Mrs. Ellmother looked into the parlor. "I told you Mr. Mirabelwould call again," she announced. "Here he is."

"Has he asked to see me?"

"He leaves it entirely to you."

For a moment, and a moment only, Emily was undecided. "Show himin," she said.

Mirabel's embarrassment was visible the moment he entered theroom. For the first time in his life--in the presence of awoman--the popular preacher was shy. He who had taken hundreds offair hands with sympathetic pressure--he who had offered fluentconsolation, abroad and at home, to beauty in distress--wasconscious of a rising color, and was absolutely at a loss forwords when Emily received him. And yet, though he appeared atdisadvantage--and, worse still, though he was aware of ithimself--there was nothing contemptible in his look and manner.His silence and confusion revealed a change in him which inspiredrespect. Love had developed this spoiled darling of foolishcongregations, this effeminate pet of drawing-rooms and boudoirs,into the likeness of a Man--and no woman, in Emily's position,could have failed to see that it was love which she herself hadinspired.

Equally ill at ease, they both took refuge in the commonplacephrases suggested by the occasion. These exhausted there was apause. Mirabel alluded to Cecilia, as a means of continuing theconversation.

"Have you seen Miss Wyvil?" he inquired.

"She was here last night; and I expect to see her again to-daybefore she returns to Monksmoor with her father. Do you go backwith them?"

"Yes--if _you_ do."

"I remain in London."

"Then I remain in London, too."

The strong feeling that was in him had forced its way toexpression at last. In happier days--when she had persistentlyrefused to let him speak to her seriously--she would have beenready with a light-hearted reply. She was silent now. Mirabelpleaded with her not to misunderstand him, by an honestconfession of his motives which presented him under a new aspect.The easy plausible man, who had hardly ever seemed to be inearnest before--meant, seriously meant, what he said now.

"May I try to explain myself?" he asked.

"Certainly, if you wish it."

"Pray, don't suppose me capable," Mirabel said earnestly, "ofpresuming to pay you an idle compliment. I cannot think of you,alone and in trouble, without feeling anxiety which can only berelieved in one way--I must be near enough to hear of you, day byday. Not by repeating this visit! Unless you wish it, I will notagain cross the threshold of your door. Mrs. Ellmother will tellme if your mind is more at ease; Mrs. Ellmother will tell me ifthere is any new trial of your fortitude. She needn't evenmention that I have been speaking to her at the door; and she maybe sure, and you may be sure, that I shall ask no inquisitivequestions. I can feel for you in your misfortune, without wishingto know what that misfortune is. If I can ever be of the smallestuse, think of me as your other servant. Say to Mrs. Ellmother, 'Iwant him'--and say no more."

Where is the woman who could have resisted such devotion asthis--inspired, truly inspired, by herself? Emily's eyes softenedas she answered him.

"You little know how your kindness touches me," she said.

"Don't speak of my kindness until you have put me to the proof,"he interposed. "Can a friend (such a friend as I am, I mean) beof any use?"

"Of the greatestuse if I could feel justified in trying you."

"I entreat you to try me!"

"But, Mr. Mirabel, you don't know what I am thinking of."

"I don't want to know."

"I may be wrong. My friends all say I _am_ wrong."

"I don't care what your friends say; I don't care about anyearthly thing but your tranquillity. Does your dog ask whetheryou are right or wrong? I am your dog. I think of You, and Ithink of nothing else."

She looked back through the experience of the last few days. MissLadd--Mrs. Ellmother--Doctor Allday: not one of them had felt forher, not one of them had spoken to her, as this man had felt andhad spoken. She remembered the dreadful sense of solitude andhelplessness which had wrung her heart, in the interval beforeMirabel came in. Her father himself could hardly have been kinderto her than this friend of a few weeks only. She looked at himthrough her tears; she could say nothing that was eloquent,nothing even that was adequate. "You are very good to me," washer only acknowledgment of all that he had offered. How poor itseemed to be! and yet how much it meant!

