But Helen remembered the tale she had to tell. She recollected that every minute might be precious; and when seeing her more calm, he desired her to tell him all, she did so as rapidly and clearly, as the natural feelings of her heart would admit. The narrative was mingled with the tears and blushes of burning shame and bitter remorse and agonizing self-condemnation, even while she related with simple truth, the arts which had been used to mislead, and the promises which had been held out but to destroy. She attempted not to palliate, for no tongue could be more full of blame, than hers was of herself; but yet her whole tale was in itself a palliation of her fault; and when she came to the end, all that remained in the bosom of the priest, was anger and indignation towards the woman who had so neglected innocence committed to her charge, and towards the man who had so basely taken advantage of that neglect to deceive a confiding heart, and stain a pure and innocent spirit. "The villain!" he cried, "the base deceitful villain. But even he is less culpable than that dark demon his mother. If ever there was a fiend in human flesh 'tis she!--She burnt the letters, then? She took from you the only proofs of his treachery and his falsehood?" "She did," said Helen. "She called me every odious name, which, perhaps, I but too well deserved; and, in the midst of all her servants, drove me forth, to perish, for aught she knew, unfriended and alone." "She shall have her punishment," replied Walter de la Tremblade in a stern, resolute tone. "Ay, here as well as hereafter. All the letters did you say?--all?" "All I think," said Helen. "Nay," she added, "there may be one which I placed in the book of Hours you gave me; and it may have escaped her notice, though doubtless she has caused search to be made since I was driven away. Yet, as the book is clasped, it might not be observed." "What were its contents?" demanded the priest eagerly, with his keen eye fixed upon her face, so that its light seemed to dazzle and confuse her. Helen lifted her hand to her head, and for a moment gazed into vacancy with the effort to remember. "Yes," she said at length, "Yes, it was the last but one he wrote me. He promised to love me ever.--He said he would see me soon again.--He called me his wife." "He did? He did?" cried the priest, with a look of triumph. "That letter must be obtained, Helen!" "But how?" demanded the poor girl with a mournful shake of the head; "even if it still exists, they will not let me enter those doors again."