The day was feverish and long--how long and feverish and full of alarm and apprehension perhaps only Helen knew. She sat at watch at her window all the day, trembling whenever she saw any one approach from the direction of the _château_. In the afternoon Charley came in and consoled her, but rather with a repetition of that sentiment about two being better than one, than with any more immediately satisfactory information. Helen thought the day would never come to an end; and there seemed no comfort in the fact that sooner or later it must come to an end, for what was there to hope but that to-morrow would be like it? After dinner, when the village was all still, her father looked cautiously into the sitting-room. “I must get a breath of air,” he said, half apologetically, half reproachfully. It was as if this imprisonment to his room was Helen’s fault. “Papa, I don’t think I can bear it another day. Let us go away, let us go away!” she cried. “I thought it was you who objected to going away,” he said peevishly. Helen sat down again before her little lamp at the table. This time she had some darning to do. She sat and listened for every step, for every breath. Oh, to go away, to go away! she said to herself. To go where? She could not tell. Was there safety anywhere? Was there any spot on earth where this sickening, shameful danger, this concealment would not come again? Was it not out of the world, away from life and its torments altogether, where alone they could be safe? After a while Mr Goulburn came back. He was nervous too, and shaken by the alarm that seemed in the air. “I don’t seem happy in the village to-night,” he said, “though it is all as quiet as usual. I think that big bully must use up all the air for his own breathing, I can’t get any.” He opened the _persiennes_ as he spoke, then drew them close again. “I think I shall go into the garden, Helen. I must get breath somewhere. I have shut the front door. Go to bed. I shall go and sit in the summer-house to get my breath.” “Will you take some of the Comtesse’s drops, papa? She said they were so good.” “Ether,” he said--“simple ether; it smells too strong. What do I want with your old wife’s medicines? No; I’ll go and sit out in the garden and get my breath. Poor child, you are tired, and it is no wonder. But all is safe now for the night, Helen; go to bed.”