Long after her first ecstasy had passed Helen still lay with her head buried in her father’s bosom, trembling and weeping and repeating half as if in a dream that last wonderful word, “Free!” Meanwhile Mr. Davis had bent down and picked up the paper to glance over it.

Most certainly Arthur would have wondered had he seen the effect of that letter upon Helen; for he wrote to her with bitter scorn, and told her that he had torn his love for her from his heart, and made himself master of his own life again.  He bid her go on in the course she had chosen, for a day or two had been enough for him to find the end of her power over him, and of his care for her; and he added that he wrote to her only that she might not please herself with the thought of having wrecked him, and that he was going far away to begin his life again.

The words brought many emotions to Mr. Davis, and suggested many doubts; but to Helen they brought but one thought.  She still clung to her father, sobbing like a child and muttering the one word “Free!” When at last the fit had vented itself and she looked up again, she seemed to Mr. Howard more like a girl than she ever had before; and she wiped away her tears laughingly, and smoothed back her hair, and was wonderfully beautiful in her emotion.  She introduced Mr. Howard to her father, and begged him to excuse her for her lack of self-control.  “I could not help it,” she said, “for oh, I am so happy—­so happy!” And she leaned her head upon her father’s shoulder again and gazed up into his face.  “Daddy dear,” she said, “and are you not happy too?”

“My dear,” Mr Davis protested, “of course I am glad to hear that Arthur is himself again.  But that is not finding him, and I fear—­”

“Oh, oh, please don’t!” Helen cried, the frightened look coming back upon her face in a flash.  “Oh please do not tell me that—­no, no!  Do let me be happy just a little while—­think of it, how wretched I have been!  And now to know he is safe!  Oh, please, Daddy!” And the tears had welled up in Helen’s eyes again.  She turned quickly to Mr. Howard, her voice trembling.  “Tell me that I may be happy,” she exclaimed.  “You know all about it, Mr. Howard.  Is it not right that I should be happy just a little?”

As her friend answered her gently that he thought it was, she sat looking at him for a moment, and then the cloud passed over.  She brushed away her tears, and put her arms about her father again.

“I cannot help it,” she went on, quickly, “I must be happy whether I want to or not!  You must not mind anything I do!  For oh, think what it means to have been so wretched, so crushed and so frightened!  I thought that all my life was to be like that, that I could never sing again, because Arthur was ruined.  Nobody will ever know how I felt,—­how many tears I shed; and now think what it means to be free—­to be free,—­oh, free!  And to be able to be good once more!  I should go mad if I thought about it!”