bey Him, seems to
me impossible. But again I say there is no such matter involved between
them.--Shall I confess to you, that, with all her frankness, all her
charming ways, all the fullness of the gaze with which her black eyes
look into yours, there is something about Juliet that puzzles me? At
times I have thought she must be in some trouble, out of which she was
on the point of asking me to help her; at others I have fancied she was
trying to be agreeable against her inclination, and did not more than
half approve of me. Sometimes, I confess, the shadow of a doubt crosses
me: is she altogether a true woman? But that vanishes the moment she
smiles. I wish she could have been open with me. I could have helped
her, I am pretty sure. As it is, I have not got one step nearer the real
woman than when first I saw her at the rector's."

"I know," said Helen. "But don't you think it may be that she has never
yet come to know any thing about herself--to perceive either fact or
mystery of her own nature? If she is a stranger to herself, she cannot
reveal herself--at least of her own will--to those about her. She is
just what I was, Thomas, before I knew you--a dull, sleepy-hearted thing
that sat on her dignity. Be sure she has not an idea of the divine truth
you have taught me to see underlying creation itself--namely, that every
thing possessed owes its very value as possession to the power which
that possession gives of parting with it."

"You are a pupil worth having, Helen!--even if I had had to mourn all my
days that you would not love me."

"And now you have said your mind about Juliet," Helen went on, "allow me
to say that I trust her more than I do Faber. I do not for a moment
imagine him consciously dishonest, but he makes too much show of his
honesty for me. I can not help feeling that he is selfish--and can a
selfish man be honest?"

"Not thoroughly. I know that only too well, for I at all events am
selfish, Helen."

"I don't see it; but if you are, you know it, and hate it, and strive
against it. I do not think he knows it, even when he says that every
body is selfish. Only, what better way to get rid of it than to love and
marry?"

"Or to confirm it," said Wingfold thoughtfully.

"I shouldn't wonder a bit if they're married already!" said Helen.

She was not far from wrong, although not quite right. Already Faber had
more than hinted at a hurried marriage, as private as could be
compassed. It was impossi