It is as I thought and feared. This vain reputation which
I have made is but a hollow sound,--it gives me no rank, assures me no
fortune. I have no right to look for the Helen of old in the Helen of
to-day. Be it so--forget what I have said, and forgive me."

This reproach stung to the quick the heart to which it appealed. A flash
brightened the meek, tearful eyes, almost like the flash of resentment;
her lips writhed in torture, and she felt as if all other pain were
light compared with the anguish that Leonard could impute to her motives
which to her simple nature seemed so unworthy of her, and so galling to
himself.

A word rushed as by inspiration to her lip, and that word calmed and
soothed her.

"Brother!" she said touchingly, "brother!"

The word had a contrary effect on Leonard. Sweet as it was, tender as
the voice that spoke it, it imposed a boundary to affection, it came as
a knell to hope. He recoiled, shook his head mournfully: "Too late to
accept that tie,--too late even for friendship. Henceforth--for long
years to come--henceforth, till this heart has ceased to beat at your
name to thrill at your presence, we two--are strangers."

"Strangers! Well--yes, it is right--it must be so; we must not meet. Oh,
Leonard Fairfield, who was it that in those days that you recall to me,
who was it that found you destitute and obscure; who, not degrading you
by charity, placed you in your right career; opened to you, amidst the
labyrinth in which you were well-nigh lost, the broad road to knowledge,
independence, fame? Answer me,--answer! Was it not the same who reared,
sheltered your sister orphan? If I could forget what I have owed to
him, should I not remember what he has done for you? Can I hear of your
distinction, and not remember it? Can I think how proud she may be who
will one day lean on your arm, and bear the name you have already raised
beyond all the titles of an hour,--can I think of this, and not remember
our common friend, benefactor, guardian? Would you forgive me, if I
failed to do so?"

"But," faltered Leonard, fear mingling with the conjectures these words
called forth--"but is it that Lord L'Estrange would not consent to our
union? Or of what do you speak? You bewilder me."

Helen felt for some moments as if it were impossible to reply; and the
words at length were dragged forth as if from the depth of her very
soul.

"He came to me, our noble friend. I never dreamed of it. He did not tell