“Until the drive,” said Helen; “that was the climax of it.  I must tell you the reason why I was so frightened then,—­that I have a friend who was as dear to me as if he were my brother, and he loved me very much, very much more than I deserve to be loved by anyone; and when I was engaged to you he was very ill, and because I knew I was doing so wrong I did not dare to go and see him.  That was why I was afraid to pass through Hilltown.  The reason I was so frightened afterwards is that I caught a glimpse of him, and he was in such a dreadful way.  This morning I found that he had left his home and gone away, no one knows where, so that I fear I shall never see him again.”

Helen paused, and the other, who had sat down and was leaning forward anxiously, asked her, “Then it is this friend that you love?”

“No,” the girl replied, “it is not that; I do not love anybody.”

“But then I do not understand,” went on Mr. Harrison, with a puzzled look.  “You spoke of its having been so wrong; was it not your right to wish to marry me?”

And Helen, punishing herself as she had learned so bravely to do, did not lower her eyes even then; she flushed somewhat, however, as she answered:  “Mr. Harrison, do you know WHY I wished to marry you?”

The other started a trifle, and looked very much at a loss indeed.  “Why?” he echoed.  “No, I do not know—­that is—­I never thought—­”

“It hurts me more than I can tell you to have to say this to you,” Helen said, “for you were right and true in your feeling.  But did you think that I was that, Mr. Harrison?  Did you think that I really loved you?”

Probably the good man had never been more embarrassed in his life than he was just then.  The truth to be told, he was perfectly well aware why Helen had wished to marry him, and had been all along, without seeing anything in that for which to dislike her; he was quite without an answer to her present question, and could only cough and stammer, and reach for his handkerchief.  The girl went on quickly, without waiting very long for his reply.

“I owe it to you to tell you the truth,” she said, “and then it will no longer cause you pain to give me up.  For I did not love you at all, Mr. Harrison; but I loved all that you offered me, and I allowed myself to be tempted thus, to promise to marry you.  Ever afterwards I was quite wretched, because I knew that I was doing something wicked, and yet I never had the courage to stop.  So it went on until my punishment came yesterday.  I have suffered fearfully since that.”

Helen had said all that there was to be said, and she stopped and took a deep breath of relief.  There was a minute or two of silence, after which Mr. Harrison asked:  “And you really think that it was so wrong to promise to marry me for the happiness that I could offer you?”