The next few days were intolerable. But of course, after the first
passion of disappointment, she began to hope; he would write fully in
a few days. She kept calculating how soon she might expect this fuller
letter. She did not write to him, for as he had given no address it
was evident that he did not wish to hear from her.
That week passed, and then another, and though he wrote, he did not
write "fully." In fact, he made no allusion whatever to Frederick, or
the future. Helena was instant with explanation: he was absorbed with
business; Alice was with him; he had no time. That these were absurd
excuses she knew. But they were the best she could find, and she had
to have excuses. It was at this time that she saw herself age. When
still another week passed, the tension lessened; indeed, she would
have broken down under the strain if she had not fallen into a sort of
apathy. She told herself that after all there was no reason why she
should leave Old Chester immediately. Mr. Benjamin Wright's insolence
had been outrageous and he was a horrible old man; but he had said
that he would not speak of her affairs. So as far as he was concerned
she could perfectly well wait until that Western trip was over; she
would just try not to think of him. So she played with David, and
talked to him, and listened to his confidences about the journey to
Philadelphia which Dr. Lavendar planned. It was more than two months
off, but that did not trouble David. He and Dr. Lavendar had long
talks on the subject, of which, occasionally, the little boy dropped
condescending hints.
"Maybe I'll take you to Philadelphia," Helena said once, jealously;
"will you like that?"
"Yes'm," said David, without enthusiasm.
At which she reproached him; "I should think you would like to go with
me, to see Liberty Bell?"
Silence.
"And maybe Mr. Pryor will take you to ride on a steamboat," she lured
him.
"I like Dr. Lavendar best," said David, with alarm.
It was only David with whom Helena talked in these days of waiting;
Old Chester found her still unsociable, and William King was obliged
to admit that his party had not accomplished much. However, he
insisted upon being sociable himself, and continued to come frequently
to see her on the ground that she was not very well. Before she knew
it she yielded again to the temptation of friendliness, and was glad
to see the big, kind figure trudging up the garden path. He told her
all the news Old Chester afforded, which was not extensive, and she
replied with that listening silence which is so pleasant and that gave
the doctor the opportunity--so valued by us all--of hearing himself
talk; an opportunity not often allowed him in his own house. The
silence covered bleak anxiety and often an entire absence of mind; but
William, rambling on, could not know that. He was perfectly happy to
look at her, although sometimes his face sobered, for hers had
changed. It was paler; the delicate oval of her cheek had hollowed;
the charming indolence had gone; the eyes had lost their sweet
shallowness, something cowered in their depths that he could not
clearly see--fear, perhaps, or pain. Or perhaps it was her soul.
Sometimes when the body relaxes its grip a little, the convict soul
within struggles up to look with frightened bewilderment out of the
windows of its prison. Dr. King watching the childlike droop of
Helena's lip, admitted reluctantly that she had changed. "Depressed,"
he told himself. So he did his best to cheer her with Old Chester's
harmless gossip; and one day--it was in September--she did show a
quick and even anxious interest.