CHAPTER XVII.

THE DELICATE TITBIT.

THE very next mail carried a note to the city to the effect proposed; and the writer awaited an answer with great impatience.

It came at length, and was, as Mrs. Knowles had feared, a refusal. The words were these:

"MY DEAR HELEN: When at your father's request, I undertook the charge of your fortune, I determined so to fulfil the trust that I might have nothing to regret on my dying bed. So far I have been enabled to do what I believe your father would approve.

"I am sorry to refuse you the means of carrying out the generous purpose you have formed, but the loss you and your brother have lately met with, though small in comparison with your entire fortune, would make it impossible for ma to send you so large a sum as five hundred dollars without a great sacrifice on the stocks.

"I trust you received your usual remittance for the quarter, which I forwarded just before your note came to hand, but for which I have not yet obtained a receipt.

"Knowing your interest in the great philanthropic enterprises of the day, I take pleasure in sending you by this mail a copy of my speech at the meeting of donors. It has been highly applauded by my partial friends, and I may say by the public in general. Probably your clergyman and others may like to read it.

"Your friend and guardian,

"MONSON P. TRACY."

In the first excitement of reading the letter, Helen threw the newspaper accompanying it to the farther corner of the room, where it lay unheeded until Nannie the next morning was sweeping the carpet. Then she picked it up, and laid it carefully among the magazines on the marble-topped table.

As I may not have occasion again to revert to the family of Mrs. Russel, I will here say, that having learned from Mr. Knowles that Miss Edmond's guardian refused to give her the money asked for, she was obliged to relinquish the house. She moved to a town at a distance, Helen expressing her kind wishes by enclosing to her a twenty-dollar bill from her quarterly allowance.

But to go back from this digression. On their return from Mottville, Mr. Knowles carefully avoided all mention of Mr. Tracy. And though Helen tried to ascertain what had caused Sybil's strange conduct, he ingeniously turned the conversation in another direction.

He drove to Woodbine Cottage, and left her with a caress unusually tender, replying to her earnestly expressed wish that everybody, referring to her guardian, would let her alone, and not be writing letters to disturb her happiness, with the inspired words:

"'Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee.'"

"Thank you," she answered, the tears springing to her eyes. "Please come to dinner as early as you can."

There was still an hour or two before she could expect them, as the morning was not more than half gone. But she had only returned to the parlor after making her toilet for the day, and selected the sheet of music she intended to practise, before she heard a manly step crackling on the gravel walk before the house.

At any time previous to her recent escape, she would have run to the door and herself admitted the visitor. But now, disregarding the quick snap of the bell-wire, she waited with all the calmness she could summon, the entrance of Frederic, for she was sure it was he.

Before she had decided in what manner to receive him, he had taken her hand, and led her to the sofa, where, with some embarrassment of manner, he seated himself beside her.

An hour or two later, when Mr. Knowles arrived, accompanied by his wife and Sybil, the young clergyman led the blushing girl to his parents, to ask their blessing on the engagement of marriage just formed between them.

Laying his hand on her head, the silver-haired pastor repeated the sacred words:

"'The Lord bless thee and keep thee: the Lord make his face shine upon thee, . . . the Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.'"

His wife caught Helen to her breast, and whispered in her ear: "God has answered my prayer for my son. A good wife is a present from the Lord."

Sybil at first stood up erect and stiff. Her favorite brother had never confided to her his intentions, and she was taken by surprise, which she especially abhorred. But one timid glance from the young fiancée's appealing eyes, and her stiffness vanished.

She seized Helen so warmly, that she almost lifted her from the floor, bestowing kiss after kiss on her glowing cheeks, and then said in a loud voice:

"It sha'n't be my fault, Helen Edmond, if you're not the happiest wife in the State."

At this moment, nurse summoned them to dinner. And Helen, appreciating the faithful affection of the good woman, went toward her and asked timidly:

"Have you no congratulations for me? I have promised to be Mr. Frederic's wife."

"I knew it, dear; I was sure of it."

"How could you know it, Mrs. Johnson?" inquired Sybil, with some spirit. "Only yesterday my brother was packed for a long journey, and it was doubtful whether he ever saw Helen Edmond again."