He rose--saying considerately that he would leave her to recoverherself, and would wait to hear if he was wanted.

"No," she said; "I must not let you go. In common gratitude Iought to decide before you leave me, and I do decide to take youinto my confidence." She hesitated; her color rose a little. "Iknow how unselfishly you offer me your help," she resumed; "Iknow you speak to me as a brother might speak to a sister--"

He gently interrupted her. "No," he said; "I can't honestly claimto do that. And--may I venture to remind you?--you know why."

She started. Her eyes rested on him with a momentary expressionof reproach.

"Is it quite fair," she asked, "in my situation, to say that?"

"Would it have been quite fair," he rejoined, "to allow you todeceive yourself? Should I deserve to be taken into yourconfidence, if I encouraged you to trust me, under falsepretenses? Not a word more of those hopes on which the happinessof my life depends shall pass my lips, unless you permit it. Inmy devotion to your interests, I promise to forget myself. Mymotives may be misinterpreted; my position may be misunderstood.Ignorant people may take me for that other happier man, who is anobject of interest to you--"

"Stop, Mr. Mirabel! The person to whom you refer has no suchclaim on me as you suppose."

"Dare I say how happy I am to hear it? Will you forgive me?"

"I will forgive you if you say no more."

Their eyes met. Completely overcome by the new hope that she hadinspired, Mirabel was unable to answer her. His sensitive nervestrembled under emotion, like the nerves of a woman; his delicatecomplexion faded away slowly into whiteness. Emily wasalarmed--he seemed to be on the point of fainting. She ran to thewindow to open it more widely.

"Pray don't trouble yourself," he said, "I am easily agitated byany sudden sensation--and I am a little overcome at this momentby my own happiness."

"Let me give you a glass of wine."

"Thank you--I don't need it indeed."

"You really feel better?"

"I feel quite well again--and eager to hear how I can serve you."

"It's a long story, Mr. Mirabel--and a dreadful story."

"Dreadful?"

"Yes! Let me tell you first how you can serve me. I am in searchof a man who has done me the cruelest wrong that one humancreature can inflict on another. But the chances are all againstme--I am only a woman; and I don't know how to take even thefirst step toward discovery."

"You will know, when I guide you."

He reminded her tenderly of what she might expect from him, andwas rewarded by a grateful look. Seeing nothing, suspectingnothing, they advanced together nearer and nearer to the end.

"Once or twice," Emily continued, "I spoke to you of my poorfather, when we were at Monksmoor--and I must speak of him again.You could have no interest in inquiring about a stranger--and youcannot have heard how he died."

"Pardon me, I heard from Mr. Wyvil how he died."

"You heard what I had told Mr. Wyvil," Emily said: "I was wrong."

"Wrong!" Mirabel exclaimed, in a tone of courteous surprise. "Wasit not a sudden death?"

"It _was_ a sudden death."

"Caused by disease of the heart?"

"Caused by no disease. I have been deceived about my father'sdeath--and I have only discovered it a few days since."

At the impending moment of the frightful shock which she wasinnocently about to inflict on him, she stopped--doubtful whetherit would be best to relate how the discovery had been made, or topass at once to the result. Mirabel supposed that she had pausedto control her agitation. He was so immeasurably far away fromthe faintest suspicion of what was coming that he exerted hisingenuity, in the hope of sparing her.

"I can anticipate the rest," he said. "Your sad loss has beencaused by some fatal accident. Let us change the subject; tell memore of that man whom I must help you to find. It will onlydistress you to dwell on your father's death."

"Distress me?" she repeated. "His death maddens me!"

"Oh, don't say that!"

"Hear me! hear me! My father died murdered, at Zeeland--and theman you must help me to find is the wretch who killed him."

She started to her feet with a cry of terror. Mirabel droppedfrom his chair senseless to the floor.