Miss Cheriton's Rival [pp. 328-332]

330 JIIISS CHEBITON'S BIVAL. [MARCH 8,
you hesitate? Remember how often we have
been here before."
"I remember," said Helen, in a low voice.
"Then why should you hesitate now?
Helen" - pleadingly -" give me one happy
hour-'one hour like the dear old times. It
is little to you, it is much to me-come!"
Poor Helen! Can any one blame her that
she went? It seemed so little, and yet-it
was so much! Why should she not taste the
happy hour of which he spoke, and dream one
last dream of the old time before she put its
memory from her forever? It seemed so little, and Harry was only Harry, after all; her
cousin, almost her brother, by right of long
companionship. So she laid her hand in the
one outstretched for it, stepped into the boat,
and a moment later the oars had been plunged
into the water, and they were gliding down
the stream.
It was a night of which to dream-soft,
magical, almost unearthly in its beauty. For
a long time they were both silent; then Trefalden looked at his companion, who sat opposite him, and spoke quite abruptly.
"Do.you know what I wish, Helen?what I would at this moment give any thing
in the world to accomplish?"
"How should I know?" asked Helen. She
did not look at him, but kept her eyes fixed
dreamily on the shore past which they were
gliding.
"I wish," said Trefalden, with passionate
emphasis, "that you and I were cut off from
every other human being, and drifting toward
a home and a life of our own, far from anybody and everybody else of whom we know."
Helen started. There was that in the
speaker's tone which was more than his
words, and which warned her instantly that
she had been unwise to come. Something
made a great leap into her throat and frightened her. It was the very consciousness of
her own weakness which gave her strength to
answer.
"How absurd, Harry!" she said-trying,
ah! so hard to speak lightly-" we are as
much cut off at present as you could possibly desire. There is not the least need to
wish for a desert island in which we could
sigh for company and civilization to our
hearts' content."
"Don't jest," said Trefalden, in a tone of
absolute pain. "Don't —don't try to ward
off serious truth like this, Helen! You know
what I mean," he said, with sudden passion;
"you don't need for me to tell you how much
I love you! you must believe it, for you must
see how it has mastered every thought and
faculty of my whole being, until silence is
beyond my power!"
"Harry," said Helen, gravely-and something in her tone reminded him of the manner
in which she had often curbed his wayward
humors as a boy-" Harry, it is not possible
you mean to make me regret having trusted
myself with you? What is the sense of such
wild words as these? I am loath to think
that you would willingly wrong or pain me,
yet you are doing both now."
"Can I wrong or pain you by telling you
howv I love you?"
"Yes," said Helen, and a flash of very
unusual resentment came into her eyes.
"You do both, when you use such words to
me! Do you think I am a toy to serve your
amusement?" she asked, with a vibration
of passion deeper even than his own, stirring
through her voice. "You are engaged to
Miss Cheriton, and yet you venture to tell
me that you love me. What am I to think
of you after that?"
"To think that Miss Cheriton is nothing
to me, and that you are every thing," said he,
recklessly. "I fling her, and every thought
of her; to tile winds. I am yours, Heleff, and
it is for you to say what you will do with
me."
"And your honor?" asked Helen, bitterly,
"where is that?"
Even in the moonlight she could see that
a dark flush came over his face.
"My honor is safe in my own keeping,"
he said, haughtily. "I break no faith in
breaking with a woman like Louise Cheriton.
She means to marry me only in case she cannot secure higher game. You see what she
is, Helen. You cannot blame me that I put
her out of my life without even a consider-.
ation."
"But I do blame you," said Helen, coldly.
"What is more, I do not believe that a Trefalden can forget that a gentleman owes it to
himself to keep his faith unbroken. You are
talking wildly, Harry-you are not yourself.
Let us try and forget this."
"You are talking the foolish commonplaces of a woman," said Harry, impatiently.
