Helen was about to reveal her presence by calling to him when something
in her father's manner caused her to hesitate. Through the leafy screen
of the arbor wall she saw him stop beside the bench and look carefully
about on every side, as if to assure himself that he was alone. The
young woman flushed guiltily, but, as if against her will, she remained
silent. As she watched her father's face, a feeling of pity, fear and
wonder held her breathless.
Helen had often seen her father suffering under an attack of nervous
excitement. She had witnessed his spells of ungoverned rage that left
him white and trembling with exhaustion. She had known his fears that
he tried so hard to hide. She knew of his sleepless nights, of his
dreams of horror, of his hours of lonely brooding. But never had she
seen her father like this. It was as if Adam Ward, believing himself
unobserved, let fall the mask that hid his secret self from even those
who loved him most. Sinking down upon the bench, he groaned aloud,
while his daughter, looking upon that huddled figure of abject misery
and despair, knew that she was witnessing a mental anguish that could
come only from some source deep hidden beneath the surface of her
father's life. She could not move.
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