Morley was agitated far more than lady Malcolm had expected. Love is blind in some respects, and in moments of joy is very dull of sight indeed; but at the first touch of sorrow, comes upon it a prophetic spirit which teaches it to see the evil afar off, and shrink at the anguish that too often besets its path. Morley stood still in the middle of the room, without attempting to take a seat, and looked steadfastly down upon the ground, asking himself what he should do next. "My dear Lady Malcolm," he said, at length, "you must forgive me for making my visit a very hurried one. I can bear anything but uncertainty, and I must set off immediately for Yelverly." "Not to-night!" exclaimed Lady Malcolm. "Yes, this very night, dear lady!" replied Morley; "I should not sleep five minutes if my head were on the softest pillow in England; so I may as well pass the hours of darkness in my carriage as anywhere else. I shall be at Morley Court about mid-day to-morrow, and can see Juliet and her father, and know my fate before another night pass over my head." "Oh! it will all go very well," said Lady Malcolm; "do not be afraid, my dear Morley. If you but consider, you will see that Mr. Carr will never be so foolish as to make any difficulty. He thinks of nothing on earth but money, you know, and in that point he certainly cannot object to you." Morley smiled sadly, but still with some renewal of hopes, and he answered: "Well, we shall see; but at all events I cannot bear uncertainty, and will go away at once." "Nay, nay," rejoined. Lady Malcolm--"stay a little; here is your young friend Helen Barham, to whom you have not said a word." Morley felt that he had been unkind, and going round, he took Helen's hand. It was as cold as marble; and, as she looked up in his face, it was with an expression that struck him much, and carried him away for a moment from the selfishness of his own sorrow. The look was not a grave one; on the contrary, it was intended to be cheerful; but the forced smile, the eyes that were full of sadness, the quivering of the lip and nostril, betraying a struggle against tears, all spoke of grief at heart; and Morley, after conversing with her for some little time, went away from Lady Malcolm's house, saying to himself--as I have had occasion to say more than once--although he saw nothing of the feelings that he commiserated, except that they were sorrowful--"Alas, poor Helen Barham!" CHAPTER XXXI.