, even the knowledge of my state.  She was long away at school, but now she has come home, now she has learned to love, and is going blindly as I went, because no one tells her what she must know soon or late.  Mamma will not.  August hesitates, remembering me.  Harry swears he will speak out, but I implore him not to do it, for he will be too violent; and I am powerless.  I never knew about this man till Hal told me to-day.  Bella only comes in for a moment, and I have no chance to tell her she must not love him.”