CHAPTER XV.

EXPLANATIONS.

IN leaving the house, Helen met the child who had rode with her. The little girl was not particularly attractive in appearance, but now her black eyes sparkled with pleasure, as she again saw the lady.

"Do you live here?" Helen inquired with a smile.

"Yes, ma'am; and I am coming to your school. If ma wont let me, I'll run off."

"Come right in, you dirty brat," screamed the mother, throwing up the window. "How dared you stay so when I sent you of an errand?"

The young missionary sighed repeatedly, as she drove away. "I'm afraid I can't do anything for them," was her sad reflection.

But on the whole, the results of her afternoon's labors were highly satisfactory; and she set out for home in an enviable state of mind.

"Shall I stop and tell Mr. Knowles about my mission?" she asked herself, as she approached the entrance to the lane.

There was no need of an answer, for there before her, walking dejectedly, with his head down, she saw her pastor.

Spurring up her horse, she speedily overtook him, and persuaded him to take a seat by her side.

"I have something splendid to tell you," she began, her face beaming with pleasure.

After she had repeated the incidents of the afternoon, the horse enjoying the opportunity to fall back into a walk, she put her hand lovingly into his arm, saying softly:

"There is something else I want to tell you about myself."

"Ah!" he exclaimed, starting a little, and disclosing an anxious face. "Well, my dear, anything that interests you—"

"I have begun to love the Saviour; and now I can tell the children what a precious Friend he is."

"That is indeed good news, the very best," he said, patting her hand to hide his own emotion.

"And only think," she went on, "I don't hate Mr. Tracy at all."

He started painfully at the name.

"I only pity him for being so selfish and grovelling. I wish I could do him good; or rather, I wish he could know in his own heart how much happier real religion would make him."

"My child, you delight me. Surely your Father rejoices over you, for we know that there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth."

"Will you tell Mrs. Knowles and the—the rest," faltered Helen. "Tell them I never knew what happiness, real happiness was before."

"I will, indeed, my dear child."

Helen was sitting at the tea table lingering over the meal, while nurse, with the freedom of a tried friend, sat in a rocking-chair near the window, talking over the events of the afternoon, when Sybil was seen coming up the avenue.

On entering the room, she kissed Helen, and said warmly, "I'm rejoiced at the good news. I've been on my feet all day, walked half over the parish, but I could not rest without coming to tell you how delighted we all are. I only wish your father were alive to be made glad. Stay, I've brought a piece of paper with me. It's from Frederic. I asked him to come along, but he thought it wasn't best, feared for his welcome, I suppose. Why, where is that document? I must have lost it on the road."

"Oh, Sybil! I hope not. Look in your pocket again."

"I have turned it inside out. See! It's gone, that's clear. Well, I do seem to have changed characters with somebody else. My head has been upside down ever since morning."

"I'm so sorry you've lost my note."

"'Tisn't worth grieving for, Helen, Frederic scribbled it off just as I was coming away: and he can write bushels more of such letters, if you are willing to spend your time reading them."

"To-morrow I shall expect you all here, as usual. I forgot to say so to Mr. Knowles."

"I wont forget it; but you mustn't be disappointed if Frederic isn't here. He is going away. I left him packing a box of books."

"Going away without bidding me good-by!" gasped the poor girl, seizing the back of a chair for support.

"It's a sudden thing, very. It's against my advice, too. I don't think it's a good plan to run away from trials. Stay where you are, Fred, and live them down, is what I told him."

"Sybil!" almost shrieked Helen, her eyes protruding, and her whole face white with terror, "tell me the truth, was Frederic bitten by that mad dog? Tell me quick!"

The woman laughed. "Not by a dog, child. He's bitten, though, no doubt about that. Don't look so frightened, dear, and don't ask me another question, for as sure as you do, I shall say something I ought not. There, kiss me good-night, for I must go."

"No, you must not. Wait till I've written a note, which you must carry safely."

She ran to her desk, and presently returned with a folded paper, containing these words:

"MY DEAR PRESERVER: If you cannot spare time to say good-by to one whose life you so generously saved, I cannot let you go without saying that as long as I live, I shall thank God for such a friend in my hour of danger.

"HELEN JOSEPHINE EDMOND."

The next morning our young heroine had not left her chamber, when nurse brought her a note. She smiled as she recognized Sybil's peculiar chirography. The note was brief, and was as follows:

"DEAR HELEN: Father has been summoned to a family just beyond Mottville. He wants you to ride there with him, directly after breakfast. I think likely we shall go to Woodbine Cottage as usual, for Frederic has postponed starting for a day or two.

"Your true friend,

"SYBIL KNOWLES."

"P. S. I send the note which I found safe where I put it, tied in the corner of my handkerchief; but I was so flustrated yesterday I acted like a fool."

Helen's cheeks grew rosy, as she impatiently tore open the neatly directed envelope and read:

"Yesterday, dear friend, I rejoiced over your life preserved from a dreadful calamity. To-day and forever more, I shall rejoice and thank God for a soul won to the Saviour. I am going away, perhaps we shall never meet again, but the sweetest memories I carry with me are those of hours spent with you."

"FREDERIC."

For a moment our heroine stood with hands clasped on her breast, her face blanched, her eyes fixed wildly on the opposite wall. But suddenly her features relaxed with a fixed resolve.

"Yes, I will," she energetically exclaimed. "I will. I have a right."

Presently her voice sounded over the banisters:

"Nurse! Nurse! Tell the messenger I'll be ready, and please bring my breakfast up on a waiter. I'm going to ride with Mr. Knowles."

Scarcely an hour later she was sitting close beside her pastor in his narrow buggy, jogging away toward Mottville.

"I'm very glad you sent for me," she began, resolved to speak while she had courage. "I want to ask you to explain something I don't understand."

The white-haired man smiled faintly, as he answered: "I have also some questions to put to you."

"There is nothing you can ask that it will not give me pleasure to answer," she said, earnestly, adding with an arch glance in his face, "I think you are already acquainted with all my secrets."

"The first question refers to your father's namesake, Roswell Tracy. I have had a letter from your guardian, with regard to a portion of your property, and have already forwarded it to your brother. But that is not the part which troubles me. In his son's behalf, Mr. Tracy makes you an offer of his hand and affections; and he says from the encouragement Roswell has always received, he hopes soon to welcome you as a daughter."

"Stop, my dear," as Helen suddenly seized his arm, "let me finish. When I was last in the city, I heard some statements about this young man that make me greatly fear for your future happiness, if you marry him. As the grateful friend of your dear father, I feel it my duty to tell you this."

"Mr. Knowles, I never did encourage Roswell. I told his father I despised his character. It is a plot to get my fortune. I am sure of it. I overheard father and son concerting it long ago. Mr. Tracy is an awful man. I hope I'm not wicked in saying so, but he is not one to give up a plan when he has set his heart upon it. But I never will consent, never. He may take every dollar I have, but I never will marry Roswell."

She ended her sentence with a burst of passionate tears.

"Don't, my dear. If that is the case, there is no occasion for tears. You have relieved me immensely."

Still the sobs did not cease, and at length came the explanation:

"Oh, Mr. Knowles! I'm afraid I'm not a Christian. I can't love Mr. Tracy; he is such an awful man."

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