n there be for
waiting?"

The reason--if I could only have mentioned it--was beyond dispute. I
wanted time to quiet Philip's uneasy conscience, and to harden his
weak mind against outbursts of violence, on Eunice's part, which would
certainly exhibit themselves when she found that she had lost her lover,
and lost him to me. In the meanwhile, I had to produce my reason
for advising her to wait. It was easily done. I reminded her of the
irritable condition of our father's nerves, and gave it as my opinion
that he would certainly say No, if she was unwise enough to excite him
on the subject of Philip, in his present frame of mind.

These unanswerable considerations seemed to produce the right effect on
her. "I suppose you know best," was all she said. And then she left me.

I let her go without feeling any distrust of this act of submission on
her part; it was such a common experience, in my life, to find my
sister guiding herself by my advice. But experience is not always to
be trusted. Events soon showed that I had failed to estimate Eunice's
resources of obstinacy and cunning at their true value.

Half an hour later I heard the street door closed, and looked out of
the window. Miss Jillgall was leaving the house; no one was with her.
My dislike of this person led me astray once more. I ought to have
suspected her of being bent on some mischievous errand, and to have
devised some means of putting my suspicions to the test. I did nothing
of the kind. In the moment when I turned my head away from the window,
Miss Jillgall was a person forgotten--and I was a person who had made a
serious mistake.

CHAPTER XXVI. HELENA'S DIARY.

The event of to-day began with the delivery of a message summoning me to
my father's study. He had decided--too hastily, as I feared--that he was
sufficiently recovered to resume his usual employments. I was writing
to his dictation, when we were interrupted. Maria announced a visit from
Mr. Dunboyne.

Hitherto Philip had been content to send one of the servants of the
hotel to make inquiry after Mr. Gracedieu's health. Why had he now
called personally? Noticing that father seemed to be annoyed, I tried
to make an opportunity of receiving Philip myself. "Let me see him," I
suggested; "I can easily say you are engaged."

Very unwillingly, as it was easy to see, my father declined to allow
this. "Mr. Dunboyne's visit pays me a compliment," he said; "and I must
receive him." I made a show