All this I felt and thought during the first mile of our drive home: but so closely does hope ever tread on the heels of despair, that one word from Pendarves banished the worst part of my misery; for in an angry tone he at length observed, "So, madam, your champion would not go with us: I think it is a pity you did not walk with him--I think you ought to have done no less, after his public gallantry in your service." "Ha!" thought I immediately, "this is pique, this is jealousy; and perhaps he loves me still!" What a revulsion of feeling I now experienced! and never in his fondest moments did I value an expression of tenderness from him more, than I did this weak and churlish observation; for he was not silent and sullen on account of Lady Martindale's fancied injuries; but from resentment of De Walden's interference. In one moment therefore the face of nature itself seemed changed to me; and I eagerly replied, "I was certainly much obliged to De Walden--I needed a champion, and who so proper to be it as himself, the only old friend I had in the room, yourself excepted, and the only person in it probably who now (here my voice faltered) has a real regard and affection for me!" "Helen!" cried Pendarves, starting up, "you cannot mean what you say! You do not, cannot believe that De Walden loves you better than _I_ do." "If I had not believed it I should not have said it." "But how could you believe it? Has he dared to talk to you of love?" "Do you think he could forget himself so far as to do such a thing? or if he did, do you think I could forget myself so far as to listen to him? Surely, sir, you forget of whom and to whom you are speaking." "Forgive me: I spoke from pique. And so, Helen, you think I do not love you?" "Not as you did, certainly: but I excuse you. I know grief has changed me; and it had been better for me to have died, if it had so pleased God, when my poor child died." "Helen! dearest! do not talk thus, I cannot bear it!" he exclaimed, clasping me to his heart; and though I then wept even more abundantly than before, I wept on his bosom, and all my sorrows were for awhile forgotten. The next morning Pendarves told me he should certainly breakfast with me; but he must leave me soon to partake of a late breakfast at Oswald Lodge, as he had promised to go with the party to call on a family, with whom they were to arrange some private theatricals. "And are you to engage in them?" "Oh! to be sure: it will not be the first time of my acting." "And will Lady Martindale act?" "Yes: but not with us. We shall act in English: she will favour us with a mono-drame, a ballet of action, and perhaps read a French play, which she reads to perfection." "Not better than she dances, I dare say; for dancing, I suspect, was once one of her professions." "What nonsense is this Helen? and who has dared to give such an erroneous and false impression of this admirable woman?"