Mrs. Roberts stood watching her silently, and then as Helen turned her gaze of pleading misery upon her, she came forward and sat down in a chair by the bedside, and fixed her keen eyes upon the girl.

“Oh, Aunt Polly!” cried Helen; “what am I to do?  I am so wretched!”

“I have just been talking to Elizabeth,” said Mrs. Roberts, with some sternness, “and she’s been telling you about Arthur—­is that what is the matter with you, Helen?”

“Yes,” was the trembling response, “what can I do?”

“Tell me, Helen, in the first place,” demanded the other.  “When you saw Arthur that day in the woods, what did you do?  Did you make him any promises?”

“No, Auntie.”

“Did you hold out any hopes to him?  Did you say anything to him at all about love?”

“I—­I told him it was impossible,” said Helen, eagerly, clutching at that little crumb of comfort.

“Then in Heaven’s name, child,” cried the other in amazement, “what is the matter with you?  If Arthur chooses to carry on in this fashion, why in the world should you punish yourself in this horrible way?  What is the matter with you, Helen?  Are you responsible to him for your marriage?  I don’t know which is the most absurd, the boy’s behavior, or your worrying about it.”

“But, Auntie,” stammered the girl, “he is so ill—­he might die!”

“Die, bosh!” exclaimed Mrs. Roberts; “he frightened Elizabeth by his ravings; it is the most absurd nonsense,—­he a penniless school-teacher, and the Lord only knows what besides!  I only wish I’d been there to talk to him, for I don’t think he’d have frightened me!  What in the world do you suppose he wants, anyway?  Is he mad enough to expect you to marry him?”

“I don’t know, Aunt Polly,” said Helen, weakly.

“I’d never have believed that Arthur could be capable of anything so preposterous as this behavior,” vowed Mrs. Roberts; “and then to come up here and find you wearing yourself to a skeleton about it!”

“It isn’t only that, Auntie,” protested Helen, “there is so much else; I am miserable!”

“Yes,” said the other, grimly; “I see it as well as you, and there’s just about as much reason in any of it as in the matter of Arthur.”  Then Mrs. Roberts moved her chair nearer, and after gazing at Helen for a moment, began again.  “I’ve been meaning to say something to you, and it might just as well be said now.  For all this matter is coming to a climax, Helen; it can’t go on this way very much longer, for you’ll kill yourself.  It’s got to be settled one way or the other, once and for all.”  And Mrs. Roberts stopped and took a deep breath, preparing for one more struggle; Helen still gazed at her helplessly.

“I’m not going to say anything more about Arthur,” declared the woman; “if you choose to torment yourself about such absurdities, I can’t help it.  Arthur’s behavior is not the least your fault, and you know it; but all the other trouble is your fault, and there’s nobody else to blame.  For the question is just as simple as the day, Helen, and you must see it and decide it; you’ve got to choose between one of two things, either to marry Mr. Harrison or to give him up; and there’s no excuse for your hesitating and tormenting yourself one day longer.”