But Helen paid no heed. To-morrow, that was hours and hours hence. What might not happen between now and then? This had been her doing and she might not even go to her father; might not even hold his hand or look into his face. Perhaps it was right. She deserved it all, and more, far more than that or any other punishment that could be inflicted upon her. Locking herself into her little dark room, she flung herself upon the bed and tried to think. Hours went by, and still she lay there, while all her short life passed in review before her. The happy Indian days, the return to England, her first parting with her father, and then his marriage. Poor Helen! the enormity of her anger and resentment, of her whole behaviour, in fact, since that fatal day, appeared now to her in an even exaggerated light. And then that last crowning sin that had borne such bitter consequences. That Mrs. Desmond's statement had been exaggerated never once occurred to Helen. She fully believed that she, and she only, was answerable for her father's illness, that if he died she it was who would have killed him. Many things, unnoticed at the time, recurred to her now in confirmation of this belief; whisperings and averted looks amongst the servants, subtle inuendoes of Martha's, and Mrs. Desmond's undisguised aversion. Yes, it was true. Oh, to think that her sin could have brought such terrible retribution! What would Cousin Mary say? And yet, although Helen fancied she could almost see Cousin Mary's grave, pained look, that kind friend was the only human being for whose companionship the girl craved through the long hours of that terrible night. Very long the hours were, and very slowly they went by as the poor child lay between sleeping and waking, always with the one idea present with her; listening for every sound, but feeling unworthy even to creep down and lie outside the sick-room door. Pale dawn came at last. Helen lay and watched its coming until gradually a numbness crept over her, and presently, worn out with her long vigil, her eyes closed, and she slept. Ten minutes later a light tap came at the door. The girl started up. Had she overslept herself? No; the room was still nearly dark. What could the summons mean? Still dressed, just as she had first thrown herself on the bed, pale and heavy-eyed, with trembling fingers she opened the door. One of the night nurses stood outside. Helen caught her breath, while the nurse started a little at this sad-faced apparition. "Don't be frightened, child," said the latter kindly, putting her hand on the girl's arm. "Your father is better. He has slept for three hours, and is now conscious, and he has asked for you."