Such was the case with Morley Ernstein, and now he went to do one of the most difficult things on earth; to guard Helen Barham against Lieberg, and yet not to assail the character of his friend. As usual, he was admitted at once, for Helen was now rarely out; but when he entered the drawing-room, and saw her, he could not help thinking that there was some difference in her manner towards him--at least it appeared so at first. There was a timidity, a shrinkingness--if we may use the expression--a faltering of the voice, a dropping of the eye, a want of that frank and straightforward pouring forth of excited and grateful feelings, which had hitherto characterized the whole demeanour of Helen Barham towards himself. It puzzled Morley Ernstein; he could not understand the change. Perhaps the reader can; at all events he will easily do so when he is told, that Helen had been looking into her own heart, and enquiring what were her feelings really towards the man who now stood before her. Her emotion at the sight of Juliet Carr had first shewn her that there were strange things in her own bosom, and she had passed a sleepless night, thinking of but one subject on earth--Morley Ernstein. She gave him her hand, however--a hand which was usually as cold as the marble from which, to judge by the colour, it was formed; but that hand was now burning with fiery heat, and the once rosy cheek had become much paler. As Morley felt that feverish touch, and gazed on her face, the cause of the difference in manner he had observed, seemed at once to display itself. "You are ill, Miss Barham," he exclaimed with an eager and an anxious look, that made Helen's heart beat fast, and her knees tremble under her. "For Heaven's sake let me send for a physician." "Oh, no, no!" she exclaimed, "I am quite well, indeed." "Then what makes your hand burn so?" he demanded, still holding it in his own, "and what makes you look so pale?" "I did not sleep very well last night," she said; "there had been a good deal to agitate me during the day, and I lay awake thinking, anxiously enough." "And of what were you thinking?" demanded Morley, leading her to a sofa, and seating himself beside her. "Nay, you must tell me; for perhaps I can relieve some of your anxiety." Helen hesitated, and he added, "Nay, you must tell me; you will not surely refuse? "Refuse!" she exclaimed; "do you think I would refuse you anything, after all you have done for me?" She paused for a moment, but then, seeming to take a sudden resolution, she looked up, saying, "I was thinking of you--I only heard yesterday of your having fought that wretched man Neville, and risked your life on my account. I pondered upon many things, but that was one of those I thought most of during the night; and I asked myself, what would have become of me if you had been killed?--I think I must have died."