"In her place, with her cards in my hand, I would have married him by this," she said to herself, as she sat alone in her grandfather's drawing-room, while her busy fingers ran swiftly through the meshes of her knitting, and the doctor and the hired nurse paced about the room overhead. "But she has not the pluck for it; his heart may be hers, but, for all that, I shall win him; and how bitterly she will repent that she ever interfered with him when she sees him daily there--my husband! And in time he will forget her and learn to love me; Maurice will never be false to a woman when once she is his wife; I am not afraid of that. How dared she meddle with him?--_my_ Maurice!" The door softly opened, and one of the doctors stepped in on tip-toe. Helen rose and composed her face into a decorous expression of mournful anxiety. "I am happy to tell you, Mrs. Romer," began the doctor. Helen's heart sank down chill and cold within her. "Is he better?" she faltered, striving to conceal the dismay which she felt. "He has rallied. Consciousness has returned, and partial use of the limbs. We may be able to pull your grandfather through this time, I trust." Put off again! How wretched and how guilty she felt herself to be! It was almost a crime to wish for any one's death so much. She sank down again pale and spiritless upon her chair as the doctor left the room. "Never mind," she said to herself, presently; "it can't last for ever. It must be soon now, and I shall be Maurice's wife in the end." But all this time she had forgotten Monsieur Le Vicomte D'Arblet, whom she had not seen again since the night she had driven him home from Walpole Lodge. He had left England, she knew. Helen privately hoped he had left this earth. Any way, he had not troubled her, and she had forgotten him. CHAPTER XIX. WHAT SHE WAITED FOR. Go, forget me; why should sorrow O'er that brow a shadow fling? Go, forget me, and to-morrow Brightly smile and sweetly sing. Smile--though I shall not be near thee; Sing--though I shall never hear thee. Chas. Wolfe. All this time what of Vera? Would any one of them at the vicarage ever forget that morning when she had come in after her walk with Sir John Kynaston, and had stood before them all and, pale as a ghost, had said to them, "I am not going to be married; I have broken it off." It had been a great blow to them, but neither the prayers of her weeping sister, nor the angry indignation of old Mrs. Daintree, nor even the gentle remonstrances of her brother-in-law could serve to alter her determination, nor would she enter into any explanation concerning her conduct.