Unless he is able to counsel a woman to the hardest thing
that bears the name of duty, let him not dare give advice even to
her asking.
Helen however had not come to ask advice of Wingfold. She was in no
such mood. She was indeed weary of a losing strife, and only for a
glimmer of possible help from her cousin, saw ruin inevitable before
her. But this revival of hope in George had roused afresh her
indignation at the intrusion of Wingfold with what she chose to lay
to his charge as unsought counsel. At the same time, through all the
indignation, terror, and dismay, something within her murmured
audibly enough that the curate and not her cousin was the guide who
could lead her brother where grew the herb of what peace might yet
be had. It was therefore with a sense of bewilderment, discord, and
uncertainty, that she now entered the library.
Wingfold rose, made his obeisance, and advanced a step or two. He
would not offer a hand that might be unwelcome, and Helen did not
offer hers. She bent her neck graciously, and motioned him to be
seated.
"I hope Mr. Lingard is not worse," he said.
Helen started. Had anything happened while she had been away from
him?
"No. Why should he be worse?" she answered.
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