"Eunice?" he repeated. "When my son told me he was engaged to Miss Gracedieu, he said 'Helena'! Philip, what does this mean?" Mrs. Tenbruggen was so obliging as to answer for me. "Some mistake, sir; it's Eunice he is engaged to." I confess I forgot myself. "How the devil do you know that?" I burst out. Mrs. Tenbruggen ignored me and my language. "I am sorry to see, sir, that your son's education has been neglected; he seems to be grossly ignorant of the laws of politeness." "Never mind the laws of politeness," says my father. "You appear to be better acquainted with my son's matrimonial prospects than he is himself. How is that?" Mrs. Tenbruggen favored him with another ready reply: "My authority is a letter, addressed to me by a relative of Mr. Gracedieu--my dear and intimate friend, Miss Jillgall." My father's keen eyes traveled backward and forward between his female surgeon and his son. "Which am I to believe?" he inquired. "I am surprised at your asking the question," I said. Mrs. Tenbruggen pointed to me. "Look at Mr. Philip, sir--and you will allow him one merit. He is capable of showing it, when he knows he has disgraced himself." Without intending it, I am sure, my father infuriated me; he looked as if he believed her. Out came one of the smallest and strongest words in the English language before I could stop it: "Mrs. Tenbruggen, you lie!" The illustrious Rubber dropped my father's hand--she had been operating on him all the time--and showed us that she could assert her dignity when circumstances called for the exertion: "Either your son or I, sir, must leave the room. Which is it to be?" She met her match in my father. Walking quietly to the door, he opened it for Mrs. Tenbruggen with a low bow. She stopped on her way out, and delivered her parting words: "Messieurs Dunboyne, father and son, I keep my temper, and merely regard you as a couple of blackguards." With that pretty assertion of her opinion, she left us.
When we were alone, there was but one course to take; I made my confession. It is impossible to tell you how my father received it--for he sat down at his library table with his back to me. The first thing he did was to ask me to help his memory.
"Did you say that the father of these girls was a parson?"
"Yes--a Congregational Minister."
"What does the Minister think of you?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Find out."
That was all; not another word could I extract from him. I don't pretend to have discovered what he really has in his mind. I only venture on a suggestion. If there is any old friend in your town, who has some influence over your father, leave no means untried of getting that friend to say a kind word for us. And then ask your father to write to mine. This is, as I see it, our only chance.
. . . . . . .
There the letter ends. Helena's notes on it show that her pride is fiercely interested in securing Philip as a husband. Her victory over poor Eunice will, as she plainly intimates, be only complete when she is married to young Dunboyne. For the rest, her desperate resolution to win her way to my good graces is sufficiently intelligible, now.
My own impressions vary. Philip rather gains upon me; he appears to have some capacity for feeling ashamed of himself. On the other hand, I regard the discovery of an intimate friendship existing between Mrs. Tenbruggen and Miss Jillgall with the gloomiest views. Is this formidable Masseuse likely to ply her trade in the country towns? And is it possible that she may come to this town? God forbid!
Of the other letters in the collection, I need take no special notice. I returned the whole correspondence to Helena, and waited to hear from her.
The one recent event in Mr. Gracedieu's family, worthy of record, is of a melancholy nature. After paying his visit to-day, the doctor has left word that nobody but the nurse is to go near the Minister. This seems to indicate, but too surely, a change for the worse.
Helena has been away all the evening at the Girls' School. She left a little note, informing me of her wishes: "I shall expect to be favored with your decision to-morrow morning, in my housekeeping room."
At breakfast time, the report of the poor Minister was still discouraging. I noticed that Helena was absent from the table. Miss Jillgall suspected that the cause was bad news from Mr. Philip Dunboyne, arriving by that morning's post. "If you will excuse the use of strong language by a lady," she said, "Helena looked perfectly devilish when she opened the letter. She rushed away, and locked herself up in her own shabby room. A serious obstacle, as I suspect, in the way of her marriage. Cheering, isn't it?" As usual, good Selina expressed her sentiments without reserve.
I had to keep my appointment; and the sooner Helena Gracedieu and I understood each other the better.
I knocked at the door. It was loudly unlocked, and violently thrown open. Helena's temper had risen to boiling heat; she stammered with rage when she spoke to me.
"I mean to come to the point at once," she said.
"I am glad to hear it, Miss Helena."
"May I count on your influence to help me? I want a positive answer."
I gave her what she wanted. I said: "Certainly not."
She took a crumpled letter from her pocket, opened it, and smoothed it out on the table with a blow of her open hand.
"Look at that," she said.
I looked. It was the letter addressed to Mr. Dunboyne the elder, which I had written for Mr. Gracedieu--with the one object of preventing Helena's marriage.
"Of course, I can depend on you to tell me the truth?" she continued.
"Without fear or favor," I answered, "you may depend on that."
"The signature to the letter, Mr. Governor, is written by my father. But the letter itself is in a different hand. Do you, by any chance, recognize the writing?"
"I do."
"Whose writing is it?"
"Mine."
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE RESURRECTION OF THE PAST.
After having identified my handwriting, I waited with some curiosity to see whether Helena would let her anger honestly show itself, or whether she would keep it down. She kept it down.
"Allow me to return good for evil." (The evil was uppermost, nevertheless, when Miss Gracedieu expressed herself in these self-denying terms.) "You are no doubt anxious to know if Philip's father has been won over to serve your purpose. Here is Philip's own account of it: the last of his letters that I shall trouble you to read."
I looked it over. The memorandum follows which I made for my own use:
An eccentric philosopher is as capable as the most commonplace human being in existence of behaving like an honorable man. Mr. Dunboyne read the letter which bore the Minister's signature, and handed it to his son. "Can you answer that?" was all he said. Philip's silence confessed that he was unable to answer it--and Philip himself, I may add, rose accordingly in my estimation. His father pointed to the writing-desk. "I must spare my cramped hand," the philosopher resumed, "and I must answer Mr. Gracedieu's letter.