Nellie having departed to the upper regions, Helen once more resumes her writing, this time by the aid of a large standing lamp. By and bye a servent enters with some tea. "Is Mr. Lincarrol in yet?" enquires Helen.

"No m'am I think not" replies the servent. "oh then I shant expect him till late" answers Helen and so saying she partakes of her tea alone, which done she goes to the piano and plays a few merry sonatas. At length the clock strikes seven, and Helen is about to go and dress for dinner, when the butler enters with the message that a woman from the village of Huntsdown (5 miles distant) wishes to see her at once on a very important matter.

"Who is the woman?" askes Helen in great astonishment.

"I dont know mum" replies the butler "she is very poor-looking and says she's tramped all the way from Huntsdown to see you, but she wont give no name."

"How extraordinary!" says Helen, "I know no one living in Huntsdown, in fact I have only been there once; but however I will go and see the poor soul." and rising as she speaks Helen vanishes into the hall.

An old woman of about 60 or 70 is standing in a remote corner of the hall. The butler had spoken truthfully when he said the woman was poor looking. She wears a tattered dress of some faded hue, and on the top of that a man's coat, which might once have been black but is now almost bottle-green. A thin shawl coveres her shoulders and a battered black bonnet hangs back from her head. Her iron-grey hair is streaming over her face, still damp with the falling snow.

"Did you wish to speak to me" asks Helen kindly advancing to the woman.

"I do mum" replies the poor creature, dropping a bob-curtsey as she speaks, "I've bin tramping from Huntsdown since 4 o'clock and bin nearly turned back with the snow."

"What is your name," enquires Helen.

"Mrs. Cotton, if you please mum" answers the woman, "but to get on with my story, you must know I live at "The Jolly Dutchman" in Huntsdown. My husband keeps the inn, but he dont do much bussiness; the place is so remote-like, and I'm afraid he's a bad lot," and here Mrs. Cotton shook her head regretfully "but to come to the point mum, a week or so ago, a poor man all ragged and looking terribly ill, come to the door and asked if we could let him in to sleep the night, as he'd no were to go and no money. My husband was drunk at the time and turned the poor man away in spite of my pleading for him. A few minutes later when my husband was in the bar I opened the door and seeing the poor man there I could not resist letting him in. So according I gave him the attic at the top of the 'ouse, where he has bin laying ill ever since without my 'usband knowing."

"What a sad story" says Helen gently "but I'm sure it was very good of you to risk taking the man in. I suppose you came to me for money did you not?"

"No mum not for that" replies Mrs. Cotton sadly "you see I've tried to save a little money myself during the last few years so I've been able to have the doctor in once or twice to look at the poor man. Mr. Harland his name is. Me and my girl Sally, we've made the attic as confortable as we can and I've lit a fire up there once, but you see mum coles costs money like everythink else. The doctor says there's not much 'ope for the poor man, he's dying fast of fever and consumption. The other night mum, your gardiner, happened to come in for a gla.s.s of something and of course he got talking with the other men and the conversation fell on you mum, and he said he's known you a long time ever since you was Miss Winston (or some sich name as that) At the time the talk was going on, I was sitting upstairs with Mr. Harland and as the door was open we could hear the talk in the bar quite distinct; well mum, directly Mr. Harland heard your name mentioned, he got quite wild and excited all of a sudden and went raving on about you and he would'nt be satisfied till I told him all I knew about you. I was astonished mum I can tell you. After that Mr. Harland seemed much quieter and all yesterday and today he's been in a sort of stupor, but about half past three today he called me and told me he'd not got very long to live and would I do him a favour?

I said "Yes," so he told me to go into the town and ask you to come and see him at once. He says he knew you quite well some time back and you knew him too, but you probably have forgotten the name now. I tell you mum I was fair took aback, but however leaving my girl Sally in charge of him, I started off on my errand, and here I am mum, waiting to know what your answer may be to this extraordinary request?"

"It is a most extraordinary request" as you say Mrs. Cotton, and I never knew anybody by the name of Harland" replied Helen.

"My idea is mum" says Mrs. Cotton "that the poor man is dilerious."

"Very likely" answered Helen, "but to please him, I will order the carriage and we will drive over together, you look far too tired and cold to walk."

As Helen speaks she toches a spring bell, and then reaching a sable-lined cloak from the peg she puts it on drawing the hood over her soft brown hair.

She then orders a baskitt of streangthing things to be packed for the invalid.

Then the carriage comes round to the front door and the two get in. A contrast indeed! The one small, shrivelled and shrunken, hugging her wreatched garments around her to keep out the biting cold; the other tall and stately, her rich cloak falling gracefully round her slender figure.

The drive is long and dreary; being for the most a long straight road with tall hedges at either side and an occasional cottage or tree releiving the monotony of the scenery. But Helen, leaning back in her comfortable carriage is not thinking of the pa.s.sing scenery, but of the extraordinary mission she is bent on.

At length the carriage stops, and Mrs. Cotton leads the way up to a small tumble down dirty looking inn, whith an almost illegable incription painted in white letters, "The jolly Dutchman, Thomas Cotton."

Mrs. Cotton opens the door and Helen finds herself in a very small and filthy dirty pa.s.sage. A strong smell of beer and tobacco greet her on entering. A door on one side of the pa.s.sage is half open, and looking through, Helen can see three or four rough looking men seated round a table with mugs of beer before them and pipes in their mouths, and the sounds that issue from the room are none of the pleasantest, for the men are talking, laughing and shouting, not to say swearing.

