fancied they observed, and yet a shrinking dread of its being broken. Above all, there was a miserable presentiment of coming evil—that expectation of ill which quickens the hearing, blinds the sight, and seems to clench the heart with a grasp that tightens at every strange sound, at every sudden silence. She was still seated in the same place and position when Mary returned to say that the house was quiet and clean; that Lord Beaufort had hired it, and thought his sister had better go into it without delay. He was gone to make other arrangements for her comfort in the way of servants, provisions, etc., and would not return for another hour.
"He is gone to the pier, Mary?"
"Very likely," she said; "you know the packet may be in to-day."
"Yes, and you and Beaufort know more than that," said Helen, raising her heavy eyes, and fixing them on Mary; "you have heard something you do not choose to tell me. I do not want to hear it," she added, almost fiercely; "it can only be a vague report. I should not believe it."
"Perhaps you are right," said Mary, trying to speak calmly, though her voice was low and shaking. "But, darling, Lord Beaufort thought it better I should tell you that the accounts of your dear husband, brought by some of the passengers by the last steamer, were very alarming."
"We knew that," said Helen, impatiently. "There is always exaggeration in reports of illness. They cannot know so much as we do. Mary, Mary, why do you try to frighten me?"
"Your brother thought that you ought to know all, and I know my own dear friend," she said, fondly caressing her, "will exert herself for the sake of all who love her; for the sake of the husband who may want all her care, all her strength of mind and energy."
