Besides she was too utterly worn
out and broken down to resist any kindness. She seemed to open her
heart to it--Helen's proud, sensitive, independent heart--much as
a plant, long dried up, withered, and trampled upon, opens itself to the
sunshine and the dew.
But now her health, both of body and mind, had revived a little; and as
she sat opposite him in her grave, composed widowhood, even the disguise
of the black weeds could not take away a look that returned again and
again, reminding the earl of the Helen of his childhood--the bright,
sweet, wholesome-natured, high-spirited Helen Cardross.
"I asked you to come to me in the carriage," said he, after they had
spoken a while about ordinary things. "Before we reach home, I think we
ought to have a little talk upon some few matters which we have never
referred to as yet. Are you able for this?"
"Oh yes, but--I can't--I can't!" and a sudden expression of
trouble and fear darkened the widow's face. "Do not ask me any
questions about the past. It is all over now; it seems like a dream--
as if I had never been away from Cairnforth."
"Let it be so then, Helen, my dear," replied the earl, tenderly.
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