In disgust Helen turns to the door of the other room. It is a kitchen evidently and a remarkably dirty one too. A candle is burning in this room, and by the light of it Helen can see a slovenly looking girl stirring some horrid smelling stuff in a saucpan, while a very small baby is yelling its heart out in a wooden cradle.

"Here Sally" cries Mrs. Cotton to the girl "how is the invalid"

"No better" replies Sally wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n "I lit a fire for him, 'cause he grumbled so about the cold."

"I dont wonder at it" responds Mrs. Cotton, "well mum," she continues turning to Helen "perhaps you'll step upstairs, its that door there mum with the handle off," and she points with her grimy finger to a door at the top of the stairs. Helen climbs the ricketty staircase with a wild fear and misgiving at her heart, wondering what the result of this strange visit will be. A light is burning in the room she enters. It is a damp cold place, a trifle larger than the pa.s.sage below. A miserable fire is doing its best to burn in the grate and judging by the amount of matches strewn about, Sally must have been exerting many patient efforts to get it to burn at all.

The window was minus a pane of gla.s.s and the cold wind blew right through the room making the door bang to and fro with a madly monotonous tone.

Helen glanced hastily round the room, but the corners being in darkness, she had to hold the candle above her head to see anything at all. In doing so a groan caught her ear and advancing to the corner from whence it issued, Helen perceved a sort of pallet bed streached on the floor, covered with a singal blankett. Placing the candle on the floor close by, Helen knelt down and with trembling hands and a quaking heart pulled the covering away. And then--no wonder Helen uttered that low stifled cry; for there with his pale thin face turned towards her and his skeleton hands clutching at the blankett, there with his eyes dim and sunken and his breath coming quick and short lay Cyril Sheene alias Mr. Harland. For a moment Helen could not utter a sound, the words seemed to stick in her throat, and she knelt gazing in horror and amazement at the fast-dying man. It was Cyril who broke the awful silence, "Helen" he whispered brokenly "what a long time you were coming."

"I never dreamt it was you Cyril" answered Helen taking his thin hand in hers, for now all her heart seemed to warm towards the man who had wronged her so much and who was so soon going to leave her.

"No of course not" replied the dying man "you never thought I would come to this--(here he stopped for breath), "but I want to tell you this before I die."

"Cyril you must not die" cried Helen, opening her basket and producing some wine.

"No, no" gasped Cyril pushing the gla.s.s away "its no use, I know I'm dying, the doctor said so; give me some water to ease my throat and I'll go on."

Helen gave him his wish and then knelt down beside him while he continued.

"After I left you Helen, that day you went to Richmond, I intended going to Picadilly to p.a.w.n some things as I had no money to pay my debts. When I got back to my amazement a letter from Mr. Palsey was waiting for me, which explained that the police were already on our track and that if I valued my life I had better leave London and go to some place with him.

Of course I had no choice but to go, but oh Helen if you could have known my feelings when I thought I should not see you again. Hastily I scrawled a note to you and added a few lines to my will, you read them did'nt you?"

Helen nodded in a.s.sent.

"Well" continued Cyril, "having made my preparations, I started off to meet Palsey. We traveled together. I forget where we were going. Palsey told me how he had escaped after he had been locked up in the drawing room. We had to change at Charing Cross I think and scarcely had we set foot on the platform, when up came two policemen and before we could say a word we found ourselves handcuffed. Well to make a long story short we were tried and I was sentenced to 10 years penal servitude, and Palsey who had done the most part of the crime had penal servitude for life.

Well after three years of my time had pa.s.sed, I was granted a free pardon for saving the life of someone. I have no time to tell the whole story now. At first I was delighted at the mere thought of being free again, but then I recollected I had no friends n.o.body to care wether I lived or died. When I was set free I wandered about trying in vain to find you Helen. But I got no news of you, untill one day I read of your marriage in the paper. Then I gave up all hope of ever seeing you again.

Soon after I fell ill and spent many weeks in an old barn, attended only by a child who used to go messages for me etc: till I was well enough to walk about again. Then my wanderings began again, and I found them harder than ever. After my severe illness I could no longer bear sleeping out. I had to buy lodgings wherever I happened to be, and once or twice when I had no money I had to sleep out in the fields. That did for me Helen. From that day I grew much worse. A young man took pity on me one night and gave me a room in his house for nothing. But with his exception no one cared and so I wandered on untill late one night I arrived at this miserable inn. I did'nt know where I was, but I thought it safe to take another name. So I was brought up here, where I should certainly have died had not some one down in the bar mentioned your name, and then the excitement of seeing you kept me up----

Here Cyril stopped gasping for breath and Helen with her tears fast falling administered water to him and propped up his pillows.

"Helen" cried Cyril at last, he could barely talk now, "do you forgive me?"

"Oh Cyril" cried Helen "of course I do; oh if only you had come to me before, how happily this might have ended. I forgive you fully from the bottom of my heart."

Cyril smiled, he was too far gone to talk and Helen could see his eyes growing brighter.

A long silence followed while Cyril's breathing grew laboured and slow.

Presently with a great effort he turned and caught Helen's hand in his own. "Helen I'm going fast. Goodbye I die happy since you forgive me."

And Helen stooped and kissed him. He turned and looked at her for the last time and then his spirit pa.s.sed quietly and peacefully away.

CHAPTER 35

CONCLUSION

A Year has pa.s.sed since the sad events recorded in our last chapter, and Cyril has long been laid in the church yards sod. His grave is ever bright with flowers placed there by Helen's loving hands and by those of her children Nellie and John.

Of Mr. Palsey little has been heard but it has lately been rumoured that he died a natural death in prison, though some people exagerate and say he died by his own hand.

Marshland is still living though her health is gradually becoming weaker.

And what of Helen herself?