o
provoke me.

'Well,' resumed she, 'have you not observed the salutary change in Mr.
Huntingdon? Don't you see what a sober, temperate man he is become? You
saw with regret the sad habits he was contracting, I know: and I know you
did your utmost to deliver him from them, but without success, until I
came to your assistance. I told him in few words that I could not bear
to see him degrade himself so, and that I should cease to--no matter what
I told him, but you see the reformation I have wrought; and you ought to
thank me for it.'

I rose and rang for the nurse.

'But I desire no thanks,' she continued; 'all the return I ask is, that
you will take care of him when I am gone, and not, by harshness and
neglect, drive him back to his old courses.'

I was almost sick with passion, but Rachel was now at the door. I
pointed to the children, for I could not trust myself to speak: she took
them away, and I followed.

'Will you, Helen?' continued the speaker.

I gave her a look that blighted the malicious smile on her face, or
checked it, at least for a moment, and departed. In the ante-room I met
Mr. Hargrave. He saw I was in no humour to be spoken to, and suffered me
to pass without a word; but when, after a few minutes' seclusion in the
library, I had regained my composure, and was returning to join Mrs.
Hargrave and Milicent, whom I had just heard come downstairs and go into
the drawing-room, I found him there still lingering in the dimly-lighted
apartment, and evidently waiting for me.

'Mrs. Huntingdon,' said he as I passed, 'will you allow me one word?'

'What is it then? be quick, if you please.'

'I offended you this morning; and I cannot live under your displeasure.'

'Then go, and sin no more,' replied I, turning away.

'No, no!' said he, hastily, setting himself before me. 'Pardon me, but I
must have your forgiveness. I leave you to-morrow, and I may not have an
opportunity of speaking to you again. I was wrong to forget myself and
you, as I did; but let me implore you to forget and forgive my rash
presumption, and think of me as if those words had never been spoken;
for, believe me, I regret them deeply, and the loss of your esteem is too
severe a penalty: I cannot bear it.'

'Forgetfulness is not to be purchased with a wish; and I cannot bestow my
esteem on all who desire it, unless they deserve it too.'

'I shall think my life well spent in labouring to deserve it, if you will
but pardon