remembrance--but you must come between me and the only being this side
of Heaven I ever cared for? Take care of yourself; get out of my way,
for I am growing mad. The sight of you makes me a maniac."

Helen was indeed terrified at an exhibition of temper so unparalleled.
She rose, though her limbs trembled so she could scarcely walk, and took
two or three steps towards the door.

"Where are you going?" exclaimed Mittie.

"You told me to leave you," said Helen, faintly, "and indeed I cannot
stay--I ought not to stay, and hear such false and cruel things. I will
not stay," she exclaimed, with a sudden and startling flash of
indignation; "I will not stay to be so insulted and trampled on. Let me
pass."

"You shall not go to Clinton."

"Let me pass, I say," cried Helen, with a wild vehemence, that
contrasted fearfully with her usual gentleness. "I am afraid of you,
with such daggers in your tongue."

She rushed passed Mittie, flew down stairs, into the sitting room, in
the presence of her father, step-mother, and Clinton, who was sitting as
if perfectly unconscious of the tempest he had roused.

"Father, father," she exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms. "Oh,
father."

Nothing could be more startling than her appearance. The bright spot on
her cheek was now deepened to purple, and her eyes had a strange,
feverish lustre.

"Why, what is the meaning of this?" cried Mr. Gleason, turning in alarm
to his wife.

"Something must have terrified her--only feel of her hands, they are as
cold as ice; and look at her cheeks."

"She seems ill, very ill," observed Clinton, rising, much agitated;
"shall I go for a physician?"

"I fear Doctor Hazleton is not yet returned," said Mrs. Gleason,
anxiously. "I think she is indeed ill--alarmingly so."

"No, no," cried Helen, clinging closer to her father, "don't send for
Doctor Hazleton--anybody in the world but him. I cannot see him."

"How strange," exclaimed Mr. Gleason, "she must be getting delirious.
You had better carry her up stairs," added he, turning to his wife, "and
do something to relieve her, while I go for some medical advice. She is
subject to sudden nervous attacks."

"No, no," cried Helen, still more vehemently, "don't take me up stairs;
I cannot go back; it would kill me. Only let me stay with you."

Mr. Gleason, who well remembered the terrible fright Helen had suffered
in her childhood--her fainting over her mother's corpse--her
imprisonment in the