The Legacy of Cain

After passing the barn, I saw nothing of the dog. Far or near, no living creature appeared; the servants must have been at dinner, as the coachman had foreseen. Arriving at a wooden fence, I opened a gate in it, and found myself on a bit of waste ground. On my left, there was a large duck-pond. On my right, I saw the fowl-house and the pigstyes. Before me was a high impenetrable hedge; and at some distance behind it—an orchard or a garden, as I supposed, filling the intermediate space—rose the back of the house. I made for the shelter of the hedge, in the fear that some one might approach a window and see me. Once sheltered from observation, I might consider what I should do next. It was impossible to doubt that this was the house in which Eunice was living. Neither could I fail to conclude that Philip had tried to persuade her to see him, on those former occasions when he told me he had taken a long walk.

As I crouched behind the hedge, I heard voices approaching on the other side of it. At last fortune had befriended me. The person speaking at the moment was Miss Jillgall; and the person who answered her was Philip.

"I am afraid, dear Mr. Philip, you don't quite understand my sweet Euneece. Honorable, high minded, delicate in her feelings, and, oh, so unselfish! I don't want to alarm you, but when she hears you have been deceiving Helena—"

"Upon my word, Miss Jillgall, you are so provoking! I have not been deceiving Helena. Haven't I told you what discouraging answers I got, when I went to see the Governor? Haven't I shown you Eunice's reply to my letter? You can't have forgotten it already?"

"Oh, yes, I have. Why should I remember it? Don't I know poor Euneece was in your mind, all the time?"

"You're wrong again! Eunice was not in my mind all the time. I was hurt—I was offended by the cruel manner in which she had treated me. And what was the consequence? So far was I from deceiving Helena—she rose in my estimation by comparison with her sister."

"Oh, come, come, Mr. Philip! that won't do. Helena rising in anybody's estimation? Ha! ha! ha!"

"Laugh as much as you like, Miss Jillgall, you won't laugh away the facts. Helena loved me; Helena was true to me. Don't be hard on a poor fellow who is half distracted. What a man finds he can do on one day, he finds he can't do on another. Try to understand that a change does sometimes come over one's feelings."

"Bless my soul, Mr. Philip, that's just what I have been understanding all the time! I know your mind as well as you know it yourself. You can't forget my sweet Euneece."

"I tell you I tried to forget her! On my word of honor as a gentleman, I tried to forget her, in justice to Helena. Is it my fault that I failed? Eunice was in my mind, as you said just now. Oh, my friend—for you are my friend, I am sure—persuade her to see me, if it's only for a minute!"

(Was there ever a man's mind in such a state of confusion as this! First, I rise in his precious estimation, and Eunice drops. Then Eunice rises, and I drop. Idiot! Mischievous idiot! Even Selina seemed to be disgusted with him, when she spoke next.)

"Mr. Philip, you are hard and unreasonable. I have tried to persuade her, and I have made my darling cry. Nothing you can say will induce me to distress her again. Go back, you very undetermined man—go back to your Helena."

"Too late."

"Nonsense!"

"I say too late. If I could have married Helena when I first went to stay in the house, I might have faced the sacrifice. As it is, I can't endure her; and (I tell you this in confidence) she has herself to thank for what has happened."

"Is that really true?"

"Quite true."

"Tell me what she did.

"Oh, don't talk of her! Persuade Eunice to see me. I shall come back again, and again, and again till you bring her to me."

"Please don't talk nonsense. If she changes her mind, I will bring her with pleasure. If she still shrinks from it, I regard Euneece's feelings as sacred. Take my advice; don't press her. Leave her time to think of you, and to pity you—and that true heart may be yours again, if you are worthy of it."

"Worthy of it? What do you mean?"

"Are you quite sure, my young friend, that you won't go back to Helena?"

"Go back to her? I would cut my throat if I thought myself capable of doing it!"

"How did she set you against her? Did the wretch quarrel with you?"

"It might have been better for both of us if she had done that. Oh, her fulsome endearments! What a contrast to the charming modesty of Eunice! If I was rich, I would make it worth the while of the first poor fellow I could find to rid me of Helena by marrying her. I don't like saying such a thing of a woman, but if you will have the truth—"

"Well, Mr. Philip—and what is the truth?"

"Helena disgusts me."

CHAPTER LVII. HELENA'S DIARY RESUMED.