To do Mrs. Desmond justice, she scarcely realized the full meaning of her words. She was not deliberately cruel, but even upon an occasion such as this she could not forget her creed with regard to young people, or let slip the opportunity of pointing a moral. Helen heard her, but said nothing. The girl stood quite still, her hands clasped, her face white and rigid, and her eyes unnaturally distended. She was trying to think; trying to take in the awful fact that it was her deed that had brought this illness upon her father. Was it true, or was she dreaming? she asked herself as all sorts of curious fancies, fancies quite distinct from this absorbing sorrow, rushed through her brain, and the pattern of the wallpaper took fantastic shapes, and the china ornaments on the chimney-piece stood out with curious distinctness, whilst a small ivory figure on the dressing-table seemed suddenly to take life and to force itself upon her attention. Most people have experienced, at one time or another, the curious power that inanimate objects acquire over a brain half-paralysed by some sudden shock. To Helen the sensation was entirely a new one, and her voice sounded strange and far-away in her own ears when, hearing Martha's step on the landing outside, she said: "If my father asks for me will you send for me?" "Yes," returned Mrs. Desmond more gently. She had been touched, almost in spite of herself, at the girl's silence, and by the strained look on her face, and she half-repented of having gone so far. But the softening came too late, and was lost on Helen, who turned away, and who did not even see Martha's indignant look when she discovered that her mistress had been disturbed. "Go to bed quietly, Helen, and you shall have news of your father in the morning," called out Mrs. Desmond, still relenting.