Helen sighed deeply and had begun to gather those tears that weaken a woman. She glanced despairingly to and fro, and saw no escape. Then, Heaven knows why or wherefore--probably with no clear design at all but a woman's weak desire to cause a momentary diversion, to put off the inevitable for five minutes--she said to Arthur: "Please give me that prayer-book. Thank you. It is right you should know this." And she put Cooper's deposition, and Welch's, into his hands.
He devoured them, and started up in great indignation. "It is an abominable slander," said he. "We have lost ten thousand pounds by the wreck of that ship, and Wylie's life was saved by a miracle as well as your own. It is a foul slander. I hurl it from me."
And he made his words good by whirling the prayer-book out of window.
Helen uttered a scream. "My mother's prayer-book!" she cried.
"Oh! I beg pardon," said he.
"As well you may," said she. "Run and send George after it."
"No, I'll go myself," said he. "Pray forgive me. You don't know what a terrible slander they have desecrated your prayerbook with."
He ran out and was a long time gone. He came back at last, looking terrified.
"I can't find it," said he. "Somebody has carried it off. Oh, how unfortunate I am!"
"Not find it!" said Helen. "But it _must_ be found."
"Of course it must be found," said Arthur. "A pretty scandal to go into the hands of Heaven knows who. I shall offer twenty guineas reward for it at once. I'll go down to the _Times_ this moment. Was ever anything so unlucky?"
"Yes, go at once," said Helen; "and I'll send the servants into the Square. I don't want to say anything unkind, Arthur, but you ought not to have thrown my prayer-book into the public street."
"I know I ought not. I am ashamed of it myself."
"Well, let me _see_ the advertisement."
"You shall. I have no doubt we shall recover it."
Next morning the _Times_ contained an advertisement offering twenty guineas for a prayer-book lost in Hanover Square, and valuable, not in itself, but as a relic of a deceased parent.
In the afternoon Arthur called to know if anybody had brought the prayer-book back.
Helen shook her head sadly, and said, "No."
He seemed very sorry and so penitent, that Helen said:
"Do not despair. And if it is gone, why, I must remember you have forgiven me something, and I must forgive you."
The footman came in.
"If you please, miss, here is a woman wishes to speak to you; says she has brought a prayer-book."
"Oh, show her up at once," cried Helen.
Arthur turned away his head to hide a cynical smile. He had good reasons for thinking it was not the one he had flung out of the window yesterday.
A tall woman came in, wearing a thick veil, that concealed her features.
She entered on her business at once.
"You lost a prayer-book in this Square yesterday, madam."
"Yes."
"You offer twenty guineas reward for it."
"Yes."
"Please to look at this one."
Helen examined it, and said with joy it was hers.
Arthur was thunderstruck. He could not believe his senses.
"Let me look at it," said he.
His eyes went at once to the writing.
He turned as pale as death and stood petrified.
The woman took the prayer-book out of his unresisting hand, and said:
"You'll excuse me, sir; but it is a large reward, and gentlefolks sometimes go from their word when the article is found."
Helen, who was delighted at getting back her book, and rather tickled at Arthur having to pay twenty guineas for losing it, burst out laughing, and said:
"Give her the reward, Arthur; I am not going to pay for your misdeeds."
"With all my heart," said Arthur, struggling for composure.
He sat down to draw a check.
"What name shall I put?"
"Hum! Edith Hesket."
"Two t's?"
"No, only one."
"There."
"Thank you, sir."
She put the check into her purse, and brought the prayer-book to Helen.
"Lock it up at once," said she, in a voice so low that Arthur heard her murmur, but not the words. And she retired, leaving Helen staring with amazement, and Arthur in a cold perspiration.