" Forget it! A man does not forget what is
written on his heart in letters of fire! It[elen,
you must forgive me if I speak plainly -
this is no time for paltering; and, one way
or another, my fate must be fixed to-night.
Memories which I had forgotten, or carelessly
laid aside, have come to me of late, and II think that perhaps two years ago, you loved
me. If so, all this has come on me as a punishment for my own blind folly. Helen, was
it so?"
There was a deep silence. How could
Helen put herself in this man's power by
ackn,owledging what she had hidden so carefully from every one save Rafe, and yethow could she deny the truth when brought
face to face with it? Such denial would have
been easy to some women, but it was not
easy to her. Truth was, and had always been,
to her a grand, severe power, with which it
was impossible to trifle. Her face was so pale
that it looked like sculptured marble in the
moonlight as she answered "You have no right to ask me that question."
"I have a right," said Trefalden, vehemently, "or else, by Heaven! I will make
one! Helen "- he dropped the oar, and
seized her fragile, passive hands- "you
would not evade,the point if you could deny
it. You did love me, and, by that love, I
claim you. My first duty is to you-was to
you, when I forsook you for that vain, frivolous-"
"Hush!" said Helen; and, by a supreme
effort, she wrenched her hands out of his
clasp, and looked at him in the silvery moonlight with a face that was set and stern. "You
lower yourself even more than you lower me
by such words as these! I will not listen to
them. Turn the boat around, and take me
back to the shore. I demand it."
"It shall drift on forever before I turn
back, unless I hear the truth," answered he.
" Helen, you do right to resent the love of a
man who is as fickle as I have been. But
try to remember-try to be reasonable-think
that I was little more than a boy when I
left here, that I went into the world with a
head and a heart equally ready to be turned
by its follies, and that I was sufficiently un worthy of you to suffer the remembrance of
you to pass from me; but, in thinking of this,
that I come back from the world only to real ize what you are, only to see and feel how
mad I have been in leaving gold for dross,
and to place my heart again where it was
long ago-where, in truth, I think it has al ways been-in your keeping. Helen, surely
it is not too late?"
The passion of this appeal seemed to
shake her, for she shivered all over, then
clasped her hands firmly together, and an swered him gravely and sadly:
"Yes, it is too late."
"Too late!" The handsome face paled flushed-and paled again. "You mean that
you have ceased to love me, or that you have
learned to love Latimer?"
"I mean," she said-and her voice seemed
to thrill him with its deep, mournful pathos "that it is too late for you, and too late for
me, Harry. Too late for you, because you are
engaged to Miss Cheriton; too late for me,
because, if you were free as air, I would not
marry you."
He looked at her steadily. It was a strange
duel of conflicting resolution to take place out
there on the broad, moonlit river, between
these tWo who had once loved each other with
the tender romance of early youth.
"Why not?" he asked, huskily.
"There is no need of forcing me to tell
you," she answered. "All this is very useless.
Let us go back."
"Why not?" he repeated once more, and
the deep, passionate resolve of his eyes told
Helen that the question must be answered,
that no evasion would be possible or even
safe. Then, as it were, she girded up her
strength and answered him- answered him
in words which, to his dying day, he never
forgot.
"I will tell you why not," she said. "It
is because I once loved you, and, through
that love, learned to know you. It is not for
me to speak of what I hoped -leaning on
your own promise —when you went away.
It is not worth while, either, to speak of what
I suffered when I realized that you had quite
forgotten me. That pain, bitter as it was, is
over now. But you took from me something
which neither you nor any one else can ever
give back." She paused a moment, and looked
wistfully away from him-far over the hills
softened by the misty moonlight, and the dark
shadows of the drooping woods-then, very
quietly, she went on: "I do not know whether
or not it was that I poured out the whole
treasure of love wastefully, and so have none
left, but my heart lies like a stone. Your
words, your tones to-night have made it ache,
but that is all. I did not realize, until I heard
you speak as you have done, how far removed
330
MISS CHE-ITON'S -RIVAL.
[MAI?RcH 8,