ught he knew the
handwriting, and, of course, was already acquainted with the charge made
against poor Pen. Against his own conscience, perhaps (for the worthy
Doctor, like most of us, had a considerable natural aptitude for
receiving any report unfavourable to his neighbours), he strove to
console Helen; he pointed out that the slander came from an anonymous
quarter, and therefore must be the work of a rascal; that the charge
might not be true--was not true, most likely--at least, that Pen must
be heard before he was condemned; that the son of such a mother was not
likely to commit such a crime, etc. etc.

Helen at once saw through his feint of objection and denial. "You think
he has done it," she said,--"you know you think he has done it. Oh, why
did I ever leave him, Doctor Portman, or suffer him away from me? But
he can't be dishonest--pray God, not dishonest--you don't think that,
do you? Remember his conduct about that other--person--how madly he
was attached to her. He was an honest boy then--he is now. And I thank
God--yes, I fall down on my knees and thank God he paid Laura. You said
he was good--you did yourself. And now--if this woman loves him--and you
know they must--if he has taken her from her home, or she tempted him,
which is most likely--why still, she must be his wife and my daughter.
And he must leave the dreadful world and come back to me--to his mother,
Doctor Portman. Let us go away and bring him back--yes--bring him
back--and there shall be joy for the--the sinner that repenteth. Let us
go now, directly, dear friend--this very----"

Helen could say no more. She fell back and fainted. She was carried to
a bed in the house of the pitying Doctor, and the surgeon was called to
attend her. She lay all night in an alarming state. Laura came to
her, or to the rectory rather; for she would not see Laura. And Doctor
Portman, still beseeching her to be tranquil, and growing bolder and
more confident of Arthur's innocence as he witnessed the terrible grief
of the poor mother, wrote a letter to Pen warning him of the rumours
that were against him and earnestly praying that he would break off
and repent of a connexion so fatal to his best interests and his soul's
welfare.

And Laura?--was her heart not wrung by the thought of Arthur's crime and
Helen's estrangement? Was it not a bitter blow for the innocent girl to
think that at one stroke she should lose all the love which she cared
for in the world?