"Then he has not made another will?" asked Mrs. Jerrold.
"No, I fancy not; merely a codicil, if any thing. But be careful of
yourself, Helen; don't sit up at night--it will hurt your eyes and good
looks. May Brooke is an indefatigable nurse," said the worldly man.
"Farewell, sweet Helen," whispered Mrs. Jerrold, embracing her. "We
shall soon have you to ourselves. But be on the _qui vive_; there
_may_ be something, you know, under all this."
"_Another will!_" thought Helen, after they went away; "if another
exists, different from the first----well--I see no reason why a whim
should wreck my happiness." Then, tempted and scheming, she sat
motionless for hours. Alas! for the soul which of its own free will,
unmoors itself from the Rock of Ages, to drift away on dark and
uncertain seas; who, lured away by the sun-gilt mirage, throws down the
cross, scorns the thorny crown, and despises Calvary, to perish at last
miserably in the arid desert! Although Helen had never been a pious
Catholic, she had always declared herself one, and resisted every open
attack on her faith; but now, insidious scorn, worldly interests, and
human love had entered her soul, and poisoned it, and for a season they
would triumph.
"Uncle Stillinghast wants you, dear Helen," said May, tapping her on
the shoulder.
"Me!" she exclaimed, starting up like a guilty thing.
"Yes, dear. He will receive the Holy Viaticum soon, and he wishes to
speak with you before," said May, winding her arm around Helen's waist,
and wishing, in the charity that filled her soul, that she could as
easily lead her back, weeping and penitent, to the foot of the cross.
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