The Abilene reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1883-1888, 1883-09-20
"You must take this" said she, in

You must take this" said she, in S
mildly authoritative voice. q
Hooked at her for the first time. She
was a neat, elderly person, not at all
handsome, but large and very power
full. 1t seemed to me at that moment
as if she were Boadicea, or the Maid of
Saragossa, or Miss Jex Blake, or some
thing of that order.
AS she poured down the draught l
felt my whole internal economy obey
ing her. swallowed, gasped, breathed,
because she told me to. Then she left
me.
The blinds were open, and moonlight
streamed into my room. [ saw the
clouds. and the cats; saw the passers-
by. There was balcony outside my
windows, and several people clambered
up on it and looked at me. There was
a newsboy whom | had offended, and a
member of the Stock Exchange whom l
had failed to please. At one time the
balcony became unpleasantly crowded,
and again it was empty.
The sounds went on, and the crowbar
fell with disagreeable persistency. Just
then lady stepped on the balcony and
calmly entered my room.
Would you be kind enough to tell
me what that noise is outside / asked.
OH said she, giving little scream.
rather astonished evidently. "A man
and bed-in the parlOr? What does
all this mean, please?' 81
well, why nOt?'' said l, rather Of
Tended, and with the egotism of illness.
Some scattering remnant of what
once had been my intelligence sug-
gested that this young lady might be
one of Arthur S sisters, who had come
home unexpectedly, and had stepped
forgive the dreams of sick MANI over
the balcony into the parlor.
''WhO are you?' | asked.
Il am Helen Froment, the governesS,
said she; ''sent down by Mrs. Clark for
some forgotten books. The train ran
off the track. got here Just now. l
have rung and rung and rung. but as
70 one let me in, |, seeing the blinds
open,~ naturally clambered over the
iron railing, and here | am. Now, who
and what are YOU
Il am sick man, HOratio Bronson,
believe. Arthur brought me here"
VII. vi COuISc. IlON lie
wrote to his mother all about You. l
had forgotten. My nerves have been
so shaken by that railroad accident |
had forgotten that you were here. |
beg thousand pardons for this intru-
sion. | will creep up into my room
and disturb nobody"
Stop 4 minute. my mind is weak.
Turn up the gas, please. will YOU? How
do you happen to be called Helen Fro
ment, like the picture on the wall??'
The lady laughed and turned up the
gas. ct is curious coincidence, /"
said she. The young ladies' call me
the Rubens.' am simply German
girl, with common enough German
name, Helena FrOment, the gOvernesS. .
L took a good lCok at her.
She was quiet girl, in a gray travel
ing dress, although | thought her
smiling German face not unlike that of
the picture.
Then the gas went down, and she
went off, and the crowbar went on fall
ing every five minutes outside, and the
little bell tinkled at three 0 clock.
About this time Arthur began to fade
away. 1t seemed to me that | only saw
him once after this, and then said to
him: Mice girl. Helen Froment,' in a
jocular way.
He laughed and said: ''What queer
things you do say'' e-
Il mean the governess, your sisters
governess, hoping he would tell me
about her.
''Oh! yes; the governess; yes; ha!
he. Helen Froment. Oh! yes. Horatio,
old fellow, keep cool; keep quiet.
Yes. She is a nice girl enough" but
he laughed and would not explain.
Arthur disappeared about this time.
l asked for him, and they said he had
gone away. should have missed him
more, but Helen, Helen Froment, be-
came so devoted to me. She did not 90
back to Mrs. Clark with the books. She
staid and nursed me most assiduously.
She could draw and paint very well in
water colors, and finding that this quiet
accomplishment amused without weary
ing me, she was kind enough to sit by
my side and let me watch her. Then
she told me quaint stories in a German
accent, and read poetry to me, and in a
low recitative, or in a sort of chant she
gave my weary ears the relief of pretty
and plaintive ballads of her owa Ger
man land, which she sang in a pure,
simple ballad voice, the best of all
voices.
One hot evening she said to me: Do
you know what night this is? 1t is the
eve of ST. John. Midsummer Night,
when the spirits of men 90 forth to meet
God in the woods; the angels are all
about us. -
And she drew with her water colors
for me a little picture of a procession of
Druids walking in forest, while
through the gothic arches of the trees
long lines of white-winged angels came
down to meet them. 1 remember how
cleverlv she touched in the wings with
a CLEAN of white.
But | was getting too much white
about this time, and the strong white
drapery and the sad face of the Cenci
began to trouble me. / asked Helen to
put that picture away, so l could not
see it. THAT | can not do" said she,
but l can throw my dark shawl over
it." and she did.
Helen Froment, meantime Rubens'
Helen, continued to smile and be anna
bic. | asked the other Helen to make
me a little COW of that BRIGHT face and