Nurse shook her head sagely. "I had reasons, good reasons," she repeated, glancing tenderly in the face of her young mistress. "I'm glad for you; and Mr. Frederic has reason to thank God."

"Indeed I have," warmly echoed the young man.

After dinner, Frederic proposed a walk to the arbor. And then he explained to his lady-love the grief, the horror he felt, when, on the very night of the accident, his father made known to him the contents of Mr. Tracy's letter. He resolved at once to accept a call to a parish in a distant State, and nothing but her assurance in her note, that till the day of her death she should be grateful to him, had prevented his abrupt departure.

"I confess I was too hasty, too impulsive," he urged. "But I then resolved to postpone my journey for a few days, and see you once more.

"On his return from Mottville, father informed me that you ignored any affection for Roswell Tracy. And I lost not a moment in coming to you to learn my fate."

The first of the following week, Mr. Knowles started for the city, where, at the rooms of an eminent attorney, Frank Edmond had engaged to meet him. While he was away, the answer came to Helen's application for five hundred dollars, to which allusion has already been made, and likewise the paper containing Mr. Tracy's speech.

One morning when Roswell was present, she tore off the envelope, and in a pompous tone read aloud:

"ORPHAN ASYLUM."

"At a meeting of the donors of the new Orphan Asylum, Monson P. Tracy presided with his usual dignity and grace. A large number of the fair sex were present on this interesting occasion, to listen to the speech which they had learned might be expected from Mr. Tracy, in regard to the objects of the institution. The loud and continued applause of the audience, which frequently interrupted the speaker gave ample proof of their appreciation of his sentiments. We give it to our readers as taken by reporters present. We understand it is to be issued in pamphlet form, and can be obtained from any of our bookstores."

"Then follows the speech," cried Helen, laughing merrily.

"Let us have it," urged Frederic.

But the young girl, after a glance down the column, threw away the paper in disgust, exclaiming:

"I can say it by heart. It is not original with him. I helped him make some of those very selections, and pasted them into his scrap book. Oh dear! How little I thought then that I should feel toward him as I do now.

"When I first went to reside in his family, he fancied I had literary tastes, as he termed them, beyond my years, and used to honor me with a first reading of his speeches. Then it came to be my habit to read him the newspapers, and various pamphlets arriving by every mail. Whenever we noticed any pretty sentiment, or well-timed expression, the scissors were brought into immediate requisition; and the paragraph forthwith became a part of the huge scrap book. It was easy to write an elegant address by making free use of another's thoughts.

"Now, Frederic, if you ever want to court public favor, I can introduce you into all the nice intricacies of the business. I have been behind the scenes, and know just what is to be done. In the first place, you must propitiate the press. The press is a great institution to a man who wants to rise, and the editors, owners and reporters must be fêted and feasted no matter at what cost. Then if you want a delicately worded notice of your speech, etc., etc., you have only to prepare the titbit in the privacy of your own apartment, and the editors will adopt it as their own. Straightway it will appear at the head of a column with your name in capitals to attract attention."

"And multitudes who read the article will swallow the sugared flattery without suspicion," added Frederic laughing. "But, Helen, you don't mean to assert that Mr. Tracy adopts such disgusting measures to advance his popularity?"

"I have the testimony of his own son to that effect," was her serious reply. "And I once had the honor of being invited to write a puff to head his speech before the — Convention. I was young at the time, and innocent," she added with a roguish glance at her lover. "I considered the request as mere fun; and I copied this piece of bombast I had once committed to memory:

"'If ever a feather be plucked from the wing of an American eagle, may it be to write the names of Washington and Tracy with indelible ink upon a substance which never shall perish when the pillars of the earth crumble to dust.'"

"What was the result?" inquired the young clergyman, looking intensely amused.

"The result was that the pill, to my perfect horror, was swallowed whole.

"'You really have a knack at such business,' Mr. Tracy said, his eyes sparkling. 'This will do admirably, though perhaps it is a little too flattering.'

"I seized the paper and tore it in pieces, at which act of rudeness, my guardian was greatly displeased."