“Just leave me alone,” she said.  “I do not feel very well.  And don’t tell father I am here yet.”

“Your father, Miss Helen!” exclaimed the woman; “didn’t you get his letter?”

“What letter?” And then poor Helen was made aware of another trouble.

“Mr. Davis wrote Mrs. Roberts last night,” answered the servant.  “He’s gone away.”

“Away!” cried the girl.  “Where to?”

“To New York.”  Then the woman went on to explain that Mr. Davis had been invited to take the place of a friend who was ill, and had left Oakdale for a week.  Helen understood that the letter must have reached her aunt after her own departure.

“Dear me!” the girl exclaimed, “How unfortunate!  I don’t want to stay here alone.”

But afterwards it flashed over her that if she did she might be able to have a week of quiet to regain her self-possession.  “Mr. Harrison couldn’t expect to visit me if I were alone,” she thought.  “But then, I suppose he could, too,” she added hastily, “if I am engaged to him!  And I could never stand that!”

“Miss Helen,” said the servant, who had been standing and watching her anxiously, “you look very ill; is anything the matter?”

“Nothing,” Helen answered, “only I want to rest.  Leave me alone, please, Elizabeth.”

“Are you going to stay?” the other asked; “I must fix up your room.”

“I’ll have to stay,” said Helen.  “There’s nothing else to do.”

“Have you had lunch yet?”

“No, but I don’t want any; just let me be, please.”

Helen expected the woman to protest, but she did not.  She turned away, and the girl sank back upon the couch and covered her face again.

“Everything has gone wrong!” she groaned to herself, “I know I shall die of despair; I don’t want to be here all alone with Mr. Harrison coming here.  Dear me, I wish I had never seen him!”

And Helen’s nervous impatience grew upon her, until she could stand it no more, and she sprang up and began pacing swiftly up and down the room; she was still doing that when she heard a step in the hall and saw the faithful servant in the doorway with a tray of luncheon.  Elizabeth asked no questions about matters that did not concern her, but she regarded this as her province, and she would pay no attention to Helen’s protests.  “You’ll be ill if you don’t eat,” she vowed; “you look paler than I ever saw you.”

And so the girl sat down to attempt to please her, Elizabeth standing by and talking to her in the meantime; but Helen was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she scarcely heard a word—­until the woman chanced to ask one question:  “Did you hear about Mr. Arthur?”

And Helen gazed up at her.  “Hear about him?” she said, “hear what about him?”

“He’s very ill,” said Elizabeth.  Helen gave a start.

“Ill!” she gasped.

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, “I thought you must know; Mr. Davis was over to see him yesterday.”