and stood regarding him with a shy, yet wistful glance, which plainly showed the impulse of her tender heart.
Conscious that the surest way to win this simple creature was by submitting to be comforted,—for in her, womanly compassion was stronger than womanly ambition, vanity, or interest,—Helwyze shed a reassuring smile upon her, as he threw himself down, exclaiming, with a sigh of satisfaction, doubly effective from one who so seldom owned the weariness that oppressed him,—
“Yes: you shall make me comfortable, if you kindly will; the heat exhausts me, and I cannot sleep. Ah, this is pleasant! You have the gift of piling pillows for weary heads, Gladys. Now, let the moonlight make a picture of you, as it did before I spoilt it; then I shall envy no man.”
Pleased, yet abashed, the girl sank back into her place on the wide window ledge, and bent her face over the blooming linden spray that lay upon her lap, unconsciously making of herself a prettier picture than before.
“Musing here alone? Not sorrowfully, I hope?”
“I never feel alone, sir, and seldom sorrowful.”
“‘They never are alone that are accompanied with noble thoughts;’ yet it would not be unnatural if you felt both sad and solitary, so young, so isolated, in this big, bad world of ours.”
“A beautiful and happy world to me, sir. Even loneliness is pleasant, because with it comes—liberty.”
The last word fell from her lips involuntarily; and, with a wonderfully expressive gesture, she lifted her arms as if some heavy fetter had newly dropped away.
Ardent emphasis and forceful action both surprised and interested Helwyze, confirming his suspicion that this girlish bosom hid a spirit as strong as pure, capable of deep suffering, exquisite happiness, heroic effort. His eye shone, and he gave a satisfied nod; for his first careless words had struck fire from the girl, making his task easier and more attractive.
“And how will you use this freedom? A precious, yet a perilous, gift for such as you.”
“Can any thing so infinitely sweet and sacred be dangerous? He who planted the longing for it here, and gave it me when most needed, will surely teach me how to use it. I have no fear.”
The bent head was erect now; the earnest face turned full on Helwyze with such serene faith shining in it, that the sneer died off his lips, and something like genuine compassion touched him, at the sight of such brave innocence tranquilly confronting the unknown future.
“May nothing molest, or make afraid. While here, you are quite safe;—you do, then, think of going?” he added, as a quick change arrested him.
“I do, sir, and soon. I only wait to see how, and where.”
It was difficult to believe that so resolute a tone could come into a voice so gentle, or that lips whose shape was a smile could curl with such soft scorn. But both were there; for the memory of that other woman’s story embittered even gratitude, since in the girl’s simple creed disloyalty to love was next to disloyalty to God.
Helwyze watched her closely, while his fingers fell to tapping idly on the sofa scroll; and the spark brightened under the lids that contracted with the intent expression of concentrated sight.
“Perhaps I can show you how and when. May I?” he asked, assuming a paternal air, which inwardly amused him much.
Gladys looked, hesitated, and a shade of perplexity dimmed the clear brightness of her glance, as if vaguely conscious of distrust, and troubled by its seeming causelessness.
Helwyze saw it, and quickly added the magical word which lulled suspicion, roused interest, and irresistibly allured her fancy.
“Pardon me; I should not have ventured to speak, if Felix had not hinted that you began to weary of dependence, as all free spirits must; your own words confirm the hint; and I desired to share my cousin’s pleasure in befriending, if I might, one who can so richly repay all obligation. Believe me, Gladys, your voice is a treasure, which, having discovered, we want to share between us.”
If the moonlight had been daybreak, the girl’s cheek could not have shown a rosier glow, as she half-averted it to hide the joy she felt at knowing Canaris had taken thought for her so soon. Her heart fluttered with tender hopes and fears, like a nestful of eager birds; and, forgetting doubt in delight, she yielded to the lure held out to her.
“You are most kind: I shall be truly grateful if you will advise me, sir. Mrs. Surry has done so much, I can ask no more, but rather hasten to relieve her of all further care of me.”
“She will be loth to lose you; but the friend of whom I am about to speak needs you much, and can give you what you love better even than kindness,—independence.”
“Yes: that is what I long for! I will do any thing for daily bread, if I may earn it honestly, and eat it in freedom,” leaning nearer, with clasped hands and eager look.
“Could you be happy to spend some hours of each day in reading, singing to, and amusing a poor soul, who sorely needs such pleasant comforting?”
“I could. It would be very sweet to do it; and I know how, excellently well, for I have had good training. My father was an invalid, and I his only nurse for years.”
“Fortunate for me in all ways,” thought Helwyze, finding another reason for his purpose; while Gladys, bee-like, getting sweetness out of bitter-herbs, said to herself, “Those weary years had their use, and are not wasted, as I feared.”
“I think these duties will not be difficult nor distasteful,” continued Helwyze, marking the effect of each attraction, as he mentioned it with modest brevity. “It is a quiet place; plenty of rare books to read, fine pictures to study, and music to enjoy; a little clever society, to keep wits bright and enliven solitude; hours of leisure, and entire liberty to use them as you will. Would this satisfy you, Gladys, till something better can be found?”
“Better!” echoed the girl, with the expression of one who, having asked for a crust, is bidden to a feast. “Ah, sir, it sounds too pleasant for belief. I long for all these lovely things, but never hoped to have them. Can I earn so much happiness? Am I a fit companion for this poor lady, who must need the gentlest nursing, if she suffers in the midst of so much to enjoy?”
“You will suit exactly; have no fear of that, my good child. Just be your own happy, helpful self, and you can make sunshine anywhere. We will talk more of this when you have turned it over in that wise young head of yours. Olivia may have some more attractive plan to offer.”
But Gladys shook “the wise young head” with a decided air, as piquante as the sudden resolution in her artless voice.
“I shall choose for myself; your plan pleases me better than any Mrs. Surry is likely to propose. She says I must not work, but rest and enjoy myself. I will work; I love it; ease steals away my strength, and pleasure seems to dazzle me. I must be strong, for I have only myself to lean upon; I must see clearly, for my only guide is my own conscience. I will think of your most kind offer, and be ready to accept it whenever you like to try me, sir.”
“Thanks; I like to try you now, then; sit here and croon some drowsy song, to show how well you can lull wakeful senses into that blessed oblivion called sleep.”
As he spoke, Helwyze drew a low seat beside the couch, and beckoned her to come and take it; for she had risen as if to go, and he had no mind to be left alone yet.
“I am so pleased you asked me to do this, for it is my special gift. Papa was very stubborn, but he always had to yield, and often called me his ‘sleep compeller.’ Let me drop the curtain first, light is so exciting, and draws the insects. I shall keep them off with this pretty fan, and you will find the faint perfume soothing.”
Full of the sweetest good-will, Gladys leaned across the couch to darken the recess before the lullaby began. But Helwyze, feeling in a mood for investigation and experiment, arrested the outstretched hand, and, holding it in his, turned the full brilliance of his fine eyes on hers, asking with most