"What, before you hear it?" "Helen, you don't know what a year of misery I have endured, ever since the report came of your death. My happiness is cruelly dashed now, but still it is great happiness by comparison. Make your conditions. You are my queen, as well as my love and my life." Helen hesitated. It shocked her delicacy to lower the man she had consented to marry. "Oh, Helen," said Arthur, "anything but secrets between you and me. Go on as you have begun, and let me know the worst at once." "Can you be very generous, Arthur?--generous to him who has caused you so much pain?" "I'll try," said Arthur, with a groan. "I would not marry him, unless you gave me up. For I am your betrothed, and you are true to me. I _could_ not marry him, even if I were not pledged to you; but it so happens, I can do him one great service without injustice to you; and this service I have vowed to do before I marry. I shall keep that vow, as I keep faith with you. He has been driven from society by a foul slander; that slander I am to sift and confute. It will be long and difficult; but I shall do it; and you could help me if you chose. But that I will not be so cruel as to ask." Arthur bit his lip with jealous rage; but he was naturally cunning, and his cunning showed him there was at present but one road to Helen's heart. He quelled his torture as well as he could, and resolved to take that road. He reflected a moment, and then he said: "If you succeed in that, will you marry me next day?" "I will, upon my honor." "Then I will help you." "Arthur, think what you say. Women have loved as unselfishly as this; but no man, that ever I heard of." "No man ever did love a woman as I love you. Yes, I would rather help you, though with a sore heart, than hold aloof from you. What have we to do together?" "Did I not tell you?--to clear his character of a foul stigma, and restore him to England, and to the world which he is so fitted to adorn." "Yes, yes," said Arthur; "but who is it? Why do I ask, though? He must be a stranger to me." "No stranger at all," said Helen; "but one who is almost as unjust to you as the world has been to him;" then, fixing her eyes full on him, she said, "Arthur, it is your old friend and tutor, Robert Penfold." CHAPTER LV. ARTHUR WARDLAW was thunderstruck; and for some time sat stupidly staring at her. And to this blank gaze succeeded a look of abject terror, which seemed to her strange and beyond the occasion. But this was not all; for, after glaring at her with scared eyes and ashy cheeks a moment or two, he got up and literally staggered out of the room without a word. He had been taken by surprise, and, for once, all his arts had failed him.