A state of mind such as this was so alien to Helen that it would have been strange indeed if she had sunk into it without protest and rebellion; as day after day passed, and the misery continued, her dissatisfaction with everything about her built itself into a climax; more and more plainly she was coming to see the widening of the gulf between the phantom she was pursuing and the place, where she stood. Finally there came one day, nearly a week after her engagement, when Helen was so exhausted and so wretched that she had made up her mind to remain in her room, and had withstood all her aunt's attempts to dissuade her. She had passed the morning in bed, between equally vain attempts to become interested in a book and to make up for the sleep she had missed during the night, and was just about giving up both in despair when the maid entered to say that Elizabeth wished to see her. Helen gave a start, for she knew that something must be wrong; when the woman entered she asked breathlessly what it was. “It's about Mr. Arthur,” was the hurried reply, and Helen turned paler than ever, and clutched the bedclothing in her trembling hands. “What is it?” she cried. “Why you know, Miss Helen,” said Elizabeth, “your father wrote me to go and see him whenever I could, and I've just come from there this morning.” “And how is he?” “He looked dreadful, but he had gotten up to-day, and he was sitting by the window when I came in. He was hardly a shadow of himself.” Helen was trembling. “You have not been to see him?” asked the woman. “No,” said Helen, faintly, “I--” and then she stopped. “Why not?” Elizabeth inquired anxiously. “He did not ask for me, did he?” asked the girl, scarcely able to utter the words. “No,” said the woman, “but you know, everybody told me you were engaged to a rich man--” And Helen started forwrard with a cry. “Elizabeth!” she gasped, “you--you didn't---!” “Yes,” said the other, “I told him.” And then seeing the girl's look of terror, she stopped short. Helen stared at her for fully half a minute without uttering a word; and then the woman went on, slowly, “It was very dreadful, Miss Helen; he went almost crazy, and I was so frightened that I didn't know what I should do. Please tell me what is the matter.” Helen was still gazing dumbly at the woman, seeming not to have heard the last question. “I--I can't tell you,” she said, when it was repeated again; “you ought not to have told him, Elizabeth.” “Miss Helen,” cried the woman, anxiously, “you _must_ do something! For I am sure that I know what is the matter; he loves you, and you must know it, too. And it will certainly kill him; weak as he was, he rushed out of the house, and I could not find him anywhere. Miss Helen, you _must_ go and see him!”