Part 73 (1/2)
With this she went off, and in due course led Helen up the stairs. She ran in, and whispered in Michael's ear--
”It is Miss Helen Rolleston.”
Thus they announced a lady at No. 3.
Michael stared with wonder at so great a personage visiting him; and the next moment Helen glided into the room, blus.h.i.+ng a little, and even panting inaudibly, but all on her guard. She saw before her a rather stately figure, and a face truly venerable, benignant and beautiful, though deficient in strength. She cast a devouring glance on him as she courtesied to him; and it instantly flashed across her, ”But for you there would be no Robert Penfold.” There was an unconscious tenderness in her voice as she spoke to him, for she had to open the interview.
”Mr. Penfold, I fear my visit may surprise you, as you did not write to me. But, when you hear what I am come about, I think you will not be displeased with me for coming.”
”Displeased, madam! I am highly honored by your visit--a lady who, I understand, is to be married to my worthy employer, Mr. Arthur. Pray be seated, madam.”
”Thank you, sir.”
Helen began in a low, thrilling voice, to which, however, she gave firmness by a resolute effort of her will.
”I am come to speak to you of one who is very dear to you, and to all who really know him.”
”Dear to me? It is my son. The rest are gone. It is Robert.”
And he began to tremble.
”Yes, it is Robert,” said she, very softly; then turning her eyes away from him, lest his emotion should overcome her, she said-- ”He has laid me and my father under deep obligations.”
She dragged her father in; for it was essential not to show Mr. Penfold she was in love with Robert.
”Obligations to my Robert? Ah, madam, it is very kind of you to say that, and cheer a desolate father's heart with praise of his lost son! But how could a poor unfortunate man in his position serve a lady like you?”
”He defended me against robbers, single-handed.”
”Ah,” said the old man, glowing with pride, and looking more beautiful than ever, ”he was always as brave as a lion.”
”That is nothing; he saved my life again, and again, and again.”
”G.o.d bless him for it! and G.o.d bless you for coming and telling me of it!
Oh, madam, he was always brave, and gentle, and just, and good; so n.o.ble, so unfortunate.”
And the old man began to cry.
Helen's bosom heaved, and it cost her a bitter struggle not to throw her arms around the dear old man's neck and cry with him. But she came prepared for a sore trial of her feelings, and she clinched her hands and teeth, and would not give way an inch.
”Tell me how he saved your life, madam.”
”He was in the s.h.i.+p, and in the boat, with me.”
”Ah, madam,” said Michael, ”that must have been some other Robert Penfold; not my son. He could not come home. His time was not up, you know.”
”It was Robert Penfold, son of Michael Penfold.”
”Excuse me a moment,” said Michael; and he went to a drawer, and brought her a photograph of Robert. ”Was it this Robert Penfold?”
The girl took the photograph, and eyed it, and lowered her head over it.