Part 60 (2/2)

When half an hour had pa.s.sed, Brown, glancing out of the window, saw Helen approaching.

”Thank goodness!” he exclaimed, ”here she is at last.”

He opened the door for her.

”Oh, good morning,” she exclaimed in surprise. ”I am sure this is very kind of you.”

”Yes, I thought I would help,” said Brown in a loud voice. ”You see, Shock was anxious to come, and I thought I would come up with him. He is in the next room. He will be out in a minute. We were coming up last night, but could not get away. The Superintendent dropped in, and we talked till it was too late.” Brown kept the stream of his remarks flowing as if he feared a pause.

Helen laid the bunch of flowers she was carrying in her hand upon the table.

”Oh, Brown,” she exclaimed, ”how could you! This is very unkind.” She turned to go.

”Hold on,” said Brown in a loud voice. ”Shock will be here in a minute.

He'll be sorry to miss you, I am sure.”

For a moment Helen stood irresolute, when the door opened and Shock, pale, but quiet and self-controlled, appeared. He had just been face to face for the first time with his great grief. The thought that filled his mind, overwhelming all others, was that his mother had pa.s.sed forever beyond the touch of his hand and the sound of his voice. Never till that moment had he taken in the full meaning of the change that had come to his life.

During the minutes he had spent in his mother's room he had allowed his mind to go back over the long years so full of fond memory, and then he had faced the future. Alone henceforth he must go down the long trail.

By his mother's bed he had knelt, and had consecrated himself again to the life she had taught him to regard as worthy, and with the resolve in his heart to seek to be the man she would desire him to be and had expected him to be, he rose from his knees.

When he opened the door the dignity of his great grief and of a lofty purpose was upon him, and he greeted Helen unembarra.s.sed and with a serene consciousness of self-mastery.

”I am glad to see you, Miss Fairbanks,” he said, taking her hand. ”I am glad that we meet here, for it was here, in this house, that you gave such loving and tender care to my dear mother. However long I may live, whatever may come to me, I shall never forget what you did for her through all the year, and at the last.”

His quiet dignity restored to Helen her self-possession.

”I did all I could for her. I was glad to do it, because I loved her.

But she did more for me than ever I could have done for her. Her last illness was very brief, and her death was full of peace.”

”Tell me,” said Shock, placing a chair for her. ”I want to know all.”

With gentle, sweet sympathy the story was told in all its beautiful details, till the very end. Instinctively Helen seemed to know the points that Shock would desire to hear, and he listened to her with his heart s.h.i.+ning through his eyes.

”Thank you, thank you,” he said. ”Never can thank you enough for all that you have done. And you, too, have had your great sorrow. Brown told me about it all.”

At this Brown rose hastily, and looking out of the window, exclaimed, ”I say, there's Boyle. Wait for me.”

”Yes,” said Helen, when Brown had gone, ”it was a terrible grief, and mother has never recovered from it, nor will she. Betty was the life of our house. She was so bright.”

”Oh, bright, indeed. How well I remember her brightness that night in your home.”

”I remember,” said Helen. ”And Mr. Balfour,” she continued, ”The Don.

He has been with you?”

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