But he thought far more of being her
deliverer than of bringing her deliverance.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
GODFREY AND LETTY.
It was a sad, gloomy, kindless November night, when Godfrey
arrived in London. The wind was cold, the pavements were cold,
the houses seemed to be not only cold but feeling it. The very
dust that blow in his face was cold. Now cold is a powerful ally
of the commonplace, and imagination therefore was not very busy
in the bosom of Godfrey Wardour as he went to find Letty Helmer,
which was just as well, in the circumstances. He was cool to the
very heart when he walked up to the door indicated by Mary, and
rung the bell: Mrs. Helmer was at home: would he walk up stairs?
It was not a house of ceremonies; he was shown up and up and into
the room where she sat, without a word carried before to prepare
her for his visit. It was so dark that he could see nothing but
the figure of one at work by a table, on which stood a single
candle. There was but a spark of fire in the dreary grate, and
Letty was colder than any one could know, for she was at the
moment making down the last woolly garment she had, in the vain
hope of warming her baby.
She looked up. She had thought it was the landlady, and had
waited for her to speak. She gazed for a moment in bewilderment,
saw who it was, and jumped up half frightened, half ready to go
wild with joy.
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