in her heart to chide; neither, therefore, will we.
It was a glad sunny noon when Willie Graham woke up at length from his long trance, like as we waken from a dream, and are puzzled just at first to remember the precise moment when we fell asleep, and so separate the actual from the ideal. But gradually the whole truth burst upon his mind, and he eagerly interrupted Mrs. Stewart’s ejaculations of thankfulness by inquiring for Helen.
“Hush!” said the old woman, laying her finger upon her lips, “she sleeps at last, and bad enough the poor child wants rest, or I could almost find it in my heart to awaken her, if it were only to witness her joy.”
“Has she been here often?” asked the sick man.
“She has never left you for a moment, unless, as now, worn out with weariness and exhaustion. Under heaven you owe your very life to her watchful care.”
Willie closed his eyes, but the burning tears which would not be controlled forced their way down his faded cheeks. There was a long pause, and but for the changes which passed over his countenance the widow would have thought that he again dozed; and when he spoke at length, his voice was low and hollow.
“Aunt, I must see what I am like; bring me yonder glass.”
“No, no, time enough, Willie; for the present be content to view yourself only in the eyes of those who love you.” But presently, alarmed at his impatience, and half-fearful lest he should actually carry his threat of fetching it himself into execution, in spite of the agony every movement inflicted, the old woman was induced to comply with his request.
The invalid gave but one glance, removing, as he did so, the bandage from his deeply-scarred brow, and exposing the long tangled locks, turned prematurely grey in that one night of pain and anguish; and then burying his face in the pillow, spoke no more. While Mrs. Stewart remained equally silent; for what could she have said then that would not have seemed to him like mockery?
Presently Helen woke up cheerful and refreshed, while at the sound of her voice the invalid moaned restlessly, gazing at her through his long thin fingers; and never before had she seemed so radiantly beautiful-as most earthly things do when we are about to part from them.
“Still the same,” said she, bending lightly over him; and then their eyes met, the melancholy gaze encountering one full of hope and joyful surprise: “Willie!” whispered the girl, “my own Willie!” While he-oh! doubting and incredulous heart of man! so slow to believe in that love which once thine must needs be thine for ever!—dared not to answer in return, and in the same spirit of faith-”My Helen! my own Helen!” But suffering rather than returning her caresses, he half wished in his impious despair that she had left him to die! Now, for the first time, the oft-repeated warnings of his aunt and others came back with fearful and, as it seemed, prophetic distinctness, that the proud and beautiful English girl was no bride for him.
At length all three grew calmer, and Willie could thank his young nurse for her care and watchfulness, and half in bitterness for the rich gift of life, which, had earth indeed contained no ties to bind him to it, was granted him, he might have been sure, for some good purpose. And then he spoke long, and in a low voice, while Helen listened breathlessly, but still at first with. out comprehending a word. The sick man told her of his gratitude, and the term, sweet as it was, smote painfully on her ear; he might be grateful to heaven for his preservation, but all that she had done seemed but natural, and her bounden duty. Then of his own unselfish love yielding up all claim to hers, which he had won in so different a guise. Releasing her from her engagement with one so changed, so stricken, and exulting in the proud strength of his own mistaken heroism. No wonder Helen found it so difficult to understand his wild unconnected words.
And what did she do or say when the truth flashed upon her mind at last? Only smile, and strive to soothe away all excitement with low loving words, thinking, perhaps, that his poor head still wandered; anything indeed but what he had been taking so much pains to impress upon her mind, until the conviction that he was really in earnest became more and more vivid every moment, though she still feigns to think it sport. Then, kneeling down by the bedside, she tells him, half-playfully, but with many a burning blush, how she has been so long with him by night and day, in spite of the many warnings from his aunt and other grave elderly folks; and now what will become of her if he should refuse after all to make her his wife? glancing with arch entreaty towards Mrs. Stewart to confirm what was, after all, a mere maiden subterfuge. The sick man’s gaze likewise wandered restlessly to the pale, tearful face of his aged and venerable relative, whose voice faltered slightly as she replied that she believed from her heart, if he refused to marry poor Helen, she would never be able to lift up her head again. And so Willie was won into consenting to what he persisted in calling a sacrifice; while Helen thought herself the proudest and happiest girl in the world. Darker and darker grew the gathering twilight in that little chamber, but the sick man saw it not for the smile upon the face of his betrothed.
Some weeks after this they were married, amid tears and blessings, in that little cottage which love had made a very paradise, Willie Graham being still too weak to rise; the bride so joyous and thankful for the privilege it afforded her of being still near him, the bridegroom not the less happy that he was silent and thoughtful, and Mrs. Stewart, never weary in the praise of her darling Helen, mingled with a thousand self-accusations for having doubted her, which all the girl’s gentle caresses could not entirely soothe away. And what if Willie, even to this day, walks lame, and has a fearful gash across his broad open brow, which would not, we are sure, have remained so long had there been any real truth in the old nursery recipe
